I got back to Omkarananda Ashram and liberated my bag. I went down to Ganga Ma and got some water and sand to bring along on the rest of my trip. I have some at home, but I needed some with me. I used a container my Ayurvedic cough goop was in, which conveniently ran out this morning.
I said my goodbyes to Ganga Ma and Rishikesh. There was no deep emotional trauma this time, just a knowing that I’m never really separate. It was very sweet. It felt like time to go.
I climbed up the stairs and arranged for a rickshaw to the bus station. India is awesome if you know the rules. “Rickshaw madam?”
“Yes, bus station.”
“Come this way. 50 rupees.”
*smile* “20 rupees.”
Not possible! “50 rupees.”
*indulgent smile* 20 rupees.
*head bobble* “Tekay” (OK)
I felt pretty smug as we got underway. It’s the little things that build my sense of competency.
So off we go to the bus station, which had the most flies I’ve ever seen and is just an unpaved parking lot. I got directed to a bus that wasn’t really the bus I needed so I waited. After about 20 minutes the Haridwar bus pulled up, so I boarded. All the writing on the buses is in Devanagari script, not the Roman alphabet I’m used to. You have to depend on hawkers belting out the name of the city like they’re selling peanuts at a baseball game.
My luggage took up an entire seat. I was hoping the bus wouldn’t fill up, I didn’t know what I’d do with it. It was way too large to fit in the overhead racks.
Now this bus would not win any beauty contests, but it was surprisingly comfortable. It was old, rusty and filthy, but we made good time and the seat was supportive and the suspension was good. The fare taker came along and I gave him a 50 rupee note and he handed me back 30 in change and a torn stub that had Hindi writing with the numbers 10 and 30 on it. I don’t know why I got charged 20 rupees, but I just went with it. The entire ride, including stops, was under an hour. When you are the lumbering behemoth that everyone is passing, there’s no one in front of you slowing you down, so we just cruised right along.
As we were approaching Haridwar, I remembered Swamiji telling me the bus would go right past the Ashram I was staying at. I couldn’t get the fare taker to answer my question about where to get off, so I phoned the Ashram.
“I’m on the bus from Rishikesh, where do I get off?”
“We have no room here, who did you talk to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you need to know.”
“Well, I don’t know. He said to come and I could stay for two days.”
“OK, come anyway, we’ll talk.”
Right then the bus pulled in at the station, so it was a moot point on where to get off. I got off the bus and started negotiating for an auto rickshaw. “It’s 10km, 200 rupees.”
“I just paid 20 rupees to get all the way from Rishikesh. 50 rupees.”
“Not possible, take bicycle rickshaw.”
Go to bicycle rickshaw.
“Take Auto.”
Start over again with a different auto rickshaw driver.
I got them down to 80 and called it a success. I spent Rs. 350 to get from Haridwar to Rishikesh a week ago and this was going to cost me a total of Rs 100. Not bad. It would have been sweet if I had known where to get off the bus and kept it down to Rs. 20, but oh, well. Live and learn.
We did indeed pass right by the Ashram, way before I thought to start asking about where to get off. I pulled my duffle and shouldered my backpack and made the long trek to reception. Don’t know why they told me to come anyway, they were still full and were not letting me stay, so the trip up there was for nothing. They sent me to an Ashram across the street where they said had rooms for Rs. 200 per night, so I shouldered and pulled luggage across a very busy highway in the dark and walked a block to find it was Rs. 600 a night.
My Ganga balcony room back in Rishikesh was Rs. 255 a night. It was peaceful and the view was gorgeous. I thought I’d be staying somewhere for two nights free. At that moment, I was not a happy Devi. Now, granted, 600 rupees is under $20, but it’s the principle of the thing and I’ve gone way over my budget already. She sent me back across the highway to a tiny Ashram she said was Rs. 100 or 200 a night. I stopped on the way at what I thought was the Ashram, and they said they were an Ashram, but they turned me away. Three strikes, yikes.
I asked a rickshaw driver and he pointed out two ashrams. The first one was the original one and the second one was the tiny one I was looking for. Success! I’m sitting on my bed typing this for Rs. 200 for the night. I told the driver that if I couldn’t find a room here, I wanted to be driven back to Rishikesh. I was going to take a risk that my room hadn’t been rented out yet. I would have wasted a whole afternoon and evening and Rs. 350, so between that and the rent I’d still have been at Rs. 600 and I’d be back in Rishikesh needing to get to Haridwar to get the train to Delhi, so that idea wasn’t thrilling me. I’m really glad I got this room.
OK, so this is my first foray into the wilds of India on my own and it didn’t go so well. I started being critical of myself during the backtracking in the auto rickshaw and immediately stopped myself. It’s India, these things happen and one has to be flexible. I congratulated myself on being flexible and resourceful and negotiating a good price on the rickshaw and left it at that. After I got turned away three times, I was feeling discouraged and critical of myself again, but again I stopped.
Hardly anyone speaks any English here and none of the signs are in English. The first Ashram has no Roman writing at all except for one temple I saw while wandering around later. All the writing, and there is a lot of it, is in Devanagari script. The gatekeeper at this Ashram knows about five words of English and the older guy who checked me in and seems to be the patriarch, or whatever, knows about two. His wife knew a little. There is not one Roman letter printed on my receipt. All this, and within ninety minutes of hitting Haridwar, I was settled into a room. I think I did awesome!
I’m right next door to the original Ashram and I can hear harmoniums and chanting and loud talking. After I checked in here, I wandered around over there and found the sweetest Gayatri temple! She’s so beautiful! I was enraptured. The energy there! All my frustration with them evaporated. I’m going over there in the morning to see what’s what in the day time and talk a bit with the Foreign Cell to see if there’s any room tomorrow, but I doubt I’ll stay. It just didn’t feel right. I think I’ll just move on a day early. I feel the need to get settled in, especially since I’m going without room reservations again.
Dinner tonight was across the busy highway again at the only place that has any Roman writing on it at all, a huge high rise hotel. We’re in a very odd section of Haridwar, there are no Internet cafés or travel agents. I’m going to have to hire a rickshaw to go into town to make my next arrangements. Fun, fun.
I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m cranky. I’ve been sneezing all day and I’m coughing again. This room is really ugly and the neighbours are loud at the other Ashram. There’s a cockroach in the wardrobe (we made a deal, it stays in there and I stay out here) and there seems to be a minute long train whistle every ten minutes or so. Oh great, now the Ashram next door is setting off those loud cannon firecrackers. So far, Haridwar hasn’t impressed me in the least.
However, I’m warm. The blankets here are much better than at Omkarananda and the mattress seems marginally better. Warm is important, as the nights are now cold here. My marble floor feels like ice.
I’m safe. I have a room to sleep in. I have a private bath. Hideous, but private. I’d been using the communal bath back at Omkarananda, but it was spotless. Things will look much brighter in the morning, I hope. This may make the travel connections to my next destination work better. I knew there was a reason I just couldn’t click “Buy Now” on that plane ticket the other day.
And, hey! I rode in a chicken bus! And I liked it!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment