Our journey began
around 6am when Ajay & Vickram-peya picked us up from the apartment and drove us to the New Delhi Railway Station...in the race car lol. Upon arrival to the station, we bid farewell to the peyas who warned us about 'bad people', and booked it to the entry gate. As we prepared to walk through the "checkpoint" (meaning a broken metal detector, and a baggage x-ray lacking in operating personnel), we were stopped by an agent who must have noticed the "TOURIST" sign on our forehead. He requested to see our tickets and noted that we had been "wait-listed." Quickly he directed us to the International Tourist Bureau (ITB), where the ITB agent redirected us, to another office located through the crowds, around the gate, parallel to traffic, and in behind a hotel. After noticing our confused look, the ITB agent kindly offered to walk us there."But I thought our tickets were confirmed" I said to the man behind the desk. Unfortunately I couldn't understand what he said, but I was encouraged by his efficiency and calm demeanor. Soon after he reviewed our passports, he placed check marks on our tickets and we quick-stepped back to the station in search of platform 15, Car 3. Following the announcement board, we jumped onto Car 3, only to find that one of our seats was being occupied by an elderly woman who nonchalantly reclined her chair and ignored us despite the questioning looks we gave her. "What should we do?" I said to Meli. We stood there a couple of minutes hoping to locate an attendant, but he/she was nowhere to be found. Instead we were helped by a woman sitting on the row behind, "What seats do you have?" she asked. I showed her our tickets and she said "You are in Car 1, you need Car 3!" Of course it would be too efficient and too easy for the cars to coincide with the announcement board. So we hurried over to Car 3 (after asking for confirmation), hoping to find some empty seats-- wishful thinking. Making our way through the narrow path, we found two gringitos occupying our seats. They quickly explained that they had been given separate
seats and suggested we take the seats in the adjacent row. Meli and I weren't feeling argumentative, so we followed their lead by taking the two available seats hoping not to be removed and embarrassed later by the proper passengers.Soon the train was in motion and we took it as our cue to relax and enjoy the 4.5 hour ride. It was a delightful ride; we had a working A/C, tea, breakfast, and rode next to a viejito from Kashmir, who was curious about my book (Trickster City: Writings from the Belly of the Metropolis) and our origins. Along the way we stopped at Saharanpur, a city known for it's craft work. El viejito encouraged us to explore the station and shared that he had lived in New Jersey, but didn't like it much. He expressed a dislike for our "lack of spirituality" noting that he is much happier in India. A train ride is no place for debate, especially with an elder, so I nodded, reflected on his words, and continued reading my book.
Upon arrival to the Haridwar Railway Station, Meli and I ventured out --more like wandered -- to find the bus station. Denying a number of offers from rickshaw and taxi drivers, we eventually stumbled upon the station (if you call stumbling the act of noticing buses drive in and out of a lot). It was mad busy! As logical foreigners, we sought the "Enquiry" office (per British spelling) to solicit more information. "Rishikesh?
Gate 2 and 3!" The man exclaimed, then moved along to the next client. "Ok" we thought, "how hard can it be? We go to gate 2 and 3, wait for a bus that says Rishikesh, pay Rs.22, and we are set." NOT! We walked over and quickly learned that order is not the preferred method of operation for neither buses nor people. People everywhere ran towards and boarded the buses long before they parked at the gate. We kept asking people "Rishikesh?" "Nehi, nehi" They would reply. Misguided, we chased after a few buses, boarded the wrong one (which we figured out thanks to a young man selling fruit on the bus), and then waited some more for the appropriate bus. We must have looked broken, not to mention sweaty and muddy, because moments later, another young man selling fruit approached us asking "Rishikesh?" "YES!" We exclaimed desperately. Then, he kindly pointed to the bus (which mind you was already full and didn't even make it to the gate), walked us over and then confirmed with the ticket taker "Rishikesh?" "Hanji!" said the man. So on the bus we went, which delivered us to Rishikesh an hour and a half later. The bus dropped us off at some random place, a psudo-bus stop of sorts that looked like someone's driveway. From there we took a rickshaw to Ram Jhula Bridge, the bridge leading to the northern side of Rishikesh where out guest house is located. Suddenly, the man stopped, signaled for us to get off, and pointed straight and said "up!" His directions were vague, but we eventually saw the bridge and headed in that direction. At this point, we were feeling weathered and our luggage felt 50 lbs heavier. We asked 5-6 shopkeepers if they knew where Vashishth Guest House was located, no one could give us exact directions. After 7.5 hours of traveling by train, bus, rickshaw, and by foot, we arrived at our destination! We were exhausted so decided to take it easy by having dinner at the Green Hotel Restaurant and then walking to the Ganga River to enjoy the view.
Thank you to all of the people who had mercy on our souls and helped us get to Rishikesh... <3
