The Northlands: Haridwar, Musoorie, Rishikesh, and a Ride to Hell

At this point in the trip, I was feeling the need to visit a smaller city and get out into the country. I decided to carry through with my original plans to take an overnight train to Haridwar. Although it ended up being about a 24 hour train-ride, it was well worth it. When I got off of the train I knew I would like Haridwar, because the wave of heat and humidity did not hit me. It had been raining in Haridwar, and the temperature was so bearable that I decided not to pay extra for AC in my room. I signed up for a nature safari for 3 pm, but when the time came around I was happy to meet up with the first American tourists that I had met so far. DeAnne and Geoff were two friends who were travelling around north India before going to a wedding in Mumbai. When our safari had to be rescheduled for the next day, the three of us decided to take a cable car to the local Hindu temple.

How nice it was to have a man around! He stood in the crowded ques and guarded us from stray hands and fingers. The temples were crowded, but we still made the rounds, splashing through muddy water in bare feet on the marble tiles. The next day our safari was again postponed until 3. Heavy rains had made the roads unpassable. After the 24 hours of anticipation, the safari was a little disappointing. We got to ride in a cool jeep and we saw some animals--deer, peacocks, a little owl, but no elephants and no leopards. It was nice to get out into the country, and we met a nice Swiss girl who had been living in an Ashram for 2 months. She's featured in the jeep photo.

The next day DeAnne and Geoff and I decided to go on a day trip to the hilltown of Musoorie and then to Rishikesh, the yoga center of India. We hired a car and driver from the tour agency, and started off at 7. I knew when I first saw the driver that we were in trouble. He was young--always a bad quality in drivers of young, female tourists. And he drove like he had a few frustrations.

I've driven with some crazy rickshaw drivers, but this guy was the worst--weaving in and out of cars and bikes, refusing to yield to school children on the side of the road, making death-defying risks while passing. It was bad. And I was in the front seat, so the responsibility lay with me to keep him in control. I told him a few times to slow down, and he smiled and nodded. Soon I realized that this man knew no English. I couldn't believe it. We paid good money to go through a travel agency, and he couldn't even tell us what time to meet him. But I somehow got my point across that he was going too fast, and he did slow down slightly.

Just in time to begin the climb up the foothills of the Himalayas! Poor DeAnne had her head burried in Geoff's shoulder at this point, and even I was a little nervous because the little roads were hairpin and the guard rail more decorative than functional. But we made it, and it was cool and foggy and there was no view. But we wandered around the town for a couple hours and noticed how the people here seemed to have a Nepali flare to them. We took a quiet bike-richshaw around the town, which is featured in one of the photos. On the ride down the mountain, the driver seemed to have a will to live, thank goodness. Unfortunately, I was suspicious that I was inspiring his will to live, but I figured that he could nurse his fantasies if they helped me and my two friends survive.

I was not counting on what lay ahead for us, however. The ride down went quite well, and the clouds lifted for a time and the mountains were lush and rugged. We then continued on to Rishikesh, but it was getting late and it was raining hard. We were hoping to catch the evening Hindu ceremony on the Ganges, but the river was high, it was pouring, and our driver told us the wrong time. So we really didn't see much of Rishikesh, but we had dinner and dipped our hands in the Ganges one last time.

We met the driver at 8 pm, ready for the 45 minute journey home to Haridwar. When we walked up to the car, we saw that the driver had taken off his shirt and was wearing only a strappy undershirt; I couldn't bear it, and Geoff graciously offered to sit in the front seat. We took off, into the forest between Rishikesh and Haridwar. It was pouring and the going was slow. At some points I would look out of the window, and it looked like we were driving up a river. DeAnne said that the water wasn't that deep--that it was just spashing up--but the engine of that little car was working it. I was afraid that we would break down and be stuck there with this insane man of a driver.

After about 30 minutes, the traffic stopped. A tree had fallen, and we were waiting for a road crew to come and cut it up. We tried to keep our spirits up. It was going to be fine. No matter that we were in the middle of nowhere, with a greasy driver, and it was hot and muggy, and we couldn't roll down the windows because it was pouring. I was just thankful I wasn't alone in this situation. But then, ooooh, no. I couldn't believe it. The driver leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head--oh, the stench. It was, quite simply, awful. I almost laughed, it was so bad, but I didn't want to open my mouth. Poor, poor Geoff--the saint! He saved me that night, I think.

An hour later, there was movement. Thank goodness! We drove a ways, passed some trees, and I thought we were in the clear. I was so relieved because I had a 6:20 train to catch the next morning. But no, the traffic stopped again. What was going on? How long would we be waiting? We had no idea, and the driver just sat back and put his hands behind his head again. I finally rolled down my window and entreated the people walking by, "Do you speak English?!" Finally, one person communicated that there was a tree down. But we did not know how long it would be. Two hours passed. We were getting desperate at this point. We begged our driver to call the woman from the travel agency. We had to speak to someone in English! Should we turn around? How close to Haridwar were we? Could we walk? At this point people behind us were starting to walk past us with their possessions. I rolled down the window again. "How long?" One person said that the road would not be cleared until morning--could it be true? Could the road crews be off for the night? After sitting for 3 hours, we finally got ahold of the tour agency woman, and she assured us that the road crew was coming, and that we should continue on to Haridwar.

An hour later, we started moving again. The fallen tree was about 100 meters away and within one kilometer we miraculously passed a stately 5 star hotel. Where did that come from? But we safely made it home that night, and I easily caught my 6:20 train, which was late and turned into a 10:30 train--but I didn't mind. A late train seemed like a blessing that day.