RISHIKESH, TO BABA LAND

January the 6^th

Rishikesh is the city where the Gange is born. It is surprisingly also the spiritual capital of babas and hippies in India. John Lennon came in the 60’s to experience transcendental meditation. Since fake ashrams, maditation and yoga centers flourished, driving thousand of tourists in search of spiritual crash courses. In contrast with Haridwar, a large part of Rishikesh (the tourist part) feels fake. It is not Indians that we see, but the image that westerners project over Indians. It looks like a living stereotype. The nature is stunningly beautiful, the Gange flows quickly down from the first mountains of the Himalaya.

Rishikesh the Ganga

The vegetation is luxuriant and green. The paths are soft and meant for calm walks. How wonderful if it was not so used in this superficial spiritual quest. Photos of gurus, posters of yoga courses are spread everywhere, only in English (which is a very bad sign in India, if one looks for authenticity).  

An original monk in Baba Land, look, he is holding a mobile phone

Rishikesh, capital of yoga

We go down towards the ghâts (stairs that lead to the Gange where people go to bath or pray) to watch the candle ceremony at the sunset. It is a ceremony to thank to holy Gange, where Hindus light a candle in a small clay cup filled with flowers and let it go on the river. We don’t see most of it as it is already ended when we get down. But the atmosphere takes us deeply immediately. It is intimate and silent. The stillness of the movements was an invitation to simply be. 

Candle ceremony

We get back to Haridwar to catch a night train to Varanasi. A trip that leads us from the city of the living to the city of ended lives.     

HARIDWAR, GANGE AND INDIAN MOTHERS

January the 4th

It is 4 a.m. as we arrive in Haridwar. We had phoned the hotel to be sure they would be open at that time. We walk as proudly as we can from the railway station to the hostel through gloomy streets. We refuse several offers from anbody who seems to be nice. We are girls who just know the word « no » after the Delhi experience. We reach the hotel and it is closed we chains and lockers, big iron doors and alarm clock ringing. We walk backwards as proudly as we can, followed by a rickshaw man who steps in every hotel before we do to say we are coming and he should get a commission. Finally we get a room from a very funny and bad cheater (he wanted his karma)

At 5.30 we finally get some sleep. We reach 21 and a half hour of sleep in 6 days, meaning 3 and a half hour of sleep in average. We are a bit tired and decide to go out of the city life and sleep in an ashram, a peaceful harbor.

We awake from the sounds of the ceremonies in the temples around. Life is spiritual in this city. All soundscape is a mixture of traffic horns and religious bells and voices.

And we see for the first time the Ganga. 

Haridwar, main ghat

This river is not comparable to anything. It has no color, but mystical colors. The fog wraps all surroundings, the landscape is washed away by the air and the Gange flows. Pilgrims belong to this shores where they sit, wash, gaze, absolutely present to the place. They are magnificent, dressed poorly or richly. Orange strikes the eyes, a pure orange from curcuma dyes. Striking.

After 5 km of walking, because neither of us dare to take a rickshaw, we reach the ashram, leave our bags for the first time and take a nap, enjoy a cheesy-Bollywood movie about love stronger than fear and sleep in a very peaceful place. Maybe it is too brutally peaceful after all the hassle we had gone through. But it feels quite good.

January the 5^th

We discovered during our stay in the ashram what is essence of Indian manhood. They are mothers. In a country where women are hardly seen as they spend mostly time in the houses, hidden, men are everywhere. They are washing clothes, cooking, make business, tailor, prepare the tchai (tea), iron… We have 5 mothers feeding us in this ashram, 4 times a day. Caring that we eat enough, filling up the plates way before they are empty, smiling when we eat well, nodding the head in contentment. 5 tiny men, teasing each other regularly, proud to serve 2 white girls and to check we do small things properly. Cécile is nicely scorned for not putting her shoes tidily outside of the eating room.

We spend the afternoon in the streets of Haridwar, between the Gange, the bazaar and the temple. The bazaar is hectic, life is buzzing, people flow between the stalls in narrow streets. Thousands of objects are placed and we don’t have any idea about their office. A ritualistic object is so hermetic to those who do not share the cultural background, yet they are fascinated, and drag the attention. They seem as many golden gates to an unknown realm. 

As we walk up towards the temple, on top of a high hill, in the midst of believers while the sun is setting down, we are taken by the soundscapes. A group of Hindu women behind us is chanting, and we take the same pace as theirs so that we don’t loose the sound of their voices. We stop here and then to have a look on the city from above. The fog is taking it little by little in his arms. The shapes are melting into each other and yet still visible. The city sounds up to  us and it has nothing to do with the image we have under the eyes. It is chaotic, in full effervescence, a mixture of urban and religious sounds. It resonates of the density of population. The diversity of the horns comes bright and clear to shake the continuous buzz of a busy city. 

Haridwar, a soundscape

And the moon! In India the moon is upside down. She lies on her back, rests, lazy, waiting to  get full. A peaceful moon, in a surprisingly peaceful country.

NEW DELHI, THE INDIAN LABYRINTH

January 3rd

01.45. New Delhi. The airport was arranged and as we come out from the gates, we see our names on a piece of paper… But then it doesn’t quite match the picture we have of an airport pickup. The man who had our names left with two other tourists. We wait 20 minutes. Then he comes back and tells us to go to the taxi outside. We are nice girls and we go. There is only one man outside, so we follow him. Before continuing this story, you have to know that most guide books about India warns the traveller that New Delhi airport is full of fake taxis at night especially, who takes you to places  that aren’t really safe for you. So, we follow the man and pass by the taxis towards nowhere. Perrine checks shee has her pocket knife somewhere close. We come close to a quite deserted parking place, few very strange men walking around. We decide to stop and talk with our man (small and skinny to our advantage) before we step in there. We ask him where we are going, to which hostel. He takes a bit of time, first saying that it doesn’t know. We are ready to go back to the airport. But then he says the password « hostel new king ». We follow him, still uncomfortable, but there was a chance on a million he could know we had booked this very hostel.

04.00 Hostel New king. Pahar Ganj (the bagpackers district and great bazar) at night is like a ghost city, with wandering dogs and trashes of the day left all over. Safe.

05.00 We drink the New Year’s beer bought in Stockholm, eat cheese and bread left from the trip. Sleep.

10.30 Wake up, shower with a bit of hot water. As we come down, the man at the desk (who knows some Finnish ‘Moi’ and ‘Moi moi’) tells us that our itinerary trip is not good. First we should stay in Delhi. Second, the Gange is not a place to go. We have to fall in love with the Indian paradise and go to live in Shrinagar in a family for 7 days. He could arrange everything. Life is too short to miss the best. We say that no, we want the Gange and we want to go from Delhi. He is not happy and let us sitting for a while, so we think about it. But we manage to check out and he tells us we should go to the Tourist Information Centre to get the train ticket. I twas the first but not last time we heard the key words Tourist  Information Centre. Welcome to the Labyrinth.

11.00. Afraid of checking the map in the  middle of the street – as we would expose ourselves to being noticed as « available pigeons » - we look at the way already in the guesthouse. Unfortunately, once outside, the real world doesn’t look like the ma pat all. And when we should have gone left on 200meters, we take the right side, for a good kilometer and a half. The first helpful man comes to rescue us with all the kindness he could find. Officially student inaroma therapy, he is actually working for one of these Tourist  Information Centre which offers free maps, bus tickets to pretty much everywhere for 2 to 40 times he price… As we understand quickly (Cécile was informed by two friends who had experienced the free maps business in Delhi before), we turn away and ask another man, officially a nursing student, where is the railway station. And he smilingly takes us back to the very same Tourist  Information Centre. Surprise, surprise.

11.30. We take out our map and find out where the hell is the train station. And we walk a long way, refusing rickshaws and helpful men. And we arrive at the railway station. About 20 meters away from the holy place, the following dialogue takes place

_  hello, he says

_ hello, we answer

_ Where are you going, he continues

_ We know, we reply

_ Do you have train tickets ?

_ Yes, we say

_ Then go through the checking with your tickets, and he shows where the checking happens

_ Mm mh, we muttered. We are on our way to buy the ticket here.

The man is happy, and starts a monologue « I work for the government » and he shows his official card. « You know it is very dangerous in Delhi. Many people, they come to cheat tourists, you know. But you can trust me, I work for the government. Do you have guidebook ? »

_ Yes, we say puzzled and take it out

The man takes it and starts walking away, still talking his monologue (too long to report, sorry). Concerned about our book we follow him running. He stops by a rickshows and put us in, showing on the guidebook the real Government held toursit information centre (which is real). He tells the rickshow to take us there, for our safety, because you know it is very dangerous in Delhi. Many people, they come to cheat tourists, you know. But you can trust me, I work for the government. 20 ruppies, you’re safe.

There is nothing to convince two lost Frenchies freshly arrived in Incredible India better than to create a feeling of danger. Fear is the key to cheat tourists.

And we arrived in Connaught Place, next to the supposedly official DTTC of Delhi. We step in, few men were there, the office was kind of strange – but maybe it was normal – and we were told “We are here for you, take a sit”. We are very obedient girls, we take a sit. The man tells us there is no place in the train, it is high tourist season, we have to wait 5 days or… rent a car for 12000 ruppies, because it cheaper than to stay 5 days in Delhi (which is fundamentally inaccurate, plus imagine Cécile driving in India between cows, crazy traffic, cars, bikes, buses, people, children, rickshaws, monkeys, the whole thing on the left side of the road). So say no, he says 8000 ruppies, we say no, he says 6000. We go out. He is very angry man…

Then a small elder man offers his help, he was working in a bank office and likes to help tourists during his lunch break. So he offers to take us to the real tourist office, because he is an old man, doesn’t commissions, he is honest and hates how bad guys take tourists around to cheat them. And he takes us after a very long walk aroung Connnaught Place to one Tourist  Information Centre. This went on and on, with one doctor, two or three bank workers… Until we reach by ourselves THE ONE AND ONLY TOURIST OFFICE OF DELHI. The man is so unfriendly at the desk that we know immediately, he really works for the government. The key is: to buy tickets you have to go on the first floor of the train station, there is a fake and big one next to the station, but it’s fake. The first floor is the holy place.

15.00 We sit in the holy place ! We have the ticket, we are off in the night to Haridwar. Goodbye Delhi, we are so happy to leave.

At the beginning there was ... no sleep

December 30th

00.49. The sun has set over Toulouse for a few hours. Perrine’s mother takes her to the plane, her sister comes along. A tear wants to come out but it’s better with a turned back.

Sleep about 3 hours

7.36. Paris, still night. Walking around, looking for a coffee.

10.00. Getting the visas. Enormously huge sigh of relief… Hello India

13.12. Train to Belfort

17.12 Arrival in Belfort.

20.00 Dinner, wine and cheese, baguette. Our farewell to French gastronomy.

21.00 Go to bed…

December 31st. The last day of 2011…

01.00 Good morning wake up, we go to Geneve Interrnational airport. Luckily, it is a snow storm night. Road is sleepery and Michel is tired. Cécile is talking to him a lot. Perrine listens to the radio on the back seat.

5.15 Geneva International airport. Switzerland seems clean and organized country. This stereotype doesn’t apply to the airport parking system.

5.30 Check in along many young fancy and cool swiss people speaking French who go to Stockholm to spend a great, unforgettable new year’s Eve in the capital of Scandinavia.

6.45 In the plane. Few turbulences. Perrine and Cécile sitting nex to each other in the same plane is not a good idea. To all it may concern, do not sit next to a flight scared person if you have a flight fright also. It may increase the level of fearat an interesting rate.

9.30 Stocholm. And Oh my God, it’s -5°C, and we have clothing for India in the bags. But it’s sunny.

11.00 First  coffee, we plan the trip in India. It might be about time. The cafe is only filled with men, drinking beer or coffee, listening to Football songs. One man explained to us that the cafe is actually closed, for a friends and football party. But we’re welcome to stay and « we should drink a beer. It’s the last day of the year. ». At the end, we got a free coffee.

15.00 Check in the ‘’internet hostel’’. There is no reception, a lot of young (and cool with a touch of fashion) people getting ready and waiting for the big time. We just get our bed and get out.

16.00 We step in the first cafe, didn’t know we would meet the angel of Stockholm. We order a beer. Perrine reads books, Cécile reads, writes, watches pictures… Normal European cafe life. Until… The angel – who is also the barman – comes with a plate of delicious French fries, a wide smile and sparkling eyes. It is on the house. Then every 10 minutes, he comes to check if we are ok. As Cécile lies down on the couch and closes hereyes, he comes with a blanket and protects her from catching a cold on the last day of 2011. As Cécile wakes up later, he brings two coffees, and milk. We were so touched, we left him a note on a photograph « To monsieur ». We pay and go. As he found a few seconds later, he ran after us to say that we forgot something. We told him from accross the street that i twas for him. He was touched, we were very touched, Happy New Year. 

Cecile and the blanket brought by the angel, Stockholm

22.00 Hostel. No angels around, no air either. But a bunch of 5 French fucking idiots. These guys thought they had something. They didn’t. No, actually stinky socks. Also in the room 3 beauties, who unfortunately missed midnight as they were still getting ready and more beautiful for the disco.

January 1s. HAPPY NEW YEAR

01.00 Nobody left in the hostel, we can sleep….

01.30 THE GUYS ARE BACK !!!!!!! They clubs didn’t let them in. How bad for us. But they had a lot of clever things to discuss in the room. So they party next to us. Happy new year.

10.00 Small eyes, good morning shower.

10.30 Out

11.00 Coffee in a lovely little cafe with old Swedish men. It slushes outside.

14.30 We go to the airport, decided to spend the rest of the day like if we were in a cottage next to a fire place, for a true Sunday atmosphere. And funilly enough we managed. We set up a sitting room, with coffee, pipari kakku and a bollywood movie. We felt like home. Mmh.

20.30 In the plane. Perrine and Cécile are scared and remember how it went the day before. But Swiss Airlines invented « Jocking around », a serie of amusing hidden camera. We almost weren’t scared anymore. To all it may concern, ask beforehand the plane company if they offer quality entertainment in the flight. 

22.45 Zurich. Welcome to sim’s city. It is clean, like swiss clean shining, absolutely humanless, and huge. The children area offers a very comfortable ground, planned for children not to get hurt in case of fall. It excellent for a night of sleep… Unfortunately the cleaning team is very active during the all night, equiped with advanced technologies.

Januray 2nd

07.00. We want a shower, but it costs 15 euros. So we spend the time going back and forth by train between the D and E Terminals, getting controled 4 times, loosing our jam on the way. To all it may concern, jam is not allowed in Swiss terminals.

12.45 Plane to New Delhi. Ok, we are not very proud, but overall quite okay. The entertainement is good, the red wine helps a lot and the staff keeps feeding us continuously. Full belly does not think nor fear. To all the dictator of the world : full stomachs form more obedient citizens.