Delhi

Cathy receiving warm hair oil. Very relaxing.


We had a week in Rishikesh while Cathy had some daily massages followed in the evening by some training with a professional masseur. The warm oil pouring from a suspended pot, swinging from side to side over the hairline she said was particularly relaxing. The oil kept on being recycled, and Cathy said she went into an unusually deep relaxation state. On the 2nd day of this, I went and photographed the setup. Since money takes precedence over everything in India, the hapless patients had to get their drips etc out in the narrow passageway. The only sour note was that when she went to pay, the erstwhile Doctor Singh upped the price from what he quoted by 2 and a half times. Not this little black duck. I placed the agreed sum (about double the fee at a proper Thai massage school which provides many more hours training) in an envelope, wrote on it the actual quote, the amount of service actually provided, and the amount of the contents and marched down to his rooms where the evening training took place. He obliged without demur - which to me was an acknowledgment of his own wrongdoing. India is just full of cheats and liars who are eager to fleece anyone but particularly foreigners, and they are usually quite skilled and experienced at it.
Be that as it may, we left the lovely Ganga river at Rishikesh and headed down here to the May Heat. It had been quite cool with unseasonal rains, but that is now a memory as the thermometer rises. According to the web, it is 39 today and "feels like 45", which it does. We have been utilising the new Delhi Metro - a clean modern underground rail line. This morning we went to Old Delhi and the enormous Red Fort. Before the British destroyed most of the interior after the 1857 Mutiny, it had been described as the most magnificent palace in the world. Even what is left is pretty amazing, although left to crumble and decay in a typically Indian manner.
As I write Cathy is on her way to the domestic airport to fly to Kolkata en route to Thailand, so there might be 2 bloggers writing here over the next few weeks. I'm off to catch up with an old friend from Melbourne who now lives at Ujjain, where it may be hotter than here, on my way back south.

Back at Gangotri

Nomi Giri Naga baba with Alan on bamboo pole. Ouch.












Cathy with the sadhu at his campfire.





The walk down was quick and relatively easy. A large Tibetan type dog which was extremely friendly, decided he would accompany us all the way. Every now and then he would cock his head to the side and I'd search the ground to see what he was hearing or smelling - one time it just turned out to be an aging carcass of a blue sheep; another he took off into a shrub covered hillside above, and whatever he was chasing (in the wrong direction it turned out) loosened some rocks right above us. I happened to be looking right at that spot and just managed to get us both out of the way before a large one came hurtling down right where we had been.
We met some friends from our earlier stay at Gangotri (who didn't have permits), and they managed to get into the park by paying some baksheesh. We settled back into our old room at the Sri Krishna ashram run by a friendly swami who makes (free) tea for anyone who sits down on a chair for more than 30 seconds. Next day we bought some food supplies and headed up the river to visit the Naga sadhu previously mentioned.
He had made chappatis for us and they were waiting and ready. We had also arranged to bring the camera to repeat the photo that I had taken years earlier and which had been stolen. At that time he walked over to the river with his companion - "chela" is somewhere between disciple and servant in many cases I think. Anyway, he had a bamboo staff, and a bag of vibhuti ash: he covered part of the pole with the ash, then removed all his clothes and covered his penis with ash before tightly rolling the penis around the staff. One end of the staff was then pulled behind one leg followed by the other leg so everything was tightly pulled behind him - then his partner climbed on to the pole and stood, and I took the photo.
This time there was a slight difference. He covered his whole body with water then ash, and I climbed onto the pole as Cathy took the photos.
We took some other photos as he posed on one leg while pouring water from his Kamandulu (brass water pot) that he wanted. Then went back to the campfire and had lunch. He also showed Cathy some massage techniques which she found very interesting (like skin rolling along the spine and lifting the body off the table with it). A different day.
In the town we happened to meet up with an English guy and an American who wanted to go down to Uttarkashi to get a permit, so we 4 hired a taxi to get down the next morning. Most hotels were full so we jumped into another jeep and went for another 6 hours and were exhausted upon arrival at Rishikesh. Cathy's ayurvedic massage experience was about to start.

Gaumukh contd.

Looking at the retreating Gangotri glacier from a sadhu's shrine to Shiva. The peaks at the rear are named after the Hindu Trinity.



After spending some time acclimatising to the altitude and the change in temperature we were ready to start walking. Gaumukh is 18kms along a well defined trail and another 1000 metres higher: our destination for the day is a small ashram 14kms along at Bhojbasa. Bhoj means birch, and the small vale was once covered with the trees which are long gone, except where humans can't access them across the river. Anyway, after a short distance from Gangotri we reached the gate of the national park armed with our permits. The fee for 2 days for Indians is Rs50, for "foreigners" is Rs350. The word Indian in this case, as is the case at all tourist areas like the Taj Mahal or the Mysore palace, does not actually mean a native of India at all. For example, the NZ cricketer Jeetan Patel would not be charged as a foreigner; a 5th generation Fijian of Indian racial background would not be charged as a foreigner; likewise a South African or my Sri Lankan Tamil friends from Melbourne for that matter. Rascism in India oozes from the entrenched discrimination of the caste system like pus from a wound; effortlessly and easily, and they can't see it. A certain incident on the Australian cricket field comes to mind. If the boot was on the other foot, they would be complaining the loudest.
Supposedly, this rule is because the "foreigners" have the most money. Ha! The foreigners who can get up there are the intrepid budget backpackers who stay in the Rs200 hotels - the Rs3000 (and much more) hotels are invariably occupied by the nouvea riche Indians - and there are plenty of them. There is a bigger cashed up middle class here than the entire population of the US. Just look at the $us50 million the IPL cricket spends. So on we walked along a stunningly beautiful trail, past small glaciers, through varying forest cover as the sun rose over the high peaks. Around each corner there was yet another massive snow peak looming.
There used to be five small temporary "dhabas" - a place to get a cup of tea or fresh paratha (an unleavened bread, folded and layered with butter like a croissant, then fried and served with pickle) or other snacks. In fact I had been relying on one to have some breakfast, but they have been banned this year. Now there are skeletal remains, detritus and rubbish lying around. They had bins by them, but they were no longer emptied except by the stiff Himalayan winds which spread the rubbish far and wide. An article about the new permit system in the newspaper after we returned said that "a slew of measures were put in place to limit garbage"; what a joke. The opposite is true, and now people carry their own food in wrapping and containers that they chuck anywhere and everywhere. It needs to be understood in the context that India is THE most garbage-strewn country in the world: Indians drop litter anywhere and do so without a second thought. Trains supply meals in foil dishes, plastic etc, and provide no bins so it all goes out the window making Indian rail tracks the longest garbage dumps in the world. There are 1.2 billion people dropping rubbish more than once daily...everywhere.
So we arrived up at Bhojbasa and the little ashram up there provided a simple dal and rice lunch (and very good evening meal). We were followed up the trail by a group of about 100 Tamils with their old guru. Some of them reached Bhojbasa, a few went on to Gaumukh 4kms further, but most didn't quite make it and turned back earlier. They brought their own lunches with them - all identical in foil containers with lids, a foil coated paperplate and pink plastic bags. When they finished, they just hoicked their rubbish over the ashram wall. I asked the well-educated Tamil next to me what he intended to do with his foil and plastic. He was just dumbfounded by such a question - it was literally something he had never given a thought to, and asked me why I asked. I told him that in most countries, people take all their rubbish out of the national parks and leave only footprints. He just couldn't grasp it. It rained most of the afternoon, and about 150m above us was fresh snow on the hillsides. Next day we walked on up to the big Gangotri glacier, from which springs the fully formed river Ganga as a raging torrent. We saw where the other Tamils had lunch in this otherwise pristine place. The scenery is utterly breathtaking, the higher you walk, the higher the mountains around the corner become. We heard the cry of what we thought was an eagle, Cathy looked up and spotted a mammal slinking along a ridge with fluid movements. We saw a flock of Himalayan "blue sheep" high above, and on the trail noticed some interesting scats; a couple of large ones full of fur, suggesting a leopard or wolf; another I thought may have been a bear. We also saw a small tailless rat - a vole I imagine. After a second comfortable night up there it was an easy stroll back down to Gangotri.

Gaumukh Pt2 - Indian bureacracy, rascism & garbage.

Pilgrims bathe in the Ganga below the Ganga Ma temple at Gangotri.









Sadhus call in for tea at the Gangotri ashram. Hot tea was available all day.



We arrived at the Forest Office at 10:00am when it was due to open according to the sign. It was set amongst forest, a couple of kms along the main road to Gangotri, then taking 2 turnoffs up into hilly country. All signs are in Hindi of course. A Russian woman was waiting there before us for her permit, and a surprisingly large number of people milled about, some in uniform and some not. A low-in-the-pecking-order employee opened most of the doors but no-one seemed to take up any posts for some time and it was difficult to figure who was actually employed there, and of those who was going to actually do something. Eventually our lad arrived who could not speak or understand any passable English - about as much as my Hindi which is negligible and good only for chai shops; but we worked out (with the help of the taxi driver's English) that we had to Apply For Permission to enter the Gangotri National Park in order to get to Gaumukh. The walk is 18kms from Gangotri and the park gate about 1km from town. So..."can we have an application form?" There isn't one. Oh. So I made up an applicatiom form with the usual passport and visa numbers etc. It looked official. A couple of Canadian girls and a Korean arrived down from Gangotri - they had caught the 6am bus all the way back after being turned from the gate the previous day. Making up a form isn't too hard for a native English speaker, but the Russian and Korean just had to follow along.
The next step was to fax it to Dehra Dun. ...well not quite. We thought that was happening, but and hour and a half later we discovered that the forms had to be signed off by the local chief, and he was just too busy...drinking tea and reading the paper or whatever. Being rather unimpressed by this I demanded to see the head man and was promptly ushered into an underling's office. Oh yeah? I then marched with rising blood pressure into the Big Office, followed by an angry Russian. It was a big flash office, with lots of new furniture and paintwork, 10 lights burning, obligatory pictures of Gandhi etc, but no boss. I followed a protesting lacky out through another door and buttonholed the boss out the back. "Government work takes time" he pathetically protested. "Inconvenience regretted" he spluttered. I was on a roll. He then tried to explain his tardiness by saying that actually they are trying to discourage tourists from wanting the permits. Aha, so inconvenience is deliberate? Not acceptable. It went on for some time while he squirmed and signed the forms and in a couple of minutes we were off. The Canadians shared our taxi back to Gangotri and the drive further into the greatest mountain range on Earth began. For 25kms the road is being worked on - a very rough gravel one lane track. For the rest it is a mostly sealed one lane track. There are so many vehicles that several times a bus or jeep has to reverse up to allow a bus room to get around a corner or to pass by - the road has no shoulder and the drops are thousands of feet straight down. Landslips keep on eating away the edge so the roads have to be dug back into the hillside continually. The views are pretty stunning, and the changing forest cover interesting to both of us. We arrived at the pretty little town by late afternoon. It is perched on the side of a very steep valley, with steep sides that reminded Cathy of Fiordland, but with Himalayan scale. The lower reaches covered by forest of pine and deodar. All vehicles have to stop before the town as there are no roads for them (aaah, sweet release from filthy diesel and relentlessly tooting horns). It was cold - probably a good deal colder than Hawkes Bay or even Melbourne at this time of year, and it took some adjusting, as well as to the altitude of 3000 metres. We stayed at a little ashram I knew in the town and had a comfortable but simple room. Most of the foreigners there learned only about the permit after arriving and most decided to by-pass the gate one way or another.
Next day we went for a walk to visit an old friend - a Naga baba who has lived in a cave on the bank of the river 1500m upstream from the town for about 10 years. Nagas are the sometimes fierce sect of naked ash covered sadhus who are utterly fearless. (In the cold he is always clothed though). I took his photo 4 years ago (which Phil Cottingham was able to deliver to him a few weeks later) and he gave me a big hug and told me how he had gone to the plains with his shoulder bag containing his loved photos and not much else. He was using it as a pillow when it was stolen from underneath his head. That's India for you. He asked me to take some more photos, which I did upon our return from Gaumukh.
I'll have to continue this yarn tomorrow - I've had a couple of days in bed with a bug, but am on the improve. Tomorrow is our last full day here before heading to Delhi. It is also Cathy's last day of masssage treatment and lessons - more on that too. I'll keep you posted. Another heavy storm today and an unusually cool May. Lucky.

Trip to Gaumukh

The road to Gangotri is sometimes carved from rock and the drops are precipitous for thousands of feet.




Well, the newspaper taxi seemed like a good idea. We arrived at the newspaper stand at the appointed 5am and indeed the jeep pulled in and added us to the already squeezed in crowd. Then picked up a few more, one of whom had more luggage to go on the roof than all the rest put together which made it quite top-heavy. The driver, who had spent a lot of time on his mobile phone, then handed over to the actual driver who was sound alseep when thrown into the driver's seat. He looked to me like he had had a hard night on the whisky and no sleep. Thinking that we were set to go, the jeep then headed straight across the road to the tyre repair "workshop". They decided to fix the spare. I counted about 10 patches on one side of the bulging tube, the tyre itself looked like it had been ground down on an angle grinder so the metal was poking out, and it had a large hole - but, hey, it was "only" the spare. Then they repaired the back rear tube. It was better but still had a few patches. An hour late, we headed up into the mountains. At first the road was excellent, and as soon as the jeep reached 50kmh the steering wheel shuddered so violently he could hardly hold it on the road, but luckily the road is so windy and speeds so slow that that was rarely a problem. The driver yawned once too often and I remonstrated as did other passengers and he stopped for water to freshen up. We arrived at Uttarkashi 6 or so hours later and decided that we had had enough mountain roads for one day, found a hotel and went straight to sleep.
In the afternoon we wandered about the town and checked out the jeep taxi stand for the next day's journey. A driver suggested we start around 6am for Gangotri. A stroll down a side road found the government Tourist Bungalow, and having never stayed in one was curious to know the costs. Serendipity. As soon as we walked in we saw a notice on the wall to the effect that all tourists and pilgrims who want to walk from Gangotri to Gaumukh now have to have a permit, which is issued only from Uttarkashi Forest Office or the headquarters at Dehra Dun which opens at 10am. We returned to the taxi driver and had no choice but to hire a jeep for just ourselves, at considerable extra cost. That done, he picked us up at the hotel in a brand new jeep with new tyres (!) and drove us to the Forest Office.
...to be contd.

Last post for a week

The old Hardwar chai walla is over 90 and nearly totally blind; but he makes a great chai.




We have arranged to go in the jeep that takes newspapers up the road to the town of Uttarkashi, starting early tomorrow morning. We will overnight there or a little further up the road at Ganganani. Once we arrive at Gangotri, there is no electricity, no internet or banks and most importantly no wheeled vehicles in the town. We hope to spend a week up there and if the weather permits, take a walk up to the source of the Ganga a further 18kms on at Gaumukh, which is slightly over 4000 metres and well above tree line.

Picnic by the Ganga

Our picnic spot on a little patch of beach by the Ganga well away from people.



I failed to mention the most peaceful part of the journey to Hardwar, and that was a too-short visit to the ashram of the great woman saint Shree Anandamayee Ma. It is one of the most peaceful and powerful places in all of India. I was lucky enough to see her before she died in the 80's, and her presence can still be felt there. While at Dehra Dun, which by all apppearances has little to recommend it, we went out to the Buddhist Sakya centre. The autorickshaw drivers seemed to think we said "police" when we said "Buddhist", but luckily Cathy had seen a Sai Baba temple on a map next door so that was the way we eventually made it there. It is the parent organisation of the SIBA (Sakya International Buddhist Academy) centre in East Gippsland, but the monk in the office hadn't heard of SIBA. It was a pretty underwhelming visit actually, but only a few hundred metres down the same road was the ashram of the yogi I had been wanting to see (Sri Shivarudrabalayogi); the one who is visiting Australia at present. We called in there anyway, and had a chat with a lovely young man at the office, and the whole place had a beautiful energy. I'd very much like to return there one day. I believe he is the real deal. There are hundreds of wannabees around here, but real ones are rare.
Today we went up the road for 20kms to a cave called Vashishta Guha which had been occupied for many years by an old sadhu. Quite deep into the hill it was quiet, cool and peaceful. We walked up along the sandy beach to a perfect spot for a picnic lunch - we had brought a loaf of wholemeal brown bread we found and tomatoes cucumber and bananas - a feast. A few refreshing dips in the river and it was time to get back to the waiting taxi up on the road. The river was surrounded by steeply rising hills and forest, and apart from the occasional inflatable raft coming downstream, it was a delightful respite from swarms of people, diesel fumes and tooting horns. The Accuweather website predicts 46 degrees for Hardwar on Wed so we will head up into the mountains.

Dehra Dun

Visiting the Sakya Buddhist monastery at Dehra Dun.


A few days ago we went to visit Dr Singh in Rishikesh who treated me for rabies 2 years ago after I was bitten on the back of the leg by a dog - it must have worked! Rabies is 100% fatal if the virus get into the bloodstream and 20,000 die from it in India ever year. Anyway, Dr Singh is genial company and not only highly respected in the medical community, but also in the indigenous Ayurvedic medicine system. (We also have some of his delicious Himalayan herbal tea on our shelf at home.) The unexpected upshot of the visit is that Cathy will be doing some classes in traditional ayurvedic massage techniques before she flies to Thailand, probably for a week.
Although the weather hs been over 40 every day, we have been having a swim in the great river Ganga every afternoon - there is nothing more refreshing. We go upstream a little to a small sandy beach surrounded by large rocks. Dotted around the rocks are huts occupied by sadhus - we saw one fellow with his matted dreadlocks (Sanskrit name is Jhata) about 2 metres long. He was sitting at a high spot with his hair tumbling down over the edge. We took the camera the following day but he wasn't there. The water is so cold it is not possible to stay in for long, so we take brief dips.
We temporarily left Rishikesh (and left most of our albeit light luggage there) for a short journey. Nearby Hardwar is one of the Hindu holy cities (and thus a vegetarian town) and marks the point where the Ganga leaves the mountains and reaches the Plains of India. At that spot there is a spectacular ceremony of lights every evening at dusk. Imagine a huge stadium full of people supporting the same team, making lots of noise, putting little leaf boats full of flowers and a burning oil lamp into the water to float down the river, banging gongs, chanting...except there were a lot more people than any stadium would hold. Hardwar is also one of those magnets for sadhus; hundreds if not thousands of wild looking men with matted hair carrying all they own, particularly a brass water pot and a staff.
From Hardwar we have come to Dehra Dun, the provincial capital of this newly formed state of Uttaranchal (which goes from here up to the border with Tibet). My initial interest in coming here was to visit a yogi whose late Guru I met years ago in Bangalore. He had meditated for 23 and a half hours a day for 12 years to the day - his successor did likewise for 7 years; but just before we set off we discovered he is in Australia! This place is also the headquarters of the Sakya branch of Tibetan Buddhism, so a visit there is proposed for tomorrow. We checked the weather up in the mountains from here and it is supposed to be minus 5 at night with possible snow and sleet. Hmmmm.

Ram Jhula

Cathy had some Mehendi - henna tattoos - done at Rishikesh.



Aaaah, it is so good to be back by the Ganga at Rishikesh; aaagh it is SO hot! Although not as hot as Varanasi, the mercury is hovering around 40 degrees every day. Curiously the river here is much wider and deeper and very much faster flowing that downstream at Varanasi. The first time I ever encountered this river was nearly 30 years ago - I arrived late in the day hot and exhausted, took a hotel near the river at Hardwar and headed down to the nearby steps leading to the water. I sat on the steps with my feet in the freezing water when two things happened unexpectedly. Firstly it was like being in the presence of a real saint - it was like having been meditating for months - a profoundly deep peace that was unshakable just enveloped me. The second thing was that a cow or bull went berserk and decided to gore anyone within reach; people screamed, jumped out of their sandals and ran as fast as they could. Well, everyone but me. I sat like a witness to the play when the animal turned toward me and started walking slowly with head (and horns) down. The Peace didn't alter, the animal turned a few feet from me and chased the others watching from the bridge. I had met Ganga, the goddess of the River and knew that this was not like other rivers.
Rishikesh here is 24kms upstream, and where we are at Ram Jhula (formerly known as Muni-ki-Reti) is 5kms up from the town and is the world center for yoga. Develpment has gone on apace over the years but the river is always the same. Cathy and I take a swim each afternoon for only a few minutes as the water is frozen snow and very fast moving so it doesn't have a chance to warm up. Our hotel overlooks a mango grove away from the noise of the bazaar, and backs on to forest. I lived in that forest years ago (there were no hotels then), and when we went up there yesterday we could hear the wild peacocks that are still there. Rishikesh is the "yoga capital" of the world and that's a fair claim to make. There are dozens of yoga classes or courses somewhere. In fact our hotel has a yoga room and classes there for a couple of hours each morning.
This place also has the best chai in India at a grubby little shop you wouldn't look at twice, and they also make the unspeakably delicious deep fried spiced apple samosas. Well, we are doing some yoga now to make up for it, although I think the samosas are winning.

The ancient city of Shiva

Seeing Varanasi by boat at dawn is popular with westerners, and for good reason. It is also very still and peaceful for a city with some of the worst traffic in India.


We jeeped down from the hills with occasionally showery weather in a share taxi. A little sad to leave the hills. I must say that it was an honour and priveledge to accompany Cathy on this quest to reconnect with auntie Grace's history in the region. It certainly opened doors I could never otherwise have imagined.
The Mahananda Express was due an hour or so after we got to New Jalpaiguri station, so we enjoyed a hearty breakfast at the station and rode in air conditioned comfort through the day and overnight to Varanasi (also known as Benares or Kashi, the oldest continually inhabited city on Earth). Comfort compared to sleeper class anyway - it was still the warmest night we have had for weeks. The a/c doesn't have the usual procession of beggars that sleeper class does, although some eunuchs came through for alms. They have a curious cultural role in Indian society. The train was due in at 3:20am so after rising early the train was 2 hours late. Still it was no major hassle and we arrived at a pleasant enough guest house not far from the river (THE river - the mighty and sacred Ganga). We took a tour this morning with the hotel owner to a few temples including one of the oldest in Varanasi, which was attacked by terrorist bombers a couple of years ago. We deliberately only arranged to stay one night here due to the heat - May anywhere on the North Indian plains is hot, but here is the epicentre. It is around 45 today and the power is off at the hotel so no fan. In the relative cool of the evening we will go to the bathing ghats at the river and a dawn foray is planned there with camera tomorrow morning before catching the train onward to Hardwar.
I remember reading a book by Paul Brunton who was an English journalist who travelled through India in the 30s looking for yogis and holy men. Here at Varanasi he saw old people lined up at the river looking at him in a way he felt disconcerting. He mentioned it to his driver, who said that they felt pity for him. The wealthy sahib was shocked at such a suggestion, but was then told that these people will attain Liberation by dying at Varanasi and then consigned to the Ganga, but as an Englishman he has no hope of such Grace.