Delhi to Rishikesh, Northern India

[Jan 24th '07]; 5:30am... "Alarm Ringing". Up. Showered. Dried and dressed. Bags together. Down the stairs. Out to street. Dark. Freezing. On to cycle rickshaw. 10 Rupees? Done. New Delhi Station. Indian man at station - "Which platform sir?". "No idea!". "Where you go?". "Rishikesh!". "Number 6 Sir". "Thank you!", "Good man!" - On to platform. On to train. 6am. Gone...





Our bags literally just off
our backs and having just
sat down, Claire fancied a
photo opportunity. Could I
be arsed? Em, no.




Q: After less than 3hrs sleep, a frantic last 45mins to catch our train, and a 6hr train ride ahead of us, what could possibly stop me from sleeping?
A: Annoying little Indian man sitting next to me, talking to me... the whole way.

Thats ok, I can pretend to nod off then actually do so, no?.... No!

"Excuse me friend, what is name?".
"Michael".
"Michael, friend, let me tell you about India...".
"hmm, really" {looking and sounding completely uninterested}
"India is very large country...almost one billion...".

And so it went on...





Sunrise over Delhi









A family sit, waiting for their train.
My Indian friend, sat next to me on
the train, informed me that this family
were likely on their way to find work, as
they sat with all that they owned - a few
bags, the clothes on their backs, and eachother.



We arrived at Haridwar Train Station around 12noon. Thankfully my little Indian companion had hopped off at the last stop, therefore allowing me a teasingly short 10min sleep. Tired and frustrated we left the train, out of the station and across the street to the bus station where we would catch our 1hr bus ride from Hell, to Rishikesh. Call me impatient if you will, I don't think I am. In fact, for the last year of my travelling, until this point, I honestly can't once remember losing my patience. Well now I found myself having to severely hold back from losing it.

Following the longest short walk of my life, from the train station to the bus station, through the crowds of persistent Indian rickshaw drivers, beggars, food sellers, guest house owners, and god knows what else, Claire and I boarded a bus which, in my current frame of mind, was near impossible to board.

Armed with a ridiculously big yellow raincoat which belongs to my eldest brother (He is 6ft 4". I am 5ft 7"), a 70litre rucksack, a small daysack, and my guitar (in its case), I made my way down the impossibly narrow isle, past the ogling Indian passengers, to the back of the bus where some other tourists sat. All the time my bags, bag straps, coat toggles, or the neck of my guitar, would catch behind a seat and force me back.

Due to the lack of space in the overhead compartments, the other tourists at the back had no choice but to dump their rucksacks on the floor in the isle. This meant climbing over them on to our seats, whilst the weight of our bags forced us this way and that....It was difficult!

As Claire and I sat on the bus - each on an isle seat opposite eachother - finally setlled, and having just survived the ordeal of getting on the bl*%dy thing...I noticed two young Indian guys on the seat directly in front of Claire, blatantly staring at her and whispering things to eachother. Like I needed wound up any more?

At the window seat beside Claire was an older Indian guy in a pretty bad way. He had been vomitting out of the window for the majority of the journey. The two young guys spoke to him in Hindi, and, as it would appear, were telling him to swap seats with one of the them so they could sit beside Claire.

I have no idea if they just couldn't sense me staring evil looks at them, or if they were simply ignoring me, but I was ready to punch one of them. As the poor old guy climbed over Claire, and the luggage in the isle, onto the seat in front, Claire moved over to the window and I swiftly onto her's.
Foiled, ya b!%t&rds!


This picture of an Indian public bus,
exactly like the one taken to Rishikesh,
is not my own. It was taken from the web,
and picture quality is poor, but it
demonstrates the mayhem involved
in boarding a bus in India.




The bus reached Rishikesh at last, but this time we waited until the bus was empty before we struggled back down the isle and out of the bus. We shared a rickshaw with a couple of Swedes and an Israeli, to the river. Claire and I crossed the Shivanand Jhula suspension bridge, over the River Ganges, and through the small tourist town of Laxman Jhula.






Shivanand Jhula suspension
bridge over the 'Holy River',
River Ganges.

We found a really nice Hotel, a little more upmarket than before, called The Raj. We had a hot shower, TV, and a balcony, all for 350Rps (approx £1.70 each). The only thing it really lacked was a heater or electric blanket. At night the temperature dropped to 0°C, quite possibly even below that. Claire and I had asked for maybe three or four extra blankets in addition to the two we already had, and we were still quivering underneath. The TV was a welcome addition though, as nightlife wasn't exactly a big attraction in Rishikesh. Almost everywhere is closed by 11pm.


Left: Claire standing outside our hotel.
Right: Lacking a warm hat of any kind,
I was forced to improvise. A measure
of how cold it got at night! I'm also
under about six blankets in this picture.