Rishikesh – part I
I wake up at 5 in the morning, sandwiched between Bruno and Sara in our lousy bed. After quietly packing up, we leave a sleeping Bruno and go to the train station, where the confusing system almost makes us panic. We eventually find the right train and have to kick a few people out of our seats, which doesn’t make us popular. Then again, tourists don’t seem to be popular in general. I feel like I haven’t seen other tourists around for ages – last time was in Jaisalmer, and then at the Retreat Ceremony at the border, where a soldier exclaimed “go this way, you’re VIP’s in India” (just needed to include that, because it made me happy).
The train ride is uneventful. We take short, uncomfortable naps, read on Sara’s Kindle, tell beggars to F off, and we squat over a hole that is supposed to be a toilet and pee. Someone actually took a dump and missed the hole, so we’re basically marinating a turd in pee. I want to puke just thinking about it, and I thought you guys would like to know what gross things I get to see everyday. You’re welcome.
7 hours later, the train is at its last stop, and it’s not Rishikesh like we asked our travel agent when he booked our ticket. We are Hadiwar, which I have never heard of, and therefore I can’t find it on a map either. Did we even take the right train? The information desk isn’t helpful at all, but luckily we meet a man who helps us in exchange for a picture of us with his family. He finds us a shared vikram, which I’d say fits 6 people, but somehow there’s always around 8 squeezed together. The driver asks for a 100 rupees to get to our hostel, but as an older couple board the vikram, he asks for another 50 to buy a seat for our backpacks. As we are in the middle of nowhere at this point, we agree. 10 minutes later, another guy gets on the vikram, and now the driver wants us to put out backpacks on the roof. The old Indian couple take our side, I assume, arguing with him in Hindi. I bet they are telling him that he can’t charge us for a seat if we aren’t allowed to use it. He gives in and continues driving, while Sara and I shyly smile at the couple. It’s kind of humilliating being treated like this, and it’s amazing that someone sees how unfair it is and helps out.
It takes like an hour just to reach Rishikesh, and we just sit in silence, completely squished by all the people sitting in the vikram. I see a few road signs with the words “Elephant crossing”, which makes me laugh. As a Northern, I can’t ever imagine an elephant just casually crossing the road. Ever.
In Rishikesh. our driver is being a pain in the asshole again. He wants to drop us off just at the main road, not the hostel. It will cost a 100 rupees extra if we want to be dropped off at the place we actually agreed on. We try to explain to him that it is an unacceptable way of conducting a business, all while we are squeezing a poor guy between us. We also take advantage of a young student who speaks great English, so we’re sure the driver understands us. We have no idea where the hostel is from the main road, but we’ve read that it’s quite the walk, and we’re not about to embark on a long hike in this heat with this luggage. We are dropped off at the hostel and I hand him 200 rupees because I don’t have a 50, but now he wants 200 more – a total of 400 rupees. No fucking way. I curse at him loudly and start walking up the hill to our hostel – that’s right, he still didn’t drop us off at the exact place we agreed on. He gives me my money back in anger and leaves, then suddenly comes back and asks for them again. While I am blowing up in front of a group of young locals, I give him the 200 and ask him to leave immediately.
By then it is 4 in the afternoon, so our day is pretty much over. We decide to postpone the sightseeing and just chill at the hostel restaurant, where a banana split means deep-fried banana with nutella. Then the power goes out, and we read 50 Shades of Gay on Sara’s Kindle. The end.