Gomukh: India

I have no idea where to begin my story of India.  My thoughts are as abstract as the course we took and the way we traveled.  Not that it was anything out of the ordinary.  If there is such thing as ordinary travels in India.  I guess you could say there was no symmetry to our travels.  It was a smattering of means and modes across the Northern chunk of India.  We hired expensive drivers and we hitched on cheap buses.  We stayed in reasonable 5 star hotels and then "splurged" for a bigger room in a $5 or 200 INR hostel.  It was a learning experience, each and every day.  We learned as much about each other as we did about this incredible ancient civilization thriving in the modern emerging world.  I hope in the end it changed us.  Not in the usual neo-new age metaphysical ashram kind of way, but for what we expect from the world.  What is out there beyond our spiritual borders. And how deep the abyss of culture really goes.

I guess every spiritual journey (and I use that term mockingly) should begin from the source.  Gomukh, or Mother Gomukh as we also heard it called, is the sources of the famous Ganges River, or River Ganga.  The Ganges is the holiest of holies for Hindu's, and the glacier from which the Ganges comes, Gangotri Glacier is equally as holy.  Called Gomukh, or mothers milk, named after a cave just below the Gangotri Glacier from which the Ganges spews.  How we got here is a whole other story I will only paraphrase in this posting.  Essentially after two warm days in Rishikesh we hopped two jeeps North, avoided and crossed several landslides, spent the night in Uttar Kashi, then hopped one more jeep arriving in the holy city of Gangotri.  This tiny seasonal village is home to Sadhus and tourists, along with all the basic amenities you need before embarking upon a holy pilgrimage.

From Gangotri pilgrims adorned in orange, mostly males, walked 18km into the Himalayas.  Stopping briefly at the small camp Bhojbasa before reaching Gomukh.  All Hindu's take a ritual bath in the icy glacier river, fill a small container with holy water, then begin a long walk home.  Yes, I said home.  From here pilgrims make two choices.  One, walk back to Rishikesh, about 400km away.  Stick around for a couple Pujas (holy religious services at rivers edge) then head home.  Or, two, walk all the way home, usually someplace in Northern India, vicinity Delhi or the state of Uttar Pradesh, usually hundreds more kilometers away.  I was astounded by the gear these pilgrims are outfitted with.  Sporting the latest Adidas fashion in orange with nothing more than flip flops on their feet.  They walk down the steep, muddy, treacherous roads of the Himalaya.  That's dedication.

After four days our time in Gangotri came to and end.  We again hop scotched back down through the Himalayas via jeep and bus, finally ending up at the gorgeous hill station of Mussoorie.  But that's another story.

Rishikesh

I sat cross legged, entranced by the repetitive rhythms of the tabla drum.  Behind me the Ganges River rushed by.  Gretchen sat beside me, staring into the quickly dimming night sky.  We were at a nightly puja, in one of the many ashrams of Rishikesh.  If this city sounds familiar it means you’re a Beatles fan, particularly the era from Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band (one of my own personal favorites after the mighty White Album). 

Anyway, I should probably backtrack a bit, keeping these travelogues in sequence.   The last 24 hours had become quite a blur.  I will try and summarize quickly, but without missing the wonderful details.  We left Rajasthan and crossed through the incredibly populated state of Harayana and back into Delhi.  Our driver insisted on stopping for several road sodas, both before and after crossing the border into Harayana.  There was also a brief humbling layover at KP's (our driver) house.  We felt honored to meet his family.  His family of four occupies one bedroom, roughly 8x12ft in size, with one bed.  The kitchen is smaller then most Americans spare bedroom closet.  Nearly all of his life earnings go into paying for his two sons schooling.  In India schools aren’t really public, not in the free education we Americans are used to.  Even with some tuition subsidies, parents must still pay a large portion of entrance fees, grade level fees, purchase uniforms, and rent textbooks.  It all adds up, and leads to many children not getting beyond school after age 12 or 13.  At the rate which India is emerging and prospering in the world, they drastically need to improve education standards.  That was a bit of a tangent.  You can see education is becoming near and dear to my heart. 

We spent nearly two hours sitting in KP’s apartment.  His niece stopped to visit along with a couple other extended family members living nearby.  I got the impression he doesn’t always bring “work" home, so we were humbled by this experience.  It was a great way to share our own life in Alaska with them.  Gretchen's iPod had just enough battery life remaining to show a few pictures of our own home.  After a couple more beers, I got the impression we had over stayed our welcome, and insisted it was time to head to the train station.  I could tell from Mrs. KP, it was time for us to go.  Without sounding chauvinist, a lot of wives have similar body language in certain situations.  She began getting a little irritable with Mr. KP, and despite not understanding a word of Hindi, I could tell by the tone of her voice, and fast rate she was talking- we needed to leave.  More than anything, after being gone two weeks, I’m sure she just wanted some alone time.

From the suburbs of Delhi, we were delivered in the heart of the city at the train station.  After being led around India since our arrival for two weeks, we were on our own.  I was given strict orders not to talk to sneaky strangers at the train station.  I was also told catching trains from Delhi was easy.  One of these facts was true, the other a complete farce.  Over the course of three hours Gretchen and I beat ourselves up trying to figure out how the hell to get out of Delhi.  We had tickets.  Unfortunately we arrived after the special tourist depot office in the visitors center had closed.  I will spare the gory details for the sake of my own prudence.  But lets just say it included a lot of frustration, a couple unnecessary taxi rides back and forth between various train stations, a quick tour of the new subway system, and finally a leap of faith getting on what we believed to be “our train”.  

Upon finding our correct train car, and bunks, we nestled in for the 8 hour ride into the Himalayan foothills.  Like I mentioned before, our first two weeks were totally planned for us.  We didn’t have to worry about what hotels to stay in, or how we were getting from place to place.  KP knew all the best restaurants, and what times were best to visit palaces and museums.  So when we arrived in Haridwar at 4am we again had to figure things out.  Using my Rough Guide and map reading skills, we stumbled out of the train station and into the bus station.  Now, if catching a train was confusing, finding a bus was ten times harder.  After pacing back and forth around the Haridwar bus station for nearly three hours, we found our ride.  Rishikesh is only a 30 minute drive north from Haridwar.  Due to the rugged terrain travel at this point is only done by Car, Bus, or Jeep.  Some rickshaws can putter through the steep streets slowly.

Rishikesh is famous for local Hindu pilgrimages, many ashrams, of course the Beatles, and now Yoga.  It is also the launching point for a lot of trekking and rafting in the Himalaya.  

Rishikesh is separated by the roaring Ganges River.  After snaking through the foothills of the Himalaya, here it finally widens significantly before branching out across the Indian sub-continent to the sea.  We found a nice backpackers hotel across the river, foot traffic only.

Afternoon rains were common in this region.  The quick showers usually brought a nice drop in hot humid temperatures.

We spent a little less than two days in Rishikesh.  There weren’t real tourist sights to see.  Most of the temples were packed with people worshipping, not sight seeing.  But there was plenty of paths to walk  and alleys to explore.  We went to the evening pujas along the river, and met interesting people in the European coffee cafes.  Hearing the mountains calling, it was time to refit, and begin the second phase of our trip- the Himalaya.

Rajasthan Part 9: Bikaner & Mandawa

After leaving the desert city of Jaislmer we headed back across the Thar Desert and into the north eastern corner of Rajasthan.  After crossing the desolate desert we once again we were welcomed by a more humid sub-tropical environment.  Grass grew in the highway median, more cows grazed along the shrubbery on the shoulders, and trees began popping up in the distance.  Just outside our destination of Mandawa, we encountered signs of the Summer monsoons.  Massive puddles covered the entire roadway.  We had to slow our travel speed in order to cross these miniature lakes.   

Mandawa, a small town is famous for one thing- Haveli’s.  Haveli’s are essentially extremely decorated houses, sometimes mansions, with a ornamental decoration specific to that area.  In Jaislmer the havelis were intricate carvings in the sand stone.  In Mandawa, they were colorful paintings covering walls, pillars, and beams.  Both inside and outside the structures.

These buildings are often called “Heritage Houses”.  Referring to the Raj heritage of ornamentally decorating higher caste houses.  Some of the heritage houses,  those over 200 years old have been taken over by the Indian government and fully funded for restoration.  Others have been passed down through generations of wealthy families that pay for upkeep and maintenance.  While sadly many have become derelict, their paintings all but eroded or rubbed away.  

The decorative murals cover a range of themes.  Some represent key events in India’s history.  Most have multiple religious symbols or figures.  One more recent Haveli had murals representing important technological wonders, such as the airplane and train.

I really liked Mandawa.  Though it was pretty far off the beaten path, I think we unofficially became lost several times to find it.  I don’t speak hindi, but I’m pretty sure our driver had to ask for directions at least 7 times.  Mandawa was a fairly small town, we walked almost completely around it in less than an hour.  

After two weeks in India I decided I need some sandals. While packing for the trip Gretchen tricked me into not bringing any open toed shoes.  After the first day I disgustingly noticed she herself was wearing Chaco sandals, while I was sweating in my trail shoes.  Hoping for the best I shopped around and finally found this leather sandal shop in Mandawa.  As long as you didn’t mind footwear made from sheep leather, cow leather, pig leather, goat leather, dog leather, rat leather, or any other kind of leather they had great selection!

I tried my best to figure out the sport of Cricket.  We never went to an official match, but observed several local pick-up games.  After reading my Rough Guide discussion I Cricket I still didn’t comprehend the sport.  So we spent about an hour at a Mandawa park watching these school boys play.  I should have filmed the entire experience.  Several friendly English speaking boys came over and pieced together various aspects of the game.

Visiting Bikaner was back to the big city.  This marked almost two weeks wandering around Rajasthan with a driver.  At this point we were a little tired of massive Raj palaces, big cities, and crazy driving.

The highlight of Bikaner was torrential monsoon rains.  This was our first experience actually being in these downpours.  The hotel power flickered as the storm passed through the city.  Low spots in the floor became puddles, then lakes.  Our hotel open air lobby had various water falls coming off the roof.

Within an hour the monsoon rain passed.  We went for a short walk and things quickly seemed back to normal.  Some puddles remained, but most of water drained into ditches and irrigation channels.  The street lights left a nice reflective glow on the wet shiny surfaces.

We have no regrets spending two weeks in Rajasthan.  Though it wasn’t part of our original itinerary, I’m glad we added the excursion.  There are several places I would visit again as previously mentioned in this blog.  There are also a couple places I’m happy not going back to, eluding that I will go back to India again at all.  Surrounding the countryside near Mandawa are several other neat towns and villages. I really enjoyed spending time in these off the beaten path places.  I would certainly have liked to spend more time getting to know people here and exploring.  Most of them would be harder to access by train or bus.  Having a driver helps, if they know their way around, as many of the city drivers I feel do not.  I think the most exciting way to visit this area would be by motorcycle or bicycle.  This part of Rajasthan is only 3-5 hours from Delhi.  It seemed very safe, though most people don’t speak English outside the big cities, I’m sure you could still make your way around.  The occasional detour or dead end would only lead to the fun of exploration and discovery.

Rajasthan Part 8: Jaislmer

Leaving Jodhpur, we raced further into the Thar Desert.  On the Western most corner of Rajasthan lies an oasis, Jaislmer.  Approaching city limits the first thing you see is miles and miles of military compound.  We were roughly 50 kilometers from the Pakistan border.  Rumor has it this area was littered with dozens of tank Battalions and Air Force fighter wings.  Just before reaching the city walls our driver took a hard left and headed South.  Before entering the city, his plan was for us to spend a night in the real desert.  Our destination, the tiny village of Khuri.  I guess expressing our interest once in villages, turned into multiple village excursions.  This time it was for a camel safari.  

Originally we planned to ride camels out into the desert, bringing a camel entourage in order to spend the night sleeping in the dunes.  As we arrived it was obvious sand storms were kicking up in the distance.  So we opted for a short sunset ride about thirty minutes out of town.

Gretchen and I agreed, despite the uniqueness of the experience, camels were one of the most painful methods of travel in our entire life.  I would have rather walked across the broiling, baking, sandy desert then ride that stupid camel.  I actually had scars on my butt for weeks, months afterward.  The saddle is leather as hard as a rock.  The driver actually shares the saddle sitting behind you.  All you have to do is hold on, which is much harder then it sounds.  Through a series of clicks, burps, and commands the driver brings the camel up from a gallop to an all out sprint through shifting sand.  

Despite this serene photograph, Grechen actually got spit on by her camel.  Much like the Disney Aladdin cartoons, they do spit, and they are mean.  My camel seemed like he should have stayed in bed, acting severly sick.  At one point he vomited, then tried to bite me.  Watching them sit down and stand up is actually kind of fun.  First the front of the animal drops suddenly forward as you feel liking being thrown over the handlebars.  Then the rear end flops down.  After which my camel tried to roll over squishing me underneath.  I had to launch myself off in the opposite direction.  Then was to afraid I would be attacked to go back and grab my water bottle.  Luckily an hour later he seemed more relaxed and allowed me to easily mount up for our ride back home.

Yet it was still an amazing experience.  We rode out into the dunes.  Sat and watched the sunset for about an hour, then had an amazing dinner back at camp.  Along the way we stopped near two watering holes.  The first was a pit stop for animals.  My camel shared the trough with cows, dogs, and chickens.  There were even peacocks circling the area.  Then we passed the village watering hole.  It reminded me of images I’ve seen in National Geographic.  Women gathered, filled watering pots, then carried them home stacked upon their head.  Before arriving back at camp the storm really picked up.  Pelting us with sand.  It felt like a thousand needles hitting your face.  The drivers raced the camels into the fenced stables as we quickly dismounted.  The customary 100 rupee tip was handed over to the driver before heading in for a King Fisher.

We stayed at the Krisna Desert Resort.  The manager gave us a choice of the villas above or the thatched cottages below.

Jaislmer, like several other Raj fortresses turned into cities, was built upon the nearest rocky outcropping.  As invaders tended to come in all directions five hundred years ago, palaces served a multitude of purposes and defenses.  Jaislmer was originally an outpost for traders traveling East and West across the sub-continent and eventually up into the Middle East then Europe.  

Just outside the palace entrance, but within the city walls- handprints, evidence of wives committing sati after the death of their beloved king.  This now banished practice was depicted on the walls of nearly every palace we visited by the red handprints.  

Traditionally only higher class were allowed to live in the fortress walls.  Most of the nicest havelis (houses) belonged to the Brahman Caste.  These were decorated with intricate stone carvings and lattice work.  

Today the castle is still made of tightly woven streets around traditional looking housing.  Some curios and trinket shops are open on the ground floors, but it still feels like a living city, as it may have hundreds of years ago.  Outside the city walls it is a bustling 21st century reminder of emerging India.  Tourist shops, large restaurants, night clubs, and amid modern apartments line overcrowded streets.  Despite the hot arid desert climate, cows still wander the city streets.

More Havelis.

Evening lights brought cooler temperatures.  We found some high ground on the castle ramparts to enjoy the a chilly breeze while taking in the sights and sounds of Jaislmer.

Rajasthan Part 7: Jodhpur

As we left the densely vegetated hills around Ranakpur, the landscape quickly changed.  The terrain began flattening out, with only a few glimpses of odd knolls across the desert.  The flora became more of a barren scrub, and patchy at that.  The road meandering through the mountains had once again leveled off, allowing for high speed escapades on the open freeway.  Our Tata raced across the Eastern fringe of the Thar Desert- we were headed for Jodhpur.  

Jodhpur is dubbed the “Blue City”.  I will tell you why later.   The first place we stopped was the infamous Sardar Market.  A chaotic mess of people squeezed into a very orderly grid like cluster of shops within the main bazaar.  In the center is a very distinct British era clock tower, another sign of India’s diverse history.  As instructed by our guide and driver, we were to shop for one thing here- spice.  So we walked from one outlet to the next exploring the spice.  We bought several blends which each maker insisted was the best in Jodhpur.  More then anything I was people watching.  After the initial shock wore off arriving in Delhi, I rather enjoyed being jumbled in such a mess of life, color, sights and sounds.  People coming in every direction.  It was sensation overload to the maximum.  There was no place to stop and watch, you had to keep moving.  The slightest hesitation would draw the attention from a variety of unwanted characters.  I think this was the hardest for Gretchen.  Reflecting upon past training, I kept my "head on a swivel”.  Constantly looking, thinking, moving onward, and occasionally pausing for a quick snapshot.  She really wanted to stop.  Look.  Touch.  And see items laid out for sale.  Doing so usually resulted in a barrage of salesmenship and the usual onslaught of questioning.

A technique I developed was to have a counter question for their question.  Sometimes this lead to interesting discussion, and sometimes it led to communication barriers. You could always tell when locals had a very scripted line of questioning, (the only English they knew) and diverting from such questioning resulted in shut down.  Other times I would respond to a question with a nod, pretending I didn’t speak English.

The picture above has a funny story.  I was briefly disoriented by the color of the blue spice, and form of the brown cube shaped “brownie”.  So I paused, looked for a second, and was instantly quizzed as to what I thought it was.  Before I could respond Gretchen answered for me- laundry soap.  I didn’t find it odd that it was soap; but found it odder it was sitting upon the same table as spices and food.

Today he decided to wear his marching band outfit.  And he wanted his picture taken.  Later we saw the rest of the band- but I don’t ever remember seeing instruments.

Like everywhere else in India the narrow side streets were a racetrack of traffic.  Luckily within most of the markets in Jodhpur cars were not allow.  Motor scooters were the only motorized vehicles allowed.

Now, the blue buildings.  Originally painting your house blue served two purposes.  The first being it identified you as part of the Brahman high caste.  But it also served as a preservative and natural bug repellant.  Today its more for style then social recognition.

The mighty fortress ramparts of Jodhpur rise sharply above the city.  The Meherangarh Fort is perched on sandstone cliffs right above the markets.  From the towers and balconies of the fortress the Maharaja could look upon his city and kingdom.

One of the innermost chambers of the palace.  

More blue buildings in the blue city.

The palace was one of the nicer tours we took.  Price of admission actually came with a free walking audio tour.  The visit concluded in this courtyard, after returning your headset, we sat and listend to the Raj musician play.

Just on the outskirts of town we visited the Jaswant Thanda, tomb of one of the most successful rulers of Jodhpur from 1878-1895.  He was known for bringing law to a somewhat lawless bandit ridden country side, while also accomplishing projects like crop irrigation.  The tomb, unlike some, was exquisitely cared for.  It was a very photogenic place.  These are just sampling of a few images I captured here.

Jodhpur was a really nice stop.  We spent three days and two nights here.  During which time we also visited the Umaid Bhawan Palace, one of those most recent palaces to be built in India.  It was completed in 1944 as a huge endeavor for a suffering economy with a high unemployment rate.  Taking 16 years and costing 9.5 million rupees it was a modern palace with traditional architecture.  Unfortunately cameras were not allowed within the complex, and most of it was closed to the public due to housing for the current Maharaja.  Yes, the Maharaja family dynasty is still going on in most Rajahastani cities.

We stayed at a very contemporary hotel on the outskirts of town.  At which this was the only place I was ever refused something.  Despite immaculate hospitality almost every where we went- at this hotel restaurant I was rejected from ordering spicy food.  As I pointed to the menu requesting a local Rajasthani dish, the waiter casually responded “no”.  I said, "how about this one", pointing to another local dish.  The waiter once again said “no”, but not no in the way its not available.  I could tell by the tone of his voice he meant no, not for you.  So I spoke up and asked, after which he proceeded to tell me I was a weak natured intolerant American whose stomach and digestive system could not handle a traditional Rajasthani dish.  If I weren’t so flabbergasted I probably would have been insulted.  Instead I snickered and picked something else.