Day to Day Dramatic Changes

I was sitting in the front of the transport with the gear stick between my legs. We quickly drove into the sunset, careening through river valley. I had my arm around Japo, a local raft guide also hitching a ride North in the front of this transport truck. For a guide, Japo was surprising skinny, almost gaunt. We made pleasant, slow conversation as the truck struggled for traction around each turn.

Japo had just returned from the hospital where he had left another guide, who fractured his leg today on 'rollercoaster', one of the bigger rapids on this section of the river. He said solemnly that his battered friend would have tough financial times ahead. Besides this fact we were both smiling and looking at photos of Japo's family and friends. In our silence, I appreciated the simple moment of sitting, sharing my seat in this fortunate ride in the early evening. I've had many moments just like this lately, essentially content, aware and grateful for where I am. This is how I know I'm happy. As the light lowered, I felt lucky to moving closer to my tent on the beach. I said 'Bas! Bas!' as we approached the camp. Japo insisted on paying for our ride. Afterall, hitchhiking here is really an established form of public transport.

As I scurried across the road, the camp cook greeted me with a flurry of Hindi. I ventured a 'Tike', 'Fine, I'm fine' and asked in Hindi how he was. He seemed more than happy with this and I continued down the hill, still deep in thought about Japo. I thought who when we first climbed in the truck, he had taken my bag and sat with two bags on his lap.

It was a tiring trip into the city. When I first arrived, a man was hollering at me. He turned to his friends and said in English that I didn't remember him. I did recognize the intense, young waiter and accepted a ride on the back of his motorcycle across the river. We revved and rode our way across the busy pedestrian bridge, dodging people, cows and thieving monkeys.

Once back on my slow two feet, I was stopped by many Indian tourists. They stopped in large groups and asked my origin or for group photos. One man sprang from his group and reached for a handshake. My hand covered his whole hand and I squeezed firmly. The smile was fading from his face as I held my grip for a punishing few seconds.

This was all two days ago. Yesterday I separated my shoulder playing around in a kayak. This morning it was announced at a guide meeting that I would no longer be going on the Kali expedition. I am scheduled now to guide on the Ganges on the weekend, but I will have to tell my boss to hire outside guides. My shoulder is sore and I can feel it hanging slightly out of joint. Though they say we are a family, I don't feel at place at the camp anymore if I cannot work.

I could travel further in India. I'm finding it difficult to muster the energy and enthusiasm to independently tackle the trains and buses once more. I looking into changing my flight back home but they have nothing available in my class in the month of March. To be honest it makes me feel trapped in hot, overcrowded India. Though the opposite should be true. I can move almost anywhere if I had the desire and the nerve. Albeit with a heavy pack on back and a shoulder which needs rest.

I think I'll stick it out, wait for a few days for everything to turn around again. I'll try and be open and find the right way to go. Even better maybe it will find me.

Camp Silver Sands, Ganges River

Every year during the monsoon season the Ganges rapidly floods and swells up the surrounding banks. Last year in particular, the strong monsoon caused villages to be swept away. The entire camp I am staying at now is under river water in the monsoon. It is one of the reasons there is no electricity and the only structure other than tents is a tandoori oven.

I have my own  canvas tent, with two hard beds, a lock box and a sandy floor. It stands up well to the rain and deters the cows and monkeys. Sometimes in the night the wind cascading down the river valley is strong enough to blow open the entrance doors. I feel very comfortable in my tent. I feel very comfortable and happy in the whole camp.
On a normal day, the only people at camp are the guides, the kitchen staff and myself. This makes about 20 men and boys around. The best times are meal times when we gather around the tandoori for warmth and over 100 roti are made. Two boys produce all this bread, flattening dough and pressing it against the hot walls of the oven. As soon as the roti are taken from the oven with metal rods, they are snatched up by a hungry staff to eat with curried vegetables. The vegetables come from villages on the steep hills around us.
When guests come the food production and presentation is dramatically ramped up. I like the basic, oven lit intimate meals much more.

It's all Hindi spoken around the camp. Even when I think I hear English it's only phrases which have permeated into every day Hindi language (good morning, guide, raft etc...). A few of the higher level staff speak English well but normally I am quiet and don't disrupt the Hindi chatter and constant joking. I know a scattering of phrases now but my lack of knowledge of sentence structure and verbs prevents anything more.

I'm back in Rishikesh for a day off after a solid 3 days on the river. I have been safety kayaking and having a great time with it. Yesterday I was one safety kayaker for 7 rafts. Only one raft flip luckily, meaning that this guide needs to buy 2 small bottles of rum for the communal drinking pot. The section we run is big volume, non-technical and the water has been quite high for this time of year. This just means there are big waves (15ft and some bigger) to ride over and not a lot of consequences for flipping or swimming. The rapids are bigger and longer than what I've seen on the Ottawa and require the guide to be more active. It's a similar style of river to the Ottawa in that it is drop-pool, meaning rapids are followed by stretch of calmer water. I have a lot of respect for the guides at Aquaterra (one of the most biggest expedition companies). Some having been guiding on different rivers 11 months a year for over 10 years. Even the guides that are my age have much more time on water. I've had more of a deliberate, standardized training, but nothing compares to time on the water.

So though I don't know how much I'll be paid or how busy we'll all be, I'm really looking forward to my time at camp and on the river. We've had one large University group in from Delhi and 2 more to come soon. The students are well-to-do talk to one another in English. The girls are very entertained by the white safety kayaker. More than once I've seen them swim away from the raft and yell for me to come save them.
The other raft guides suggest that I should shave my scraggly, red beard so I look better, but there is no way that is happening.

Rishikesh

Where ever I've been the past few weeks, I has never far from the Ganges river. The Ganges flows quickly here, the water level rising and falling throughout the day. When I first showed up the river was bright blue, brisk and beautiful. I squat on rocks by the river and filter it to drink . If bathing in and drinking the water are purifying, I can only imagine how I'll be when I start rafting.

Rishikesh styles itself as a centre for yoga and spirituality seekers. As much guidance as you are searching for, you can find it here. The experience that you find depends on what you are hoping to learn. Most of the visitors moving through are Indian pilgrims, who come to the area for spiritual guidance and teaching. They come through in family groups, women dressed in ornate, colourful saris carrying food. The men wear buttoned shirts, khaki pants and western jackets. The local men wear traditional loin clothes and head wraps.

Groups of Sadus (holy men) live along the beach and squat in abandoned buildings. Their orange clothes decorate the shore and they lie, finding shade throughout the day. Some Sadus are holy men and live simple, nomadic lives. They count on the universe to take care of them. I must be look like a white gift from the universe as they regularly ask me for money when I pass. Many Sadus sell drugs and for generations, orange cloths have been used to disguise criminals and people hiding from police.

Westerners who come to Rishikesh for spirituality are easy to spot as they walk down the street. Often with large dreaded hair or shaved heads, they parade a style of loose fitting, patched clothing. Some dress in orange cloth, indicative of Sadus or monks. They are the type that come to ashrams for a specific guru or teacher. At speeches from these gurus, I've heard topics ranging from love to the necessity of separating from former friends and family. At these gatherings, you can see people burst in tears and line up to kiss the feet of the guru. I was talking with a Indian-Canadian who expressed frustration with some of the spirituality seekers. Her analogies compared people travelling Canada and taking up Christianity on a whim. These people would buy clothes covered in crosses and memorize the songs about Jesus we know from childhood.

There are backpackers who come through to stay in the tranquil setting along the Ganga river. It is peaceful by Indian standards and the green hills foot hills of the Himalayas dominate the landscape. From on top these foot hills, you can see the big snow-capped mountains towering on the horizon distance.

I came here to slow down, live a healthy lifestyle and wait for the rafting season to start. I stay away from almost all of the spiritual teaching here. However Hinduism is connected to all aspects of life here. The Ayruvedic cooking, reiki, yoga, daily rituals and even the river which flows through the city are connected to Shiva and Ganesha. It's all encompassing in many ways and I recognize it as a culture that is not my own.

I have no interest in adopting the teachings of a guru, though it's interesting to meet people who are.

I've settled easily into a relaxed existence which centres around yoga and long meals in a scattering of vegetarian restaurants. My body is changing to suit this new environment. My torso shrinks, my legs bend in new ways and my lungs feel healthy and full. I've found what I was hoping for along the river here, amongst the ashrams, restaurants, stores, ghats, sadus and cows. It is simple, healthy and admittedly aimless. With no looming stress or decisions, it is easy to enjoy and be content in the day to day.

Two Trains Heading North

On my way North to Delhi, I passed a total of 5000 km on trains in India. I've now ridden on every class of car within the train system as well. It is been eye opening not only on the physical expanse of India, but the great expanse within the economic means of the people. Along the journey from Hampi to Delhi, I would ride in the highest class by night and lowest by day. This was just how my luck would have it; I didn't travel in either of these classes intentionally.

The train from Hampi to Agra covered 2 nights and close to 2000km. I was still feeling a bit lost since  Goa and decided to take a nicer class of train.  I booked 2A for 1800 rupees ($40) or about 10 times the cost of a general ticket. 2A meant was that only 6 people in my open compartment. Also I'm provided with sheets, a pillow, a blanket and a bit more piece of mind.

After a full day of travel to get to the train station, my train was delayed until after 2 a.m. I sat very tired on my bag, half-heartedly reading a book and avoiding conversation with the few people on the train platform who wanted to have it.

When the train arrived, I was surprised to see a young Indian wearing a uniform greet me at the train door. He attempted to show me to my sleeping platform, which contained 6 other quietly sleeping riders. When he checked my bed, there was a man already sleeping in it. This man, awoken from his sleep, had a ticket identical to my own. We quietly left and I waited between the train cars while the worker ran off to find his boss. My name was not on the roster train either. I had no bed or official place on the train. I argued, in a beleaguered state, that they needed to provide me with a bed. It was two nights on this train and it was daunting to think about spending on my luggage between the rumbling cars.

Half an hour later I was told that I would be bumped up to First Class, a bed worth almost twice my expensive ticket. What a beautiful late night revelation this was. The first class compartment was clean, large, had wood interior and a locking door. There was one person to share the compartment with and I quickly drifted into a deep sleep. I awoke content and comfortable late the next morning and then went back to sleep again. Vendors came by in uniforms to sell chai and food. At one point, they even came for a dinner order. I had vegtable biryani and a curry sauce prepared for less than $1.

The medical student I was sharing the compartment with watched movies on his laptop all day. I stared out the window, watching a steady stream of villages and farmland. He would wake me early the following morning as we pulled into Agra, my destination. I stumbled off the train, well rested but in desperate need of a coffee.

Leaving Agra was the other side of the train experience. I decided again to get a nicer ticket for this 4 hour journey to Delhi, but none were immediately available. My general class ticket cost less than $1.50. It’s  a very good deal for a train ride but I had an idea what I was in for. People can be very pushy and aggressive in crowds here. Nowhere is this worse than on the general trains, where pushing can mean the difference between standing and sitting for a 20-plus hour journey. With my large backpack and carrying bag, this means a lot of trouble on the crowded trains.

I befriended a local, Anil from Agra, by simply asking where a toilet was.  He walked with me and pointed directly across the tracks to a white building. These tracks are as filthy as you can imagine and probably worse. A combination of garbage and human waste coats the area around the rails. However I was very short on time and I saw other people crossing the tracks. Influenced by Anil's insistence I climbed down unto the tracks, stumbled to the other side and hauled myself and my belongings up on the other platform. Anil would later tell this story to no less than 10 delighted listeners in our train car.

Anil was very worried for me, as he told me on a few occasions. He did not want me travelling in General class at all but when I insisted, he ensured that I trusted no one and kept my hands on my bags.

Anil studied animation and felt very strongly that I could provide him with animation opportunities in Canada.

We met a new friend, Amit, when we sat down. He had been sitting for over 20 hours but was still in good spirits and spoke the best English in our compartment. He translated many things for me and for the people around us.  Amit would try and include me in a pyramid scheme selling health products. After a 20 minute, reasonably impressive presentation using my pen and paper, I asked Amit if he knew what a pyramid scheme was. He didn't and continued selling this idea for a few more minutes. He didn't get my initial investment of 14,000 rupees he was looking for.

I had thought our train was going to New Delhi but I was wrong.  Amit informed me when our train was at it's last stop. I got up slowly, still a bit confused and got ready to disembark. He turned to me and looked urgently into my eyes, 'Mr. David. Come quickly.'

Anarchy erupted as our train came to a stop. People outside the train were fighting and climbing over each other to get in. This was before any our packed train us had gotten off. People were not just coming through the doors, but jumping over each other to get in the emergency windows. Some men angrily shook the bars over the closed windows and screamed at me to open them. I helped an old lady push through this near violence and escape onto the train platform.

We had arrived in the outskirts of Delhi, still far away from the New Delhi train station I had hoped to make it too. I would need a new train or an expensive taxi. Amit walked with me and helped direct me to what we thought was correct platform. At one point we waved goodbye to each other but as the train pulled in on the opposite track, he came running back and we jumped on.

We talked the rest of the way about arranged marriages, love marriages and girlfriends. He walked with me to the busy street of  Paharganj. He had been so helpful that I insisted on buying his lunch. He talked on his cell phone throughout our lunch but I didn't mind. The call had been from his girlfriend and they were making up.

Amit confessed to me that he had  never spent such a long time with a foreigner. He also told me he had run back to the last train because a women from our compartment was worried about me and told him he must.

So this was the second train, in the General class. You have to ask yourself, which is the better ride?

I think this trip demonstrates the appeal and downfall of backpacking and low-budget travel. If you spend the money, you never meet Anil and Amit, you never almost get trampled and you never have a whole compartment of people looking out for you. It is tiring though, especially when travelling solo. I got a bit lucky on this trip. Anil and the lady might have been right to be worried for me. If Amit hadn't asked around and shown me the next train, it would not have been a nice situation.

The budget travel is always more interesting.  If most things go according to plan, you wonder why people ever travel in the expensive class with locking doors. I know both sides; now I only have to decide what class I belong in for my next ride, hopefully somewhere in the middle class.

Navigating the Streets of New Delhi

My plans of a busy day around Delhi have diminished to a few small trips for small purchases I have decided are necessary before Rishikesh. The reason I have reverted to a pseudo shut-in state is the street out front of my hotel. I've seen many streets which obtain economic growth but suffer social decay because of tourism. Paharganj is the worst so far. Much worse than La Rambla in Barcelona,  Thamel in Nepal, the old city of Varanasi, Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and High Street in Capetown.

The street itself is dusty and very dirty. The stone is stained from so many men spitting so much red paan (dyed chewing tobacco) while they conduct their daily business. You can easily spot where a food stand was set up due to a mound of discarded plates and food waste on the ground. It's a constantly game of dodging this filth and the moving targets around you. The main obstacles (or maybe I'm the obtacle) are the sporadic procession of cycle rickshaws, motorbikes and cars down an otherwise busy pedestrian street. I've been hit a few times by cycle rickshaws but have heeded the warning honks of the fast bikes and slow cars.

This is Delhi and it's to be expected I guess. The chaos, noise and dirt represent a concentrated version of most Indian cities. The energy runs through the streets and the movement fuels a perpetual motion of economy on many scales.

The money to be made of tourists is so great relative to the local economy. This after all is a country where 25% or 250 million people survive on less than 20 rupees (50 cents) per day. The minimum wage is officially around 80 rupees per day. I spend 1000 rupees per day and I am on the low end of the tourist spectrum. Because of this massive difference, so many people come to streets like Paharganj to try their luck. They will chase you down the street selling locks, hash, maps and many more things I haven't waited to figure out. They will try to clean your ears or dirty your shoes and then offer to clean them. My blonde hair is terrible for attracting this. Touts try anything to get me to stop, “Hey I know you, we've met before. Remember me?” Reaching out and grabbing. They never can guess where I'm from, Canada isn't big enough and I don't look American. Israelis I've travelled with are always amazed when people start speaking Hebrew to them. The funniest thing for me is when I'm approached by an Indian with a fake Aussie accent, “Want to look my shop, mate?'. 

It must be worth the long shot, the constant rejection these touts and vendors receive. To be ignored and  left behind by so many people so many times throughout the day. From their perspective I must be very rude, I don't stay a word and sometimes don't even look at them.

I'm starting to rethink not giving money to beggars. How I feel about the matter really makes no difference, they either get some money for food or they don't. I've been at a food stand and refused to buy milk for a mother and her child. How can I reconcile that?

I almost hit someone who tried to put a Q-tip in  my ear. I think he got the better of me because smiled as I walked away.

This chaos and disorder is the reason why for so many visitors, India is a love/hate relationship. It is an intense, unrelenting experience. I don't love or hate any of it when I'm out there. I numb myself to the action around me and process it all later. It's been the best way for me to experience, by myself,  hectic train rides, harassment on the street and seeing many new aspects of this culture.  The downside is when I do find something beautiful, like a genuine conversation and connection with someone whose never talked to a foreigner, I have to snap myself back into the moment. There are so many interesting, beautiful and ancient things in this country but you need the right moments to appreciate them. You need to endure and bring your head up at the right moment to really take in the good experiences.

This is all coming to an end for me, at least for a few months, as I head to the tranquil destination of Rishikesh, only 8 hours North of here.

Goa

I arrived at my train stop in Goa just as the sun was surrendering to the night sky. Though the light was falling, the energy of all those disembarking the train was quickly rising. You could feel the excited anticipation of our arrival. I hastily made plans to share a cab to with two German guys, who despite their big smiles and bigger bellies were brutish and boring. A couple dressed with a distinct comfortable style asked to share our cab as well. These two Amsterdam kids were named Tim and Ayleana and I liked them immediately.

All five of us bought a big Kingfisher beer and we plied into a cab. On the ride in I tried to win over Tim and Aye. I had a good feeling about them and wanted to stay with their energy for a while. We dropped of the Germans and found a small hotel close to a rock beach. Tim and Aye were energetic, fun, caring and a bit nutty, traits they had in common with all the Dutch friends I would soon meet. 

Tim would soon introduce me to a Dutch friend of his named 'Yop'. Yop remains once of most distinctive characters I have ever met. He appears thin and like a handsome Spaniard despite a slightly crooked and protruding nose.  He maintains some scraggly facial hair and has a large, brown fro bobbing on his head.. Morning, afternoon or night, I rarely saw Yop dressed in anything but ali-babba pants and bare-chested with a vest.

For many months prior to coming to India, Yop was squatting in the top floor of an Amsterdam house. The house was constantly full of people and noise, but he had the best set-up in the top. Tim and Aye lived there for a few months after he left as they tried to live rent free around Amsterdam. Tim and Yop were close friends and fought very openly most of the time we were together. In those first few days  Yop and I shared a healthy dislike for one another. We had to make do, as we had to share a bike and eventually would share a room. I would learn over the coming weeks that while. Yop was stubborn and a maniac, he was sensitive and cared for his friends. He'd yell, shake with anger and cry.

Yop, Tim and Aye had all grown up with the Amsterdam trance scene.  With them, I went to completely different parties and places than I would have otherwise. It was all by word of mouth and a game of being in the 'know' that I realized I wasn't used to. I would drive Yop crazy when I freely admitted my ignorance of parties and places. Yop would always heard what people were talking about and would know an even better, more secretive place as well. He was good at this game and discerning what the best party would be.

In the week surrounding Christmas, we did what most other people in Goa were doing during the day. We rode around on scooters to find different and more isolated beaches. We sped through the small streets and communities of Goa which lush and full of character. I felt reminded of the Caribbean,  though the fast bikes dodging cows and dogs reminded you that you are in India. The food was distinct and I supported many fishermen with amount of prawns and seafood, cooked in Goan style curries and koftas.

As the high seasonal population grew, it became dominated by Russians and Indian tourists. The Russians largely were not backpackers but package tourists on a 2-week vacation from their middle class jobs. They were too easily spotted as skinny girls in tiny bikinis and men with short hair and often big bellies. It was not high-class Russian tourism, Goa was very much a affordable winter escape.  The Russians would drink all day and didn't speak much English Indian tourists were a huge range from cool kids from Mumbai who smoked chillum to groups of men that could easily get 'excited' from seeing how the girls were dressed. You have to see it to believe it.

We were in the centre of it all in Anjuna beach. Walking down from our hotel along the beach was a strip mall of  loud, bright parties. Some were so packed that you could barely walk along the beach. My favourite time was always after midnight, when the tide would come in and reclaim the beach, washing it clean. You could walk come dodging the waves and sneaking through skeleton markets which were abandoned for the night and would be hectic the next day. 

After 2 weeks, the natural dispersion of travellers began to happen. I was sad to see these people leave and it took me a few days to shake a lonely, aimless feeling. I have shaken that feeling now and am far away from Goa in many ways.  I sit in Delhi now, 2500km away; it is right now a chilly, dusty, repressive city. I haven't had a drop of alcohol, a cigarette or even any meat since I left Goa about 2 weeks ago. I'll take care of business here (a Visa extension is looking very unlikely) and head up to Rishikesh where I hope to exist happily and healthily for the next 3 months. It demonstrates the great constrasts and contradictions of India that you can move between these polar places from week to week. It is a comment on my own meandering nature that I choose to move around India in such a way.

3000km to Goa

I've just gotten up after the sleeping through the night on the train from Kolkata (Calcutta) to Mumbai (Bombay). This journey takes me from the east to the west coast of India. I'm moving south as well, though not as dramatically.

From early yesterday afternoon until late tonight, I'm in a 2.5 m by 4m compartment with 7 other Indian passengers. We all sit together during the day and in the evening thin, sleeping platforms are brought down. I was supposed to be on the bottom berth, but happily switched with an quiet, older lady who fed me fried roti last night. On this leg of the my train trip, we'll cover 1968km together.

I've bought a ticket in 3AC (air-conditioned) the class above the cheapest, sleeper class. Although it's 3 times the cost of sleeper, it still costs under $40. I know that if Jackson was here we'd be back in the slightly more hectic, dirtier, sleeper class.

At every station, vendor's come through yelling 'Chai, chai, chai, chai' 'Pani, pani, pani, pani' 'Samosas...samosas' and many other words I don't recognize. Chai costs under 15 cents and water is around 35 cents. It's likely I'm the only foreigner on the train. I was scanning the hectic, pressed line when the train rolled in. I played the good ol'game of gringo spotting but it didn't yield any results.

A small cockroach is crawling on the wall beside me and most surfaces are pretty grimy. In the washroom, you can clearly look down to see the tracks rushing below.

I like travelling on the train. It has a consistency and enters a peaceful rhythm as it creeps from station to station. I'll get off to rest and stretch in many stations; then chase down the doorway with many others as it starts to pull away. I escaped the compartment at points so sit by the open train door. Farms, villagers and oxen whir past me and I'm happy with where I am in the world. I going completely across the country of India and I could barely imagine a way I could be more free.

Most of the my time in India so far is spent watching, talking and trying to simply live day to day. It seems that more time should be just like this: feeling my freedom and satisfaction that I am doing exactly what I set out to do. In reality, these moments are intermittent and fleeting. Happiness is an impermanent state like this and needs to be recognized and appreciated in the same way.

Meanwhile, the train rolls towards Mumbai, one of the most metropolitan and dynamic cities in India. It would be good to some travellers on the next train down to Goa. The best part about arriving will be trading train station food and crackers for prawns and fish curry.

Voy a la playa.