My title line was written by John Lennon, and set to the tune that would later become "Jealous Guy". In 1968, The Beatles spent a few weeks in Rishikesh at the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Much of what was penned here would appear on what is known as the White Album. Although the Fab Four made a gung ho arrival, Lennon himself would leave with a bad taste, disappointed in the Maharishi and the faith he'd placed in his erstwhile guru.
In a similar way, Rishikesh has been a mixed bag for me. Long before the Beatles, this city was the birthplace of Yoga, and while I’ve never personally fancied it, I felt it’d be sacrilege not to take a lesson. After a three-hour one-on-one session outside of town, I’ll admit, I felt better, and definitely more relaxed. But, that inner peace would be difficult to maintain once I got to Rishikesh proper.
Perhaps I’d been spoiled by the last three days of five-star treatment, but Mr. Sodhi at the Aalia resort once managed the place I’d booked, and highly recommended it. It seemed a little pricey, but I was lured by his vote of confidence, and the advertisement of free Wi-Fi. Placed in a primo spot along the Ganges, the Ganga Kinare Hotel looks great from the outside, but that’s pretty much where it ends.
As a tourist destination, I was hoping for a good internet connection and looking forward to the promised in-room Wi-Fi. What I got was the answer, “Oh, the Wi-Fi is only available in the downstairs lobby.” “Fine, no problem”, I said. Then, I discovered that the Wi-Fi was out-of-service indefinitely, the TV in my room was toast, and there was a man across the hall loudly launching a cloud of porcelain dust into the air with a buzz saw. I let the manager, Ms. Minashi, (who had been notified of my pending arrival per Mr. Sodhi), know that I was none too pleased, and very close to walking out on her hotel. She ordered the tile work to stop immediately, had a man replace my TV within minutes, and let me check my e-mail in her office. While the new TV only has channels (and power) at small intervals during the day, and the office computer consistently crashes, I appreciated the gesture… although I still think the hoteliers were disingenuous from the start, and the place isn’t a good value for the money. But, it wasn’t the absence of connection to the outside world (or electricity itself) that bothered me…after all, this is India...it was the feeling that I’d been swindled. Of course, it’s hard to gauge how much I’ve been duped, because even while I’m sitting here whining about not being able to check my e-mail, I’m looking out of my window at households completely devoid of running water, and lit only with oil lamps.
Just because I haven’t been impressed with my accommodation doesn’t mean Rishikesh isn’t nice. First, it is set before a picturesque backdrop, tucked away in a mountain valley where the temperatures are cooler. Second, it is a small city, with less people hassling you for handouts. I spent my first afternoon walking along “Marine” road, a pleasant, pedestrian-friendly path along the river. Upon my return, I learned that my hotel hosts a resident priest, and has a temple devoted to the Goddess Ganga (from where the name “Ganges” is derived). I found Ms. Minashi’s devotion to her faith refreshing, and our discussions about Hindu folklore helped salve the stress between us. At sunset, the priest and his two apprentices performed their own Ganga Aarti ceremony, offering praise to the goddess of the holy river in the same fashion as in Varanasi. While I was having a mango lassi at the hotel restaurant, I opened the door for the priest, and he asked me to join them. It was strange. The priest, his accomplices, Ms. Minashi and the entire wait-staff all stood around me, chanting and singing in unison. The priest handed me some sort of mega-menorah, alit with enough tiny flames to give Liberace candelabra envy, and motioned for me to start moving it in clockwise circles. I kept this up for about ten minutes, all the while wondering when someone was going to relieve me of my duty. Once the prayer was over, one of the apprentices took the towering torch, and handed us all little flowers. Watching the others, I followed their leads and returned my flower to a decorative dish, then received a red pasty dot on my forehead and a few chips of rock-candy sugar. After it was over, I wasn’t quite sure what I’d just taken part in, but it sure made for an interesting experience.
In the absence of technological trappings, I arranged a very early journey to the mountaintop temple of Kunjapuri, and scheduled a four-hour hike back to Rishikesh. Waking up at 3:45AM, I began to regret my decision, but then I thought, “It’s taken 32 years to get a chance to see the sunrise over the Himalayas, and there’s no guarantee I’ll get another shot at it, so who needs sleep?” It’s good that we plied the ascent in the darkness, as the harrowing road full of hairpin turns and herds of cattle probably would’ve frightened me more if I’d been able to see how far we had to fall.
I was dropped off at the temple with my Nepali guide Rama just in time to watch the sun peek out from the distant peaks. We began our long descent at around 6AM, when the alpine weather was nice and cool. It was hard on the knees, but easy on the eyes. From time to time, we would come upon a humble homestead, warmly greeted by locals preparing breakfast over small wood fires and gathering rainwater from communal cisterns. It was truly like going back in time. The traditional lives of the mountain dwellers we came across made it hard for me to believe that it’s 2012.
Rama and I had a peaceful walk through the woods, and friendly conversations about the differences between American and Nepalese culture. Even with our frequent breaks to stop and talk to each other, and anyone we passed, it felt like the hike was over almost as soon as it started. I made it back in time to the hotel for the “pure” vegetarian breakfast, meaning no eggs, and no garlic. In fact, it is a criminal offense to consume meat in public in the city of Rishikesh. Beer is also banned, so I’ll have to wait until I get back to Delhi to enjoy my last Kingfisher on the Subcontinent.
On my last day along the Ganges, I finally went out to the old ashram of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. It’s been closed for years and is not easy to find. Also, because the ruins are now a part of the Rajaji National Park and technically off-limits, you must bribe the security guard to let you into the complex. Although it took some effort, I’m glad I made a go of it. Personally, seeing the camp where so many of the first songs I ever learned on guitar were written was more spiritual than visiting the temples here. Besides that, the compound is much larger than I’d pictured, and full of lots of cool little buildings so overgrown with vegetation that it felt more like Tomb Raider than Ta Phrom did in Cambodia. There were so many trails leading to so many different dilapidated structures that it took hours to explore. Beatles lyrics are scrawled everywhere, and there was even a building with some pretty cool murals of the band, along with the Maharishi, the Dalai Lama, and other well-known wise men.
Four days is plenty of time to see what Rishikesh has to offer, and at the moment, I’m eager to get back to Delhi and prepare for my flight to Africa. However, Uttaranchal Province has been a peaceful reprieve from the crowded cities of Uttar Pradesh, and for the most part, I’ve enjoyed my relaxing stay here.
