So I’m going to leave off from Mandi for a little bit, and slip in my Rishikesh trip here. If I don’t, it’s just going to turn into one of those blurry warm colored memories that you can’t quite put your finger on. I think I may be getting old. *laugh*
So the plan was (initially) that we would leave early on the Shatabdi express up to Dehradun, where we would then be picked up by the rafting company and driven to our camp. Sounds pretty simple hey? Only in India could this go wrong.
So Bryan and I leave with plenty of time, packs loaded, smiles wide – and find, with relative ease, the platform upon which the Shatabdi express arrives. Which can be difficult, considering navigation to the platform does not exclude simultaneously navigating around cows, crap and beggars. We counted ourselves lucky, and when the train arrived, promptly secured out luggage and sat down in our preassigned seats.. Directly behind a gaggle of school children intent on boring holes into us by staring.
It wasn’t a big deal that the train was taking a long time to load, that it didn’t appear that the train would leave on time.. or the surprising fact that it seemed to have arrived early. It wasn’t a big deal that we were going to be surrounded by strange children who all appeared to be named Ryan. It wasn’t a big deal that we only had one set of earplugs.
It was a big deal, however, when a couple rushed onto the train and looked blankly at us, as though we were sitting in their seats. Bryan whipped out our tickets, which declared, without a doubt, that seat 19 and 20 did belong to us. On the other Shatabdi express, that arrives just after the FIRST Shatabdi express, and leaves before it – on the same platform.
Now, if this was a one off thing– say, today, they just happened to have both trains (one going to Dehradun, one going to Amritsar) arrive at the same platform, with the same name, at approximately the same time, I would lean towards some understand. But, as our ticket agent expressed with an ingratiating smile – “It happens to about 30 people a day”. “Everyday.” Oh India. You have the bomb.
Bryan took charge, and rented us a car and driver to get us to the camp. What we didn’t know, was that this driver came from a parallel universe, perhaps called Aidni, because he sure wasn’t like any other driver I’d seen.
Our first clue basically shocked us into silence. The driver, sporting a seatbelt, refused to speed. In fact, when we asked if he could possible go a little faster than molasses uphill in January, he derisively pointed to the speed limit sign. It was phenomenal. He even put his emergency lights on if he had to stop for directions. About an hour into our trip, I was desperate for a washroom (which basically can be described as a thick tree, large bush or rock), but he kept driving for about 15 minutes after I requested a stop. So, we enforced a stop near a bush, hoped out, relieved ourselves Indian style, and got back in. Where after the driver continued on for about 5 minutes, arriving at some sort of luxury commode building in the middle of nowhere, and informed us that we should wait in the car, and he would return in 5 minutes. Which he did, clean and assumedly, evacuated. He wouldn’t pee on the side of the road, and there we were, two white skinnies, being publicly chastised. Yikes.
It got funnier. We brought peanut butter sandwiches and apple pie and the like, not wanting to stop for lunch – but at our drivers pressing (and the fact that he was driving) we did stop for about 20 minutes. We stopped, as most drivers stop, at the strangest, most touristic (which is a word) place I’ve ever seen. And the whole bloody place had tin signs covering just about any infarction you were thinking about. “Don’t feed the fish”, “Don’t bother the birds” “Don’t Loiter Here” “If you brought it from home, eat it at home” – and so on and on and on.. We figure they must have had a cousin in the sign making business. By the looks of it, he was a very rich man.
The drive was in total about 7 hours. Its amazing what you learn about somebody, from somebody etc – In 7 hours. For instance – Bryan is a really good road tripper… and I like to sleep. *laugh* The drive was entirely worth it though (even the harrowing parts going into the mountains. Little did I know it was a precursor to further trips) because our camp was so lovely, the people so nice.. Even though we were arriving late they kept lunch on for us, showed us around camp. It was great.
We stayed in these completely Hemingway-esque tents, doors to the river and the adjoining mountain. The only lights were candles stuck in a sand pot for you, and the sand was covered with straw mats for a floor. It was unbelievably cute, kind of like roughing it in a Pottery Barn catalogue.
The sand kicked up into a giant sandstorm not long after we got there, forcing us to unpack and do all the necessary yet unpleasant tasks that should be completed prior to the fun stuff. Luckily, the enforced adultness didn’t last for too long, and Bryan got to try his hand at kayak rolls from out lovely guide Kent. (Who happened to be from British Colombia. Oh yes.) From there, when the river got too cold, we had a fantastic “jungle shower”.
I’m not really one for forced cleanliness, if I can be, I will be, if not, I don’t smell TOO badly. But these jungle showers were a thing of total and utter fantasticalness. (which too, you’ll be surprised, is also a word.) Huge green drums filled with water, hung from a tree, with a makeshift showerhead and tepid, perfect lake water. They’ve spread out rocks to make a floor, and surrounded the whole thing with a bamboo screen. You really do feel like you’re in a shampoo commercial to tell the truth. *smile* I think I had one or two showers a day, there is just something so luxurious about standing nude in the forest, washing the holy Ganga river off with sun warmed water.
You’d think at this point we’d taken a vacation solely to take showers and sleep in tents.. but we were also rafting!! We’d missed the first trip by missing our train, but it really didn’t seem like we missed much, from what we heard. We discovered that a friends of Bryan’s were their with their family and au pere (who was this awesome little woman named Natasha who could basically do anything, and with phenomenal strength and laughter) so we had built in company on the rafts as well.
Perhaps its ingrained as a Canadian, part of my genetic code; maybe it’s just because we did a lot of canoeing when I was little. But I know how to paddle, I know how to keep time, and for god sakes, I know how to pull my weight. We had a couple of lily-dipping no gooders in our raft, and I was secretly wishing for them to a) lose their paddles or b) we lose them. Neither of which happened. Gr. But according to Kent, we were some of the best paddlers he’d had all season, which was excellent. We passed a few rafts struggling and thwaping each other with their paddles, and I tell you, we all sat a little taller that’s for sure.
The first set of rapids we ran, we all went in the big raft. They warm you up with a few little ones (One of which, way up in the Himalayas, is named after a Canadian) then you hit this one called “The Wall”. If ever there was a more imposing name, I don’t know if I’ve heard it. (Because the only other bad one we went through was called the “golf course”, on the second day. Pansy name.) Everyone but three people (there was 5 of us and 2 guides) got thrown into the river, but it was totally worth it, and completely fun. You get that fantastic effect where everyone forgets about trying to be suave and just babbles on and on about how cool that was, what happened, who got tossed first.. It was fantastic.
That night, we had just about the best meal I may have had in my life. (Isn’t it funny how things you would never normally enjoy, or even like, in normal life taste instantly better outside after a long day?) We were all sitting around the campfire, the whole camp (maybe about 20 of us) and we got barbequed chicken and potatoes with homemade garlic butter.. I couldn’t get enough. There is something about eating like that under a full moon, flanked by mountains, Hindi music drifting down from the yoga temple.. That makes just about anything taste good.
The nights were cool and perfect and the mornings quickly hot. The second day rafting was planned early, and Bryan and I decided to take the two man ducky, a little mini raft. Its shaped like a kayak, but inflated like a raft, and apparently a lot of fun whether you can manage to stay in or out of it.
If I could go back, I would do every trip and a bunch more in the ducky. It was so much fun. You’re that much closer down to the waves, (and ultimately the rocks) and you get to feel a whole lot more. It was fantastic! Bryan was an excellent captain, he steered that thing phenomenally. The only time we got tossed out was in these rapids called the “Golf Course”. You go over one part successfully, and land right into a trap, where one wave swings you sideways, and another flips you over.
It was, I can say without shame, a little scary. I hit the water almost completely vertical, and it sucked me down right to the bottom with such force I have never felt in my life. I’m happy that it was me, and not somebody less comfortable under water. It was so forceful, that it actually ripped one of my shoes off. While the water was holding me there, and I was waiting for my lifejacket to pull me back up, I could feel something hit my face.. It was my shoe! The water spit me out, I smashed my hand on a rock, and we were off again. I’ve never had so much fun – and I finally have a good athletic beer story.
The nights were sometimes just as wonderful as the days. The common areas were under big white parachutes, it looked so exotic with all the bamboo chairs. Bryan was smart enough to bring two bottles of wine, which we really enjoyed after all the Gatorade and iodined water. I haven’t sat around a campfire in a long time – I forgot what it’s like. People are more generous around a campfire – they share popcorn and smiles and stories with would-be strangers. Then the kids drift off to bed, the conversations get quieter as the fire gets lower, everything seems to take it’s cue from the fire.
So the plan was (initially) that we would leave early on the Shatabdi express up to Dehradun, where we would then be picked up by the rafting company and driven to our camp. Sounds pretty simple hey? Only in India could this go wrong.
So Bryan and I leave with plenty of time, packs loaded, smiles wide – and find, with relative ease, the platform upon which the Shatabdi express arrives. Which can be difficult, considering navigation to the platform does not exclude simultaneously navigating around cows, crap and beggars. We counted ourselves lucky, and when the train arrived, promptly secured out luggage and sat down in our preassigned seats.. Directly behind a gaggle of school children intent on boring holes into us by staring.
It wasn’t a big deal that the train was taking a long time to load, that it didn’t appear that the train would leave on time.. or the surprising fact that it seemed to have arrived early. It wasn’t a big deal that we were going to be surrounded by strange children who all appeared to be named Ryan. It wasn’t a big deal that we only had one set of earplugs.
It was a big deal, however, when a couple rushed onto the train and looked blankly at us, as though we were sitting in their seats. Bryan whipped out our tickets, which declared, without a doubt, that seat 19 and 20 did belong to us. On the other Shatabdi express, that arrives just after the FIRST Shatabdi express, and leaves before it – on the same platform.
Now, if this was a one off thing– say, today, they just happened to have both trains (one going to Dehradun, one going to Amritsar) arrive at the same platform, with the same name, at approximately the same time, I would lean towards some understand. But, as our ticket agent expressed with an ingratiating smile – “It happens to about 30 people a day”. “Everyday.” Oh India. You have the bomb.
Bryan took charge, and rented us a car and driver to get us to the camp. What we didn’t know, was that this driver came from a parallel universe, perhaps called Aidni, because he sure wasn’t like any other driver I’d seen.
Our first clue basically shocked us into silence. The driver, sporting a seatbelt, refused to speed. In fact, when we asked if he could possible go a little faster than molasses uphill in January, he derisively pointed to the speed limit sign. It was phenomenal. He even put his emergency lights on if he had to stop for directions. About an hour into our trip, I was desperate for a washroom (which basically can be described as a thick tree, large bush or rock), but he kept driving for about 15 minutes after I requested a stop. So, we enforced a stop near a bush, hoped out, relieved ourselves Indian style, and got back in. Where after the driver continued on for about 5 minutes, arriving at some sort of luxury commode building in the middle of nowhere, and informed us that we should wait in the car, and he would return in 5 minutes. Which he did, clean and assumedly, evacuated. He wouldn’t pee on the side of the road, and there we were, two white skinnies, being publicly chastised. Yikes.
It got funnier. We brought peanut butter sandwiches and apple pie and the like, not wanting to stop for lunch – but at our drivers pressing (and the fact that he was driving) we did stop for about 20 minutes. We stopped, as most drivers stop, at the strangest, most touristic (which is a word) place I’ve ever seen. And the whole bloody place had tin signs covering just about any infarction you were thinking about. “Don’t feed the fish”, “Don’t bother the birds” “Don’t Loiter Here” “If you brought it from home, eat it at home” – and so on and on and on.. We figure they must have had a cousin in the sign making business. By the looks of it, he was a very rich man.
The drive was in total about 7 hours. Its amazing what you learn about somebody, from somebody etc – In 7 hours. For instance – Bryan is a really good road tripper… and I like to sleep. *laugh* The drive was entirely worth it though (even the harrowing parts going into the mountains. Little did I know it was a precursor to further trips) because our camp was so lovely, the people so nice.. Even though we were arriving late they kept lunch on for us, showed us around camp. It was great.
We stayed in these completely Hemingway-esque tents, doors to the river and the adjoining mountain. The only lights were candles stuck in a sand pot for you, and the sand was covered with straw mats for a floor. It was unbelievably cute, kind of like roughing it in a Pottery Barn catalogue.
The sand kicked up into a giant sandstorm not long after we got there, forcing us to unpack and do all the necessary yet unpleasant tasks that should be completed prior to the fun stuff. Luckily, the enforced adultness didn’t last for too long, and Bryan got to try his hand at kayak rolls from out lovely guide Kent. (Who happened to be from British Colombia. Oh yes.) From there, when the river got too cold, we had a fantastic “jungle shower”.
I’m not really one for forced cleanliness, if I can be, I will be, if not, I don’t smell TOO badly. But these jungle showers were a thing of total and utter fantasticalness. (which too, you’ll be surprised, is also a word.) Huge green drums filled with water, hung from a tree, with a makeshift showerhead and tepid, perfect lake water. They’ve spread out rocks to make a floor, and surrounded the whole thing with a bamboo screen. You really do feel like you’re in a shampoo commercial to tell the truth. *smile* I think I had one or two showers a day, there is just something so luxurious about standing nude in the forest, washing the holy Ganga river off with sun warmed water.
You’d think at this point we’d taken a vacation solely to take showers and sleep in tents.. but we were also rafting!! We’d missed the first trip by missing our train, but it really didn’t seem like we missed much, from what we heard. We discovered that a friends of Bryan’s were their with their family and au pere (who was this awesome little woman named Natasha who could basically do anything, and with phenomenal strength and laughter) so we had built in company on the rafts as well.
Perhaps its ingrained as a Canadian, part of my genetic code; maybe it’s just because we did a lot of canoeing when I was little. But I know how to paddle, I know how to keep time, and for god sakes, I know how to pull my weight. We had a couple of lily-dipping no gooders in our raft, and I was secretly wishing for them to a) lose their paddles or b) we lose them. Neither of which happened. Gr. But according to Kent, we were some of the best paddlers he’d had all season, which was excellent. We passed a few rafts struggling and thwaping each other with their paddles, and I tell you, we all sat a little taller that’s for sure.
The first set of rapids we ran, we all went in the big raft. They warm you up with a few little ones (One of which, way up in the Himalayas, is named after a Canadian) then you hit this one called “The Wall”. If ever there was a more imposing name, I don’t know if I’ve heard it. (Because the only other bad one we went through was called the “golf course”, on the second day. Pansy name.) Everyone but three people (there was 5 of us and 2 guides) got thrown into the river, but it was totally worth it, and completely fun. You get that fantastic effect where everyone forgets about trying to be suave and just babbles on and on about how cool that was, what happened, who got tossed first.. It was fantastic.
That night, we had just about the best meal I may have had in my life. (Isn’t it funny how things you would never normally enjoy, or even like, in normal life taste instantly better outside after a long day?) We were all sitting around the campfire, the whole camp (maybe about 20 of us) and we got barbequed chicken and potatoes with homemade garlic butter.. I couldn’t get enough. There is something about eating like that under a full moon, flanked by mountains, Hindi music drifting down from the yoga temple.. That makes just about anything taste good.
The nights were cool and perfect and the mornings quickly hot. The second day rafting was planned early, and Bryan and I decided to take the two man ducky, a little mini raft. Its shaped like a kayak, but inflated like a raft, and apparently a lot of fun whether you can manage to stay in or out of it.
If I could go back, I would do every trip and a bunch more in the ducky. It was so much fun. You’re that much closer down to the waves, (and ultimately the rocks) and you get to feel a whole lot more. It was fantastic! Bryan was an excellent captain, he steered that thing phenomenally. The only time we got tossed out was in these rapids called the “Golf Course”. You go over one part successfully, and land right into a trap, where one wave swings you sideways, and another flips you over.
It was, I can say without shame, a little scary. I hit the water almost completely vertical, and it sucked me down right to the bottom with such force I have never felt in my life. I’m happy that it was me, and not somebody less comfortable under water. It was so forceful, that it actually ripped one of my shoes off. While the water was holding me there, and I was waiting for my lifejacket to pull me back up, I could feel something hit my face.. It was my shoe! The water spit me out, I smashed my hand on a rock, and we were off again. I’ve never had so much fun – and I finally have a good athletic beer story.
The nights were sometimes just as wonderful as the days. The common areas were under big white parachutes, it looked so exotic with all the bamboo chairs. Bryan was smart enough to bring two bottles of wine, which we really enjoyed after all the Gatorade and iodined water. I haven’t sat around a campfire in a long time – I forgot what it’s like. People are more generous around a campfire – they share popcorn and smiles and stories with would-be strangers. Then the kids drift off to bed, the conversations get quieter as the fire gets lower, everything seems to take it’s cue from the fire.
Unfortunately, we were only there for two and a half days. The good thing is, apparently we caught some of the best rapids at their best points, with the best paddlers in our group. I don’t think you could really ask for more than that. I’d recommend it to anyone – it’s romantic and adventurous and beautiful. And hey.. there’s even showers.
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