It’s a hazy early morning (6am) in Dehli. Peaceful after the din of the night before, but still pretty noisy!
We have only a few hundred yards to go to the railway station, but it has been raining and the streets are rutted and filled with puddles. Neither of us fancy dragging our cases through the mud. The taxis are too small to get 2 cases in, so we take a taxi each and head for the station.
Long before we enter the station gates, the traffic is at a standstill. This looks like a very popular time to travel! We are sitting ducks as the red shirted station porters do their best to grab our cases out of the taxi and ‘help’ us into the station! It takes a great deal of firmness to resist their attempts and be able to manoeuvre our cases ourselves.
We set off for the station building, pursued by porters outraged that we are depriving them of carrying our bags! The next hazard awaits inside…. Unbelievably, there are a hundred people or so, asleep on the floor. Not just the old, but mothers with babies too, wrapped in shawls and seemingly oblivious to the feet passing inches from them. They are not neatly tucked away around the edges, but lying right in the middle of the dusty and muddy floor, with all the travellers stepping over or around them. It is not an easy task to thread the suitcases between the sleepers.
We stop to check the signboards to find out which platform our train is leaving from. The porters stop with us too and try to advise which platform we need while making a fresh grab for our cases. Choosing to believe the signboards rather than the different opinions we are being given from the porters and some not-so-helpful passers by, we set off for the platform. Of course, our train, no. 2017 Shatabdi Express to Dehradun, is leaving from the furthest platform. Here we go again, dragging our heavy cases up 3 flights of stairs, followed by a remarkably persistent and annoying porter who still won’t believe that we are not going to let him take the cases, pushing through the crowds to the other side of the station, down 3 flights of stairs, to the relative peace of our train, standing ready on platform 11.
We are taking the train to Haridwar from where we will have to take a bus or taxi to Rishikesh. Our names are posted on the list of passengers for carriage C3, we find our seats and settle down to watch India pass by during our 4 ½ hour train journey.
The day is quite drab and the scenery not particularly appealing as we pass through the suburbs of northern Dehli. All sorts of shanty towns, piles of rubbish line the tracks. Cows and dogs, both tethered and roaming free. The rural areas are pretty flat: green or brown muddy fields but there does not seem to be any great activity going on in them. A few open spaces have impromptu games of cricket being played on dirt wickets. With the cool and rainy weather, we don’t even have the benefit of looking at the scene in the sunshine. With the air conditioning on the train going full blast, we are absolutely freezing!
Arrival in Hardiwar is complete pandemonium! Just as frantic as the scene we left behind in Dehli. Once again, we are descended on by porters and taxi drivers in equal measure, all demanding, virtually bullying us into taking their services. They surround Marc, ignoring me… but he stands firm and we are eventually able to make our own way to the bus station to see if a bus journey to Rishikesh is a good option. After looking at the state of the bus, and remembering the state of the roads, we decide that another taxi would be the better choice. Once again we set off on another ‘your-life-in-their-hands’ journey with our taxi driver weaving in and out of oncoming traffic.
After a nerve-shredding hour or so, we drive through the main town of Rishikesh, up the road a little to our final destination of Tapovan. It is a tiny place, a tarmac road with dirt edges that serve equally as a pavement or grazing ground for the cattle that roam free in the streets. There are small shops on each side of the road that all have open fronts. There are also a maze of guest houses, tiny restaurants and temples, alongside, behind and above the shops, that all supply the needs, physical and spiritual, of the myriad of pilgrims that have descended on this area.
Yes, it is the Indian holiday season.
It is packed in Tapovan, not only with people, but also the accompanying vehicles that bring them here and take them up into the mountains on their pilgrimage. There is a motorized taxi dropping off area – they also serve as the local buses. When a few of them are trying to manouevre at the same time, it is just like watching the dodgems at the fair!
Marc recognizes it all, and just as we are looking around deciding where best to go, Steve Brett, who runs the EnlightenNext centre here, and is expecting us, walks past.
We are home! Steve shows us to our room, then as we have lunch together, he gives us some background on the Clean Himalaya project. It seems that there is a lot more to it than we thought – it is not just another recycling or tidying the environment project. It has the involvement not only of EnlightenNext, but also the local Divine Life Society. Clean Himalaya seems to be making progress, not only in making small but significant inroads into the huge pollution problem, but also in the way that everyone, from the top downwards, is working together. We will be joining them and finding out more tomorrow.
Another evening walk finds us acclimatizing to our new surroundings.
We follow another road downhill to a narrow bridge, called Laksman Jhula, the literal translation of which is ‘Bridge of the God Laksman’, which spans the Ganges. This bridge is no more than 5’ wide and packed with people trying to cross the river both ways. Add to this, mopeds and motorbikes being ridden through the mass of humanity and you have a fair idea of the chaos created. 
Meandering through packed alleys of tourist shops, the scene then opens up on a wide path that runs parallel to the river and down to the second bridge, a little further downstream, called Ram Jhula. This is the brother bridge to Laksman Jhula, named for Laksman’s brother, Ram. We stop to buy the essentials – water and loo roll, cross Ram Jhula and turn for home.
First day of work tomorrow!
We have only a few hundred yards to go to the railway station, but it has been raining and the streets are rutted and filled with puddles. Neither of us fancy dragging our cases through the mud. The taxis are too small to get 2 cases in, so we take a taxi each and head for the station.
Long before we enter the station gates, the traffic is at a standstill. This looks like a very popular time to travel! We are sitting ducks as the red shirted station porters do their best to grab our cases out of the taxi and ‘help’ us into the station! It takes a great deal of firmness to resist their attempts and be able to manoeuvre our cases ourselves.
We set off for the station building, pursued by porters outraged that we are depriving them of carrying our bags! The next hazard awaits inside…. Unbelievably, there are a hundred people or so, asleep on the floor. Not just the old, but mothers with babies too, wrapped in shawls and seemingly oblivious to the feet passing inches from them. They are not neatly tucked away around the edges, but lying right in the middle of the dusty and muddy floor, with all the travellers stepping over or around them. It is not an easy task to thread the suitcases between the sleepers.
We stop to check the signboards to find out which platform our train is leaving from. The porters stop with us too and try to advise which platform we need while making a fresh grab for our cases. Choosing to believe the signboards rather than the different opinions we are being given from the porters and some not-so-helpful passers by, we set off for the platform. Of course, our train, no. 2017 Shatabdi Express to Dehradun, is leaving from the furthest platform. Here we go again, dragging our heavy cases up 3 flights of stairs, followed by a remarkably persistent and annoying porter who still won’t believe that we are not going to let him take the cases, pushing through the crowds to the other side of the station, down 3 flights of stairs, to the relative peace of our train, standing ready on platform 11.
We are taking the train to Haridwar from where we will have to take a bus or taxi to Rishikesh. Our names are posted on the list of passengers for carriage C3, we find our seats and settle down to watch India pass by during our 4 ½ hour train journey.
The day is quite drab and the scenery not particularly appealing as we pass through the suburbs of northern Dehli. All sorts of shanty towns, piles of rubbish line the tracks. Cows and dogs, both tethered and roaming free. The rural areas are pretty flat: green or brown muddy fields but there does not seem to be any great activity going on in them. A few open spaces have impromptu games of cricket being played on dirt wickets. With the cool and rainy weather, we don’t even have the benefit of looking at the scene in the sunshine. With the air conditioning on the train going full blast, we are absolutely freezing!
Arrival in Hardiwar is complete pandemonium! Just as frantic as the scene we left behind in Dehli. Once again, we are descended on by porters and taxi drivers in equal measure, all demanding, virtually bullying us into taking their services. They surround Marc, ignoring me… but he stands firm and we are eventually able to make our own way to the bus station to see if a bus journey to Rishikesh is a good option. After looking at the state of the bus, and remembering the state of the roads, we decide that another taxi would be the better choice. Once again we set off on another ‘your-life-in-their-hands’ journey with our taxi driver weaving in and out of oncoming traffic.
After a nerve-shredding hour or so, we drive through the main town of Rishikesh, up the road a little to our final destination of Tapovan. It is a tiny place, a tarmac road with dirt edges that serve equally as a pavement or grazing ground for the cattle that roam free in the streets. There are small shops on each side of the road that all have open fronts. There are also a maze of guest houses, tiny restaurants and temples, alongside, behind and above the shops, that all supply the needs, physical and spiritual, of the myriad of pilgrims that have descended on this area.
Yes, it is the Indian holiday season.
It is packed in Tapovan, not only with people, but also the accompanying vehicles that bring them here and take them up into the mountains on their pilgrimage. There is a motorized taxi dropping off area – they also serve as the local buses. When a few of them are trying to manouevre at the same time, it is just like watching the dodgems at the fair!Marc recognizes it all, and just as we are looking around deciding where best to go, Steve Brett, who runs the EnlightenNext centre here, and is expecting us, walks past.
We are home! Steve shows us to our room, then as we have lunch together, he gives us some background on the Clean Himalaya project. It seems that there is a lot more to it than we thought – it is not just another recycling or tidying the environment project. It has the involvement not only of EnlightenNext, but also the local Divine Life Society. Clean Himalaya seems to be making progress, not only in making small but significant inroads into the huge pollution problem, but also in the way that everyone, from the top downwards, is working together. We will be joining them and finding out more tomorrow.Another evening walk finds us acclimatizing to our new surroundings.
We follow another road downhill to a narrow bridge, called Laksman Jhula, the literal translation of which is ‘Bridge of the God Laksman’, which spans the Ganges. This bridge is no more than 5’ wide and packed with people trying to cross the river both ways. Add to this, mopeds and motorbikes being ridden through the mass of humanity and you have a fair idea of the chaos created. 
Meandering through packed alleys of tourist shops, the scene then opens up on a wide path that runs parallel to the river and down to the second bridge, a little further downstream, called Ram Jhula. This is the brother bridge to Laksman Jhula, named for Laksman’s brother, Ram. We stop to buy the essentials – water and loo roll, cross Ram Jhula and turn for home.First day of work tomorrow!
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment