Day 1: Terrifying.…

Air India

Sometimes, when god knows you need an angel, he orders one up for you.  After I discovered that my ‘lucky’ “last window seat” was indeed the last window seat in the airliner, right by the washroom with no recliner function, the only broken movie terminal in the place and with less room than air Transat, this sweet little old Indian lady already in my coveted comfy chair gives me the pouty face, and in a bold move meant to pay off karmically in the end…I give up the seat, so here I am sandwiched between her and who but this young single dude named Saif.  What are the odds.

I definitely pick the right airline.   The food on the flight is pretty awesome.  I love that it is curry and rice, and it comes with some interesting side dishes. We got fed three times, and they cut the crusts off the lunch sandwich.  As I finish my meal without touching the two curious looking white substances on the tray, Saif interjects and asks why I am not eating my ‘Dahi’, which is noted on my descriptive photo I have included here…it is a yoghurt which you can use to eat with your curry. Take a spoonful of that stuff and mix it with the chicken and rice, and voila, it’s like eating tatziki with greeksouvlaki. 

The dessert is this rice pudding type of concoction made with really rich cream and rice chunks mixed in with various fruits and pistachio pieces. I can taste the cardamom and it’s officially my new favorite spice.   It’s called chaawal and it is damn good.  Saif tells me that each region in India is known for it’s curries, sweet delicacies and the way the women wear their sarees. Apparently sarees are just like those dresses you can do up a hundred different ways.  Saif is from just outside Delhi.  I never thought I’d meet anyone who talks more than me, so you can imagine 15 hours fet like 3. By the end I had already learned about the political structure in India,  hotly debated the merits of arranged marriages (I could write a whole other blog post on the nature of it), talked about the crisis in Egypt and explained to him the wonders of our carribean and the story of Cuba and it’s embargo. 

I’ve been learning  that I have a really ignorant, ethnocentric view on many things, and I really have a lot to learn in India.  Whoever told me it was cold as a bitch in India can pound salt.  25 degrees and the airport reeked of humidity.  No good with 8 hours in a hot car coming.  No removing layers when all you have on is tight yoga pants and you are in conservative country.   After waiting for the last round of bags off the conveyor, we head out into the sea of people waiting at arrivals.  Am I allowed to say “ginormus cluster f(#%”without offending anyone? Look for the placard with my name on it? There are at least 30.  Pick up my cell to dial the contact after meeting him at Pillar 15 proves to be useless as my back up, and it’s dead.  Who shows up but Saif, cell phone and family in hand to wait with me while the chaos dies down and I find my driver.  I ask him where the car is and he stares at me and answers in the dreaded dialect I don’t understand a word.  Saif and his dad and brother stayed on the line with me until we met.  I swear I would be still at that airport this morning if I had not had the universe bestow such a vital gift.

The Car ride

Remember in Eat Pray love, when Julia Roberts gets in that crazy taxi that takes her to the ashram?  The feeling is just about right. Chaos.  Thousands of cars, about the size of a smartcar all piled in amoung the trucks, oxen drawn sugar cane carts, donkey drawn supply vehicles, tour buses, Rickshaws, taxis, cow patty loads and motorcycles…you name it, it was on the road, including stray dogs and random cows and people doing uturns into oncoming traffic. Someone in front of you?   No worries, there is a shoulder on the shoulder.   Horns designed to make cool melodies, people waving arms all over, people whipping their donkeys, I’ll tell you my mouth was agape the whole 8 hours.  Do you know how many people can fit in one car?  As if I was going to sleep on this leg.  Luckily my driver spoke some hindi dialect I didn’t understand and when we discovered that it was a silent but violent ride. All the work oxen have this rope fed through their nose that is used like reins on a horse. My nose feels painful just looking at it.   Looking at the side of the roads, I quickly discovered that there is going to be no place to stop for a pee.  Then I start to obsess over having to tell this guy who wont understand me that I need to tinkle. It’s so damn hot in the car that I am sweating all my make up down my face, and being a white woman in a little car on her way to an ashram I was heckled by about anyone who saw my face through the rolled down window letting in diesel fumes and dust. Melt, or get carbon monoxide poisoning. Bring on the breeze.  All I could think about was Valerie and her warning that I would need antibiotic eye drops for the eminent pink eye from all the shit in the air.  My eyes were on fire, they kept watering and my driver kept motioning like he was wondering why I was crying.  Embarrassing.

So, about 4 hours in I cant hold it any longer.  I keep looking at the side of the road where people are pissing, rooting around in swampy garbage, selling anything with any value, sleeping, cutting hair on a random barber chairs, fixing bikes, tires, throwing themselves at the car to sell you a bag of chips,  huge vulture looking birds are circling and cows crapping indiscriminantly…I am convinced he is going to stop the car and get me to pee in the ditch.  I just wait for the scenery to include some trees so I have some cover with my no toilet paper.  When I say I have to pee, he says no problem and we stop at a ‘gas station’.  Imagine a stall with a dirty bowl.  No toilet paper, and it wouldn’t flush. I turned some water tap on behind the toilet and was instantly sprayed in water that formed a flood on the floor.   I ran out of there wet but didn’t give a damn..I was relieved. I was not going to drink another drop of water for fear of having to stop again. A couple of times the driver stopped at these little places and asked if I was hungry, but the melted peanut bar I had was the only thing I didn’t consider filled with giardia.  I starved.

Thao will tell you I’m a terrible backseat driver, and I must say it took all my strength to trust this dude to get me there alive.  Guaranteed not one person in Canada could have driven me there without killing us.  I played it cool. It is a virtual miracle no one got smucked…I watched personally about 300 near misses. He deserved hundreds of dollars for his car acrobatics, and the video does not even come close to doing it justice.  It was literally like dodging death at every stage.  I was glad when it got dark so I couldn’t obsess over it.  The driver stopped once to get me a bottle of water I could not bring myself to open and drink, all the while having visions of Dr. Kryms wagging finger and the thought of where the hell I would be if I suddenly had to crap, never mind pee.

Finally after 8 hours we arrive in Rishikesh.  It’s Saturday night baby.  There is no rush hour. It’s always rush hour.  It’s like driving through the main parking lot after a Toronto FC game..but dodging people and animals and trucks and busses and cars with no street lights. When we get there, the driver stops in the middle of this chaotic market and this man approaches the car. Gotta get out, put my gear on and take a scooter over the narrow bridge over the ganges.  What? You are kidding, right? No. Get out.  As if I found myself being whisked past people, random cows all over the place, other scooters, stray dogs and noticing wild monkeys all over the damn place.  Is this really real?  Did I ever dream that I would have a day like this ever?  If this is India, what the hell is waiting for me at the yoga place?