We just got back from our one-week vacation, which was my first fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, one-backpack-allowed travel experience. We left early on Saturday morning without any travel arrangements other than where we would be staying for the first two nights. Transportation went astonishingly smoothly: we took the metro to the bus station in Old Delhi, and a bus to Dehradun happened to be leaving in a half hour. We arrived in Dehradun and the bus that we needed to take to get to our destination was just about to leave. Perfect. We stayed at an organic farm called Navdanya, run by environmental activist Vandana Shiva. Sinclair had volunteered there for three weeks while my mom was here, and also met her boyfriend so it was a logical starting point for our vacation. While the politics of the farm aren’t so sound (suffice it to say that it’s more a show for international acclaim among activist groups than a viable model for local development…I’ll write more on this later if there’s demand), it was very relaxing to be out of the city.
A local woman invited us (mostly Oliver) to come to her house one afternoon. We said that we would, but I think she was surprised when we actually did. We were served deliciously warm, fresh milk while we quickly became a village-wide attraction. Other children played with him rougher than what he's used to but he took it well. Another woman wanted us to come to her house too, so we did.
From there we moved on to Rishikesh, which is a major hippie pilgrimage and claims to be the world capital of yoga. It was made famous in the 1960s when the Beatles played and stayed at Maharishi’s ashram. The four of us (me, Oliver, Sinclair and her boyfriend, Abhyudai) arrived without a place to stay, but found a decent place off of the main road, up a steep alleyway and 53 very steep stairs, for just 200 rupees ($4.50) per night. I was so excited to see jars of cookies on bakery counters everywhere (munchies for those who indulge in the cheap weedJ), and I just had to have one! I got 10 rupees out of my pocket, asked for a peanut cookie, put the money on the counter, and the next thing I knew, I was walking away, trying to bite into this cookie that turned out to be more like a thick slab of peanut brittle (my disappointment brought me down out of the clouds) and realizing that I still had 10 rupees in my hand. I guess I got so excited about the possibility of a peanut butter cookie that I forgot to pay.
We spent an amazing day in Rishikesh hiking back to Maharishi’s ashram, which is now abandoned. We weren’t able to go in, but we went swimming in the Ganges River, which is considered holy and people swim in it for religious, spiritual and healing purposes. It was freezing cold and the sun was hot, so Oliver and I didn’t spend much time by the riverside. I decided to go sit under this huge banyan tree with him while the others enjoyed the water (we had met up with two of Sinclair and Abhyudai’s friends from the farm, Guio from Spain and Nanu from Portugal). Another group of about 6 foreigners happened along, including two Spanish guitarists. Perfect. We spent hours under that tree listening to amazing music and talking. One of the guitarists was traveling with his wife and their dog, and his wife had just found out that she was pregnant so we talked a lot about traveling with a baby. While we were eating supper later that night, the same musicians came and played at the restaurant. I didn’t realize that they made their living off of music while traveling, so I was more than happy to buy a cd. Such great memories.
That night, Oliver was so fussy and tired but refused to fall asleep. After fussing and crying and almost falling asleep for nearly three hours, he suddenly turned into a sweetie pie again and Sinclair and Abhyudai took him so that I could go and get a much-needed massage. There are massage places all over Rishikesh, so I just went into the first one I found. It was a very strange experience…there was only one man in this store, and the massage table was just a mattress on the floor in back. I asked if they had a woman there to do massages, and he assured me that one would be there in ten minutes. The time passed and passed, and I asked how long it would be again and he reassured me that she was on her way, but that he could do it if I wanted it right then. I insisted on the woman, and I’m glad I did—nearly every part of your body gets massaged, which I guess is fairly common outside the US but an experience I hadn’t had before. It took all I had to not start giggling when she abruptly pulled down my underwear and started rubbing my butt.
The next morning, we met up with two more friends from the farm, Julia and Hannah from Canada. They took us to this little restaurant (there were six seats and seven of us) and I had the best pancakes ever, no offense to my mom or Juan! Three banana pancakes, two with ginger preserve on top and one with cocoa powder and chocolate syrup. I can’t express how good they were. Flying Tiger Café—if you’re in Rishikesh you must go. It’s hard to find, a long, steep walk up from the Ganges on the side opposite Laxman Jhula, most locals will have no idea what you’re talking about when you ask for directions, but it’ll be so worth it.
From there we took a cab up to Mussoorie, from where snow-capped Himalayas can be seen. Sinclair, Abhyudai and I took a cab there…I swear that the switchbacks up the mountains are much narrower and sharper than they are in the US. We arrived near dusk and I was surprised how cold it was; it must have been around 35-40, so I bundled Oliver up in a hat, knitted socks that go up to his knees, his polar fleece jacket, and stuffed him inside the wrap to keep him toasty. We didn’t have a place to stay there either, so we just started walking along the main road. We came across this abandoned-looking, old theatre and ballroom that had a sign saying it was a hotel, and it turned out to be a really cool, sort of eerie place for $8 per night, plus $2.50 more for a space heater…most places don’t have central heat. I’m actually glad that we didn’t plan this out and that we were without a Lonely Planet guide because we would have never found that place if we had followed recommendations in a guide.
The best parts of Mussoorie were definitely the views and the fresh, crisp mountain air. It felt so good in the sun, like a sunny day in late October in Minnesota. There were even some leaves on the ground that we crunched through. The second day we were there, we decided to just take an all day hike without much of a destination in mind other than up. We got off the beaten track that tourists generally stick to and found neat little antique shops filled with leftovers from the days of British rule, a place selling hand-painted, Kashmiri handicrafts, and jars of fresh, natural peanut butter (we bought two). We continued up the steep, winding roads past dilapidating wooden buildings and sat on a bench in the sun and ate apple slices dipped in our prized peanut butter. We were just continuing up the road when we ran into Peter, another Fulbrighter, and his wife, Lilly. They and some others were staying in Mussoorie for a few months while studying Hindi. They lead us to a great bakery nearby where I had my fill of chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven. It was Peter’s birthday, so we went to the party and bonfire they had at the house where they’re staying, which is near the top of the highest peak in Mussoorie. It was so much fun to see a few of the other Fulbrighters again.
Oliver with a cookie-baker:)
