Patrick Dowd

another Chotiwala
Originally uploaded by patrickdowd.

We hired a driver and Jeep in Gangotri to take us to Rishikesh. When we awoke in the morning in Gangotri, we crawled out of our sleeping bags and put on our fleeces and down sweaters. It had snowed on the peaks. It was a long day even though we didn’t stop for meals. We left at 7 a.m. and arrived at 8 p.m.. By mid-day, we were perspring in our T-shirts.
Rishikesh is a holy city on the Ganges River. When the Beatles went to study with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi way back in the last century, this is where they stayed.
Although it’s not as large or busy as Haridwar, many Indian tourists come here to visit the temples and river and to assemble for additional tours into the Himalayas. There are two famous pedestrian suspension bridges here, Lakshman Jhula and Shivanand Jhula. The Photographers’ Association stays busy taking photos at Lakshman Jhula. A large sign says you need a permit from the Association to take photos. You can take rafts down the Ganges for whitewater thrills.
The main indusry seems to be yoga education for Westerners. A dozen women were taking a class at our hotel. Western male students tend to dress all in white and have beards and dreadlocks. Bookstores have comprehensive libraries with ancient texts to contemporary “how to” and inspirational works. Signs tout techniques; banners advertise swamis. Our local map lists about thirty ashrams. A number of people appear to have “gone native” and settled here to unwind, absorb the local culture and pursue enlightenment. Many Indian babas line the streets and can be seen bathing in the Ganges. I’m not sure of local protocol, but too many of the babas are begging for five and ten rupees for chai. More than a few are smoking and selling hashish.

As a Westerner, I am targeted by people that want my money. The vast majority of people saying hello or approaching me want me to buy a service or an item–or simply give them money. It happens so frequently and so brazenly that I find myself avoiding looking at people or answering their hellos. As I am walking, people step right in front of me and thrust some article of merchandise in my face. People pull at my sleeve and hold on to my elbow. One young beggar sat on my foot.
I do meet people who are interested in me as a tourist and foreigner; they want to talk or take my photo. But they are in the minority. I find myself with my defenses up and initially reluctant to talk with anyone.
I suppose it’s not so onerous and poor people are simply trying to make a living. But it’s so in my face. The frequency and intensity are tiresome. In an hour’s walk it might happen 10 – 15 times. In certain spots, it can happen 10 – 15 times in ten minutes. I met two Brits. They were keeping score. After three weeks, they were looking for encounter #4, meaning someone would say Hello to them and have an interest in them personally rather than trying to sell or be something.
Philosophically, I have commited to giving to charitable institutions in each country I visited, but not giving to beggars, especially beggars using their children as a means to gain funds.

Gangotri, bathers in Ganges
Originally uploaded by patrickdowd.

We hired a driver to take us from Uttarkashi to Gangotri, an elevation gain of about 2,000 meters in 98 kilometers. Gangotri is in the upper reahes of the Ganges Valley 14 kilometers from the headwaters. I hiked along the Ganges–the mountains and cliffs are spectacular here. The air is crisp and cool. The peaks are rocky and jagged. Most of the trees are evergreen. It reminds me of Nederlands or Georgetown in Colorado. Along the way, I spied “baba homes,” caves where ascetics live. The river is a brackish green from the glacier runoff.
The ancient temple is a destination for religious tourism. The Char Dam includes this site plus Yaminotri, Kedernath and Badrinath. Everyday, thousands of tourists show up here. There is no parking available so buses, taxis and cars line the road for 2 kilometers. It’s only a one-lane road, so the last few kilimeters take hours.
About 2 p.m. in the afternoon, I saw a mob scene at the temple. Hundreds of pilgrims were trying to push their way inside. There is one door with a single line in and a single line out. But the crowd was blocking people from getting out. They broke down a barricade. One man was yelling at the top of his lungs. Uniformed guards with bamboo batons were trying to remove him, but he broke free and forced his way into the temple. I wonder what kind of spiritual encounter people could have after all the pushing and shoving. I was walking in the lane afterwards and got pushed and shouldered by several men leaving the temple.

Uttarkashi, with our driver PK
Originally uploaded by patrickdowd.

We hired a driver to take us from Haridwar to Uttarkashi. We stayed 5 kilometers outside of town at the Shakkir Nature Preserve. “Preserve” is overstated, but they have considerable waterfront on the Ganges in a pretty mountain setting. We stayed in huts (or fixed tents) with attached baths. Meals are included. It’s all very civililzed. In late afternoon, they serve tea and biscuits in the shade beside the tent. We are addressed as “sir” and “madam.”
In the morning, women with baskets climb the mountain across from our lodging. Men with mules go into the riverbed and sledge hammer stones apart for construction material. Some shepherds drive their flocks to higher ground. A couple of young women gather watercress where a brook enters Mother Ganga.
I read “Touching My Father’s Soul” by Jamling Tenzing Norgay. The son of Tenzing Norgay tells how his father became the first man to climb Everest with Sir Edmund Hilary. He also tells his own story of his relationship with the mountain. Many of the places he writes about are places I have just visited. Many of his comments about Tibetan or Sherpa life correspond to what I observed. It’s an interesting book that weaves serveral stories and themes together. When I was finished reading it, I gave it to a young climber from the Nehru Mountaineering Institute. He was happy to receive my gift.

Haridwar, Ganga Arti
Originally uploaded by patrickdowd.

We arrived by train about 7 a.m. and were surrounded again by porters, rickshaw drivers and taxi drivers. We walked across the street and had some chai and pastries. We checked into a hotel on the Ganges. From our balcony, we could survey a quarter-mile section of river including the sacred Ghat, Har-Ki-Pauri. There were bathers and swimmers, saddhus in orange robes, street vendors with blankets on the ground and middle-class families. There were sacred cows, sacred cows eating garbage and sacred cow manure.
The entire district prohibited automobiles and trucks ( but sadly not motorcycles). Most people walked or used bicycle rickshaws (pedicabs). We used a rickshaw to move our luggage. Our balcony had a warning about monkeys. At the end of the day, about forty monkeys would walk by.
Evening Ceremony (Ganga Arti) — there is a religious ceremony every evening. We cheked our shoes and entered the holy area. A Hindu priest helped us purchase a little boat made of palm leaves and filled with flower petals. He said prayers for us and our families. We splashed Ganges River water on our foreheads. He lit candles in the little boat and we sent it off into the current. We gave him a donation and sat down to watch the area fill with people.
There were cheers, speakers and uniformed men accepting donations and giving receipts. Many men dressed in white and had their foreheads painted yellow with a red smudge in the center. At dusk, there were gongs, cymbals and bells clanging and clashing loudly. People chanted. A small chair was carried beside the river and lit up with electrical lights. Ancient temples were illuminated. Many torches were lit. The clanging and chanting got louder. Many small boats were floating down the Ganges with tiny lit wicks. The singing slowed, the crowd grew quiet and dispersed.
Bazaar — behind our hotel were narrow alleys that contained a marketplace or bazaar. The goods were targeted toward Indian tourists and included jewelry, clothing and linen, sourvenirs, books and fruit.
A Holy City — no alchol or eating of meat is allowed. People have been coming here for thousands of years. On certain occasions, over 1 million people converge here.
Few Westerners — during three days, we saw four Westerners.
Chief Medical Officer — every few hours, a squad of uniformed officers went through the streets to clear the crowd. They carry bamboo batons. People roll up their mats and scurry out of the way. One officer stopped and introduced himself. He did not speak English, but we carried on a conversation anyway. He showed us his identification, Chief Medical Officer. I wished him well and said I thought he had a very difficult job.
Hot — it is hot and humid beone anything I’ve eperienced before. There are limited sanitary facilities. Thousands of people are bathing in the river. A very large population of street people live on both banks of the river. The beggars have significant deformities, leprosy and missing limbs. Although people are always sweeping and hauling away garbage, it feels dirty to me, as though germs are everywhere and the outbeak of disease is imminent.
Middle Class — most of the people in Hardiwar appeared to be middle class tourists from other parts of India. They are on religious pilgimages. They are well-dressed and have their families with them. We took gondola rides up to the two temples on the surrounding hills (Chandi Devi Temple and Mansa Devi Temple). While standing on line for the gondolas, we met several families. Usually an adolescent would ask us in English, “Where are you from?” Eventually, we would meet everyone in the family which usually included three generations. This felt comfortable and nomal.
Foreign — after traveling in South America, China, Tibet and Nepal, Haridwar felt most foreign to me. I have no frame of reference for the people, language, customs and rituals. I’ve never seen anything like it before.