A few words, a few pictures

Namaste from Rishikesh. To be more accurate, Laxman Jhula. Slightly further up the Ganges. Slightly smaller Ashrams. Just as many yoga massage reiki kundalini sacred holy cow inverted magnetic kharma banana rama workshops. Slightly more Western middle aged lost cause shanti wankers. Just as many monkeys. This is the place where yoga took off and never came back down again. Where the Beatles wrote the White album. Where the Ganges trickles out of the Himalayas and rapidly assumes the luminous green thickness of relentless slithering python. This is where the spiritually awakened come to rub shoulders with gurus, babas and various enlightened beings, a thinly concealed hope that they too might achieve worldly peace.


(The above photo has nothing to do with Rishikesh, Ganesh, or any other "esh". Being my first attempt to add pictures i thought i'd chuck in a couple from my whole trip so far. This is go at the sun setting over the beach at Arambol, Goa. Pretty huh.)

At first i thought this place was pretty. I liked the idea of doing some yoga. Some meditation. Kicking back and reading a book, listening to some nice records, feeling the weighty pulse of the world's holiest river slithering by. I also liked the idea of becoming a champion basketball player when i was a kid. I've always liked ideas. But its not until you set foot on the court that you start to recognise the distance between the idea and the experience.
(Hampi! By far the best place we've been so far. I love Hampi. This is some old busted ancient bridge.)

It IS a very beautiful location. Tucked snuggly within the sudden and determined looking hills that gradually cascade into the jagged peaks of the Himalaya. The problem is not the hills or the river or even the holy pilgrims. Its the bloody rubbish. There are no bins in India. And no one gives a rats arse about chucking wrappers and bottles and paper and cigarette butts and whatever they happen to have just used for whatever selfish purpose onto the ground wherever they happen to be standing. Even when you make the effort to find a bin (in a cafe or hotel) they eventually just chuck it out the back. Case in point, most filth ends up straight in the Ganges, which is supposed to be sacred. I know that i shouldn't judge, that my point of view is embedded in a whole tonne of Western idealism crap, that it probably has something to do with the caste system which i don't understand and never will. But it looks awful. There' gotta be someplace they can send it stick it bust it down bury it or recycle it. Okay. So that one thing that seems to be amiss here.

(Hampi again! This is one of the few images in the old ruins that struck a chord with me. If you can't make him out, the poor stooge is getting gored by an elephant. I'll let you play the analyst.)

But i also have an aversive reaction to these tree eating cow hugging om shanti western twits. The locals don't dress like that, all orange in a full body scarf and shit. People singing right next to me in the cafe where i can't get a descent coffee. Oh, but personal stereos are not allowed and none of the restaurants play music. Its all straight out of the Gopal's Hare Krishna vegetarian playlist round here. I had to go and find a bit of empty beach, upstream, away from the nobs having their photo took with a cow looking bored. Nice spot, no stooges. I sat down. And then they appeared. A whole dinghy full of German tourists wearing pink helmets rowing lazily, having absolutely no influence on the determined current of the Ganga, which carried them dumbly along. Then i became aware of the major hotel development happening on the opposite shore, the sound of a circular saw, hammering, horns beeping and engines revving. Once again, India is at her most interesting when you go a couple of streets back from the main drag and get lost in the tiny alleys. Kids playing cricket on roof tops. Old men sitting in the sun, nuzzling their pet cow. These strange cement blocks that people live in.


This morning we jumped in a cab at 5am and hoofed up to the top of a very bloody big hill with a tiny (kinda boring) temple on top to watch the sunrise. I been feeling unwell with a bad head cold so i was a bit paranoid about being in the severe cold (it is so bloody cold up here!), but it was a mighty fine view and i decided to jog on the spot and tough it out. Just like Rocky would. Alright Rocko! For the first 30 minutes it was just me and marty, the sun taking its sweet time. Then some Japanese tourists rocked up and we had to share the view with them until Ra exploded from the horizon and exposed the stunning snow capped peaks, barely visible in the distance. A bit more sun and we could really see them. It was fantastic. With numb hands, feet and face, we crawled into the cab and returned to Rishikesh. See if you can guess which photos are from this morning. The best bit of the whole day was that 30 mins or so while Mart and i were desperately fighting the cold, determined to get our bloody sunrise over the Himalayas.

Since then we've had a few ideas about what to do next. I thought i might be able to get into this place, but i'm not so sure any more. It is quiet. It has potential. But Marty hates the place and that clinched it. Tomorrow we head to a national park sporting tigers and elephants. I hate safari wankers nearly as much as i hate hippy wankers, but it'll be a change and a bus trip. Then we'll probably head to Jaipur, the pink capital of Rajasthan.
(This is one of my favourite pictures. Its at the beautiful mosque at the Golconda Fort in Hyderabad. I don;t know the guy. But i like what he does to my photo. Nice way to finish hey. You like that shit?)
Okay i kinda just rambled off a whole heap of stuff today. I hope you like the pictures. They're some of my favourite from the very limited few i've taken. I don't much like cameras. Until wherever i happen to be next time. Seeya