October 13, 2016

“You’re can turn off the sun, but I’m still gonna shine.” Jason Mraz

It’s been three long, yet mellow days of mostly coming downhill from the higher altitudes as I approached Rishikesh. That’s how it goes when you start with the highest motorable road in the world. It’s all downhill from there. Down from Himachal state, then into Uttarakhand, up and over the mountain top Indian tourist haven (nightmare) known as Mussoorie. Now, Rishikesh. It is the mecca of all things yoga. After 3 weeks of relentless cycling in the Himalayas and likely 8 weeks still ahead of me through India and Nepal, this was exactly what I needed.

That Jason Mraz song, The Remedy, came up on my iPod, and fittingly so as I was approaching Rishikesh. I had put on my iPod to drown out the incessant horns of hundreds of cars, buses, and other vehicles, screaming by me, bringing with them a barrage of other serenity seekers to this holy place. If you want a mere approximation of what this was like, watch this clip.

I was close to breaking.  After being in the mountains for 3 weeks, the heat, but mostly the noise, has been maddening. As I entered Rishikesh, the place of all things spiritual and tranquil, it was anything but…and I nearly kept going. Seriously. It was 11a.m. and I had thus far had a very easy morning coming down from Mussoorie. The sun was rising higher in the sky, bringing with it the heat and humidity of the valley, and also the noise and tension in my body. All the tranquility that I had experienced over the past 3 weeks was being obliterated by the utility trucks smashing through the psyche of weaker mentalities. Mine, was crumbing. My sun was being turned off.

I rolled into Rishikesh. So many ashrams and hotels?!? I stopped at too many. They were either in busy areas, too expensive, dirty, or some combination. Why is it so much more difficult and stressful to find a place to sleep in a place that has literally thousands of options, than finding a place in a small remote village the middle of the mountains. What I wouldn’t give for a dhaba, locked away high in the mountains right now.

Nearing despair, I stopped and chatted with a blonde woman in her early 30’s. She was dressed all in white and was talking to some Indian men. It seemed like she had been here more than 3 hours and thus might be a credible referral source for a place to sleep. She was from Ukraine, and she gave me the name of 2 places…which I never found. I was fading, and so was Rishikesh. I threw my leg over my bike one last time. “You need room?” an Indian man asked me as I started to pedal away. He must have seen my light flickering. “How much?” I managed to grunt back. “Rs800.” He came back 1 minute later. “Sorry, all full. Go around corner to Pyramid Guest House.” Well, at least there was a direction. I looked up a steep, narrow, broken path that went up nearly 200 meters away from the street noise. There were no signs or indication of any guest house. I didn’t have the strength to push my bike up. As I stood there, dejected, tired, sweating, dirty, and hungry, a woman walking down smiled at me. Before I could say anything, she said, “Hello. I don’t have any water.” I guess 3 hours of cycling and 3 hours of looking for a place to sleep had a distinct visual appearance on my face. I chuckled, having recently downed a liter of water. “Thank you. I’m just looking for a place to sleep.” We chatted for a few moments. She was from Israel and told me about the guest house at the top of the hill…and that it was too far to push my bike (apparently looking how I looked). “I’ll watch your bike. You can ask, but I know they are fully booked.” I slogged up this broken, narrow path, lined with cows and cow byproducts, until I reached a clearing in the forest. Monkeys were swinging from the trees, birds were serenading me, dogs actually had collars on them. People were eating fruit and drinking kombucha. I could hear the river but none of the rest of the city. I walked into the reception office and inquired about a room, fully expecting them to be full. They were, until I met a lovely Canadian couple who was checking out. “We’re leaving today, so you can have ours. It’s the private bungalow in the back. We’ve been here for 2 weeks. It’s quiet, clean, cheap, and the food is terrific.” Sold. Sight unseen.

By now, it was 2pm. My bungalow would not be ready until after 4pm. I sat, had an amazing curry, combined with a fresh glass of kombucha and a fresh glass of beet root, carrot, and ginger juice. My sun was coming back out. I was starting to shine again. Over my shoulder, I heard more distinct, unbroken English. This is the most I’ve heard in nearly 1 month. With my blood sugar and shine restored, I walked over and met 2 English speaking women, one from Spain, and the other from…Colorado, now living in New Zealand and whose sister lives 3 blocks from me in Boulder. They invited me down to the Ganges for the nightly Aarti. It involves the circulating of an Aarti plate around a person or deity and is generally accompanied by the congregation singing songs in praise of that deva. In doing so, the plate is supposed to acquire the power of the deity. The priest circulates the plate to all those present. They cup their down-turned hands over the flame and then raise their palms to their forehead. This purificatory blessing, passed from the deva’s image to the flame, has now been passed to the devotee. It was shoulder to shoulder, singing, clapping, beauty.

I enjoyed a quiet, dark walk home by myself along the Ganges, up the hill to my private bungalow. I was relaxed, present, and prepared to live another day. The air was heavy and warm…and the best thing? It was quiet. My room had a window fan right next to my bed. I flipped it on. Immediately, hundreds (yes…hundreds) of ants came streaming…no, fleeing, out of the fan, carrying eggs. Apparently nobody had turned on the fan in some time and they had made their home there. I had now unleashed an earthquake and they were packing up the kids and getting out of there. I watched for about 10 minutes before going to ask for a spray, because of course it was next to my bed. “You have disrupted their home and they are moving. Give it 30 minutes for them to find new home, then no problem,” I was told by the man working in reception. Sure enough, he was right…mostly. This is how it is when you are living in a bungalow in the woods above the Ganges River in India. Oh, yeah…the real catch about living in this paradise…and I was warned by the Canadian couple: when flushing the toilet, the main pipe from the tank to the bowl blows off and instead of flushing 1.6 gallons of water down the bowl, it instead blasts 1.6 gallons of water directly onto the floor…if you don’t hold onto the pipe. Well…I forgot. Fortunately in India the toilet is in the same place as the shower so all the water just flowed down the drain. Welcome to India.   Ants were relocated, toilet water drained. I think I’ve had enough for 1 day.

I woke up the next day, fully rested, at 530 a.m. and was invited to a hatha yoga class with my 2 new friends. It was in a building, down a random alley, nowhere near anything, and I’ve never been able to find it again. There were no signs, or any indication that yoga was happening. Every building in Rishikesh has blaring signs for yoga and we apparently found the secret stash. The class was packed. Every mat was touching another. Normally in the US, this would send me immediately fleeing out the back door. However, in India, for some reason it was different. I found peace. It was everything that I wanted and everything that I needed. In fact, the shavasana at the end…I don’t think I’ve been more still or relaxed. I could have laid there for an hour. This is why I came to Rishikesh, and why I stayed. Ninety minutes of much needed movement, gratitude, and grounding.

After class, I came back to the guest house, intent on relaxing and reading. Randomly, (but is anything really random?), the same Ukrainian woman whom I met yesterday, sat down next to me for lunch. I already know that there are thousands of guest houses and places to eat in Rishikesh and this place is not on the main street. She was staying at the guest house next door. Her name was Alisa and she barely recognized me from my frazzled and shattered state yesterday. “You look happy!” she said in her remarkably good, yet thick Ukrainian laden English. “I thought about your travels by cycle yesterday. Your courage and spirit is inspiring!” What do you say to that? I was speechless but managed to simply smile and say thank you. Everyone you meet, whether it is just in passing, or someone who holds a place in your life forever, plays a role. Maybe we met, briefly, just to provide a much needed lift in each other’s day. I have had far too many of these meetings to believe in randomness any longer. That compliment fully lit me up again. I spent the next 5 days in Rishikesh, being present, meeting new people, going to yoga everyday and just…shining

You can turn out the sun, but I’m still gonna shine…