During my time in Jaisalmer my friend Deepak told me about an Ashram, in Haridwar, that is open not only to Indian's but tourists too, for both short and long term visits. He assured me it was one of the best and that he tries to go twice a year in order to mediate, practice Yoga and take some dedicated time away from the madness that is India to focus on "me". With my train tickets booked for my whole time in India (something I decided on doing in Delhi at the start of my trip), it just so happened that I would be getting the train to Haridwar after Varansai, en route to Rishikesh; the Yoga Mecca. Deepak explained how days at the Ashram were spent with sole emphasis on "you". On entering, you are given plain white clothes, almost a uniform, if you like, and are only allowed access to "the outside world" for half an hour for every week spent there. It sounded like a great chance to get away from the chaos of India and reconnect with myself, away from the constant stresses and strains that the country hurls at you as a female solo traveler. I scribbled down the address and mentally set aside those days to be reserved for "me". It was a prospect that was both daunting and liberating in equal measure. The only niggling concern I had was written in thick, black ink, right in the middle of my train ticket. Arrival time: 04.00.
As the train pulled up to the station in the dead of night, I, bleary eyed and not knowing where the heck I was, (thank you to the father of an Indian family who kindly let me know when my stop was next) stepped off the platform and headed out towards the exit and a sea of Auto-Rickshaws. Clutching my piece of paper with the Ashram's address written on it, I attempted to find a driver who knew where it was whilst also trying haggle down the price. In hindsight, only the latter was particularly successful.
After having to share my rickshaw ride with a random Indian guy, whose destination got priority but which allowed me to barter down my fare down further, and after about 20 minutes of driving, we pulled up to an almighty Ashram. I mean, the place was huge. An elderly Indian man whose face was full of fine, paper-like lines and who spoke no English was waiting at the high arch of the entrance. My driver got out and spoke to him, I joined him and did my best to communicate via the art of pointing and repetition. Neither the conversation in Indian, nor my attempt got us anywhere nearer to discovering the address. We drove on further down the road, aimlessly looking left and right in hope of some sort of sign, clue, anything. We stopped at a Chai Wallah stall and again the Indian asked for help or directions (bear in mind that at the time of getting into the Rickshaw, the driver was adamant he knew where he was going. Such is India!) So we carried on driving... Round and round for hours. We eventually decided to call it a day at around 5.45am, but then came the saga of a hotel room. The first 3 hotels we went to weren't interested in a "single", strictly two people. Brilliant, now I'm being judged! And believe you me, this is not the first and definitely not the last time that having a man around would have made my travelling experience a hell of a lot easier, not to mention safer. Finally I found a room at around 6am, but the guy wanted a ridiculous amount of money for it, "But I'm only staying a few hours, check out is 12 noon!". We agreed on a price, I checked out the room (fine, by Indian standards - no bugs at least) and I went back down to check in. After writing down all of my info - passport number, address etc. I confirmed the price with him, and, you've guessed it, he'd put it up! At this point I was so tired and really sick of the whole drama that I just wanted to lie down and rest for a few hours and then get the hell out of there (I really didn't like the look of this place one bit). We drove to several more hotels and at what felt like the fifth or sixth one, I managed to get a fair price. The room was average, and it was now only a few moments sleep until the Sun would come up, but at least I could get some peace and quiet. Or so I thought. The taxi driver helped me with my luggage, and then, as I have had the unfortunate pleasure of finding to be the norm (for me) here in India, he tried to get something out of it. GOODBYE! Door. Slammed. Shut. One thing was for sure, I was getting on the next bus to Rishkesh as soon as I could.
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Rishikesh was a nice place..
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