Rishikesh

For some reason, Rishikesh reminds me of Jerusalem. Maybe it's the mountains that surround it, although the so-called mountains around Jerusalem aren't much more than little hills in comparison. Maybe it's the climate - pretty dry, especially after the nearly 100% humidity we had in South India. Maybe the more spiritually-minded would say that the aura of spirituality surrounds them both (although some would say that Rishikesh is too commercial, and personally, I think that in the last few years, Jerusalem has become more and more religious, and less and less spiritual). Whatever it is, I like it. The Ganges cuts through it, and the only way from one side to the other is on one of two suspension bridges that can be crossed only on foot, bicycle or motorcycle. People like me, who get really, really very unhinged when the ground beneath them moves - have to be prepared, because these bridges have a sway to them, either because of the wind or because of the traffic, and you can get dizzy just standing on them, not to mention walking.

And then you have the monkeys to deal with, who sit right next to the beggars. People buy little bags of popcorn just to throw to them (the monkeys, not the beggars). Not to mention the coffee-house perched at the cliff by the end of one of the bridges - where the monkeys come, when pickings are slow on the bridge. They will sit at the table next to yours, gaze soulfully into your eyes, and make little cooing sounds, or grimace at you until you throw them something to eat.

I rolled into town at 5 AM, freezing cold and immensely tired after two nights with almost no sleep. I took the first hotel I could find, a really beautiful spot overlooking the Ganges. But I moved the next day, because it was too expensive. Now I am staying at a guest-house that isn't really in Rishikesh, on the mountain-side a couple of kilometers north. The view is spectacular. The owner (who lives there with his wife), used to be a member of parliament, I am told, and now that he is retired, he is fixing up this place. It is a haphazard building, with rooms stuck on here and there - on the roof, in the garden. We have our own resident swami, a guy from Uzbekistan, who spent some time in the Soviet jail for practicing subversive yoga, and who is now working together with the owner of the place to construct an ashram there. I use the term "working" loosely - it seems that his work consists mainly of walking around the place with the owner in the evenings, pointing out different places where another room can be stuck onto the construction (interesting method of building they have here), and giving instruction in yoga practice to any guests who are interested. Somehow he always has time to sit on the veranda and talk about anything and everything. For someone who likes to say of himself that his language is silence, he does talk quite a lot...

I've thought, quite often, that this trip of mine is a "journey of the soul" as well as an external one, but I have no idea whatsoever where it is that my soul is going. I've had emotions shooting in every direction, with no apparent reason. I think that a trip like this can really give you a chance to measure your values and priorities against a completely foreign culture. (This is one of the topics of discussion I've had with my Soviet Swami, so you're going to have to bear with me.) Reality again - we build our concepts of what is real and what is not, what is important and what is not - in the context of the surroundings we live in. But when the surroundings change radically - to the point where things that you are used to taking for granted are simply not there, and other things you never dreamed of are there instead - you can look again at how your life is built, and what is really important to you. I guess the real jolt, the real test, will be when I get back home.

Until then, anyway, I get to keep walking around the ashrams, where men dress like monkeys and hoot at you for money, and smear orange dye on your forehead if you let them. And I get to watch devout Hindus jump into the river at dawn. (Yes, they're doing that here too, not just in Varanasi - and it's a lot colder here!!) And here in Rishikesh, I get to watch the tourists, too - and there are plenty of them. The locals, especially, enjoy watching the tourists - I have had total strangers (Indians) tap me on the shoulder and ask me to pose with them for a picture. The amount of communication that goes on here without words is amazing - of the three people who work at the guest-house, I feel closest to the one who speaks the least English (not that the others know so much more) - it is amazing how much personality shows through when you spend time with someone with whom you can't talk.

Speaking of which, maybe I've talked enough for now.