How much to Tapovan?
"How much to Tapovan?" I ask the tout at the Rishikesh bus stand.
"Rs 250, or 70 if you share."
The going rate is about Rs 10, but the price is fixed. Welcome to India.
"You'll have to wait to fill the share cab."
We load in the back and I wander off looking for packs of salted peanuts.
Returning to wait, time passes. But how long remains a mystery as the $500 gold Longines is long gone. Ripped from my arm, an undetected loss, as we clamber off the share cab from Clement Town to the Interstate Bus Terminal, in Dehradun. Oh well. What's time anyway!
Tout suggests we go ahead. "The are no buses. Next one maybe half hour. Sixty minutes. You go for Rs 200?"
"We'll wait."
We wait.
"Okay. You go or Rs 180."
"Okay." Done deal. We're off. Ripped off?
Arriving at the Laxman Jhula auto drop off, DG engages with the ever-present iPhone Google Map, previously downloaded, frozen in time, to show the way. Confused as to which way is up, down or around, we find the chap at the German Bakery is unable to sell us an espresso, but suggests back to the main road, right to somewhere, down again. Okay so back up the hill, for a quick 1km plus stroll, back packs fully laden. I remind myself I'm in training or the Mt Kailash yatra. We hit the end of town. Too far? Triangulate again and back 500 metres. Should be fine. Thank goodness for Google Maps. Yeah, right!
So after finally having turned Indian, I've arrived at the 'something or another' ashram, carefully selected by DG, and guess what? No Indians. Well apart from the management and kitchen staff!
Up bright and early next morning, I'm out on my errands (having been given the designated role as 'walla' for everything) with the shopping list; laundry liquid in sachets, chocolate biscuits. Important stuff!
Breakfast, lunch and dinner, dahl, rice and chapattis. The German couple have been here 4 weeks.
"I'm craving some meat and fish," the woman says. "We're heading to Goa."
'Oms to you,' I think.
After dinner, it's out of the ashram guesthouse, for our evening constitutional walk down to the South Indian restaurants in Laxman Jhula -at the bottom of the hill - to savour local chai at Rs 10 a pop. On returning, I notice the chocolate biscuit pack is still unopened. We must have settled in to ashram life is all I can say.
"How much to Tapovan?" I ask the tout at the Rishikesh bus stand.
"Rs 250, or 70 if you share."
The going rate is about Rs 10, but the price is fixed. Welcome to India.
"You'll have to wait to fill the share cab."
We load in the back and I wander off looking for packs of salted peanuts.
Returning to wait, time passes. But how long remains a mystery as the $500 gold Longines is long gone. Ripped from my arm, an undetected loss, as we clamber off the share cab from Clement Town to the Interstate Bus Terminal, in Dehradun. Oh well. What's time anyway!
Tout suggests we go ahead. "The are no buses. Next one maybe half hour. Sixty minutes. You go for Rs 200?"
"We'll wait."
We wait.
"Okay. You go or Rs 180."
"Okay." Done deal. We're off. Ripped off?
Arriving at the Laxman Jhula auto drop off, DG engages with the ever-present iPhone Google Map, previously downloaded, frozen in time, to show the way. Confused as to which way is up, down or around, we find the chap at the German Bakery is unable to sell us an espresso, but suggests back to the main road, right to somewhere, down again. Okay so back up the hill, for a quick 1km plus stroll, back packs fully laden. I remind myself I'm in training or the Mt Kailash yatra. We hit the end of town. Too far? Triangulate again and back 500 metres. Should be fine. Thank goodness for Google Maps. Yeah, right!
So after finally having turned Indian, I've arrived at the 'something or another' ashram, carefully selected by DG, and guess what? No Indians. Well apart from the management and kitchen staff!
Up bright and early next morning, I'm out on my errands (having been given the designated role as 'walla' for everything) with the shopping list; laundry liquid in sachets, chocolate biscuits. Important stuff!
Breakfast, lunch and dinner, dahl, rice and chapattis. The German couple have been here 4 weeks.
"I'm craving some meat and fish," the woman says. "We're heading to Goa."
'Oms to you,' I think.
After dinner, it's out of the ashram guesthouse, for our evening constitutional walk down to the South Indian restaurants in Laxman Jhula -at the bottom of the hill - to savour local chai at Rs 10 a pop. On returning, I notice the chocolate biscuit pack is still unopened. We must have settled in to ashram life is all I can say.
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