Belly Man

This weekend was my trip to Haridwar/Rishikesh. While we were still in Delhi a few weeks ago, i browsed my lonely planet to find out cool trips that i could go on while i was in Mussoorie. Rajaji National Park (A tiger and elephant preserve), and Rishikesh became my primary travel objectives. Because we were in Yamunotri last weekend, this weekend was when the objective would be executed. Unfortunately, Rajaji is mostly closed at this time of year, so our plans changed to leaving Mussoorie friday afternoon, spending that night and half of saturday in Haridwar (another holy city like Rishikesh), and then the rest of our weekend in Rishikesh. After doing my research (talking to my hindi teachers), i found out that the best way to travel around was by bus, because it costs about 30 rupees (20 cents) per bus ride. Other groups ended up taking taxis that cost 3,000 rupees (about 60 bucks) round trip! So after school, Camden and i told our travel group (Rachel, Katie, Becca, and Emilie) that we'd meet them at the bus stop downtown. We were in the mood for a very rare delicacy in India, the infamous Burger. The closest thing we found to a real burger was at a fast-food chain called Nirulas, where i got a chicken burger, and then an incredible hot fudge sundae.

The buses we ride are thin aluminum shells with 40 or so seats in them, and bars lining the roof above the asile, for people to hold on to. Luckily our bus wasn't too crowded, and i got a window seat, where i quickly developed the bad habit of sticking my head out of the bus, seeing as i was above all of the traffic, and could easily duck my head back in if needed. Like every way in and out of mussoorie, the drive was fast, windy, ridiculous. I've already tried to convey how crazy the driving is in India, but there really are no words to describe it (hopefully i'll get my videos up soon). A few people got sick because of how fast the driver would go around the switchbacks. An hour and a half of that, and we ended up in Dehrdun, the city at the base of the mountains. We got dropped off at the railway station, and had to get to the bus station. How should we travel the 7 kilometers quickly? Auto rickshaw of course. Ridiculous, ridiculous auto rickshaw. The two rickshaws that we needed to take decided it would be a good idea to race each other in the dense traffic of Dehradun. Except for a couple of near-death experiences, we got to the bus station safely, plus our rickshaw won!

The next bus to Haridwar was pretty uneventful, except for a few awkwardly phrased signs. Instead of taking the rickshaws pressed upon us by the copious amounts of drivers, we decided to walk the 2 km into town. It's amazing how you can get around in a foreign city, in India just by pointing and saying "hotel?". We also had the added point of interest of the Ganges, so "Ganga" was introduced into our barbarian-like communications. Finally after our over-heated wanderings we find Hotel Swagat Palace, a hotel recommended by Lonely Planet. The guy originally wanted 1 room, 3 beds and air conditioning for 900, but after a bit of haggling, we ended up paying 700 for the 6 of us.

At the prompting of the stomach rumbles of hungry travelers, we went searching for a restaurant that wouldn't necessitate mass amounts of immodium afterwards. Choti Vala was recommended by two of my hindi teachers, so after a quick walk alongside both auto and bike rickshaws, and hordes of shopkeepers yelling "hello serh" as if it was the most compelling thing in the world, we sat down and ate some food - I had the best garlic naan of my life. On the walk back we, like large mosquitoes, saw a bunch of bright lights and were drawn to them. Turns out that it was some sort of holiday in the local ashram (hindu temple), and because white people are never ignored in India, we were sucked into the rituals of the place. These included paying our respects to the heroes Rama and Sita, accepting gifts of sugar (kind of like rock candy) and mangoes, and then being sat down in the large hall amongst 100's of other people who were eating a meal being served by people walking around with buckets of food. The words "no", or "I just ate dinner" meant absolutely nothing to these people, who made it clear that it was holy to eat the questionable food being served to us, and we had to. All of this interaction was amidst the loud hum of music and many people's voices, along with the hordes (and i do not use this term lightly) of people coming up to us asking, "where from?", shaking our hands, taking our pictures, and just smiling dumbly at us.

I've begun to take pictures of everybody taking pictures of us, and for this weekend, i'm up to 9, and thats just the ones that i was able to get my camera out for. What is so interesting about is i don't know, nor can i fathom what will be done with a picture of me making a ridiculuous face. Will they show it to their friends? Will they publish it on the website Lookatthatwhiteperson.com which i secretly suspect exists for all of India? I don't know. Anyways, the next day we got up at 730 to go to the ganges and preform Puja. Puja is an indian custom, where you worship a god, and then get that red dot on your forehead. It's especially cool to do on the Ganges, where you buy bowls of flowers and send them down the river. Camden and I bought some flower bowls and had a guy help us do puja, where we splashed ourselves with the water, put flowers in our hand, put water on the flowers, and then throw them down the river. Repeat. The only thing i didn't do was drink the water, which was a dark brown color - much like hot chocolate. After making a generous donation to the man, he put a bindi (red dot) on my forehead. Then he got really excited and put another one above the current one, a dot on each of my ear lobes, and line across my throat. Camden got the same treatment. Later we realized just how much the bindi stains, because my throat bindi is still there, 2 days and multiple washings afterwards.

After puja, we began to draw a crowd of indian people who had also just done the same thing. They LOVED Emilie, and tried taking many picitures with her. Being the nice girl that she is, Emilie didn't resist too much, and submitted to being pushed, pulled, and crowded around. Eventually we all were requested to be photographed, and the mayhem began. There was this one man, whom we refer to as "the belly man", who never really smiled, had a near-bald head, and was wearing only his boxers. We call him the belly guy because he had a perfectly round belly. He made an effort to be in the middle of every photo, and in every single one, he's exactly the same: standing awkwardly in his boxers, with both his belly and his eyes staring directly into the camera. I've uploaded a picture of him for your viewing pleasure.

Too much to write so I'll leave you with that beautiful image - more soon.