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Neda scouts the area of the landslide and
sees new rocks falling from above. It’s
not safe to be here so we make a hard
decision to turn back.
Oh yeah, and my heels are starting
to tingle.
9/16/10
We are attempting to attack the
Himalayas from another direction,
heading south and then eastwards
across the lower Himalayan state of
Uttar Pradesh. Although the weather
is holding up today, there are more
roadblocks and lineups of cars. We are
all victims of the terrible rainwaters that
have played havoc with the mountain
roads. After lunch, my clutch cable
breaks and I spend some time at the side
of the road under a hot afternoon sun,
tearing apart the Enfield. These bikes are
not inspiring us with a lot of confidence.
We have also resorted to only eating
packaged foods until we reach our
destinations in the evening. Our fragile
North American stomachs are fed
infrequent helpings of potato chips
and bottled water at the side of the
road. Again, the delays of the day have
meant we arrive back at Chandigarh
late at night, wearing the sand, dust and
Tibetan prayer flags surround a temple on the Rohtang Pass
weariness of the day’s journey
on our faces.
9/18/10
We are on the way to the eastern state
of Uttarakhand and pass through many
towns and villages, watching the people
go about their lives on this beautiful
Saturday afternoon. In the fields, women
walk with baskets on their head piled
high with straws while the men work
tending the crops. We pass through
the town of Kala Amb and hear the
surprisingly out-of-place big band music
of some guys playing brass instruments
on their front porch. They are having a
party and motion for us to come in for
a drink, but we know if we do, we will
never make it to our destination before
sun-down. Even this close to the equator,
the sun sets around 7PM at this time
of year.
In the afternoon, Neda’s rear tire
develops a flat and after temporarily
pumping it up a bicycle rental shack, we
tentatively travel from village to village
looking for someone that can repair it.
We find a tire repair shop a few kms
down the road in Deharadun and we
talk to the locals as her tire tube is being
patched. Throughout the trip Neda and
I generate a lot of curiosity, they do not
see a lot of tourists travelling through
the area and everywhere we stop, a
crowd quickly gathers around to stare at
us. It’s very unnerving at first, because
no one approaches us to talk; they just
stand a few feet and stare. Some that
speak English ask where we are from,
where we are going to and request a
picture of us with them on their cell
phone cameras. Is this what celebrities
experience?
The mains roads of Deharadun are
underwater because of the severe
flooding, policemen standing on ledges
of the roundabouts directing traffic,
while we paddled our bikes through
knee-deep brown waters. We reach the
city of Haridwar an hour after sunset; it
has taken us 11 hours to cover 200 kms.
9/19/10
The city of Haridwar is completely
vegetarian because it is one of seven holy
places in India that offer salvation to the
devout that make the pilgrimage here.
The rain has not let up and we venture
out in our full motorcycle rain gear. We
board an auto-rickshaw from the hotel
and soon pick up several passengers
along the way. Our rickshaw has bench
space for 6, but somehow we jam in 10
people with all their bags. Our fellow
travelers are making the pilgrimage to
Har ki Pori, which is a special sacred
spot within Haridwar. In their bags are
flowers and other offerings which they
will throw into the Ganga River. It is
believed that Lord Vishnu stepped out of
the Ganga River at Har Ki Pori, and you
can see an imprint of his foot enshrined
in that exact spot. If you bathe in the
water at the steps of Har Ki Pori, all your
sins will wash away.
The holiness of Haridwar doesn’t stop
commerce as the stalls lining the streets
sell plastic jugs where the devout can
bottle up the holy brown waters of the
Ganga at Har Ki Pori at take it home with
them. Also for sale are towels to dry
yourself off when you finish bathing in
the river. Other stalls sell trinkets with
visages of Ganesh and Vishnu, as well
as flowery offerings that you can throw
into the river.
We spend the afternoon hiking up
a 2km path to one of the two temples
overlooking Haridwar. Chandi Devi
Temple is dedicated to the goddess of
the same name and is one of the most
ancient temples in India. It is not lavish
at all, but quite modest and spartan; the
centrepiece being a shrine in the middle
of the temple where one has to enter
barefoot in respect. The view from the
top looking down on Haridwar and the
Ganga River is spectacular!
The trek downhill was much easier
than going up and we were able to get
back to Har Ki Pori before the festivities
“Pinky, a Sikh mechanic
is teaching me emergency
enfield repairs. He doesn’t
speak a word of english...”
began. Aarti is the name of the puja
(religious ceremony) that happens on
the steps of Har Ki Pori twice a day, once
at sunrise and once at sunset. We got a
nice spot on the bridge to watch as the
devout lit candles set on a bed of flowers
within a banana leaf and floated this
burning boat down the Ganga along with
their hopes and prayers.
Around 6:30PM, the Aarti starts with
a series of bells and chimes and platters
were lit on fire all along the Har Ki Pori.
With chanting and singing from the
hundreds of people lining both sides of
Har Ki Pori, the whole ceremony was
very short, maybe 15 minutes, but what
followed afterwards was an amazing
display of celebrations, even in the
pouring rain, people were dancing to the
beat of drummers who marched up and
down the boardwalk, chanting “Moriya!”
(Praise the Lord!). A group of girls
grabbed my hand and brought me into
the dance and we followed this merry
troupe chanting, dancing and singing
into the darkness. It was like nothing I’ve
ever experienced, such fervour and joy
at the same time, and to think, they do
this twice a day every day? Both Neda
and I had ear-to-ear grins!
9/20/10
The celebrations of yesterday night
fade quickly as we ride through the
thigh-high waters north of Deharadun.
We are on our way to Jim Corbett
National Park, land of jungle-land tigers
and elephants. But early in the afternoon
we encounter a long line-up of vehicles
stopped in front of a flooded stretch
of road as far as the eye can see. Some
scooters and other two-wheelers that
have made it from the other side assure
us that there is an end, but talking to
others who have attempted and turned
around, they claim that the waters
are too high to traverse. This is the
only way back up to the Himalayans in
Uttarakhand, so after much debate we
forge on.
The waters flooding the plains and the
roads here have spilt over from a trio of
dams upstream due to the heavy rains.
I ride ahead of Neda trying to find the
Deharadun is sinking man and I don’t wanna swim Putting everything Pinky taught me to good use - which means cursing in Hindi
nov’10-jan‘11 [30] nov’10-jan‘11 [31]