Just as Delhi wasn't quite what I expected, Rishikesh isn't at all what I imagined. The guide book, and my lively imagination, made it out to be a serene and tranquil haven for spiritual discoveries. On arriving my travel companions and I found a whirring hug of energy, the streets hectic with people and cows and taxis leaning on their horns. Located on the Ganges river, this is a major pilgrimage site for Hindus, as evidenced by the sadhus wandering the streets wrapped in orange cloth, and the huge, ornately decorated and brightly colored temples lining the river banks. It's also a huge center for yoga and meditation, and the many Westerners walking around have dreadlocks, piercings, and tattoos. Well, two out of three ain't bad.
The other night I was sitting in a restaurant down by the river, tucked away down a dark alley. Everyone there was white (albeit from every possible nation), reclining on cushions and eating pizza, hummus, and enchiladas. The electricity had gone out and we were listening to an Israeli woman sing Bob Marley and Bob Dylan songs by candlelight. It was all very surreal - I could have been anywhere in the world, and for the first time in a long while I felt completely placeless.
Then today, finally emerging from my room after a couple days of tummy trouble, walking past women in brilliantly colored saris, stalls selling bangles and prayer beads, holy men in orange robes and not much else, by the banks of the Ganges, it was comforting to know that I couldn't be anywhere else but India.
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