Mark's Blog

The Trip to Gomukh

The two months which followed Rishikesh were totally unlike the time which preceded it. I travelled north and lived the seasons in reverse. When I left Rishikesh, it was getting hot and muggy, like a Parisian August. Two weeks after leaving Rishikesh, I was standing at 3400 meters above sea level, surrounded by amazing peaks in a prolific, fresh snowfall which covered everything the eye could see. Simon and I followed the Ganga all the way to Gomukh, where the icy flow emerges first from underneath the glacier.

That part of the trip began in Uttarkashi, our first stop after Rishikesh. The bus journey was up, up, up all the way. Uttarkashi was colder than Rishikesh, like an Irish March and we found the Yoga foundation Ashram a lovely place to stay. Simon and myself also found the infamous Chicken shop of Uttarkashi and massacred ourselves some tender tandoori with gusto. A sight for a meat-eaters sore eyes. My body was practically purring with protein afterwards. I also had some of the best Indian food that I had in India at a posh hotel close to the bus station. The tarka dal was just gorgeous.

After exploring Uttarkashi and meeting Arne, aka Bugle Baba, we ventured to the next town north, Gangonani, with its hot springs. About 1km up the mountainside from there was the village of Huri, like somewhere out of time, where we hung out with the locals for awhile. One of the teenage girls in the village approached Arne and myself in awe and in all genuineness said "you are beautiful, beautiful!" like she had never seen humans of our colouring before. It was one of the most disarming moments I've had with anyone.

The whole village celebrated the Khumba Mela the next day. We followed all of them down the mountain paths to the Ganga roaring below. It was a long way down for the whole town who turned out in what would be the equivalent of their Sunday Best. The deity was carried on a divan through the houses and fields and when we eventually got to the river, some of the bathing women went into altered states and raved so uncontrollably that they had to be restrained. I asked Natisha, the friendly man who took us into his house, what was going on with them "No problem", he said "God coming".

The journey up to Gangotri ended up being on the top of one of those huge Tata trucks you see carrying goods all over India. Arne, Simon a Sadhu baba and myself got up top of the cab and had a hair raising journey through the steep mountain passes with plummeting drops to the Ganga below. The scenery was truly spectacular. As it got higher and colder we saw the snow capped peaks grow nearer until they were towering above us as we made our way up the valley.

Gangotri is the spiritual source of the Ganga and is one of the holiest places in Hinduism. Every Hindu is supposed to visit Gangotri at least once in their lifetime. When we arrived it was before the season had begun. There was no electricity or working telephone lines. The place was quiet and the restaurateurs were hungry for business. We got good prices on hotels, kitted up with woollies and stayed an extra day there to get used to the tiring effects of the altitude (3000m).

On the third day we set off with our guide, Dinesh Rana for the three day journey to Gomukh and Tapovan. It was a decent trek at altitude and the weather was like an Irish January, fresh and breezy with the odd sprinkling of rain or snow. When we arrived up to the ashram at Gomukh, it began snowing in earnest. We huddled around the only fire in the place with the babas and about fifteen other trekkers as the wind blew the snows across the valley outside. I was so cold. My wind cheater had only kept the sweat in my clothes and I was as soaked as I would have been had I jumped in the Ganga by the time I reached the ashram. All that chilly moisture then proceeded to draw out every bit of heat I had in my body. I now appreciate the wisdom of Goretex. I lay under four covers for about an hour before I managed to get back anything even resembling warmth.

The following morning the snow had made everything white, from the tips of the peaks to the banks of the river. Simon, Dinesh and myself set out for the last 4km to Gomukh itself, stopping for a very welcome chai at a babas cave on the way. Everything seemed to get quieter as we neared the top of the valley. It was half a kilometre from the source of Ganga that I parted company with Simon and Dinesh as they went up further to Tapovan. I descended into the dangerous part of the valley, right up to a huge glacier at the end and with cupped hands took a drink from the Ganga as its milky waters flow out from underneath the ice.

The day was good and hot by then and most of the snow in the valley floor had melted as two english blokes and myself followed the sketchy path back to the ashram. We discussed how sometimes its hard to reconcile the life that your'e living through with the feeling that your'e just having yourself a normal day, although you know that this day is remarkable. How it would be nice if you could pinch yourself and wake up more fully to the time that your'e in. I wonder if socalled "everyday" life is the same. It, after all, is every bit as remarkable as a day walking through the Himalayas, the only difference is that one is habitual while the other isn't. That even in the midst of what you know to be beautiful and unique in your own experience, this feeling of normality persists, as it did in this valley.

One of the guys turned out to be Asthanga Yoga teacher to both Madonna and Sting, regularly picked up from his Notting Hill flat by stretch limos and whisked away at a generous hourly rate.

I decided that I was going to stay another night in the Ashram. Lal Baba and myself got chatting over lunch about post-colonialism, Auribindo, Krishnamurti and Jung. He roughly translated a Hindi couplet which he had composed that morning -- "I am growing old -- like the mountain, I have white on my head. Yet I need not worry if only that pure white has also entered my heart.". He gifted me some Jaggeri (delicious unrefined cane sugar crystal) and together with another "Spiritual Scientist" we had long, friendly philosophical discussions in his cell at the ashram. Eventually Simon appeared having descended from the peak at Tapovan with Dinesh, exhausted and with blisters all over his feet, relieved to have had that tough part of the trek over.

Later watching sunset's shadow move up the expansive mountainside and the white peaks turning shades of rose, I gave up trying to account for it all. It was enough just to let it happen. There was the quietest kind of peace in that. I joined the babas later in their singing of kritans (devotional songs), with Lal Baba kindly translating the lyrics for me as they sang. At their request for a song from my country, I sang "The Parting Glass" for them, in what seemed to be one of the least likely places ever to have heard the song.

In Rishikesh

Rishikesh is the first stop on the way north into Utteranchal to Gomukh, the home of the Ganga's source. It's known as the Yoga capital of the world and it's also where The Beatles famously met with the Maharishi Yogi. It's a beautiful place beside the Ganga-ji, just as she turns from being a young to a mature river. Most westerners stay in Laxman Jula, on the other side of the river from the large Main town.

Westerners come to Rishikesh above all for the Ashrams and the Yoga. There are also those who come to party and this sets up a tension immediately between the stay-up-late crowd and the get-up-early crowd in any hotel you care to mention. Rishikesh is a holy town and therefore no alcohol, meat or eggs are officially available.

This is what the Lonely Planet guide (or just "the book" when you're over here) calls the "definitive view of Rishikesh". The suspension bridge over Laxman Jula. Bikes, tourists, cows and monkeys all use it for the windy walk across the Ganga. One of these monkeys decided to perch himself over the entrance to the bridge and take a slash on the heads of the folk passing underneath. I was unlucky enough to have been one of them, but lucky enough to have been wearing a broad-brimmed hat.

I came here after a week recuperating from the wisdom tooth extraction, eager to continue my journey. Rishikesh was the final place I visited during my last visit to India so, like Pushkar, it's a place that's haunted by images from that time. I managed to exorcise them this time around. I stayed in the Sant Sewa Ashram Hotel. More a hotel than an Ashram really. It had a fantastic view of the Laxman Jula bridge, brazen wandering monkeys and a fine balcony space where many an evening was spent hanging out, listening to music and chatting. I stayed 10 leisurely nights in Rishikesh altogether and left one year older, having celebrated my birthday in style. By the end of it, I was definitely in the "party" camp rather than the yoga-ing early risers.

Among the first people I met in Rishikesh were Simon and Dorn. Simon, from Switzerland, had a collection of flutes like myself and knew how to use them. We had a good laugh throughout the stay in Rishikesh and decided to travel together for a couple of months through the Himalayan valleys. More about that later. Dorn, a mad Israeli guy, had us in stitches for about two days, brought his (very welcome) guitar (which he couldn't play) and treated us to a lavish chicken dinner at the Swiss Cottage, just outside the city limits of Rishikesh. When he left, Simon and myself inherited some of his excess stuff, including an incredibly handy multi-country triple adapter which takes any kind of plug. Sorted me out for all the gadgets I have to recharge.

Simon, the Swiss baba who I travelled with for a couple of months after Rishikesh

The Cuddlyiest baba in Rishikesh

One day while wandering over to Rishikesh town with Simon we heard the sound of a tin whistle playing "The King of the Faries" from a nearby cafe. It was here that we met Sean, whom Simon had met in Almora. We hung out for a few days and swapped tunes. It was nice to play the whistle again after the bulky bamboo flute. Sean works at festivals in the UK and hasn't lived in Ireland for a while. He was holed up in an ashram here for two weeks, practicing meditation.

Sean, the meditator from Mullingar

Turning 34 in Rishikesh

My birthday turned out to be a fantastic day, well marked with libation and song. I hung out in the morning with Simon, my Swiss buddy who I'll be travelling with for the trek to Gomukh and an Irish bloke called Sean. Had a gorgeous brunch of hash browns and illicit Omelette at the Paradise restaurant, where we usually eat. All that was missing was a rasher. Harry, the Nepali guy who runs "the paradise", didn't charge me.

The plan was to head over to the Swiss Cottage restaurant where they serve a fabulous chicken dinner. Eight of us trudged over to the other side of the river and got a large rickshaw up there, where we were promptly informed that they had too many customers and couldn't serve us.

Undiscouraged, we went up the road where there was an organised party -- with beer -- a "Saturday night fever" dancefloor and bad '70's music blaring through the speakers. But they had BEER. It was like being in the pub.There were about 15 people in all at the party. Every Irish person in Rishikesh must have been there. Martin from Tuam, Sean from Mullingar, Ruth from Waterford and myself. There were two Israeli friends, Amit and Michal, and English guy, Chris, whom nobody liked, A sound Scottish bloke, a flaming American from SF and his Swedish boyfriend, an Australian healer called Helena, Simon the Swiss guy and an insane Indian man called Rama who was an expert at imitating animal noises. He was a scream. I got some video footage of his show.

We stayed there chatting till the wee hours. Then we had a bit of a session. A Scottish/south African woman with a voice like Desir'ee sang away in the background and they all finished it off with a rousing chorus of "happy birthday". I sang a few tunes. I don't think the day could have gone better.

The following evening, Chad, Andrea, Rafa, Simon and Myself went back over to the Swiss Cottage to claim that Chicken sizzler that was denied us the previous night. It was well worth the wait and dispelled the hangover while adding nicely to the afterglow of the night before.

River Rafting

One Day, Michal, Simon and myself got tickets to do the three hour river rafting trip down the Ganges. We met for breakfast at the Paradise and headed off by jeep with a couple from Minnesota. The rafting was amazing. In a rubber dinghy we paddled down river along about six white water rapids. The whole thing had a difficulty rating of 3+ out of five. Natural rollercoasters. The best bit though was the body rafting, where we all jumped out of the dinghy in our life jackets and just let the river carry us along on its current. This was a gorgeous sensation, just being borne along by the fast flow of the Ganga. There was a lot of singing and horsing about as the monkeys looked on from the beaches, puzzled.

We prepare the dinghy just before a few rowing exercises and off we go.

We were joined by a group of Indian Tourists from Bombay. I've been struck by the fact that whenever I've met people from Bombay on this trip that they are exactly like other westerners. In their dress, their language and their travelling attitude, its as if they are from another European country that lies within India. They are always wealthier than other Indians and travel in much the same manner as Western Tourists. This group were all part of an international network marketing organisation which sells gold. A kind of pyramid selling scheme with a more sustainable business model. They didn't call it that though. The most vociferous girl in the group claimed that at this stage, she earned $2,500 per day in "passive income" from those further down the food chain from her. Despite this, they were all crap rowers, having no rhythm whatsoever and when it came to the "rock jump" of about 15 metres into the river, they nearly all chickened out after a protracted time of vacillating, perched at the top of the rock over the river.

Simon has a moment of Inspiration before we set off on the raft.

A devotional riverside installation of Shiva on the Ganga at Ram Jula, downriver from Laxman Jula.

The Waters of the Ganga

The belief that the waters of the Ganga are holy and pure is widespread among Hindus. A dip in the Ganga is supposed to wash away the bad karma from your soul. Even at Varanasi, where the Gagna has been turned into an open suir and dysentery is widespread, many refuse to believe that the waters are in any way dirty. The Ganga has miraculous waters, they claim, and cannot get dirty. It is totally free of bacteria, pollution and disease from its source right down to the delta in Bangladesh. This also means that they can pump as much crap into it as they like, which they do at every town and village along its course.

The currents are treacherous around Rishikesh and while I was there, the death occurred of a young kid who went in for a dip, got into trouble and sank, never to come up again. Andrea and Rafa were only talking to him moments before he went in. He waved and shouted but his friends thought he was only joking. It all happened very fast. Another man was seen strolling across the Laxman Jula bridge, when all of a sudden he leaped up onto the side and flung himself into the Ganga below. He didn't come back up again. Drowning in the Ganga is considered to be a very auspicious death. It's said that during the Kumbh Mela some of the sadhus will challenge each other to a fight to the death on the particularly auspicious days, since death on ode of these dates, in the Ganga, would guarantee freedom from rebirth.

Still, the devotional energy that gets poured into this river by millions every day brings an athmosphere of peace and reverence about the Ganga like no other river. Where else is a river worshipped as a goddess? This is one of the reasons that I planned to continue up its length to the source at Gomuck. And that's what Simon and myself set off to do after leaving Rishikesh.