The Banks of the Ganga

October 7, 2010

Joshua and I just went swimming in the Ganga (the Ganges). This morning, when we were eating breakfast, we saw men bathing in the river. Looking at the sewage pipe that entered into the river just 10 feet upstream, we laughed and said that you couldn't pay us to get in the Ganga, holy or not.

Fast forward an hour, and we're jumping in.

This morning, we rolled out of bed and padded into the yoga hall across the Ashram at 7:30 AM. Three Israelis rolled in a couple minutes later, followed by our instructor, a thin Indian man dressed all in white. On his forehead, he had an orange bindi, and on his palms, he had matching orange circles.

For the next hour and a half, he took us through a lightening-fast yoga routine: we waved our arms like windmills, saluted the sun four times, walked like crows, contorted our legs into lotuses, and then propelled our feet up and over our heads. 'Feel the relaxation,' he said. As usual, I felt no such thing, but I did like the room with its pillars, 70s style ceiling fans, and large windows that let in the breeze and the sound of honking horns. The handsome, scrawny yogi laughed at me when he told us to touch our noses to our knees. Yeah. Right.

Afterwards, Joshua and I headed straight to the restaurant downstairs. Sitting on the balcony overlooking the Ganga, we watched men pray, dunk themselves in water, and even brush their teeth with the chai-colored liquid. I had potato paranthas (soft flat bread with chunks of potato and onion stuffed inside) with pickle chutney (yum yum) and chai masala. Joshua ordered a set breakfast with an Israeli salad, cumin potatoes, and toast.

Once we had finished eating, we went back to our room to change for our rafting trip. Back downstairs, we met up with another Israeli woman and a helpful ashram guide who walked us to our rafting group across the river. Inside an office we signed a waiver, and then we piled into a jeep with an enormous blow-up raft strapped on top. An Indian woman and Brazilian man rounded out the rest of the group, and as we drove, we introduced ourselves.

After just 30 minutes in the jeep, we pulled over to the side of the road and got out. Each of us selected a life jacket, helmet, and paddle, and then we followed the path down to the river.

The Ganga is beautiful; it's wide and fast flowing, and on either side, the land sweeps up in thick blankets of green trees, vines, bamboo, and flowers. Waterfalls come gushing down from the hills, and white sandy beaches alternate with enormous gray boulders that cause the water to eddy, flow and whirl around. Women wash clothing along the banks, men pray and bathe. Monkeys sit perching on rocks, grooming or eating.

Before we got on the raft, our guide called us around and gave us simple instructions: forward means pull your paddle towards you, backward means push your paddle away, get down means duck into the boat, and stop means don't do anything at all. We pushed the raft into the water and jumped on.

Just as we caught the current, three more rafts joined us. Our guide began a water fight, and I realized that we were going to get wet, irregardless of the rapids. Things got raucous, and around the next turn, our guide said, 'forward! Over the rapids!' The raft dipped and bucked over a few big swells, and then our guide told us to jump overboard.

'Excuse me?' Joshua looked perplexed. Thinking that we had misunderstood, our guide told us again, 'ok. You jump in water now. Now!' We all looked at each other, certain we weren't speaking the same language, and then our guide got up and made to push us over. Ok. In we went.

The water was cold, but it wasn't unbearable, and after I stopped thinking about what sort of large and microscopic creatures might be accompanying me in the water, I had a blast. Seriously. It was one of those times when your having so much fun that you can't help but have a goofy, toothy grin all over your face. The current was so fast, and I just bobbed down the river in my life jacket, sticking my feet in the air, and peering up at the mountains from under my helmet.

After some persuasion, everyone else got in too. Our guide remained the boat, 'how's the water?' he asked. 'Cold?'

Before the next rapids, 'Double Trouble,' our guide instructed us to swim over to the side of the raft and turn around. He pulled us up by our life jackets, and we wiggled into the boats like beached whales. We paddled quickly over the next rapids, involuntarily screaming over the crashing swells, and on the other side, we jumped back in the water. The whole time, I kept on thinking, 'I'm swimming in the Ganga! I'm rafting in the Ganga!' When I looked over at Joshua, he's was grinning from ear to ear, too.

We heaved ourselves in the boat again for another set of rapids, and afterwards, we jumped out just as we entered Rishikesh. This is the best way to see the city: we floated under the pedestrian suspension bridge, and Indians took pictures of us. We waved, and they waved back. On either side of the river, we saw ashrams and temples in their cupcake-frosting colors, and on the waters edge, people bathed and prayed on the ghats (steps). We hopped back in the boat one more time for another set of rapids, and on the other side, we paddled towards the ghats.

Once we had beached the raft, we carried it to the jeep, strapped it on, and then road back to the city square. In all, it had only taken two hours, but Joshua and I are still grinning. I hadn't set my expectations very high, and I was thrilled. For about 8 dollars a piece, we rafted and swam down the Ganga. Isn't that crazy?

Walking back to the ashram, we felt like we had new lease on life and traveling. This was just the rush we needed. Crossing the suspension bridge, we looked down at the rushing water below and laughed. Just two hours ago, we had sworn that we would never get in. By the second set of rapids, our guide hadn't needed to tell us. We jumped in by ourselves.

The bridge was crowded with Indian tourists taking photos and feeding monkeys, and halfway across the bridge, a man walked quickly in front of me, spun around, and snapped a candid photo of me. I raised my eyebrows, surprised and laughing, and then he just as quickly swung his arm around my shoulder, lifted his cellphone and took another photo of us. This started a trend, and I had about six more men tap my shoulder for a photo shoot, or just take a photo without asking. If Joshua hadn't been with me, I think I would have been come a permanent photo fixture on top of the suspension bridge overlooking the Ganga. I still find this totally bewildering. Joshua thinks it's because they think I look like a movie star that they know or maybe there aren't many blonde tourists here. I don't know. I'm not even very blonde.

Back in our fabulous room, we turned on the geyser to heat up the water. I might have decided to swim in the Ganga, but I'm a long way from considering a splash in the Ganga the same thing as a bath. For now, we're sitting on our shaded balcony overlooking this holy river, and you know what? I think I know why it's holy. It's beautiful, and today, just jumping in made me really, really happy. Now, as I'm sitting above, listening to the water rush by the ghats below, I'm still in awe.

***

At 2 P.M., we wandered down to the restaurant for our cooking class. For 500 rupees, the restaurant chef let us help him make three dishes: Mushroom Chana Masala, Navratan Korma, and Naan. While we took turns chopping and stiring, one of us frantically scribbled in our notebooks, describing the whole process and writing down all the ingredients. Chana means chick pea, and masala is a tomato-onion sauce. For Navratan Korma, we created a sauce with coconut in it (korma) and added paneer, apples, pineapple, and vegetables. Navratan just means that there are both fruits and vegetables in a dish.

Both dishes took nearly no time at all, and save some of the spices, the pineapple, and coconut flakes, we'll be able to make both of the meals with ingredients from our own garden in Wisconsin :) Next, the chef taught us how to make naan. The only difference between Chapati and Naan dough is that Naan has a little bit of milk in it. Once we had rolled out the dough into a pizza shape, we smeared oil on top, folded it in half, smeared oil on top again, and then folded it in half one more time. Now that the naan was in the shape of a triangle, we rolled it out with a rolling pin again and then popped it on the griddle for a couple of minutes on each side. To finish, he put it straight on the flame to crisp a little and then smeared butter all over one side.

The best part about cooking class - besides learning how to make these fabulous meals for the future - is being able to eat everything once it's made. We took our plates out to the balcony, took off our shoes, sat on the pillows, and ate until we thought we might burst. Indian food is even better when you get to see it made. You know what makes all those delicious flavors.

Once we had finished eating, we went up to the room to read and write for a while. It's been a full day! With the balcony door open and the breeze coming in through the window, we can hear the sounds of the ashrams nearby. Across the river, a yogi is chanting and his followers are echoing his chants. On the beach next to the Ganga, a Western couple are doing the craziest yoga positions (Joshua says, 'you've gotta come and see this crazy karma-sutra cirque-de-soleil shit!').

The sun set and we admired another pink-chai night. Down below, another family performed ganga aarti and we watched the candles float down the river. Bells are ringing, and we're sitting here amazed by India. What an incredible place!

October 6, 2010

We arrived in Rishikesh at 7:30 AM. Once we had secured our backpacks from the luggage trunks below, we stood around, a little overwhelmed. Rickshaw drivers were swarming the tourists, and all the Israelis had banded together and were haggling over how many rupees and where they were going. After a few minutes, a couple of groups had loaded their things into the Rickshaws and left, and we were left with a group who needed two more people. Viola. In we got.

It took about 20 minutes to get from the bus stand in the more modern part of Rishikesh to the square in old Rishikesh. We each paid 100 rupees, and then Joshua led us to the ashram with the Lonely Planet map. Along the streets, people were selling beaded necklaces and rosaries made from seeds, incense, and golden bangles. Signs advertised astrological and palm readings, yoga, and ashram accommodations. Around the corner, we saw the Ganga.

The Beatles wrote their White Album in an ashram here in Rishikesh; since then, that particular ashram has been returned to the forest, but others are still thriving. The whole city looks like a psychedelic Willy Wonka Land of Oz, with ashrams and yoga centers that look like confectionery palaces growing up the banks of the wide, furious Ganga. The hills are green, and even at 8 AM, it was humid and warm.

To cross the Ganga, we took a long, pedestrian suspension bridge. It's beautiful, and from the middle, you can see either side of colorful Rishikesh. Occasionally, a rogue motorcycle blasts its horn and you lean up against the railing to let it by. Cows and monkeys are pedestrians too.

On the other side of the bridge, we passed men selling lemon salted soda in closed glass bottles, popcorn-wallahs, and great big woks with samosas, dosas, and sweet puff balls frying on top. Saris and mirrored fabrics hang from store windows, and men come up to me, asking if I'd like to henna my hands.

Just around the next corner, we entered the Sri Sant Seva Ashram, a large pink motel palace with marble tile courtyards and lots of men walking around in white tunics and gauzy skirts with orange bindis.

The man at the front desk walked us to a couple of rooms. Like any good salesman, he showed us the best - and most expensive - room first. Spacious with a ceiling fan, attached bathroom and shower (shit 'n shower), and screened windows, we were already in love. Joshua pressed the tips of his five fingers into the mattress, and they sunk in pleasingly. Sponge. The man walked to the opposite end of the room, opened a door, and showed us the best part: a wide personal balcony directly above the Ganga, with a grand view of Rishikesh and the suspension bridge.

So when he took us to a small, dank room on the other side of the ashram with a two-by-two window overlooking a sewage alley for 250 rupees, is it any surprise that we chose to spend the 500 rupees (12 dollars) for a room with a view? Usually, I'm the one pinching pennies, but when the man looked asked us which room we would prefer, I said, 'yeah. We're taking the other room.'

In our new, glorious room, we shed our packs and took quick showers. We registered downstairs, and then we walked back across the suspension bridge for breakfast. At a German Bakery perched above the Ganga, we sat out on the terrace and ate a fresh bowl of fruit (papaya, orange, banana, apple) and tea. We watched tourists walking by in their yoga outfits, ali-baba pants (the baggy pants with the crotch somewhere below the knee), long scarves, and dreadlocks. I guess if I thought that Dharamsala was hippy, this is hippy Mecca.

After breakfast, we browsed through a bookshop specializing in yoga, astrology, palm reading, chakras, and various guru autobiographies. Back across the suspension bridge, we stopped back at our room to pack a little day bag, and then we headed North along the Ganga in search of some waterfalls.

As we walked, we passed street stall cafes with huge stainless steel pots on burners on display. The chef stirred each bubbling pot slowly as he spoke on his cellphone in rapid Hindi or yelled at rickshaws that got too close. Another man tossed a cow his banana peel, and the cow stopped to eat it in the middle of the road.

On the outskirts of Rishikesh, we passed an ornate, disheveled ashram that looked like something out of a Disney film. Outside, men in loin cloths with shaved heads and tiny ponytails at the back washed their feet and prayed. A little farther up, we passed a huge family of monkeys galloping up and down the road.

The walk was about 4 kilometers long, and by the time we got to the next small village, we were both sweating from the prickly, humid heat. Just up over the next bend, we found the waterfall. Off the road, we followed a little path through the trees. Butterflies fluttered near flowers and settled on our hair. Just a few meters down the path, we found the waterfall again. With crystal clear water and a strange white, rock and sand bed, the water was enticing. I walked right into one of the rushing pools and just stood there. The cool, mountain water brought my body temperature back down to normal, and for a while, we played in the water.

Walking back, we came across an Indian man, and he stopped to ask for a photo. Joshua obliged and took the cell phone from the man, snapping a photo of him with his sweaty arm draped across my shoulder. He gave a huge smile and wished us a happy walk.

Back at the little village, we ran into one of our classmates from the yoga class in Dharamkot. He told us that there was another trail from behind the restaurant, so we headed up that way too. After about 5 minutes, we crossed the waterfall again, and while Joshua waded in the water, I hiked up a little farther to see if and where the trail ended.

Feeling a little tired and hot, I gave up before long, and Joshua and I headed back to the road. In the cafe, the owner stopped us and asked us if we had seen where the three waterfalls meet. We confessed that we had not, and he told us that we had to go back. 'You didn't get there yet!'

We told him that we'd have to go another time. It was getting later, and we were hot, hungry, and tired. He agreed that this was a very grave matter and wished us well on our way.

We walked back to Rishikesh, dodging kamikaze motorcycles and buses along the way. Past our ashram, we found another German Bakery with a rooftop sitting area. Joshua ordered Dal Makhani and a side of onion rings while I ordered nachos. We popped open a couple bottles of limca, a lime soda, and played cards while we waited for our food. While we were playing, a blonde, tattooed man walked up to us and eagerly asked us if we were from Sweden. We shook our heads, laughing, and he sighed, 'I thought for sure you were Swedes. You look just like us!'

The food was tasty, and once we were finished eating, we paid and kept walking. The road from Lakshman Jhula - Upper Rishikesh - to Swarg Ashram is about 2 kilometers long, and it passes through jungle-like gardens with sweet, square concrete homes in every color of the rainbow. Sadhus with pots for food and money walk barefoot (or in crocs) and approach us for donations. Men in long orange robes with dreadlocks and face paint carry incense and walk in a trance. Beggars on the side of the road are missing limbs, fingers, toes, eyes... They slap the ground next to them, hold up their arms and beseech us with desperation.

Cows and donkeys shit in the roads, and rickshaws without doors lean on their horns and fly by. A lot of India is poor and filthy, but the trash heap stench is quickly replaced by the smell of spices and food frying. Little children with rectangular backpacks run home in their dirty school uniforms, smiling and waving at us. 'Hello! How are you?!'

I don't know how to respond to the beggars. Bone-thin women with snot-nosed, dirty children on their hips hold out their hands for money. People who can't walk or see beg for food. I feel incredibly guilty passing them by, and yet I'm not sure what my 10 rupees would do. Who would it go to, and will it prevent them from going hungry? There are beggar pimps who collect their disproportionate dues, and some of these beggars have been maimed to make them more effective at their profession. On the one hand, I don't want to support a practise that maims perfectly healthy and sound bodies for the purpose of earning people's pity, but on the other hand, they're maimed, and if they do not beg, I'm not sure how they will find their next meal.

The need is so profound that instead of doling out rupees, I resolve to do something bigger someday. Joshua and I have always talked about living abroad for a year after we've retired or our children have grown. Perhaps we'll do something like the Peace Corps, or maybe we'll teach English or work in an orphanage somewhere (that's what I'd like to do). No donation - whether it's time, service, or money - is without complication, but I hope that time and service are less complicated than money. At least the trail is easier to follow. Selfishly, I prefer to give time and service, because I know that I always get something back: the wisdom from my time spent and the friendships I've made in service. Maybe it's selfish, or maybe not. I actually think it's important to approach service with the expectation that you have a lot to learn. It's those savior-types that usually get burned. They think, 'hey! I'll come on down and save you!' and then they get their asses kicked because they realize that the people they're trying to save actually have brains, skills, and wills of their own, and - oh my god - they've been trying to help themselves out for quite some time now. The thing is, if it's easy to fix, it's probably been fixed. So if people need your help, keep this in mind: it's either way harder than you expect it to be, or you're going to need to learn a lot from the people who've already been at it, and actually, it's usually both.

(I usually try to be humble about my musings and avoid sounding like a know-it-all expert. I started out that last paragraph as usual, but then I realized that I know a thing or two about being an ignorant volunteer. So I dispensed some hard-won advice.)

Anyway, we passed lots of brightly colored beggars, and after a couple of kilometers, we entered Swarg Ashram. Stalls selling food and gold jewelry crowded the streets, and down the road, a beautiful gated ashram with gardens, statues, arches, and temples sat at the foot of green, jungle hills.

One temple sat right on the Ganga, and taking off our shoes, we walked onto the marble tile courtyard. On the ghats (steps leading down to the water), a family dressed all in orange and white lit candles and sang. Out in the water, an enormous platform with a statue of Shiva stood with the current swirling and eddying all around it. The sun was just beginning to set, and the water looked chai-pink. It was gorgeous.

Joshua and I walked back along the river, past Hari Hari Ashram, Sadhus bathing in the river, and more school children running home from school. There were Western tourists, but I was actually surprised by how few Westerners there were compared to Indians. I had sort of assumed that Rishikesh was built on tourism because of all the ashrams and yogis, but actually, most of the people I saw are Indian.

Back at the ashram, we sat out on our balcony and watched the sun set. Below us, an Indian family were performing ganga aarti, lighting candles, praying, singing, and bathing in the water. We watched from above, reading our books and writing.

When the sun went down, I laid in bed to finish my book (The Heroines) and Joshua went to check his e-mail. When he came back, we looked at photos of our new home posted by Yvonne. It's so crazy to think that we have a new home that we've never even been in!

Before we fell asleep, we talked about loving India and feeling homesick at the same time. It's a strange feeling, and at first, we both felt guilty for feeling homesick. How could we feel anything but elation at being alive in this amazing place? But here's the truth: we've been traveling for three and a half months, and part of the reason we decided to travel is because we weren't sure what we wanted to do next. Did we want to go back to school? Get jobs? What kind of school? What kind of jobs? Did we want to buy a home? Have kids? So really, one of the main reasons we decided to travel is because we wanted to figure out what to do next. We intended to think about the future on this trip, and this is what it looks like: we talk and daydream about possible jobs, we say 'what the hell?' and buy a house. We think about home and what we'd like our future to look like. We plan to grow a big garden and make fabulous meals for our friends and family. We want to be close to our loved ones. At the same time as we plan our future, we miss the home we're planning. It's strange because it doesn't exist yet, and it's a mix of the things we know about the place and people and the things we hope will be.

I guess some people would aspire to being present, 100 percent of the time. They wouldn't allow themselves to think about the future or yearn for a place that exists as much in their heads and hearts as it does in real land. We're not those kind of people, and rather than feel guilty, I tell Joshua that this is what we had always planned to do. Instead of stuffing down homesick feelings or thoughts of the future, I say we should recognize them and then just try and concentrate more on what we're doing right now. For me, it's even easier: every night, I write to you about all the wonderful places I've seen, the things I done, the food we've eaten. Writing helps me focus on what I'm doing right now, rather than looking toward the future all the time. It's ok to be excited and look forward to life; in fact, it's a very, very good thing, considering how much dread it has inspired in me in the past. I just want to try hard to appreciate and love all the things I'm doing and seeing right here and right now, too. (Wow. That sounds very yoga, doesn't it? Maybe I am learning something :) )

As I fell asleep, the sounds of the city came in through the window. I could hear the Ganga rushing by down below, horns beeping, dogs barking, and bells ringing. People were chanting and praying. Each time I woke up in the night, I could still hear bells ringing and people praying. It occured to me that this spirituality isn't for the fairweather seeker: these people pray 24 hours a day, they dunk their bodies in the Ganga, contort themselves into all sorts of positions, and even go on long journeys without food, shelter, or even speaking. Their hair and nails grow long in their pursuit of enlightenment. They breath incense and train their minds to cease or spin. It looks like hard work.

October 5, 2010

We set our alarm for 7 AM. Packing up our sleeping bags, we closed up our backpacks and surveyed our empty room. It was home for two weeks, and now we're leaving.

Downstairs, we asked Rajjis to cook us some breakfast, and we sat inside the kitchen as he prepared porridge and chai. Just as he began to boil the water for chai, we asked him to share his secret: what makes his chai better than all the rest?

Once the water was boiling, he poured in three cups of milk and brought that to a boil too. Next, he grated a cup of ginger and threw that in. He left it to boil for a few more minutes, and then he tossed in some loose-leaf black tea, half a cup of sugar, and a couple of cinnamon sticks, stirring it all together. Voila! The best chai in Dharamsala!

While Joshua was eating his porridge and I was nursing my hot cup of chai, Eshai and Hadas came and found us. Once we were done with breakfast, we hefted our packs on our backs and paid Rajjis. Hopefully, we'll see him Varanasi.

Waving goodbye, the four of us hiked up the stairs to the road where our taxi was waiting. Joshua and taxi driver strapped our packs onto the roof rack while Eshai, Hadas, and I walked up ahead. The road's so steep, cars have a hard time driving to the top with passengers inside.

Hopping in the car, we drove to McLeod, and once we got there, we went in search of some food for a picnic. Eshai and I bought a couple dozen steaming momos from a street vendor, and Hadas went to go buy a few sandwiches.

Back in the car, Sanjay, our taxi driver, pointed out tea farms and mango trees as we descended into the plains below McLeod. From our vantage point lower on the ground, we could see the craggy, stone peaks behind the forested hills of Dharamsala.

After about an hour of driving, I felt very motion sick. I tried to sleep on Joshua's lap for the rest of the time, but when we got to the little parking lot 15 minutes later, I was still feeling like I might upchuck momos.

Once we got out of the car, we put our packs inside and locked up. Sanjay walked with us through the little village towards the river. Hopping stones across, we avoided getting wet, but just barely. On the other side, we watched in awe as a chai-wallah with a tray of full glasses leapt quickly from stone to stone, not spilling a drop.

For 3 kilometers, we followed Sanjay through fields where women were cutting wheat with scythes and men were leading donkeys and cows to pasture with long switches in their hands. Along the way, a dog donated her guide-guard services and joined our party. Mostly black with white stocking feet, this dog was absolutely sweet and loyal. When we stopped, she laid down at my feet, licked my toes and rolled her belly upwards. I named her Eva.

After hiking for about 30 minutes, we found a temple. Although I knew that we were looking for hot springs, I hadn't realized that they were in a Shiva Temple. Overgrown with green vines and shaded by poplar trees, this pink and yellow shrine to Shiva looked like a wedding-cake. Joshua said he halfway expected a tiger to be sunning himself near the gate.

Taking off our shoes, we walked through the arch and rung a bell above our heads. Inside, there were three pools, and dipping in our toes, we found that they were - indeed - hot. One pool sat beneath an enclosed arch, and in the middle, a spout in the shape of snake created a waterfall. Striping to our swimsuits, we jumped in. The pools were deep, and at our feet, silt and dead leaves flirted with our feet, making us jump and imagine all sorts of creatures.

We stayed in the pools until we got pink and lightheaded, and then another couple switched spots with us. Besides the four of us, Sanjay, the other couple, and their taxi driver, no one else came the whole time we were there. It truly felt like we had found a little piece of paradise in the middle of nowhere.

While the couple played in the water, we took out our picnic and ate, enjoying the breeze and the shade of the populars. Down here in the valley, it's much warmer than in McLeod. After a while, the couple got out of the pool and headed back to the taxi. Eshai and Hadas went in for another dip, and Joshua and I stayed under the shade of the temple, reading. While we sat, Eva curled up next to my feet and licked my toes to get my attention. I ignored her, knowing I couldn't touch her or take her home (which is what I really wanted to do), and after a while, she shifted so that her muzzle rested on her two paws and she looked up at me adoringly. Love me, love me, love me.

At 2:30 PM, we turned back. While we walked, I chatted with Sanjay about the farmers and their crops, pointing at fields and asking, 'what's that?' He'd tell me the name in Hindi and then in English, and then he'd laugh when I tried to repeat the word in Hindi. Further down the road, we ran into a group of pigtailed school children, and every single one of them smiled right into our eyes and said hello, namaste.

Back at the river, Eva ran into the water and then crouched to cool off. More school children were picking their way across the stones, and still more were just wading right through. I decided to wade. Back at the taxi, we loaded the packs on top once again and bought a couple of liters of water. We said goodbye to Eva.

On the ride home, I closed my eyes to ward off motion sickness and asked Hadas to tell me about the things she had learned at Tushita. She told me that no-self actually means that we are like a tree. You can't put a fence around a tree and say, 'this is where the tree ends.' The tree is not a tree without the ground to support it, the sun and water to feed it. In the same way, we are skin and bones, but we are not separate from the things and beings that support us. She told me that the goal of Tibetan Buddhists is to be happy and contribute to the happiness of others. Happiness simply means the absence of suffering. To do this, you must first identify the suffering, then you must identify the cause, and then you must find a way to ease the suffering. There are three kinds of suffering: physical suffering, the suffering caused by change, and emotional suffering.

While Hadas was at Tushita, she had a yogic-karma job. This meant that she cleaned windows for 15 minutes a day to improve her karma. During meditation, she contemplated how to be more compassionate, and before they could stay at the center, they all had to agree that they would not kill another living thing. That included bugs and slugs. You must not even brush the mosquito off of you, lest you damage its wings. All it wants is a drop, and you won't get malaria here, so just let it have what it wants so that it may be happy.

I thought about Buddhism for a while, and although I might still struggle with the idea of no-self, I do like that the Dalai Lama says, 'kindness is more important than Buddhism.' I can believe in kindness.

We rested for the remainder of the drive, and in McLeod, Joshua and I said goodbye to Sanjay, Eshai, and Hadas. Hefting our packs onto our backs, we walked to Peace Cafe to while away the next couple of hours before our bus to Rishikesh came. While we sipped ginger honey lemon hot drinks and nibbled on brownie cake, we read and wrote. Juana, the lovely Argentinan woman we had met in the Tibetan cafe came in, and with her hair down, I realized how much like Mandy she looked. The resemblance was startling, and when I told her (how do you say someone looks like someone in Spanish?) she seemed pleased and said something about being my Spanish soul mother :)

Just forty-five minutes before our bus was due to leave, the power went out in the cafe, and we had to leave to find another cafe quick. Ordering a sandwich, we scarfed it down just before their power went out too, and then we walked in the dark to the bus stand. Once we got there, we wandered around, looking for our bus number. A man shouted out, 'Rishikesh!' and we gave our bags to the man loading them in the compartment beneath the bus.

On board, we found our seats, and a couple of minutes later, Amira (the older Israeli woman from dinner and yoga class) sat down next to us. The bus ride from Rishikesh is about 12 hours, so I spent most of the time sleeping, waking up in a cramp, and then resettling myself so I could fall asleep again. At one point during the night, a rogue cricket jumped down my cleavage and I woke up with a scream, fishing my hand down my shirt to pull it out. The Israelis next to me thought I was crazy until the cricket flew in their faces and up their pant legs, causing mad swatting and unmanly yelps.