Who spent only $25 and got a ton of new clothes today? This girl

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Since this is my last day, I’ve talked Bhav into checking out the restaurant my guidebook most highly recommended, Devraj Coffee Corner. We’re going for a proper breakfast and to enjoy the view out over the river as we eat (we really can’t get enough of the Ganges). We’re very nearly knocked over when we leave the dorms, though, because the mother of all winds has is blowing angrily and chillingly through the valley. I’m fighting great bouts of panic as we walk across the footbridges that are now bouncing slightly. If you’ve seen the video of the oscillating bridge that collapsed in Minnesota, you’ll know what I am thinking about.

Devraj looks like everything Lonely Planet promised. Fresh-baked goodies in the case (Nutella croissant for me and jam croissant for Bhav), piping hot chai, homemade brown bread served in thick slices with yak cheese (DELICIOUS) and toasted under the broiler, porridge with honey…there is absolutely no way I’m going to lose weight in India if I spend much longer in Rishikesh. We’re both in a much better mood this morning, but even if we weren’t there is no way to stay unhappy with all of this delicious food in front of us.

After we’ve feasted the day is still quite young so I order a cup of coffee (Real! Not instant!) and Bhavesh and I talk about what we’ve learned here in India. So I present to you now, in no particular order and with the last 5 added solely by myself, the ten lessons India has taught us:

1. Rupees go a long friggin’ way. Our breakfast today was a little over $4 total.
2. Not everyone dressed as a guru IS a guru (see post from 4 days ago)
3. There’s nothing wrong with chillaxing and gathering your thoughts in the Himalayas for a while sometimes.
4. A blog is an awesome way to release thought-traffic.
5. Bhavesh is a poser and totally annoying when he makes fun of my accent. 
6. You don’t really need that much to be happy and live a good life.
7. Always make friends with the locals, or at least a good look-alike.
8. There’s a fine line between negotiations and getting taken advantage of.
9. A lifelong friendship can start with the most innocuous of sentences.
10. You can be subconsciously spiritual without practicing a religion.
11. This country is colder and less mosquito-y than expected this time of year.
12. Trust is a very valuable commodity.
13. Little white lies may be expedient, but they don’t feel good to say.
14. You don’t have to cross everything off of your list to be able to say you’ve “seen” a place.
15. It can be tough to be alone, but it develops strength, friendliness and appreciation.

After so much introspection, I think it’s time to be a little materialistic and shop. Bhavesh has been looking for a knit hat with a little tassle on top and strings that hang down past your ears (all the rage here) and I need to pick up some Indian-style clothing so I get treated more like a local on the rest of my travels, Our first stop is at a nearby ashram’s textile store, where I finally find an attractive blouse and some scarves for Rs660 (about $15). I’m not getting pants because they aren’t ready made and I don’t have time for the tailor to make them for me. It’s nice to find a store with fixed prices, though, rather than worry about having to haggle to get a good deal. While Rs660 is a little high, it’s still a good deal and I’m happy to pay a little more to support this kind of practice.

On our way back to Rishikesh proper, Bhav gets a shirt for his mom and I pick up a couple more for myself. I even manage to beat the deal he got because I held out basically all the cash I had and asked the vendor if he’d take it. Before you know it, I’m walking away having paid Rs355 for two instead of his 300 for one. Love it. Unfortunately, it means I won’t have quite enough to get a phone card and talk time in town, but I’ll get my phone sorted so that all I have to do tomorrow is buy talk time and start calling the US!!

Rather than return to the ashram for lunch, we decide to walk along what appears to be a local farmers’ market lining an alley near the phone kiosk. The vendors are packed in, side-by-side for a good quarter mile. The produce is stacked in gigantic piles of vibrant reds, oranges, purples, greens and whites. Giant bags of spices, beans, lentils and chilis practically overflow onto the road and I fight the urge to grab a handful and let them spill out between my fingers. This is a REAL farmers’ market and the food has obviously been pulled from the ground in just the last few days. We each buy an orange and as we walk along dropping the peel where we please and spitting seeds into the gutter; I’m almost starting to fit in here.

For some reason, though, as we head back to the ashram I start to get this sick feeling in my stomach that my train tickets aren't going to make it off the waitlist.  The feeling only gets worse when I get to internet cafe and there's a power outage that prevents me from getting onto the IRCTC's website.  My subconscious must know that something has gone wrong, because sure enough when I get online I find out that neither of the two tickets I booked for the early train has been confirmed.  I've also bought tickets for the later train, though, so there's still a chance I could be leaving tonight. 

A couple hours later I realize that I’m hoping I DON”T make it onto the train today. I’m sure I’d be able to get onto one tomorrow, and I could be happy enough with just one full day in Khajuraho instead of two. Lo and behold, when I log-on again I find that the chart has been prepared and I didn’t make it off of the waitlist again. I’ll be automatically refunded for both of today’s tickets so I go ahead and book two more (one 2nd class and one 3rd) for tomorrow’s train. I feel comfortable sitting at waitlist 2 and 4, but to get rid of any nagging concerns I find the street vendor selling hot sugar cookies baked then and there on his cart under a small fire. Mmmm….toasty.

I catch Bhav at the evening aarti (river ceremony where candles are lit and Mother Ganga is thanked for her gifts) and we randomly stop by the office where he finds out not only did his orientation meeting get moved ahead a half-hour and is just finishing, but the course is going to cost a lot more than they said. Now he understands the frustration I’ve been feeling about being told different things by different people and the outcome being very different from what anyone said. He’s fuming and says he’s seriously considering joining me for the next part of my own trip. He’d be very welcome company, but he’s loath to give up his harmonium lessons because he’s found an excellent instructor at the ashram. The course is also a big part of the reason he came to India and he’d feel like he was giving up and missing out on a great chance to learn about the yogic lifestyle.

After dinner we enjoy one last late-night (here 8:30 means late) ginger lemon honey drink as we look out over the Ganges under the moonlight and a few unexpected fireworks. Around 9:30 he stops by my room to tell me he had a conversation with the ashram office manager about his course and that they’re willing to let him pay the lesser amount as long as he helps out a bit in the ashram (his first assignment: data entry, perfect for an accountant-in-training). He’s decided to stay, which I think will turn out to be the right choice for him in the end.

By this point Kim has wandered into my room to recommend a bookstore down the lane where I can pick up a few books by her favorite swami so I can use them to kill time before the train. So here’s my tentative plan for the morning: yoga, internet café to blog and check train and hotel reservations, breakfast, get books at bookstore and read by beach, lunch with Bhavesh at Devraj, finally dunk in river, check-out of ashram, get online if needed, yoga, auto-rickshaw to Raiwala, train. Let’s see what it turns into.