India: Crossing the Bridge
Today I walked into town…by myself…with no fixed idea on where I was going. All I knew setting out was that I was going to do this on my own and that I needed to exchange $41 into Rupees at JP James’ Exchange Center located (I was told) by the Honey Hut before you walk across the Lakshman Jhula bridge. Hearing the directions in English was of no help; I still had no clue where I was going and back in California I am the person who needs to factor in lost time, and that’s when I am familiar with the roads! Another act of being brave to add to my growing list. The past two days I had been filled with enough positive town experiences the other students had during their stay to excite me enough to venture out of the familiar comfort of the ashram and ensure me that I would be just fine solo.
I was told where I could find the best organic cotton shops to buy clothes, the most amazing places for massages and ayurvedic herbs, and of course … the infamous pizza place owned by a Venetian couple that had moved to India to open an Italian restaurant. I say infamous not because it was somewhere to be avoided, but because all 12 students warned me separately that once you go there you could expect to be a regular customer… everything from the pizza to the tiramisu was worth the 1-kilometer walk. “If you’re too full, take a tuk-tuk (taxi) back and then waddle up the hill” they advised. I needed to meet this couple, for the sheer fact that their story was so odd I had to get to know them better.
So, I grabbed my scarf (a magical item you can expect me to talk about a LOT, later on in this blog series….), my water, and my cell phone -just in case- and set out for my first unaccompanied-adventure since the actual travel to India. I decided to give myself an exit plan, just in case everything went to shit and I really did get lost in the maze of alleyways and winding roads. The marvelous thing about technology: it can help you find your way no matter how obscure your location. I used my handy-dandy iPhone to drop a pin at the ashram so that if all else failed I would be able to turn on my roaming data ($$$) and navigate the streets back to AYM. My backup, backup plan was to take pictures of every turn I made while keeping my right side glued to the wall next to me (a trick I picked up from my husband’s friend while he was teaching me to navigate the video videogame Mine Craft’s convoluted maps oh so many years ago)… Weber, I never thought that videogame skills were applicable in real life… I can admit now that I was wrong. THANK YOU for teaching me this skill.
The pin was dropped, my shoelaces were tied up tight, and I was ready . . . oh wait… I forgot to pee. I had no awareness of where I would find a bathroom in town, what the quality of said restroom would be, or how long I would be gone. It was then I decided that using my clean porcelain toilet before I left was not just smart… it was essential. After a quick trip to the loo and informing the front desk that I would be gone for a while (my back up to the back up plan) I began the 20 minute walk downhill into town.
What’s absolutely fabulous about the ashram’s location is it is away from the noise and hustled-pace of the city, tucked high up into the side of the mountain, completely engulfed by trees and the sounds of running water. Quickly into the walk I realized that because of this amazing location I would have to proceed with caution, not because my surroundings were dangerous, but because I would have to walk back UP the hill when it was time to come back!
I decided to be extra brave and try out an unfamiliar route that I had listened to someone from the previous group dictate; a “shortcut” that would take me through the narrow alleyways of Rishikesh to the Lakshman Jhula bridge and in turn JP James’ money exchange. I figured… why not? I ensured that I had an “oh shit” plan handy in case I got horribly turned around and was ready for an adventure. At the very worst I would come back with a very entertaining story to tell…
The first challenge once I got to the bottom of the hillside was crossing the main-road. Let me put it this way… in the US, the cars stop for you. In India you get the F out of the way or you risk becoming Western-road-kill. The only exception: cows. So when in doubt, strategically place yourself beside a cow and the cars will go around you.
India’s streets are filled with a symphony of beeps, honks and people yelling at one another. My first day in India I thought I would go mad from all of the noise and the pungent smell of diesel exhaust; but after a few days I realized two very important things: 1. If you have your trusty scarf you can block out a fair amount of the smell, and 2. If you look for the patterns in the honks you realize that its not complete chaos, its more like Jazz music. A lot of bits of chaos put together to create something pretty awesome! Every beep has a different meaning depending on its length, tone, and frequency. A short honk = get out of the way… A long beep= HEY LOOK OUT! IM SERIOUS! A series of beeps (long and short) when there is a turn = I’m coming around the bend… be ready.
When looking at the road you see a path with a line down the middle. Now, one would think that this means there are 2 lanes, one for going up and one for going down… wrong again. There are at any time 3-4 lanes: Up, Down, Moving around something, and going over the edge to drop someone off. Oh yeah did I mention there is no sidewalk? Just walking a short way down the road can make you feel like a daredevil, that is until you see the 5 year old kids running through the streets like they're at Disneyland!
Everywhere I went people stopped me to take photos with them. I am not famous back in the states, but being so white—for lack of a better word— must have been interesting enough to the locals to want take a dozen pictures with me in various poses… most of the men got down on one knee pretending to propose and I went with my best Bollywood style stance to make the picture even better. Because why not, right? The women usually wanted to stand next to me holding my arm or smiling ear to ear. Children ran up to touch my pale skin and wish me Happy Diwali as they stuck out their tiny hands asking for toffee and candies…. Something I was not prepared for on the first day, but swiftly changed with a trip to the local shop. Candy is cheap here and 10 rupees got me enough for the entire neighborhood. I had forgotten how much fun getting lost could be… sometimes it’s when we are lost that we end up finding the most amazing things.
After crossing the road (fewf*wipe sweat from brow * I survived) I began to weave through the passageways off of the main street. I know now why everyone liked it so much… the noise of the city was barely audible and there were hardly any people walking in the corridors. It felt like I had an abandoned city to wander through all to myself. Turn right at the stucco mermaid painting, left at the green chilly, left when you meet Shiva, walk down the near 90 degree vertical stairs, and then straight across to the bridge. Simple enough directions! And it actually was! I found my way around with more ease than I could have anticipated. The old saying is “all roads lead to Rome” well, here all roads lead to the Ganges, and if you find the Ganges you will find the L.J. Bridge.
And there it was; standing taller than anything else in the city: a giant suspension bridge with hundreds of people crossing it all at once over the pale-blue water of the Ganges River. Not only were people maneuvering their way across, but monkeys, cows and motorcycles could also be found at any point on the four-foot wide passage high above the frigid water. With every heavy step or cow walking across the bridge would sway. A German girl behind me was in the midst of a panicked plea with her mother to turn back when a motorbike caused the bridge to bounce as it stalled out half way across and people started to push one another to get passed. I couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to myself like I knew something she didn’t. This was the moment I realized I was no longer afraid.
Back home I would have panic attacks in big cities (a fear that didn’t arise until this past year), but for some reason I was totally at ease here. I learned quickly in India that there is no such thing as personal space. Sometimes you have to simply get tough and push your way through! Talk about survival of the fittest. I must have gotten yelled at by old Indian women for walking too slow, too fast, stopping to take a picture, you name it and they tried to correct me on my behavior. And I LOVED IT! I wasn't scared, nor did I feel badly. I was having fun!
I played around in the city for a while, eventually exchanging my dollars for rupees, looking in the shops, buying myself some new clothes and a yoga mat for practice set to begin the next day. I even made my way down to the river to rest and listen to the yogis and Babas as they chanted and cleansed themselves in the water. When I began to grow tired I made the choice to turn back and cross my beloved bridge once again, leaving the hunt for the pizza parlor for another day. I walked passed the men urging me to buy a “beautiful postcard”, the panhandlers, and the dozens of food carts. I walked up the stairs, said ‘see you later’ to the Shiva statue, turned right at the Green Chili, and left at the mermaid. Before long I was back at the familiar hill leading up to the AYM, and walking up the concrete steps.
Uncle G, our manager whom I formerly called Sewak, which I now know means “servant”, congratulated me on my first trip into town. I wandered my way back to room #309 to lay on my box-bed and absorb everything that had happened in the past 2-½ hours. As i got more relaxed and my body let go of the long walk, a familiar sensation hit: tears began to well up and I started to cry. For the first time in what felt like months my face was covered in the hot-salty tears not of sadness, sorrow or worry, but tears that were the result of pure, unadulterated joy. I had broken through fears I thought would control me for the rest of my adult life. Fears that I thought acted as some sort of penance for breaking my parents' hearts for going to rehab at 19, or for every test I had cheated on in school. But no! Those fears had gone as swiftly as a firework can illuminate the night sky! I had finally forgiven myself. Life is filled with little victories, you jut have to acknowledge them. For me this little victory was not what I expected, but changed me in the most profound way.
I had crossed the bridge.