Muffler burn, 7 restaurants, and the Ganges

This past weekend I went on an adventure with a couple dear friends to Rishikesh. We left early Saturday morning with minimal planning and huge outlooks. This may have been due to the fact that we had a native male, Anwer, in our group to navigate, translate, and protect our white girl selves. It was very satisfying to know that we would not encounter the same problems our other friends had experienced on their outings: getting ripped off, not knowing where the bus was, or just being confused. We were golden.

We took a cab around 6 am from Woodstock to the bazaar to catch a bus. We soon decided a cab to Dehardun would be a better option. Shortly after we were in Dd and hopped on a bus to Rishikesh. By 10:30 we were in Rish. We were quite hungry due to not eating breakfast before we left, so we stopped for brunch at an over-priced white people hot spot (restaurant 1). We began to wander around the city. Lots of ideas were being thrown out in the air. One idea was renting a motorcycle for the day. While this seemed like an awesome idea, I never imagined it to take hold. I was simply along for the ride and had no needs for the trip.

 The view from the back of our hotel-no big deal.

Anwer began to do most negotiations without our presence. This could have been due to the fact that white people scream: rip me off. Or maybe he thought we were the most useless negotiators or decision makers in India. It’s hard to say. This approach worked well. We soon had a hotel room for 400 rupees (~$8), a rented motorcycle for the day 500 rupees, and a plan for the day: cruise around and laugh at pedestrians, ha. 

We began cruising along the Ganges and enjoying the view. Well, the fun was about to stop. We cruised by a police force on the side of the road and heard a whistle blow. I was like, oh crap, the white people aren’t allowed on motorcycles. Oh no, turns out that you can’t have three people on a bike. Even though I had seen way more than three people on several bikes and mopeds, and Anwer never mentioned this when we were planning. I didn’t even know there were laws in India for crying out loud. 

 Note the Background

Well soon into this encounter, when I realized I wasn’t going to get deported, it became incredibly comical. Anwer was smooth talking his way out of the situation and apparently giving advice to one of the officers about his son’s schooling. 100 rupees later we were free. Right when we were about to depart, another group of white suckers got pulled over for the same thing. They probably ended up paying much more money for their stupidity. We drove on.

After awhile, we decided we needed real lunch. We cruised around and finally found a spot. As traffic in India is a cluster, our pulling in on the sidewalk was a bit of a jumble. The result was me getting burnt by the muffler of the bike. We ate a lovely amount of India cuisine as my leg was sizzling skin off. We cruised around a bit more, made some stops, and ended at the Honey Hut (restaurant 3). There’s really no American equivalent to this place. It had tons of treats, coffees, and sold clothes. The workers all sported NY Yankee baseball caps. I didn’t hold it against them because it was such a cozy spot to hang out. We had some shakes, smoothies, and coffee. We carried on our way. We did some more driving around and more photo stops. We did some more window shopping and stopped for sodas at the Yellow Pepper (restaurant 4). It was obvious that the heat was taking a bigger toll on us than imagined due to our previous damp world. We were dehydrated and sun burnt. We had some lime sodas and enjoyed more glorious views. 

 Life on a motorcycle in India

We sat on some stairs in the Ganges. We watched men break rocks. We watched people. We had more tea (restaurant 5), and enjoyed more glorious views. Linds got her palm read, bought an elephant, and asked how much everything was. Then we had dinner at Lucky Restaurant (restaurant 6). This was the restaurant of the hotel. At this point of the day, we were covered in sweat and filth from driving around the mountains all day. We did some hosing off and enjoyed one final bike ride and Ganges stair sitting before returning the bike. Then we ended the night with a stop at Café Coffee Day for treats (restaurant 7). In what was a coma of exhaustion and food overload, we rested well listening to the sound of the Ganges just a stone’s throw away.