Amiram Hayardeny's My China Experience

India Trip – Day eleven: Haridwar

Again, I salute the India Rail Company for leaving, and arriving on time, and for serving coffee, tea and corn flakes in the early morning.  We arrived in Haridwar and checked in to the Country Inn hotel.  The hotel is probably the best in Haridwar, but will compare favorably only with Holiday Inn Express.  They have a restaurant with the pretentious name of “Mosaic”, serving “multi national foods”.  We visited the restaurant three times, and in all instances, we were the only customers.  In fact, the attraction was so outstanding, that the entire kitchen crew and the waiters came to greet us, and pretty much danced around us throughout the meals.  Yet, they must have served something that didn't agree with us, because we chose to eat crackers rather than going there again.  Other restaurants were out of the question.

We went to Haridwar for the ceremony of “Puja”.  The ritual which involves putting a boat of leaves filled with flowers and a lit candle in the water of the Ganges river.  By far, Haridwar was our worst experience in India, and I clearly recommend to anyone interested: if you don't have to be here, there's nothing lost by not showing up.  I say it clearly, bluntly.  No reason to come visit here.

Haridwar is filthy, crowded with an army of beggars, with poverty stricken children, mutilated people, and religion merchants who force their merchandise on you every single step of the way.  It is an unpleasant visit to the point that I was ready to quit.  Dorit insisted we stayed for the actual Puja ritual which takes place after sundown.  We did.  I don't think it was worth it.

Some observations, however, are worth mentioning.  The river is strong, pure, clear and very big.  Apparently, the water can be diverted between a few channels.  The shallow stream is occupied with many Ghats – the staircases that go into the water for people to take the holy dip.  People throw coins into the water, they also throw earrings, rings, and little pieces of gold.  All as offerings and gratitude for a prayers which were answered.  Little kids, half dressed, walk the river feeling for items with their feet, occasionaly picking up coins and other items which they quickly conceal in their shirts.  Others, the more advance done, walk around with a small piece of glass, which serves as a diving mask, and a stick with a lump of tar at the end.  When they spot something, they stick the tar stick in the water and retrieve it.

The visitors, mostly pilgrims, wait patiently for the ceremony to start.  All the while, dozens of official looking people walk around with fat books of receipts, and collect.  They offer to take anything, but prefer, as they say, notes, with multiple zeroes.  If you take the time to compare these well looking, healthy people, to the starving others, the comparison is very, very unfavorable.

Regardless, we thought that the children would have a nice experience floating leaves, flowers and a candle downstream.  Indeed, they did.  There was something to it that I can't explain.  Lets hope that if there's any bad karma anywhere, we had it go downriver...  It was a timely gesture for Guy, who is celebrating his fifth birthday tomorrow.  If only he would agree to float his green, moldy pacifier down the river as well, it would have been perfect...

We left Haridwar with a feeling that we should have concluded our trip earlier.  The connection between organized religion and poverty, dirt and human misery, made us want to flee.

But, thanks to our driver and guide, Kishan, we didn't.  We stayed and went to visit Rishikesh the next day.  Let me use this opportunity to thank Kishan for his perseverance.  If we left India after our visit at Haridwar, it would have been a bitter end to an otherwise great trip.  Rishikesh was a correcting experience.

Back to the Country Inn we went to the room to get ready for dinner when a growing noise of something large approaching, and a slight but noticeable shaking of the room made us think we're in a middle of an earthquake.  It wasn't.  It was a train.  As it turns out, the rails are just outside the hotel, twenty meters at most from our room window.  Nothing serious, but it did bring a couple of memories.

The obvious one is "My Cousin Vinnie", who's experience with the Alabama railway system is very well recorded in the film.  The other was more personal.  Years ago, before Shiri was born, Dorit and I went to the Grand Canyon.  Our travel at the time was more frugal than it is today.  We chose the Howard Johnson's.  As soon as we checked in, we thought that the motel will collapse burying all inhabitants under its ruins.  It was a train.  But as we learned later, not just any train.  It  was a freight train the size of a few football fields, with five engines in front.  It was loud and powerful.  And it came every ten minutes on average.  Our night was, well, interesting...

But both Guy and his father (that's me) are fascinated with trains.  So we didn't mind it much, except when it came at four in the morning...

Posted at 08:05PM Feb 13, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[1]