If you remember back when I left Alaska, my main motivation for this trip was hiking in the Himalayas. It was a pact I made with myself to do by/around turning 40. I was drawn in by the remoteness of Bhutan and legends of Nepal; while the mountains of course extend into India as well, I hadn't looked much into it. What tipped the balance for me to visit is that my friend Luke is here studying Hindi. The idea of a friendly face and compatriot to compare notes with was like a beacon in my wanderings.
My introduction to Mussoorie was a wild ride. Actually, a few wild rides. The bus speedily snaked its way up the mountain; I scurried across town, a spine-like ridge, helped up the last hill by a random scooter ride; I reunited with the college boys of the day before to see a temple and waterfall, witness high-level haggling, and talk about the big questions in life; and finally up up up to Luke's perch overlooking it all.
Mussoorie has a strong European flavor about it. It's long been host to upscale prep schools and international programs. It was the first place I saw an Indian woman wearing a t-shirt (refreshingly casual to my eyes), and the trash cans feature inspirational quotes.
Luke hadn't left Mussoorie since arriving three weeks before, so we spent the weekend in Rishikesh. Yoga capital of the world! Ashrams, ashrams, ashrams -- little kids prevailing upon you to buy flower arrangements with candles to float down the holy Ganges -- astrologers and palm readers and crystal healers -- and, somewhat incongruously, shitloads of rafting outfitters (274 companies, according to the internet). Neither Luke nor I are yoga people (or crystal people), so we went rafting.
We were given some basic paddling instructions. We were provided helmets and paddles and life vests but not dry suits. "Well ok," I thought, "it's sunny out and maybe the rapids aren't too intense." The guide was surprised when I said I could swim; I was surprised when he laughed and said he couldn't.
The river was a beautiful glacial blue. We boldly plunged into the first minor rapids and sustained a brief soaking splash. We alternated between calm and fraught sections, thoroughly wet and happy. Then the guide told us (actually, this whole time the other paddlers translated for us) to jump off and hold the rope alongside the raft. So in our street clothes and flip flops we clung to the raft as it tumbled and shot between boulders. Not only could the guy next to me not swim, he uncontrollably shivered throughout the ten minutes we flailed around in the chill water. Sadly, no photos were taken given the circumstances, and none of us sprang for the guide's GoPro video of our spiritual and bodily purification.
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