At 3 am, we popped out of bed after our one hour nap and headed into the streets of Delhi to figure out how to get to our next stop, Dehradun.
As we walked out of our hotel doors, the desk staff looked at us curiously but didn't say anything. The streets were empty. Rickshaw drivers slept on their bicycles, dogs wandered the streets looking for scraps, and in the distance trains at the station blared their farewells.
We walked the one block to the railway station and headed to the ticket counter. While standing in line a man wearing a white button-down shirt and nametag approached us. "You need to go to the Tourist Information Center to book your ticket, you can't get it here" he said. We looked at each other suspiciously. "Don't worry, I work for the rail station. I'm part of the government." We continued staring at each other, unsure of our next move. Finally, we decided to follow him---at a distance and through the main street, under plenty of lights and around many people. He took us across the street, where in fact there was a "Government Tourist Information Center." He banged on the door and yelled in Hindi until a groggy fellow came downstairs. The man smiled at us and took us upstairs. We explained that we needed to get to Dehradun. He spent several minutes trying to find train tickets for us, but to no avail. The first man we met was waiting outside. He told us he could book us a government taxi.
Our hotel had been trying to get us a taxi the entire time. We had called the train station, though, and they had said there were tickets. We attempted to purchase them over the phone, but our poor connection and lack of payment options (you have to have this thing called a 'cash card' that no one else seemed to know about) kept us from booking. So, here we were. Back to a taxi.
However, the rate was excellent (as compared to our hotel's exorbitant price), and we decided it would be easier to go for it. We started to leave to get our things when the man told us that our driver would be there in 20 minutes. It was 4 am at this point---how on earth was there a fellow who wanted to get up and drive two lost American women 7 hours to Dehradun? But there was. He arrived shortly and took us to our hotel to pick up our bags. We checked out and headed on our way by 5 am.
The farther out of Delhi we drove, the more trees begin to appear. Farms begin to dot the landscape. The air became cleaner. The sky became bluer. Everywhere on the side of the roads were huge mango trees, bursting with bright green mangos waiting to ripen. Cars, bikes, rickshaws, water buffalo, vikrams, trucks, government vehicles, and more buzzed around us. Now, if you have never been on a road in India, it is nearly impossible to explain. But I will attempt.
Picture this: A "one-lane" or "two-lane" road, every vehicle loudly blares its horn as it jumps around every other vehicle. Acceptable distance between cars is about two inches (side mirrors fold in to the car so that you can scrape by without damaging them). You only stop when you absolutely cannot get around the other car and you only stop when you are literally about to hit whatever is in front of you. There are no proper directions for cars to be heading. Even on a one lane road, all vehicles will be going every which way, with drivers dodging in and out of oncoming traffic. Tourist buses are the worst---they have no regard for any other vehicle on the road and rarely stop---they just keep coming, expecting you to dart out of the way before they hit you. Which, luckily, our skilled drive did. On top of this, the herds of cows and water buffalo that wander the streets or pull carts for workers also have to use the main streets. So, driving in India is like a crazed game of road frenzy---horns honking, cars dashing around each other madly, animals dodging cars, small bikes dodging cars and animals, etc.
After about four hours of this, we stopped at a bright and sunny restaurant on the side of the road. Here I had sweet lassi and Cindy and I both ordered grilled toast with vegetables (it was very good!). We then proceeded on our journey, which halted again about two hours later as we neared the highways for Haridwar. It is currently the pilgrimage and holiday season for Haridwar---a holy city located along the Ganges--and thousands of Indian citizens were on their way to visit. This resulted in a two hour traffic jam, where we barely moved an inch at a time. I chose to sleep through it to keep my nerves calm, and when I awoke, we were on a narrower road cut through the forest, headed up into the mountains.
Finally, at around noon, we arrived in Dehradun. We had our drive drop us off at a random parking spot, and we caught an autorickshaw to Clement Town.
Clement Town is a Buddhist enclave hidden away in Dehradun. It also serves as a Tibetan refuge, and is home to the world's largest stupa. The streets are lined in flowers, quiet, and much cleaner than the main city.
We wandered to the guest house mentioned in our Lonely Planet book and asked for a room. Unfortunately, they were booked. We tried another guest house--more of a hostel. After calling the "contact" number on the door, a fellow finally appeared. He seemed suspicious of us and had to call someone before he would talk to us. He told us he couldn't get us a room for that night. Well, onward ho. We went to a small travel station, and asked about a guest house. They brushed us off and told us to go next door. Finally, we found a guest house hidden between the other buildings. After uncertainly wandering its courtyard, we met with a man who said he had rooms. He showed us one downstairs and one upstairs. The upstairs room had an excellent breeze, so we chose it.
This room was 250 rupees, or $5. There was no air conditioning, just open windows and a ceiling fan. It only had one light---a small green bulb that barely lit up. The walls were painted a bright green, but had yellowed with age. The bed was hard wood, with a thin sheet covering it. The bathroom was old and covered in spider webs. However, there was something uniquely charming about it.
After checking in, we went to visit the enormous Buddha statue and nearby stupa. We meandered the premises for a couple of hours, listening to the monks pray and ring bells, and headed back to our room. Cindy had bought a bottle of wine at the airport, but we hadn't had time to drink it yet. So we finished up the water in our water bottles and poured the wine evenly into them. We lay down on the bed, with our feet propped on the screened window, and watched the Indian sunset while drinking our wine. A breeze blew in softly, and all was quiet in the world.
Near dark, we realized that mosquitos were buzzing into our room. Not wanting to take any chances, we decided to hang the mosquito net. Without hooks. We came up with a brilliant plan to tie a string across the room and then drape the net over the string. However, we would still need something to hold the corners up. So we tied string to the window and looped it through the metal rings of the net. With our work complete, we curled under the net and drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow we will venture to the holy mountain city of Rishikesh, atop the Ganges.
Until then,
Namaste!
As we walked out of our hotel doors, the desk staff looked at us curiously but didn't say anything. The streets were empty. Rickshaw drivers slept on their bicycles, dogs wandered the streets looking for scraps, and in the distance trains at the station blared their farewells.
We walked the one block to the railway station and headed to the ticket counter. While standing in line a man wearing a white button-down shirt and nametag approached us. "You need to go to the Tourist Information Center to book your ticket, you can't get it here" he said. We looked at each other suspiciously. "Don't worry, I work for the rail station. I'm part of the government." We continued staring at each other, unsure of our next move. Finally, we decided to follow him---at a distance and through the main street, under plenty of lights and around many people. He took us across the street, where in fact there was a "Government Tourist Information Center." He banged on the door and yelled in Hindi until a groggy fellow came downstairs. The man smiled at us and took us upstairs. We explained that we needed to get to Dehradun. He spent several minutes trying to find train tickets for us, but to no avail. The first man we met was waiting outside. He told us he could book us a government taxi.
Our hotel had been trying to get us a taxi the entire time. We had called the train station, though, and they had said there were tickets. We attempted to purchase them over the phone, but our poor connection and lack of payment options (you have to have this thing called a 'cash card' that no one else seemed to know about) kept us from booking. So, here we were. Back to a taxi.
However, the rate was excellent (as compared to our hotel's exorbitant price), and we decided it would be easier to go for it. We started to leave to get our things when the man told us that our driver would be there in 20 minutes. It was 4 am at this point---how on earth was there a fellow who wanted to get up and drive two lost American women 7 hours to Dehradun? But there was. He arrived shortly and took us to our hotel to pick up our bags. We checked out and headed on our way by 5 am.
The farther out of Delhi we drove, the more trees begin to appear. Farms begin to dot the landscape. The air became cleaner. The sky became bluer. Everywhere on the side of the roads were huge mango trees, bursting with bright green mangos waiting to ripen. Cars, bikes, rickshaws, water buffalo, vikrams, trucks, government vehicles, and more buzzed around us. Now, if you have never been on a road in India, it is nearly impossible to explain. But I will attempt.
Picture this: A "one-lane" or "two-lane" road, every vehicle loudly blares its horn as it jumps around every other vehicle. Acceptable distance between cars is about two inches (side mirrors fold in to the car so that you can scrape by without damaging them). You only stop when you absolutely cannot get around the other car and you only stop when you are literally about to hit whatever is in front of you. There are no proper directions for cars to be heading. Even on a one lane road, all vehicles will be going every which way, with drivers dodging in and out of oncoming traffic. Tourist buses are the worst---they have no regard for any other vehicle on the road and rarely stop---they just keep coming, expecting you to dart out of the way before they hit you. Which, luckily, our skilled drive did. On top of this, the herds of cows and water buffalo that wander the streets or pull carts for workers also have to use the main streets. So, driving in India is like a crazed game of road frenzy---horns honking, cars dashing around each other madly, animals dodging cars, small bikes dodging cars and animals, etc.
After about four hours of this, we stopped at a bright and sunny restaurant on the side of the road. Here I had sweet lassi and Cindy and I both ordered grilled toast with vegetables (it was very good!). We then proceeded on our journey, which halted again about two hours later as we neared the highways for Haridwar. It is currently the pilgrimage and holiday season for Haridwar---a holy city located along the Ganges--and thousands of Indian citizens were on their way to visit. This resulted in a two hour traffic jam, where we barely moved an inch at a time. I chose to sleep through it to keep my nerves calm, and when I awoke, we were on a narrower road cut through the forest, headed up into the mountains.
Finally, at around noon, we arrived in Dehradun. We had our drive drop us off at a random parking spot, and we caught an autorickshaw to Clement Town.
Clement Town is a Buddhist enclave hidden away in Dehradun. It also serves as a Tibetan refuge, and is home to the world's largest stupa. The streets are lined in flowers, quiet, and much cleaner than the main city.
We wandered to the guest house mentioned in our Lonely Planet book and asked for a room. Unfortunately, they were booked. We tried another guest house--more of a hostel. After calling the "contact" number on the door, a fellow finally appeared. He seemed suspicious of us and had to call someone before he would talk to us. He told us he couldn't get us a room for that night. Well, onward ho. We went to a small travel station, and asked about a guest house. They brushed us off and told us to go next door. Finally, we found a guest house hidden between the other buildings. After uncertainly wandering its courtyard, we met with a man who said he had rooms. He showed us one downstairs and one upstairs. The upstairs room had an excellent breeze, so we chose it.
This room was 250 rupees, or $5. There was no air conditioning, just open windows and a ceiling fan. It only had one light---a small green bulb that barely lit up. The walls were painted a bright green, but had yellowed with age. The bed was hard wood, with a thin sheet covering it. The bathroom was old and covered in spider webs. However, there was something uniquely charming about it.
After checking in, we went to visit the enormous Buddha statue and nearby stupa. We meandered the premises for a couple of hours, listening to the monks pray and ring bells, and headed back to our room. Cindy had bought a bottle of wine at the airport, but we hadn't had time to drink it yet. So we finished up the water in our water bottles and poured the wine evenly into them. We lay down on the bed, with our feet propped on the screened window, and watched the Indian sunset while drinking our wine. A breeze blew in softly, and all was quiet in the world.
Near dark, we realized that mosquitos were buzzing into our room. Not wanting to take any chances, we decided to hang the mosquito net. Without hooks. We came up with a brilliant plan to tie a string across the room and then drape the net over the string. However, we would still need something to hold the corners up. So we tied string to the window and looped it through the metal rings of the net. With our work complete, we curled under the net and drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow we will venture to the holy mountain city of Rishikesh, atop the Ganges.
Until then,
Namaste!
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