Rishikesh: Not an Easy Entry


After spending five weeks in the Ganges Plain, we looked forward to moving up into the foothills of Rishikesh. We stopped in Delhi for three days with our Indian family and felt revived and refreshed, ready for our early morning train ride to Haridwar. As it turned out, our guide slipped up and did not check the mobile app, ‘Live Train Status’. Arriving at the train station at 6.30 am, we were disappointed to find the train coming from Mumbai, was five hours late. This could have been avoided had the guide (or me) been on his toes!

We settled into a crowded, noisy waiting room. The hours ticked away watching the changing face of the crowd, but we noticed that ETA of our train kept getting later. Once a train loses its place in the queue, it only exacerbates the problem. After a light lunch of masala dosa at the downstairs cafeteria, we went to the designated platform, #2. Ten minutes before its new arrival time, the platform was changed to #1. That may not sound like a big deal, but if you’re carrying a suitcase and backpack up a long flight of stairs, over the tracks, down the other side, and in the heat of the day, it is significant. It was no surprise that the train crawled most of the way to Haridwar. Originally scheduled to arrive in the early afternoon, we called our guesthouse to let them know we were going to be very late. It was well after dark when we negotiated for a rickshaw for the remaining 25 kms to Rishikesh. Gerard made it very clear we had to be dropped off at Laxman Jhula bridge, the northernmost part of the town. “Yes, sir, no problem, Laxman Jhula!” It was a very long, cold, tedious bumpy 25 kms. Dropping us, he said, “Just there, the bridge.” The footbridge was still crowded even though it was getting late. We went in the direction where we thought the guesthouse was and asked a shopkeeper who said, “Just keep going straight and you’ll find it.” But as walked further, it began to look all too familiar. Seven years ago we stayed in Ram Jhula, another section of Rishikesh that’s also only reachable by another footbridge. We kept walking; it didn’t feel right but Gerard wasn’t yet willing to address the possibility that we’d been dropped off at the wrong bridge.

When we passed the hotel we stayed in seven years ago, we had to acknowledge the obvious, we were most definitely in the wrong part of town. Asking the same shopkeeper again, he said “You should be in Laxman Jhula, not Ram Jhula. It’s 2 kms up a small road.” It’s now getting close to 10 pm and things were shutting down. We started out again and quickly met a jolly man who said, “Where are you going?” Telling him, he said, “It’s too far. I have a friend who will take you on his bike for 100 Rs ($1.80).” Both of us were having a hard time visualizing what he meant. He yelled over to his friend who was just about to leave on his motorbike. He said, “Get on!” “What? How? What about the bags?” He grabbed one of the suitcases and put it between his arms, and then placed his back pack on top of it. I climbed behind him with my back pack hanging off one arm. There was about three inches of the seat left where Gerard squeezed on. No room for suitcase. Both of us held on to it, off the other side, dangling in the air. There was no place for Gerard to put his feet. With a wobbly start we went down the dark lane. I kept saying to Gerard, “This is really dangerous.” It took every ounce of strength I had to hold on to my backpack with my left arm and help Gerard hold the case with my right. The friendly biker dropped us off in front of our guesthouse. He was so nice to give us a ride, even apologizing; it had little or nothing to do with the 100 Rs, he was doing us a favor.

So glad that our long journey was finally over, we were shown to our room. It wasn’t exactly a dump but it was sub par for the price. Never mind, we’ll take it for one night. When I asked for towels and top sheet (most guesthouses only supply top bedsheet on request) he said, “Not possible.” Gerard was in no mood and said, “At this price we should have a towel!” But the answer was still no. We grabbed our baggage and hit the street again. It was now 10.30 and very few people were about. Up the street we went, stopping at every guesthouse and room for rent. All were full. “This is the high season,” we were told, “maybe tomorrow.” One of the guesthouses where we enquired, two men at the reception said, “You’re welcome to leave your bags.” They’d seen us on the street, “Why don’t you leave your cases here while you continue to search.” A kind offer, we accepted and continued. Then Gerard said to me, “I wonder if we’ll ever see our cases again!” I was too tired to care. Four or five more rejections, a woman took pity on us. “Wait.” she said. After a short conversation with her husband, “There is a large empty room downstairs, you can stay there. We’ll put a mattress on the floor and give you bedding. There’s a toilet and sink outside.” “We’ll take it!” It was now past 11 pm and hardly a soul on the street.

We hustled back to retrieve our luggage; the two men said, “You can have our room tonight. Don’t worry about us; if you like you can stay.” Another kind gesture. We took a look at the room and it was a typical bachelors’ quarters, dirty dishes, clothes on the floor etc. “Don’t worry, we’ll clean up and change the bedding.” It was tempting but I felt committed to the woman who was already making up a bed on the floor for us. We thanked and told them we’d be back in the morning to see if they had a vacancy. Back through the empty street, down into our cavernous room; we just wanted to lay down and go to sleep. It was a noisy section of the street, mostly Israelis who live and party by night, but we both managed to get some sleep anywhere.

Feeling much better in the morning, we went out and had breakfast (we’d eaten nothing since the dosas at lunch the day before), then started the search again. Repeatedly told to come back at 12, check out time, we didn’t want to wait. Maybe those nice men where we left the cases last night might have the vacancy. But when we got there, they said, the same thing, “Come back at noon.” As we were leaving, one called after us, and said, “Somebody’s just told us they’re checking out!” We took a look at the room, it had no view but otherwise would suit us fine. Back down the street to collect our cases, the woman said there, “I’m so pleased you have a room because we still don’t have a vacancy.” Now we’re settled into our spacious and clean room (Gerard still had to scrub the whole place down of course) and we’re feeling particularly grateful. It was a long day but in the end everything worked out and here we are in Rishikesh next to the Ganges.


13 thoughts on “Rishikesh: Not an Easy Entry

  1. Good story! I’ve had plenty of those nights myself. You can laugh about it later but at the time, all you want is a bed! I’m heading to India on 4/17. Maybe we’ll meet up. Safe travels!


    • Sometimes it needs a hard landing to appreciate the rest of the journey! Wonderful to hear from you. It’s never been the same on Wellington street since you left.


  2. very interesting post ..i was right there with you.gerard ive been trying to reach you on email ..

    can you message me fb..i need to know when you are arriving home


  3. Sounds like rishi. I was there last year. It’s finished. What to do. Love

    On Sun, Mar 18, 2018, 10:16 PM A Small Case Across India wrote:

    > rwiggins posted: ” After spending five weeks in the Ganges Plain, we > looked forward to moving up into the foothills of Rishikesh. We stopped in > Delhi for three days with our Indian family and felt revived and refreshed, > ready for our early morning train ride to Haridwar. ” >


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