Lonely Planet, Part 2....okay Part 1 for real.

In my family's final week, we are traveling up north at the foothills of the Himalayas - Haridwar, Rishikesh, Mussoorie. In an effort to wing it with some structure, we tried to book hotels in advance based on the Lonely Planet's good name. We failed, miserably, in every capacity. We got the dates wrong, somehow reserved a cattle farm in Poland for 3 weeks, and killed a man. We have been lucky, and found an excellent hotel in Haridwar that has continually found availability for us through its fully booked schedule. But before we knew that, we stayed there for one night, not knowing our fate, and went to check out the hotel my sis Shari blindly booked for us for the following two nights. It is called Bhaj Govindam, and it is in the mid-range price range in the LP. They offered us the rates of 800 rupee's a night per room. Here is what the Lonely Planet says about Bhaj Govindam: "Haridwar's most relaxing accommodation in a wonderful location on the bank of the Ganges, these comfortable bamboo huts are set in a pleasant garden adn are equipped with fans, air cooler or AC, and tiled private bathrooms. The accomodation is absolute riverfront with its own private ghat (space on the Ganges) - ask to be dropped at 'Bhimgoda Jhula.' " Sounds great!

While trying to book the rooms from afar, they often didn't answer the phone, and gave us mixed answers on basic questions like whether they had hot water in the rooms. This was in both English and Hindi.

This morning, Dad Sharon and I walked there. We navigated through this holy cities gauntlet of beggars to eventually find a large sign for the hotel directing its readers nowhere. Through inquiries, we were led down a dark, deserted alley (this is at 11am), whose sides were lined with dilapidated, crumbling brick buildings, whose floors were too mangled with debris for even the most desperate beggar to sleep on. 100 meters later, there is another large entrance sign for the Hotel over a courtyard. Entering, the L-shaped building inside seemingly came from the same family as those in the alley, only at its infant stage of repairs with about 20 builders in site, working in various rooms. The grass in the field looked as if it had died a terrible death.

A security guard eased our concerns by pointing us out of the coutryard, down another side alley towards a man in a orange plaid shirt welcoming us to the Bhaj Govindum. Entering the property, it was indeed along the water, and the grass's struggled greenish hue was grateful. The exterior of the thatched huts brought first to mind a Hollywood set, built by handicapped infants, on a budget of whatever they could make on black market sales of breast milk. For those of you that have no idea what that sentence means, they looked like shit, and possibly ready to collapse.

Then we saw the warning sign, like a beacon, a stop light flashing in our faces. A white guy in a red robe. Sadhus, or the religious men, come in droves from all over the world to live here, wear these stylish outfits and pray in this holiest of locations. Many are true, respectable priests, and many are convicts fleeing the law and hiding in plain site. There have been cases of these bad sadhu's robbing tourists and raping women. I am sure that many of the white folk joining the party are also religious scholars seeking enlightenment, but often they are just confused, spiritually lost ex-surfers. Westerners choosing to join this post-hippie bandwagon can often find rooms to rent for as cheap as 50 rupees a night for long term stays, and I could only imagine this was the case here. He said hello. Not taking any chances, I made a cross with my fingers and walked past.

The orange shirt man showed us a room for 4 as we requested. He didn't turn on the lights, probably out of fear or knowledge they didn't work. Inside was 4 bare mattresses. No sheets, no pillows. There may have been an attached bathroom, possibly hanging fans, I'm really not sure. The only light was coming through the doorway and tiny holes in the walls, and I'm pretty sure the bed bugs were on strike for cleaner living conditions.

I wish there was a dramatic conclusion to this story. But there isn't. My Dad said, "Nahee danyavad" - no thank you, and we left. We cancelled our reservation over the phone with no trouble beyond ignorance. We got lucky enough to find accomodation in the same hotel as last night for the next 2 nights, and may take advantage of the ayurvedic spa. And I'm already plotting out my slightly more diplomatic letter to the Lonely Planet.

Lonely Planet - you fucked that one up

Let me begin by thanking my allegiant readers of this blog for their valued allegiance. I hope you will continue to allege.

And to all you clown shoes wearing ass clowns in clown-like shoes who don't write to me; Just know I'm forming a violent religious army to squash you for your traitorous non-acts. Oh, I'm also forming a religion.

Before I reference the title of this post, I'm going to casually meander through my various Indian thoughts and experiences in no relevant order.

For example, I saw a bus driver violently dragged from his vehicle by two shouting, angry motorists in Delhi. My assumption is that he caused some minor accident, though nothing major was apparent while in my passing tuk tuk. Elizabeth asked the driver of our wall-less taxi if they were going to beat up the bus driver, and he said, in Hindi, "Definitely. Bus drivers are dirty drivers, the worst, everyone hates them and how they drive. Also, all praise Ganesh - he totally rocks." I've read about such brutal motorist responses when someone is at fault for harming another, and it was interesting to see it in effect. Clearly I'd prefer problems of the sort to be settled over tea and elaborate exercises in utilizing both parties' vocabulary, but regardless of my presence, the outcome was apparent.

My father made an interesting, yet simple observation that I'd like to dwell on for a paragraph. As stated, he is extremely well educated on India's history and religions and takes some aspects of the faiths to heart. After being blessed by a guru in a rural temple and later discussing the history of the Hindu g0ds, he said, "It's really amazing that people actually believe this. These aren't just interesting stories - People live their lives by it." A billion people. And it's true. Hinduism is fascinating on many levels, with certain elements that are at the top of the philosophical pyramid in my eyes in terms of lessons to live by. But it is more than that here. Ganesh, the elephant g0d of good luck, who clears away all obstacles from your path - is the first invited to every wedding to do just that. Modern Indians who wear Armani, eat cheeseburgers and drink 5 times a week send him an invitation before anyone else - he is always the first invited to clear the way. Every one of the many, many g0ds has their specific relevance. Whats more are the stories, such as that of Ganesh and how he came to be the elephant g0d: that his father, Lord Shiva, decapitated his son at night, believing him to be an intruder. Swearing to bring his son back to life, Shiva took the head of the next creature he saw - an elephant - and brought his son back from the dead. Now I'm no torah scholar, but I don't remember Moses crossbreeding species.

I wore a seatbelt the other day. I was in a toyota SUV - what stunning luxury here I might add - and in the back seat , for the first time I actually got to wear a seatbelt. It hadn't happened yet, and I felt like royalty (read: King of Caucasia). Not only was I amazed that I got to wear one, but I was amazed that I was amazed. Amazing.

While venturing from rural house to house in Jodhpur, we saw a small textile operation making rugs, an impressive family business making anything and everything out of clay, and an opium addict. The old man crushed up the opium, mixed it with water, strained it, offered some to Lord Shiva by flicking it from his finger at the g0d's image while praying, and then drank it. While 9 white people sat and watched. First of all, its pretty cool for him that he got paid for us to come to his home and watch him do drugs (clay walls dividing up 4 rooms: the smaller two were a bedroom for the whole family and a storage room - being the only ones with dishevelled rooftops). He talked - translated by our guide through his distracting mustache - about how he began doing drugs when he was 14, and now through the hard work in the field he uses it as a pain reliever. Women in the family are not allowed to do drugs, and yes it is illegal. It costs about 40,000 rupee's per kilo (approx $1,000), and he spends about 4500 rupees a month ($115). He goes through, by my estimate, about 3 grams a day taking it once in the morning and night. He estimated his family's monthly income at about 6000-7000 rupees a month.

Well that is about it. There is absolutely nothing else of any relevance that I have to say. Not one more story referenced at any point in this blog worth mentioning. ...bye!