The Upside of Rishikesh

At the corner of the Himalayas, nestled in a verdant valley, along the banks of the Ganges river, lies the holy Vishnu city of Rishikesh. Not quiet, but not loud either, the city attracts scores of devout Hindu pilgrims seeking divine favors, absolution of sins, peace, and mindfulness, as do pilgrims the world over.

As befits a center that attracts visitors from around India, and indeed everywhere else, Rishikesh is blessed with riverview restaurants, serving some of the best food I've had in this country. As a holy Hindu city, all meat and alcohol are banned, but no matter. It would be more fortunate if hash were more readily available, which to my mild surprise and consternation it was not, but again, no matter. The vegetarian fare is superb, with each establishmet competing on creativity and presentation.

My favorite such restaurant was the Paradise Rooftop Cafe, perched on the second floor balcony of a building not far from Laxman Juhla, a 450 foot suspension bridge straddling the river. The continental breakfast that graced my mornings consisted of a tall glass of fragrant masala chai, two eggs over medium, fresh baked whole wheat bread with butter and jam, and oatmeal covering cut pineapple, mango, banana and papaya, with a few pomegranate seeds adorning the surface. They made a mean veg biryani as well, with saffron rice under and within which there were julienned cucumbers, peppers, carrots and tomatoes, garnished with grated coconut and cashews. Perhaps the piece de resistance was the eggplant stewed in mushroom and walnut sauce, served in a middle cabbage cup, accompanied by grilled vegetables (always a hit) and steamed rice, also in cabbage cups on either side, on top of a sizzling caste-iron tray. My mistake in that meal was to have also ordered a vegetable salad, and as such, the high proportion of simple carbohydrates to the relatively small portion of rice had me blowing happy farts well into the next day.

Rishikesh brought my days of Southern solitude to an abrupt end. I lodged in the Shri Sant Sewa Ashram, with a balcony overlooking the river, featuring a perfect view of Laxman Jhula. My first beighbors were some lovely and unconvential Indians. Sunil and Nikunj, Marwaris from Gujarat, and Gayatri, Sunil's Tamil companion. Both Nikanj and Gayatri were artists. Indeed, Gayatri had done her art degree in the Netherlands, and had recently returned from an exhibition of her photography in the UK. They were traveling around the North, seeking out Holy Men, hoping for some scraps of wisdom to fall their way. Intensely interesting, we spent two days as neighbors in engaging conversation and contemplation overlooking the Ganges.

One morning, a brisk knock on my door preceded the introduction of my other neighbor, Daphna, from Kfar Saba, recently discharged from the army, propelling me back into the bossom of the Hebrew language. We became inseparable, and were joined two days later by Daphna's friend Natalie, and Natalie's friend, South African Michelle. We roamed as a pack and resolved to continue together at very least onto the next leg of our trip, which would be Dharamsala. But not just yet.

To this mix we can include Jacques, a handsome and bookish Frenchmen, who had more than just a passing fancy for Bollywood, sharing my horror at the dreadful costumes in Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. We spent several enchanting days together in something of a traveler's paradise.

Lonely Planet? Hardly!