Here are those verdant hills I wished for, saw in my minds eye, upon waking on the train a few hours ago: grains and sugar cane; cow patties and firewood; gypsy tent cities on the outskirts of villages. Then a turn into the mountains and a nauseatingly rutty, radical switchback dirt road deeper and deeper in and up.

This bus trip from the Haridwar rail station through Rishikesh to Luxman is a trip. The driver speaks no English, and stops several times along the way, apparently to run personal errands. It's another harrowing assault on traffic until we meet the highway. Here are those verdant hills I wished for, saw in my minds eye, upon waking on the train a few hours ago: grains and sugar cane; cow patties and firewood; gypsy tent cities on the outskirts of villages. Then a turn into the mountains and a nauseatingly rutty, radical switchback dirt road deeper and deeper in and up. Rishikesh finally appears around the next bend, far below on a distant hill. Snapping window shots, just as I think "well this would be a great place to stop for a photo op," the front right tire blows. An ancient spare, bald and bubbled, doesn't inspire confidence. But we make it, with at least three stops along the way for the tour assistant to argue with the driver who wants to drop us hundreds of yards for our destination.

Our hotel is up a flight of stairs, our room is barely big enough to turn around in but we are grateful for a wash up and a hot lunch. Then we stroll. Rishikesh/Luxman. Cows. Dogs. Bright colored cottages encircled by carefully plotted gardens. Jammed together row upon rows of shops. Clothing, Tibetan bowls, jewelry, shawls, hand worked wood kitchen implements, mobile phones and regional reliquery, paintings of saints and mirrored embroidery. Temples crawl with statues of idols, some painted, some so intricately carved that color would have proved a distraction. Across the river on a wobbling foot bridge to the more popular side of town, prices are appreciably higher and streets a lttle wider. We bargain hard for three large jeeps to take us a kilometer farther, to meet and have tea in the cafe of an old friend.

We're late to the river for Arati, but create our own. A sweet faced urchin lights my sugar cube, and when my launch fails to send my little boat of flowers far enough into the current, she wades after it and helps it to freedom. Against all common sense, I reward her with twenty cents. So you know what happens next. I'm surrounded by cherubs, hands imploring. Their gentle harrishes harmonize with my chanting to the river of life. Beautiful.

Cars carry us back to our hotel for panzer in a red creamy sauce, rice and rotti, the ever popular fresh lime soda. Now to precious sleep.