June 24, drive from Delhi to Mussoorie in the Himalayas

Got up at the buttcrack of dawn to leave the YWCA in Delhi for Mussoorie, where we spend 4 weeks learning Hindi in an Intensive Language Program in the foothills of the Himalayas. People were everywhere, and it was only 6:30 in the morning. People were sweeping their shops, bathing in the wells, cooking, and driving their goods to market. We passed some painted elephants, and there were a lot of cows, mostly water buffalo, but some Brahmanic cattle with their white color and shoulder hump. We started getting out of Delhi into Uttar Pradesh, a very densely populated region of the Gangetic plains, largely under wheat cultivation. Very fertile but it seemed dry. The Indian idea of a highway was a two-lane road that was shared by oxcarts, motorcycles, pedestrians, cars, bicycles, and buses. After a couple of hours we stopped at Cheetal, a busy rest stop. Vijay, our guide, was saying he was glad we had left the “Burning inferno of hell” that was Delhi (his home). I heard someone say there was internet, but then I thought, “At a random truck stop in the US, would they have internet…Actually India is just that weird…we don’t have a toilet, but we do have internet”. I went across the street because for half of the bus ride I thought I saw weed growing on the side of the road, everywhere. It looked a lot like ganja, and I crushed some. Confirmed, without a doubt. Marijuana literally is a weed here. It grows everywhere. It reminded me of Harold and Kumar when Kumar is with the huge weed woman. If you could harvest that and get it into the United States, you’d never have to work again. We were on our way again, and passed through rural market towns with their stands selling foods, candy, Pepsi, souvenirs, phone calls, and tyres. There seemed to be a lot of Muslims around these areas, as well as Sikhs, who together probably only make up 15% of India’s population, but in the North are quite numerous. You can tell a Muslim by their long white shirt, kofia, and Abraham Lincoln beard. You can tell a Sikh by the turban or weird bun-on-head thing. All of a sudden, it started getting hilly; the foothills of the Himalayas. We went in taxis up the moutains. I felt like I could lift the van it was so thin. And I felt like they just put a chainsaw motor in some metal and wheels and called it a car. The driver kept passing everyone else, which became old really fast because the road was as wide as normal one-lane, with oncoming cars using both lanes, with loose mountain rocks on one side and abysmal cliffs on the other side. The foothills were completely lush and green, and looked over the large towns and flat green cultivated Gangetic Plains of Uttaranchal and Uttar Pradesh. Apparently a lot of Indians take vacations here, with good reason. 110 degree heat compared to 70 degree temperatures, black snot because of pollution versus clean mountain air, harassing touts and beggars vs. rich white hippies. Then we finally winded up the small roads past the little town to our guest house. I got the second-floor cottage that fits six. It had a bunch of rooms but only one bathroom. There is a secret attic/loft-like room that we are going to use for parties and common area. It’s awesome. Right when you walk into the cottage you are greeted by an American flag. Sick. Ajay got the single room, Daniel and I are sharing the fireplace room, Joe got the entryway room, and Eleyce and Amy had to share the small room that is adjoined to the bathroom. That means that everyone has to walk into their room in order to pee, poop, take a shower, and shave. That’s going to get annoying and really awkward, but for the time being it’s funny. The cottages are on top of a ridge; on one side you see Mussoorie and the plains below; on the other you can see the untouched beauty of the lush Himalayan foothills that extended for miles. The weather is perfect; it’s about 60 degrees and fresh moist Himalayan air surrounds you. It reminds me of Seattle in the spring. I went to bed at 11 and then I had to wake up to pee like five times over the cliff because I didn’t want to wake the girls. Turns out they actually don’t care if I come into their room at all. Thanks.