The flight with Air India was smooth, and I caught a prepaid taxi to the center. It was quite a wild drive over a rural road, with little villages lined up like pearls on a string.

Despite being rural, the traffic was tough to navigate: the usual cars, busses, motor cycles, cows and pedestrians, just in a much more chaotic way than in Mumbai.

Driving on the wrong side to overtake a slower car, despite the traffic on that other side…? No problem, it seems. I was sweating on the back seat, though.

The taxi dropped me off in town, as far as he could go. My hotel is in the old town. No car can enter those narrow medieval lanes, sometimes there’s even just enough space for two persons to pass. Or one cow.

 

Luckily, a guy took me from the taxi and guided me through town. I suspected a kind of scam and did not feel like I needed it – after all, I had downloaded maps of the area. Little did I know that the old town was not Google-mapped at all.

I was lucky to have my guide, I think I would not have found the hotel. And I happily gave him an expected tip for that service.

Awen and Mallory, who had been in a Yoga Ashram in Rishikesh for six weeks, were supposed to arrive in the afternoon, but their train was delayed by nearly four hours.

I just took a little walk through the lanes, not too far, afraid I would never find back. It’s a strange combination of old streets, tiny lanes, tiny shops, cows, trash, temples, and lots of people. The only word to describe it is, indeed, intense.

After that, I enjoyed a quiet sunset moment on our rooftop, accompanied by one of the house dogs.

Once Awen and Mallory arrived, we went for a quick bite in a nice small indian-japanese-chinese fusion restaurant recommended by the Lonely Planet, then we all fell into a coma.