My way to Nirvana Camp in Barkot an unexpected journey (EN)

It was about the time to leave Rishikesh. I had my stuff packed already for two days, but the things for departure were simply not working out. Not that I didn’t enjoy two more days of yoga and western-like coffees with friends. But on Monday I felt I couldn’t wait any longer.

Time to set off for a new journey

I have to admit that despite the initial settling-in problems I really liked my stay in Rishikesh. After few days I slowly adjusted to the rhythm of life I created for myself and made tighter bounds with the people I was living with and meeting every day. A tender feeling of comfort embraced me...

However, I didn’t feel like staying only in one city. I missed mountains and simple village life. I was not sure where to look for it but giving it a chance and search is the smallest thing you can do, right? So I went after my first real Workaway experience (Rishikul Yogshala wasn’t really through the Workaway program, but through a personal meeting) which was supposed to be in a tourist camp near a city called Barkot.

Long ride with Indian local buses

As I felt ready for an adventurous and independent journey, I took the long way. From Rishikesh I went by bus to Chamba, just to see if the place is worth staying. And maybe it is, but only if you have exact idea where to go and especially if you know someone from there. Otherwise it looks like any other Indian city, busy, full of people and shops and no real tourist information of what you could see around and how to spend a day or two there. As the bus left me at the central market I quickly walked through it watching the people and looking for a place to make a phone call. Finding it next to a sweet shop I called the contact person from Workaway and owner of the Nirvana camp, JP Rana, and discussed my next steps with him. OK, there is no direct bus to Barkot from Chamba, but I could go though Dharasu Bend and there catch another bus to Barkot. Sounds like fun, long journey but I wanted to see the countryside anyway. In the bus I had a nice co-traveler, a young girl from Chamba going to see her granny in Uttarkashi. Her English was good enough to exchange basic information with me. And of course to have the typical discussion whether I am married or not. I don’t know if I am getting used to the question or I am getting annoyed by it.

My hosts for one day - the whole family reunited for the picture

My journey was long but I felt satisfaction. It was exactly what I wished thinking of the journey itself being the goal. When we got into Dharasu Bend I almost fell of the bus as I tried to find my way out though the alley full of people and stuff like boxes and packs of all sorts. Sure, my backpack didn’t help me and it was quite an obstruction. 

Unexpected stop in Dharasu Bend

The place called Dharasu Bend was extremely small, you couldn’t even call it a village. Few houses, mainly shops, on an intersection of roads. I started to look around for a bus to Barkot. Men standing on what you could take for a bus stop explained me (mostly hand language) that it was too late for buses to Barkot. Well...I asked like ten times, just to make sure, and my brain was already working on a back up plan when a bunch of smart dressed men approached us and tried to help. Fortunately, their English was much better and through their interpretation I got better idea about the situation. Confirmed, no bus to Barkot today. I could take a private taxi for two thousand rupees. I am sorry guys, it is much more than I have... (or can give). Thinking loud I suggested I take a bus to Uttarkashi knowing it was a bigger place and surely there were some guest houses. Or was there a guest house in this small place? Surprisingly, the answer was positive, so my idea was to wait a bit more just in case some forgotten bus to Barkot passes by and in nothing then when the sun starts setting I would go to the hotel and take the bus the next morning. 

The two guys who helped me out.
Sometimes on the trips these things happen and I am incredibly thankful that it is so. 

The nice men left. Just so that they could return back in few minutes. Well, only two of them. And they offered me something unexpected, to stay over in their family house only 5 minutes away. It took some persuasion and mutual reassuring that both sides are cool with the plan (while I intentionally and repeatedly asked about their wives, if they have no problem with that, and the answer calmed my uneasiness. „My mother and sister will be really happy to have you.“ OK, so it really is a family house). I felt a certain trust to them otherwise I wouldn’t jump into the car which was taking us. But once we drove for 5 minutes further away from the little settlement I started to be nervous and all the bad stories broke into my consciousness. At the moment when they paid the driver and wanted to get off I panicked. What the hell did I do?? I convinced them to borrow me a phone and called JP Rana, the Workaway guy, and explained him the situation. First, I apologized a little bit that I wouldn’t make it that day and then told him more or less what happened. After that I loudly presented the idea of the two „nice gentlemen“ who decided to invite me over to their houses and said that „they would like to speak to him and introduce themselves to him“. There was no escape for them in that moment but to take over the phone. I passed the phone and let them talk for a bit in Hindi feeling satisfied with my back up. Even if the name and the whole details given on the phone were not correct, I was, after all, calling from their private number. So in case something was about to happen, they would need to get rid of the number with all the contacts, I guess, as soon as possible. Or maybe not. But I felt safer. 

The real Indian hospitality

Much easier in my heart I left the car and in two minutes we walked into the house(es) of one of them and were immediately surrounded by his mother, sisters, brothers, uncles, granny... Well, I felt a bit bad about my previous suspicion, so I apologized for being so worried. They understood. Just the two of them spoke some English, one more than the other. They were relatives, the son from the house and his brother-in-law. I met them so dressed up because they were just coming from the last wedding ceremony of the sister. That was also the reason why they smelled a bit of alcohol (something I haven’t smelled here in India for a long time) which caused a hint of insecurity earlier. 

Preparing the mutton meat for the dinner. Check especially the cutting system!

I was seated, presented to everyone, showed everything, asked many questions (of course the one about being married as well) and offered tea, water and something small to eat while the time for real dinner comes. I tried to answer everything politely and get an idea about the conversation conducted in Hindi by guessing from the faces and gestures. After some time we went for a ride on a motorbike to get some things from a shop. And, lucky as you sometimes get, we had flat tire. Running from one workshop to another it took us about two hours and a half to get it fixed. I enjoyed it quite a lot as I needed to walk between the workshops, a pleasure for my tired legs and back after the long bus ride.

Finally, after sunset, we could go back. But before, with my permission, they took me to see their other sister who lives in a different house nearby. It was funny, nice and polite, but strange and unusual at the same time when they asked me all the time „Any problem, ma’am?“ I am not used to this. However, this IS their culture and later I discovered it was just a beginning of what was coming concerning the Indian politeness with guests. 

Wish some buffalo milk? I wanted to help, but the buffalo didn't really like me.

Different culture, different habits

We came back and talked a while, then we were served dinner. Unlike I am used to that we eat all together only me and the two men we sat in a separate room and their younger brother served us the food. Then he patiently stood aside and checked that we didn't need anything. Whenever he was asked to bring something, he swiftly run for it. Even though I don’t understand Hindi the requests didn’t seem to be particularly polite, it rather sounds like an order, but the boy was laughing. everything seemed totally normal, us eating alone without the rest of the family, the younger brother being our „servant“... So to satisfy my curiosity I asked how the things go and why he wasn’t eating with us. They explained that he would eat after we were finished and that it was a matter of respect. If there is someone you respect or who stands higher in the hierarchy, you serve them and wait till they are finished. And the guests are always treated like that according to the Indian believe that „our guest is our God“.

The next morning was much more peaceful and relaxed for me, somehow overnight I become a little bit more part of the house. So I was making chapati (Indian bread) with the sisters, helping the mother with their buffalo while smile was our only communication media. Strangely enough, we understood each other. They wanted me to stay. And I felt so blessed by this experience, because it’s once in a lifetime. I think. After two months in India I felt I knew nothing and that this was just the first touch of the real life in this country. Garwali people (regional culture) showed me their hospitality and open hearts. 

With poori and chapati I was able to help, even though just for a little bit!

I felt it was the right time to go. Also because all the time I felt an increasing interest of Parveen, my host, maybe because he wasn’t married yet and was looking for a wife. Sometimes it made the moments awkward as I could feel his interest but wouldn’t respond to it. But after we talked about all the weddings in the family and I saw all the pictures I started to feel that I understand the never ending questions about marriage. It IS a big issue here, in a country where vast majority of the people from the villages still has arranged marriages. It is a topic you discuss all the time. It defines your social status. It shapes your adult life. 

So some people ask me out of pure interest as they would ask anybody else. The men might ask because they are interested in marrying a foreigner and in this culture, where often they meet their life partner at the wedding day, it isn’t awkward to ask a stranger to marry them. No big deal, we don’t have to know each other before we join our lives forever... They are not being impolite or too personal. They barely have the chance to „get to know each other“. Even in the family in Delhi I understood that dating is not an easy thing. You don’t go out with your date everyday, sometimes it is only once in three months and just nowadays thanks to the modern technology you can maintain the contact at least a little bit and get to know your partner. And even if you do have the luxury of dating, it doesn’t mean that you would marry your beloved one. The respect for the family matters and decisions of your relatives is so big that people marry someone who was arranged for them even though they had chosen their partner and dated her for a while. The relationships here are simply different. So are the intentions with questions about them. 

Really traditional house and some decoration they put for the wedding was still on.

My journey continues

Back to my story. The next day all worked out pretty well, there were buses to Barkot and I got into one almost immediately for Indian standards. We waited only for about 30 minutes before the bus was sufficiently full to set off. A young man sat next to me and again I went through a personal interrogation. Trying to keep my distance I answered politely everything but didn't show too much interest. I think I misjudged him. I was over cautious not to raise his possible interest. But I think I misjudged him a little bit, I was already in a countryside where people were more personal without hidden interests. I enjoyed the bus ride, up and down the hills and narrow curves, dozed off in between the conversations and looked in joy around to the forests of pine trees. 

In Barkot the bus stopped at the busy local market. But from there it was pretty straightforward for me, I simply called to Mr. Rana and his man picked me up and by shared car we got to the Nirvana Camp where I have been ever since, enjoying everyday the sound of the holly Yamuna river and the tranquility of the life in here.