Immersion

The afternoon of my arrival in India involved a four hour immigration queue and a five hour drive from Delhi to Haridwar - five adults in a tiny white car with my backpack tied to the roof. The traffic was arduous, eye-opening, and chaotic. At one point cars drove up a dirt bank to avoid a convoy of trucks grid-locked by undiverted road works.

We stopped at a dhaba (very basic roadsie eatery) for my first Indian meal., An hour later, the fumes, car motion and blend of spices had me barfing delicately beside the car. I can proudly say it was all uphill from there - I did not throw up again while in India.

So this was my first real view the next day, as we took the plunge down the main street of Hardiwar on a cycle rickshaw. Here you see a lady riding side-saddle, as they do, and a town that's starting to swell to way, way more than capacity, as the 2010 Kumbh Mela attracts pilgrims from all over India. I had been preparing myself for culture shock, but instead felt a rush of wide-eyed nostalgic joy, being reminded of my immersion into Morocco; similar chaos, different flavour.