I was awoken just a little before 6 am by my father.   We had to catch a train to Haridwar, a few hundred kilometers northeast of Delhi.  I looked around and my brain took it's standard few seconds to try to understand where it was, and why it did not look like home.  I came to the conclusion that no, I wasn't in my bed in Santa Barbara; I was in a country very different than any I had ever experienced, and decided to go downstairs.   The man behind the counter was waiting for our check out.  Before I could leave the hotel I had to fill out a book of information for the records.  The book asked me questions like 'Where are you going now?' 'Where did you arrive in India from?' and 'What is your father's name?'  Stefan made a point to laugh at the books whenever an opportunity came up, and I began to realize it was a very easy thing to do, as they asked the most seemingly pointless and ridiculous questions. It was still dark outside, and a fog kept the city small in appearance.  We slowly made our way to the Delhi train station, first in a rickshaw (a cross between a motorcycle, a car, a wagon, and possible death) and then on foot since it was much faster.   Traffic was terrible.  We then tried to figure out what to do with our e-tickets.  Do we use just use them, exchange them, mark on them, who knows?  While we tried to understand our tickets people approached us trying to sell us things: train tickets, rickshaw rides, anything we wanted, etc.   One man was rather persistent, and made a point of approaching Stefan and I.

"Did you just arrive here? Do you need ride?"

"No, no, we don't need a ride anywhere," Stefan replied.

"I have tickets, you can take a train, many places to go."

"No," said Stefan, "not going anywhere.  No, no.  Sleep here."

The man seemed rather confused as to that reply and finally left us alone.  I decided that Stefan had quite a way with the locals.  The train was punctual, something unusual by India standards, and actually quite comfortable.  Stefan, Renate, my father and I were all served food, drinks, newspapers, and tea (with biscuits of course), and were able to open the train doors (while the train was moving) and watch the countryside pass by.  Four or Five hours and several biscuits later we arrived in the town of Haridwar.  The town was small by Indian standards (only 80,000 more people than there are in Santa Barbara) and very packed, especially with tourists.  It's essentially like all the people of Santa Barbara were forced to live in an area slightly smaller than Carpenteria, the streets were all made to be about one lane, and all the tourists continue to visit.  We checked in to our hotel.  I struggled to fill out yet another silly book.  "Number of days left until you leave India" I read aloud, wondering who could possibly have any interest in this information.  

"42," My father laughed, "It's the answer to everything"

I laughed and wrote down '42'.  It's not like anyone needed this information to be accurate anyway (I later actually calculated out how many days I before I left for home from the point when I said that.  The answer was 42 days.  No joke.  Nov 4 ^th through Dec 14^th.   Coincidence?  I'll let you decided.).  We wandered through the streets of Haridwar, always trying to be sold rides, clothes, food, or random items.  Especially rides ("No, no," Stefan would reply "Walk.  Make the legs strong.").   My brain felt very sluggish this whole time, as if the world around it was moving too fast for it to keep up.  It was not worried about the differences that were so plainly obvious, nor curious really about this bizarre other culture.   Instead I felt confused, like little men inside my brain were running around with the standard messages that allowed it to function only to have the boss cry: "But wait!  These orders are all in Hindi!"  I dodged out of the way of many Rickshaws, unbalanced buses, and street vendors as we walked through the city.  All throughout the day the picture of India in my mind got ever so slightly clearer.  We walked through crowded bazaars, and finally arrived at the sacred river Ganga (Ganges), the holiest of India's rivers.  She commanded the respect of all who watched her, and no one doubted her title.  

We took a small Gondola up to a sacred temple on a hill and watched Haridwar shrink behind us.  I passed through the temple barefoot, as respect and custom commanded, and tried to understand through my still hazy eyes what I was being presented with.  A man sitting in a small enclave carved out of the temple wall beckoned me to him.  I approached him, and bowed slightly, as felt appropriate.  He mumbled words that my mind couldn't even began to decipher and placed an orange dot of powdery ink upon my forehead.   I smiled slightly, bowed, and proceeded through the brilliant red temple.  Another man beckoned me to him and, not understanding if it was proper or rude or anything else to approach or not, I approached him as well, bowing slightly and expecting a lightly darker dot on my head.  Instead he said a few words and pulled me down closer so that he could thump me on the back.  Slightly surprised I smiled and bowed and left before even noticing that he also expected me to give a little money.  I caught up to Renate, who was watching a process where a man was chanting and passing colored strings over a fire before giving them to people who tied them to an area just past him.

"You make a wish," said Renate, "and then you tie the string on the rope so that your wish will come true.  You want to do it?  Pay him 15 rupees (about US 40c) and he will give you a string."

I prepared my money and watched the other passer-by's carefully.  After I decided I could do it, I approached the sitting man.

"What is your name?"  He asked.

"Ian."

He chanted and passed my personal colored string over the sacred flame.   I tied it to the rope with all the other strings.  It was a good feeling, to let a wish go, and no longer feel burdened by it for a little.  We walked down the hill towards the Ganga, and Haridwar.  There were many monkeys on the road, and my father and I were fascinated by them at first, making sure we got some pictures and good viewings.   It soon became apparent, however, that there were too many of them, and that they were really quite a hassle.  And not very good lovers by our standards either.   Renate filmed three quick snapshots that were quite comical when looked at later.  Time: 3:59, Monkey is sitting behind other Monkey.  Time: 3:59, Monkey has sex with other Monkey.  Time: 3:59 Monkey is done.  Renate laughed to Stefan that if she ever said "3:59" it would mean "too fast!"