"Only 550 rupees for 18 kilometer trip," said the man.  I did the math in my head.  So that meant it was about 15 dollars for a chance to raft the holy Ganges River for 12 miles above our town of Rishikesh.  The man could see that I was hooked on the idea.

            "What time does it leave?" asked Renate, also interested.

            "Ten o'clock," he said.

            "Well then we are already too late," sighed Renate, "it's Ten now."

            "No problem." said the man.  He brought out a cell phone and talked to a man in rapid Hindi.  "No problem," he said, "car wait."  We paid, and hurried up towards the jeep loading area where our jeep/pickup truck mix was waiting.  I looked at the car.  The back seat was already full with a family.  The driver invited Renate to sit in the passenger seat.  I wondered briefly where I would sit.  I clearly had not gotten it into my mind that this was India.  

            "You can sit here." The driver said, and gestured to the back of the pickup, on top of the rafts.  Two other young men hopped in the back with me, and one lay on the other's legs and sang songs the entire drive.  I enjoyed feeling the wind blow across my face as we bounced up the narrow road and between busses and walkers.  I couldn't help but marvel that they didn't have more accidents.  I then saw a sign on the side of the road that said "drive slower, live longer".  That seemed reasonable to me, though I couldn't see how anyone could go fast on a road such as this one.  The next sign was a bit more confusing: "Sixty-six is the Sixist!" it read.  I asked Renate about it later and while she didn't know what that sign meant, she did confirm that bizarre and comic sings were quite common in India, her favorites being "Please be gentle with my curves" and "Better late than not at all!"  We arrived at a small rafting camp on the side of the Ganges.  I wasn't expecting much from this river, as it seemed too flat and large to have major rapids, but was looking forward to the experience nonetheless.  The other family on our raft was an Indian family from Delhi, here on vacation.  The family consisted of a quiet, intelligent looking 16 year-old girl, a rather cowardly though quite friendly father, and a powerful, excited, and strong mother.  

            "The two men go in the front," instructed our guide, "and the women behind them."

            "I will go in the front!" stated the Indian wife.

            "You must be very strong to be in the front." replied the guide.

            "She is stronger than me!" said the husband.  We laughed for a little and adjusted seating arrangements.  Soon I realized, however, that it wasn't a joke.

            The guide taught us basic commands (forward, back, relax, simple enough right?) and explained that there were 4 big rapids and several smaller ones.   Then we began our way downriver.  The guide told us to paddle forward ("Yes!" shouted the mother, upon hearing that command) and we practiced paddling together.  It soon became clear that the father was the weakest link, so he told the daughter to sit behind her mother, and the father to sit in the front of the boat.  As we approached the first rapid we paddled hard, the father crouched down in the front of the boat and help on tightly to the rope while closing his eyes, and the mother began laughing hysterically with glee as we plowed over each wave.   Though only a minor rapid, she was incredibly excited.  The only problem being, of course, that when she got excited she paddled so fast that I had to fight to keep up with her.  My arms were quite sore by the end of the day.  As we made our way over the giant waves of the second, larger rapid she continued to grow in energy and excitement.   The father got very wet, said that he was holding on as tight as he could, and was rather afraid to open his eyes in the rapids.  I decided having a 5 foot wave of water hit your face when you had your eyes closed couldn't really feel more safe than watching it approach you, but who was I to argue?  After dropping through the biggest rapid on the river, a class 4, things began to smooth out a little.  We were all soaking wet, and the cool (and above Rishikesh, very clean!) was comforting in the warm day.  Renate and I marveled at the energy and excitement of this Indian woman, since most of the ones we saw had far less life to them.

            "All Indian woman like this I think," she told us, "just not see it very much."

            "At next rapid is two rapids." said the guide.  "If you want you can jump in after first part, swim rapid.  Through oar in boat and when I tell you 'jump' you jump."  Well that sounded like fun.  We approached the rapid.   I couldn't see the second one, only the first.  After going through a few large wave the guide shouted "Jump!".  I looked back at him.  I thought there were two rapids.  "Jump!" he said again.  I didn't need to think about it much, I decided.   I threw my paddle in the boat and plunged into the River Ganga.  The 16 year old followed my example, and we floated our way through a few rather large waves that managed to completely submerge me in the river.  This was, of course, a very spiritually purifying thing to do by Hindu standards of course.  And so after the rapid, I smiled at the fact that I was supposedly 'purified' by the holy river.  And why not? I asked myself.  It's not such a bad thing to purify yourself a bit in a holy river.  The girl convinced her mother to jump in the river as well after the rapid.  I floated with them a little bit, though I was careful not to touch them just in case tradition said I shouldn't.  It was so relaxing, to float down this holy river and look up at the Himalayan foothills.  Everything was so calm and refreshing, a sharp contrast to city life in India.  Eventually they went back to the boat and tried to convince their father to jump in.  He did, for about 10 seconds, and then wanted to get back in the boat.  I swam to where Renate was sitting in the boat.  

            "Why don't you jump in?" I asked, "The water's really quite refreshing.  And holy even!"

            "I just remembered that I still have my money belt on." she replied, "I wouldn't want to damage anything in it."  Uh-oh.  I felt around my waist for the silk pouch that protected all my most important documents from thieves or even an accidental misplacement.  Yup, it was there.  Feeling quite thoroughly wet.  I had been in the river for 10 minutes.

            "I'm…. still wearing mine too." I told her.  She laughed.   I thought about what I had in there at the moment.  A passport with my Indian Visa, my debit card, 300$ in U.S. cash….  This might not be so good.  I asked Renate to help me back into the boat.  She did, and I took out my money belt and felt for the shape of my passport, the most important of the items I had.  It was there, a bit bent out of shape at the corners.  God I hoped the Indian visa and passport pages were made with some sturdy stuff….  I handed the money belt to Renate, who clipped it on herself.

            "We'll check it later," she said, "Checking now won't allow us to do anything about it."  I was a little bit worried, but at the same time why should I really worry about something that I could do nothing about?  I had just been purified by the Ganges, I could just smile about that.  

            "Rock jumping up ahead." said our guide, "You want to jump?  It's about 25 feet"

            "Sure." I said. 

The wife laughed at me.  "Sure, sure, he says to everything!"

We pulled over to a little riverside pullout and the guide pointed to a large overhanging rock about 25 feet above the river.  I scrambled up the rock and looked off the edge.  Hmmm…. It was quite a long way down there…. But then again, it wasn't as much as I did in Hawaii, it had to be safe for them to offer it for people to do, and besides, I had to impress these Indians.   I took a few steps and jumped off the edge.  My heart beat in panic once.  I hit the water and shot down several feet.  When I re-emerged the Indians gave me a little cheer.  The daughter wanted to follow me up and try it too, but her father was afraid of it and said she couldn't go.  The second time I gestured jokingly for the to come up and join me, and then purified myself one last time in the Ganges.  We finished up our trip, said goodbye to the wonderful family and to our nice tour guide.  After I got back to the Hotel Green, where we were staying, I looked at my money belt contents.15 20$ bills all somewhat stuck together, a passport rather bent out of shape, with Indian Visa still intact and the back cover falling off, and a debit card that might or might not work.  I lay the bills out on the bed and covered them with a sheet to get them dry and unstuck, and meticulously wiped dry each page of the passport.  

"Bah, that is shit you know, your passport.  You get a German one, say your stepmom is German, maybe you get one.  European Union Passport can get you anywhere in the world you know.  Best passport to have, really."  Stefan and I talked about the state of my passport later that evening.

"You think it will work though?" I asked.  "I don't think it will be a problem here in India.  I mean, I can tell them my passport fell in the Mother Ganga.  No one will question me then."

"I think so, yes. Nepal should be no problem either. I think the biggest concern is getting back in to your country.  Crazy they are."

I thought on that for a little.  It would really be a shame if I couldn't get back into America just because my passport was made holy by the River Ganga…. I'll see what happens.   In India, anything is possible.

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