I gave thanks to the river, for guiding me through so many new experiences and encounters, and for reminding me that adventure is a state of mind, something that can be found anywhere if only you are willing to look, and to take a walk to find it.
Alastair Humphreys walked across India following the course of a holy river. Walking alone and spending the nights sleeping under the stars, in the homes of welcoming strangers or in small towns and villages, he experienced the dusty enchantment of ordinary, real India on the smallest of budgets.
There Are Other Rivers tells the story of the whole walk through an account of a single day as well as reflecting on the allure of difficult journeys and the eternal appeal of the open road. There Are Other Rivers has been produced in a variety of formats, all of which are available here.
Alastair is an adventurer, author, blogger and motivational speaker. He was chosen as one of National Geographic's Adventurers of the Year in 2012.
Website: http://www.alastairhumphreys.com
Twitter: @Al_Humphreys
Flickr: AlastairHumphreys
One morning, approaching Tiruchirapalli, famous for its temples, I spotted an elephant walking towards me down the busy street. Thrilled at this sight I quickly got myself in position to take a photograph as it lumbered by. Unfortunately the driver of the elephant, perched on high, spotted my intentions and took exception. Shouting angrily at me he marched his beast towards where I sat on the pavement. He directed the elephant to bang me on the head with its trunk, gently at first then with increasing force as I yelled my increasingly fearful apologies! More relaxing then was my next sighting of an elephant – a family of wild ones this time – as they drank at a river in the forests of Karnataka.
Besides the famous, spectacular temples of ‘Trichy’, I enjoyed the small temples in all the villages. The central courtyards, their flagstone floors cool in the shade were an oasis of calm peace for me, a break from the constant noise and bustle of the towns outside. Religion played such a dominant role in the life of the region I was walking through, with the hooting buses and Ambassador taxis decorated with favourite gods (often Ganesh the smiling elephant or Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and beauty) and roadside shrines depicting lurid and wild depictions from Hindu legend. Walking through villages at dawn I would smile and wave at women who were decorating their doorsteps with kolam, geometric patterns of rice flour that are redrawn daily in order to bestow prosperity on the home.
I encountered a festival or ceremony or marriage party almost every day during my walk. Flowers are scattered everywhere, garlands of marigolds thrown round necks, girls with sweet-smelling white jasmine flowers tied into their shining black hair. Music playing, always music, with men thumping drums enthusiastically to the rhythm of the excited skirling of pipes. People clapping and dancing, smiling and chatting with their friends. I rarely understood what was happening, except for the countless weddings, but I enjoyed the dancing of men dressed as gods, the earnest belief in the ceremonies and rituals, and the carnival atmospheres.
One afternoon I arrived in a small town and found somewhere to sleep. As always my first priority -for everyone else’s sake as well as for my own- was to wash. A delicious cooling of a bucket shower and a brief respite from the heat. After the bucket dousing, and after I had eaten the usual dinner of rice with little piles of spiced vegetables and chutneys, I was lying on my bed writing my diary. Suddenly there was a terrific boom outside my room as an enormous firework display began. Grabbing my camera and rushing out into the street I found myself in a wild, noisy festival. Nobody I had met had felt that it merited pointing out to me that that evening the town would be full of singing people, all dancing with a clay pot of burning wood on their heads, nor that men would be suspended by meat hooks through their back, nor that the centrepiece figure of the festival would be a broad, bearded man walking with a 12-foot metal spike rammed through his cheeks as kids danced and laughed around him. It was just another festival.
After five weeks my salt-crusted shirt was bleached pale and my weight had dropped so that my rucsac’s waistband no longer pulled tight. I had lost weight but gained so many memories. I reached the source of the Kaveri river, the temple of Talakaveri. High in the misty hills of the western ghats I watched the orange-clad priest blessing pilgrims with water drawn from the small, cool well floating with red hibiscus flowers. The water that was beginning its journey along the route I had just walked, past the temples I had rested in, nurturing the paddy fields I had slept in and on down to the sea at Poompuhar where I had dipped my toe and nervously begun to walk. I too gave thanks to the river, for guiding me through so many new experiences and encounters, and for reminding me that adventure is a state of mind, something that can be found anywhere if only you are willing to look, and to take a walk to find it.
Alastair Humphreys is offering a free download of his book 'There Are Other Rivers' for Kindles.
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