Upon arriving in Rishikesh - a town where Sadhus, bohemians with yoga mats, Delhi tourists, postcard touts, honking jeeps and of course cows choke the crowded streets - we were told that due to the late snow in the north, Milam glacier would not be an option. Thus began the long string of cancelled itineraries. Every successive trek we planned to do turned out to be impossible due to the late snow. We even travelled 9 hours by bus to Uttarkashi to get a permit to hike to Gaumukh glacier (the headwaters of the holy Ganges River) only to be told by the forest department that they would not give us a permit: too much snow.
Despite the fact that the fates were conspiring against our trekking journey, our guesthouse host told us about a lovely short trek that would take us through a village - Agora - to a high altitude lake called Dodital. Long story short, the trekking gods continued to be opposed to our trekking plans. Due to intestinal illness (a trademark of Indian travel) we never made it to the lake. But, we did make it to Agora, where we became honored guests at a wedding party.
Our invite was casual. We were told that there would be a big party that night for the groom. Everyone in the village would be there, and we were welcome to attend. And of course, it would have been rude not to. So we stayed.
The party would be essentially, the pre-wedding bash. The groom's family spent the day cooking a feast in preparation for the evening's festivities. The following morning, an entourage from the village (one member from each family) would hike the seven kilometers out of the hills, load into sturdy jeeps, and make the forty kilometer drive to the village of the bride. They would collect her from her village, load her into a jeep, and then carry her - actually carry her - the seven kilometers back up the mountain to their village.
The party that night was exactly what a good wedding should be. Our host treated us to some pre-celebration whiskey, then led us over to join the feast, which we ate on the floor using our hands. Perfect. Laughter, music and dancing filled the night. Young girls and older women ran about decorating each other, and eventually me with henna, while the men got the dancing started.
Meanwhile, the groom, covered in henna, sat in a brightly lit cement room with sky blue painted walls. He sat on a bed posing with various wedding guests (ourselves included), while the photographer and videographer captured the moment. The groom's father invited us to the roof to partake in some whiskey toasts with him (drinking is done more surreptitiously in India than we are used to) and we of course took him up on his hospitality.
Eventually, the drummers began playing traditional music, and the dancing started in earnest. The women took me under their wing, while the men took Adam, and they taught us their traditional dances and songs. It was basically a perfect evening. And it only took five cancelled treks and an intestinal illness to get us there.
In the morning, we were invited to attend the journey to collect the bride, but our aforementioned intestinal issues kept us from making the whole journey. We did manage to hike out with the crowd, following the drummers, the villagers and the groom on horseback as they made their way down the winding trail.
And so, that was our trekking journey in India. It was about six miles, and only two nights, but it was perfect. It just goes to show you that you really should never plan in India, but you should always say yes to weddings.