A narrow suspension bridge across the Ganges hangs below my table. People share the crossing with cows and bikes, as monkeys patrol the cables above seeking opportunity in the traffic below.

Spot the 3 monkeys

Apart from the queue to see the Taj Mahal, I’ve not seen so many white faces. Unfortunately, here they’re accompanied by pan piped, meditation muzak that spills out from the restaurant’s speakers to compete with the Gange’s torrent. That said, this banoffee pie and coffee is very, very good.

At the end of this morning’s short ride to Rishikesh (yoga capital of the world), I met an Australian chap, a veteran of India, riding a new Enfield. He reckoned the source of the Ganges is a stunning two day ride from here and that although it’s usually cold up there in Winter, this year’s been extraordinarily mild. My other contact with the world outside was sending a quest post to a fellow blogger

So that’s what I’ll do: take stock and try a yoga class before following the Ganges as far north as possible without turning into a brass monkey, and let that be the farthest reach of this trip.

My superstitious side looks into the river below and contemplates the flow that’s caught me and brought me here without map or compass. It’s hard not to feel the mystical quality of this place, notwithstanding the many orange robed Sadhu’s and yoga experiences around every corner.