I won’t claim to feel spiritually cleansed, and there was certainly nothing ritual about my dips in the holy river this morning

From first impressions, Paddle India seemed like a serious outfit, and they turned out to be everything we wished for

Even though I’ve had a a go at rafting before, I won’t claim to be anything other than a beginner, and the trip took us from gentle grade I rapids to a couple of IIIs and a III+. The scale runs to V, with that latter Roman numeral indicating something way beyond my abilities.
After going through the commands and a safety briefing , we set off and were quickly in our first gently rolling rapid, Black Money. River rapids seem to share a trait with climbing routes: they have more or less non-sensical and amusing names. Still, Three Blind Mice was – perhaps not surprisingly – three rapids in quick succession, rated III. However this was not enough to throw us off our balance or into the river, but while gently floating on, we all took the opportunity to have a quiet dip in the cold river water. And that’s where I also happened to consume a mouthful or two of the holy Mother of all rivers. I don’t want to think too much about what goes into this river, but at least there aren’t that many people living upstream from Rishikesh towards the source.

All aboard again for a ride on The Rollercoaster, the next grade II rapid, that we’d already glimpsed from the car as we were driving up to the launching point. Our guide steered us – and we paddled – right into some hefty-looking waves when we took our place at the end of a little riverine traffic jam. One or two rafts ahead of us capsized, but we managed to stay high – but certainly not dry. Still, the sun was out, the wind was warm, and the occasional drenching was just a pleasant sensation.

Onwards towards Rishikesh, we approached our final rapids. The Golf Course was a short but intense III+, and whoever named this place managed to merge three rapids to a greater whole. First, we got warmed up, and soaked again, at Tee Off, before charging into The Golf Course itself, and then finishing at The Clubhouse.
As at every rapid, the sensation at the end was a strong urge to go again. Now, however, there were just a few ripples left as the river meandered towards the suspension bridge at Lakshman Jhula.

To have one final thrill, we pulled onto the shore at the base of some cliffs. At about 5 metres, these rocks were of the kind that even a somewhat careful 35-year-old with a bad case of vertigo could fling myself off with some gusto, and two jumps seemed a fitting end to a half day on the river.

Without further incident, we arrived at Rishikesh in time for lunch at the Devraj Coffee Corner. While my soaked t-shirt dried in the sun, I saw the somewhat disappointing revelation that came from three hours of soaking my feet inside my rented wetsuit boots:
What I had taken to be slowly building sandal-patterned tan on my feet, turned out to be less tan and more dust than I was hoping for. That lovely shade of brown skin had been washed away to reveal a foot nearly as pale as when I left Oslo.