Waking up at a leisurely half past 8 this morning was heavenly, it's the first semi-decent nights sleep I've had since arriving in India! We had to wolf down our breakfast of peanuts with rice and watermelon as our car to take us to our Neergarh Waterfall hike had arrived - I'll say this for India's taxi drivers, they're never late! After rounding up Sara, our new Scottish companion, we beeped our way out of the hotel's lane.

The road to the bottom of the hike slithered through the mountains above the Ganges river with a rather dizzying precipice, an acute three inches from our taxi's tyres. Having to pay a quick fee (there is a fee for everything here) of 50 rupees to start the walk we enthusiastically embarked on the first mossy step.

The Neergarh Waterfall, it turns out, is a very special pocket of Uttarakhand (the region to which Rishikesh belongs), it had handfuls of exquisite treats and quirks all the way through the walk. The first thing we noticed was the gargantuan spiders' webs that seemed to hold the entire mountain together, I am by no means embellishing when I say that they had the same diameter as a pencil. Then of course there were the actual spiders themselves. If I wasn't modestly petrified of them I would have just put a saddle on one of the things and rode it to the top. The butterflies flirting with the wind throughout the walk were uncountable and all intricately perfect in their own way! They also seemed utterly unconcerned by your presence; when a black and jade beauty landed by my feet I pocked my finger under his feet and he just set up shop there and was more than happy to pose for a few pictures!

Despite the path being very loose underfoot, we made quick progress up to the waterfall and were not disappointed when we got there. The plunge pool had been walled off except for a large chunk in the middle in order to form a gushing pool of crystal clear water. A large family of Hindus were already enjoying the water and smiled charismatically at us as we crossed the final and worryingly rusty bridge.

As well as being a very friendly and good natured religion, Hindus (in particular the men) are very tactical with each other and are often holding hands as they walk down the street or have their arms around one and other. A young man that was a member of the family in the plunge pool saw me tentatively inching further into the icy water and came and held my hand and walked up to the waterfall with me whilst still holding on. Despite this being very alien to my culture, the action isn't an unpleasant one and extends a sense of friendship and acceptance that is rarely so freely given in Britain.

Feeling fresh and revitalised we packed up our things and headed back down the path to we're our taxi driver was hopefully still waiting for us. He was, and we left.

Deciding to carpe-that-diem, myself and the inexhaustible Chelsea decided that we would hate to miss the opportunity to have a dip in the Ganges river before we left, especially as the water looked so enticing. After a quick shimmy through the crowds on the Ram Jhula bridge, and a trot over the glittering sand at the river's edge we had another dip in the refreshing Himalayan water - it was an exceptional experience, being able to bathe in such a famous and revered place!

But there is no rest for the wicked, we quickly scooted back to our hotel in a juddering blue rickshaw to meet up with Sara again and head into Haridwar for the arati ceremony.

Haridwar, which means 'Gate of God' as this is where the Ganges river is considered to start, is teeming with people and far more chaotic than Rishikesh, just 13 kilometres further North. The Moti Bazaar is the first thing we saw as we arrived in Haridwar, or at least the first thing I saw as I'd fallen asleep in the front seat of our taxi and had quite clearly been dribbling openly whilst facing our driver as he looked scared and kept shooting me furtive glances. He was very helpful and walked with us a short way, informing us of where to go and where he would wait for us.

The bazaar (market) itself was very vibrant with an ocean of stalls and eateries - the smells in the Indian markets make you salivate instantly! I had been hankering after a scarf since arriving in India as I wanted to nail the 'well travelled and hip-as-hell' look that some people manage to portray, so upon seeing a large selection of them I steered myself boldly towards them. I did incredibly well with the bartering, which is usually very much Chelsea's area of expertise, and managed to knock a rather impressive 15p of the initial asking price. All the excitement of completing my travelling 'look' went to my head however, and I'm grateful that Chelsea was their to rein me in as I would absolutely have returned to my hotel with a feathered turban on my head, a large wooden bead necklace around my neck and healing crystals tucked up my arse.

Anyway, with the sun sinking quickly we made out way to Har-Ki-Pauri (The Footsteps of God), a ghat on the western bank of the river ready for arati. Arati is a Hindu ritual of worship where a ghee soaked wick is lite and offered to a deity or deities. The one we were attended was for the Ganga deity; Hindus turn up in their hundreds every sunset and sunrise to pay homage to their deity (god) by putting offerings of food and banana leaves filled with flowers and small candles. If you wish to do this yourself in order to wish your family and loved ones long life and happiness then you are better doing it yourself away from the main ghat as priests say a prayer for you and expect outrageous donations - a priest said a prayer for my family which I repeated after him and then asked for an obscene donation. Perturbed by this unexpected and slightly uncouth request I managed to feign poverty (despite my new sassy scarf) and not pay anything, but I did get some disapproving looks for my genuine mistake.

Luckily, after a 100 rupee donation, we were sat with hundreds of worshippers cross-legged on an island in the centre of the river connected to the banks by several orange bridges. We all watched in a revered silence as the ceremony unfolded across the river from us and listened curiously to the prayers that were being carrier to use on an old megaphone system. It was a marvellous experience where everyone prayed and chanted together, raised their hands in unison and clapped in an untidy rhythm.

After the arati we were eager to get back to our driver as we had been told that the roads and markets could become very crowded as everyone headed for home at the same time. Unfortunately, there seemed to be only a sprinkling of white people in Haridwar that night and we were asked for photos constantly by families who wanted us to hold their children and shake their hands. I blame myself obviously, anyone would want a photo with me in my new, amorous scarf.

Sadly, tomorrow morning we are leaving Rishikesh and the North of India. It has been an incredible sanctuary after the dust and chaos of Delhi, where we are returning briefly tomorrow in order to catch our train to Varenasi. 'Train', the word is starting to make me shudder...