Business in Varanasi August 25, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentWe some how ended up in a jeep with the owner of Glenary’s, the very same place we had spent on the internet and gazing out of the window with a fine pot of tea. Well she bought it from the British and ultimately is now monetising it as much as possible.
After we are kicked out of the jeep early and ushered into another share taxi to the station we make it early, only to find, as usual that the train is late. We end up waiting for 3 hours extra, on top of the 3 hours we had allowed ourselves as leeway. Great, another wait, not ideal in New Jalpaiguri station ,which is a real hell hole.
Laura experienced her saddest moment here, watching the madly intoxicated kids ranging from 5 ish to early teens. All of them were sniffing glue pretty much the whole time, but when they weren’t they looked gaunt and sad begging incessantly and never taking no as a no. I visited the train cafe and ate some rice/ Dal and subzi (veg) combo and followed another mans lead of giving my left overs to one of the boys peering in at the window. Not looking particularly happy with the food he still asked from 5 Rs! At one point a boy who was really high and flailing down the platform with a crazed smile found some chapati in the bin. He cheered and waved it in the air before taking it off to eat it. His friends came over to share in some of his prize, but the boy had none of it. The only bit he gave away was a large pinch that he gave to a stray dog. Laura was touched.
Later that night we watched the kids gambling the small change that they had collected during that day, we guessed “to make it big”, in between breathing glue vapours from an old bag (see pic). This kid had just had something taken from him and was chasing an older kid…. not the things ‘normal’ children do. Later they curled up under the platform stairwell and smoked marijuana, as well as sneak up on a lady sleeping, flick her in the head before running off to avoid getting caught.
Getting on the train was a relief and we slept for the most part for the journey, with lightning flickering as a back drop to our journey. The journey was painfully slow and our backsides ached instantly after shuffling to a more comfortable position. We arrived at Mughal Serai station, 30 minutes away from Varanasi at 9pm, instead of the quoted 4pm. A man from Delhi kindly cheered our hopes and suggested we take a rest room and food at the station. Sounds good. Perhaps unsurprisingly after being referred from piller to post- literally… why is it that there are booths of 4 men with a sign saying “Happy to help”, when they don’t even turn around, vaguely try to help and just tell you to go somewhere else that doesn’t know!… eventually we find that there is no space and that the canteen is practically empty. I am starving and so eat a really, really bad vegetable Biryani, constantly harassed by a scraggy looking girl who was chased off by station staff to just return again, with a vacant look and filth all over her.
We had to take a rickshaw to Varanasi tonight and so left ourselves at their rip off tactics. After our first reasonable offer we accepted their lead to a guesthouse in the South of the city near the area where the rickshaw can drop us off (the old town is paved and inaccessible and walking was out of the question at this point).
We arrived at Elvis guesthouse and even negotiated another good room rate, but asked to keep it to ourselves. The next day we mooched up to the roof terrace to find a group of Israelis hanging out. What a great roof terrace- not a bad recommendation Mr rickshaw driver! Varanasi is hot again and we realise what the plains were like, although to be fair it is not quite as hot as it was…
We decide that we need to focus our immediate time on sorting business and to head north to the old city that day- we know how long and how things never go to plan in India and with a fair amount of cash at stake need to get things right. We are hijacked by one of the Israeli girls who has yet to have found the markets. We have been warned about loud, in your face Israelis by others, but have only found chilled sound ones, until now. When getting off the rickshaw she informs us that Israeli’s get the best deal with everything because of their ace negotiation skills… which is when she launches into a tirade at the man and makes him really defensive. Really, not a good strategy for an easy and effective life in India and probably why they ended up paying twice the amount for the room as we did! Unlucky! We disembarked in the same place as we were dropped on the very first time we visited Varanasi and it is amazing how you can lose track of a place. We realised how many other things we have seen and done, by the fact that we are very disorientated and unused to the craziness of Varanasi. This place really is the extreme in every way. There are cows walking all over the place disregarding any rules, the drivers beeping non-stop ignoring any traffic rules, the cyclists veering everywhere. Rubbish everywhere smelling to the extreme, the heat, humidity and dust hits you more than any other place we have been. There are prayer calls blaring from loudspeakers from all directions, people wearing orange surging towards the ghats shouting “BALL BAUM!”, so it is all go from all angles to the max!
We eventually regained our senses via my broken Hindi and reached the quieter small lanes where our tailors resides and were greeted by the guys from the Golden Lodge where we stayed the first time round. It is good to be recognised and finally have some understanding of a place that was so alien to us just a few months back. After an hour checking the stitching of all 50 garments and having the knowledge of what is necessary as a good quality shirt we sent 6 back to be redone and went on our way. We wanted to get this all sorted in one day, but the guys needed time to get the restitching done so we had to come back the next day.
The next day came and after breakfast of Laura craving eggs was disappointed at being promised an Israeli delight only to be served some oily onion and overcooked eggs, we headed back to the old town. After drinking the customary chai from the disposible clay cup we got down to business of counting the items, their colours and rechecking everything. The sizing are a bit ‘loose’ lets say, but ultimately it means that every item now has character and we have slight variations on size. How very Indian! After everything was okayed we decide to go to Golden Lodge for an eggs chips and beans meal that we loved when we stayed. We managed to swap some books and convinced the guy to give me (against his rules) two books on Yoga, just what I was after. After a 40 minute food wait, cold food and Laura leaving highly disappointed and feeling “egged out”, but also realising that some things do need to be left as they are remembered and are often not as good second time round when you have expectations (and that applies to everything!), we headed back to the tailors.
We return and are in a rush to get to the post office, but the guys are now tied up and the promise of helping us post the box has fallen through after money exchanged, surprise surprise. They do however get a boy to carry the box and the 4ft tall tailor to come with us, when the heavens open and storm breaks out. We are in two minds… do we have to return again tomorrow or shall we risk water damaging the goods? We wrap the box in torn plastic and go for it, winding down the narrow lanes through streams of pilgrims and water, out queer group of 4 making our way to the post office. The main road is closed, but we pick up a cycle rickshaw to deviate slightly and reach the post office in time. Ushered suddenly through we are told that the box is 1″ too big for government regulations and it cannot be sent! BUT “luckily” we could encourage them to mark it down as smaller to get it through and an extra cost might help… we have been in a few situations where we might have needed to backshish someone, but have avoided it until now. 400Rs extra though!? I doubt it. I hide some cash and begin to raise my voice stating that “the wrapper is government vetted and we only have another 40Rs”… we are ushered through and get away with a bribe of just Rs40, which is not bad on top of a total of around 6000 RS in total.
After a mission of a rickshaw ride back looking at the flash flooding around we get out just in time for the heavens to open again. In just 20 seconds we are both wet through, running through the lanes back to the guesthouse has turned into the wet and wild water park, but just with cow crap buried in random places turning some areas into a slippery sludge pit. The guttering juts out at varying lengths over the lanes and so water torrents are pouring from literally both sides, from above and because the rain is so hard is coming from the ground also! I have never been so wet in such a short space of time, but we were in hysterics when we arrived back to wring ourselves out!
The next day it was gorgeous clear weather again and so we made our way down to the Ghats, vaguely heading to the Hannuman Mandir (Temple), satisfied that our business deal is done and now is time to relax. We sit on Assi Ghat, a truly tranquil place, Sadhus and sellers who are sluggish due to the heat and now give us far less hassle with appropriate responses in Hindi. The Ganges is now massive, the sand dunes on the far side we saw before has now disappeared with the water level 15 foot higher. The water, once slowly flowing, now pouring with a strong current down the banks carrying undergrowth from upstream. We gaze at the eagles soaring gracefully overhead, the pigeons puffing up to look attractive and saw the same baby goat we photographed the first time we landed on the Assi Ghat shores on our boat trip. It all seems familiar now. We sat for a while in silence taking in the relaxed atmosphere and people sleeping under trees, meditating and doing the same as us. I always wonder who the swamis are amongst the general throng.
We mosey along Assi Ghat and enjoy just taking in the chilled morning vibe. Assi Ghat is the furthest south it is possible to walk along the Ganges, so we cut down a street in the general direction on the Hannuman Temple. Laura finally gives in to temptation and we fall into a clothes shop. She has a little birthday money left and is keen to enjoy the extremely cheap shopping opportunity! We settle for some green Ali Babba trousers and enjoy a long chat with the shop keepers. It is fun chilling on a padded floor under a fan discussing random things with Varanasi locals. They end up recommending a local place for lunch. Rs20 Re fill Thali…can’t go wrong we decide!
Finding the Thali place wasn’t difficult, but we were too early for lunch, so continue towards locating the Hannuman Temple. Our attention is distracted with an advertisement for Indian cooking lessons. We check it out, and it doesn’t sound like a bad deal. Tempted we continue our journey to the temple telling the cooking teacher that we will think about it. We somehow took a bit of a wrong turn and found ourselves in a maze of houses, a very local area. Fascinating, but boiling with the sun getting more and more intense as it encroaches 12 midday, Laura is keen to find shade of the temple and escape from the illogical winding maze. Being ace with my sense of direction, I come to the rescue and locate the temple. Sorted.
The temple is shady and cool. It had many paintings, but weren’t that impressive. By now we have seen a fair few temples, so it is easy to become critical! On the plus, holy men were at the gate entrance chanting and playing the tablas, which definitely made it worth while. Meanwhile, inside the temple, more holy men were in deep discussion about their food. We could just about get the jist of their conversation, as we understood the ‘Kanna’ (food) and ‘kitni ka?’ (how much)?
Then Thali time! Flies and all. What a great recommendation it really was. Authentic Thali, only Indian locals eating there. I was in heaven as it was as much as you like. Sweeet. We feel like we fit in as I am wearing my sarong to cope with the heat and manage to use my broken Hindi to ask for more.
We decided to go for the cooking class, so go back and arrange it for the following day. We had a fresh coffee (a rarity in India) which was served in a stove peculator. The restaurant manager was convinced that this addition justified him charging Rs50 for 1 pot coffee (which only made 1 cup)! We told him we didn’t care how the coffee was served and gave him Rs30. This did trigger doubt in my mind on how much value for money we would be getting at the cooking class…but hey ho, got to try these things sometimes! With full belly’s and a strong coffee topping us up, we begin to roll back to Assi Ghat with the sun really pounding down now. Laura finds herself in another shop and picks up some really nice tops and a skirt which I manage to haggle down to a great price. All of her shopping adds up to 5 quid!
On our tired but happy stagger back along the Ganges to the guesthouse we pick up a a chai and pass some men constructing a wooden boat. What skill. Really interesting just sitting and watching the world go by before we finally retire on the guesthouse roof terrace for the evening. Before long the heat and humidity crescendo and clouds balloon until one almighty cloudburst. The tin roof of the terrace leaks pretty badly and it is impossible to hear yourself think. Really intense- but that’s how I like my weather! The weather manages to calm down enough for us to nip around the corner with a Welsh and American guy we have met in the guesthouse to watch an Indian music concert. It was great. The tablas, Sitar, flute and some singing made a great end to a really enjoyable day. The 2 guys had consumed a Bang Lassi along with some dodgy chocolate they had bought- so it was quite amusing watching them absorb themselves in the music.
Our last full day in Varanasi started by us finding a little alcove along a small Ghat near our guesthouse. We wanted to enjoy the ‘cool’ morning reading and meditating looking out over the Ganges. It is so shanty down at the Ghats, we really love chilling out there. Our alcove is next to where a sadhu is sleeping in the shade. It really is a special place. Laura and I agree how much we enjoy Varanasi. Only it isn’t actually very cool this morning, it is rather baking. After an hour or so we retreat back to the shade of the guesthouse terrace until it is time for our cooking lesson.
The cooking lesson was an experience let’ s say! The teacher/restaurant manager is one of those lazy Indians who really doesn’t have the best work ethic in the world.
It become apparent early on that we are really going to have to push him to give us a satisfactory lesson. I am constantly asking him questions and drilling him on his ‘knowledge’. We spend the first hour of our 2hr lesson sat at a table as he explains how to cook Cheese Kofta, Vegetable Jal Frazy and Missi Roti. At one point he was drawing pictures of carrots and tomatoes. Laura was concentrating more at keeping a straight face than how to make bases to the curry dishes! Anyway, we finally got into the kitchen. It was what you would expect of an Indian restaurant kitchen. FILTHY. FLIES. Spring to mind. We put on out aprons and filth goggles and get down to business. Oh. he has prepared almost everything already. So the lesson was pretty quick and as he only has one stove we had to leave each dish on the side going cool as we cooked the next one. All in all, it wasn’t the best lesson in the world, but we did pick up some good tips and learn what goes into the base of most curry dishes- something we experiment with back in the UK. Unfortunately, down the line it transpired that Laura also picked up a a stomach upset from our lesson too…..but that is another story.
That evening, we opt for street food with the Welsh and American people and have a chilled last night with a beer of the terrace. We crash early as checkout is at 10am the following day and we want to get some sleep in before the next mammoth train journey to Bhopal.
Checking out and getting out of Varanasi was pretty hassle free. We needed to get more cash out to pay for guesthouse bill. Laura was lucky enough to get a ride on the back of a motorbike to the nearest ATM with a guy that worked at the guesthouse. She came back exhilarated as she had enjoyed whizzing through the chaos and dust of Varanasi we had only encountered on foot or in rickshaw until now! Having settled up, we make our way to Varanasi Junction Station for the last time. Our train is on time. Woo! We are shocked, this is the second train in 4 months that has departed on time…what a difference that makes to our experience. It feels weird to leave Varanasi as it means we are beginning our descent south and feels like our trip in India is quickly coming to an end now. But with Bhopal and Omkareshwar on the horizons, there is still much to look forward to and be excited about!
Varanasi to Siliguri, a Gorka strike and a birthday July 24, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentSo the final day in Varanasi arrived and we have a train booked from an out of town station in Varanasi to Siliguri (West Bengal). Our train departs early evening, so we had the morning in Varanasi to kill. With the extreme heat plus bags, we opt to chill in Fagin’s Restaurant and eat our last veg Biriyani and read our books. I am totally engrosed in Shantaram – so I have no problem with this plan!
Our hotel manager has told us that he will pre-book a rickshaw to take us to the main station and from there we will be able to catch one of several trains to the out of town station to connect to our 12hr train. All packed up with our luggage we embark in the heat, through the winding lanes for the last time towards the rickshaw stand. To our surprise we have been booked a cycle rickshaw…we realise that unless we a battle with an auto rickshaw over the price, we have no option other than to load our bags onto the cycle carraige. Balancing precariously with Al having to sit on the arm rest, the driver sets off into the dense, chaotic traffic. The driver is so slight, I think he weighs less than one of our backpacks, so I do have my doubts on whether we will make it up the inclining road to Varanasi Juntion Station! Miraculously we make it in one piece and embark on stage 2 of catching our train to Siliguri. The station concourse was rammed. Families, luggage, the odd goat all sat on the floor in their respective parties. We soon learn that there are several very delayed trains, explaining the vast amount of people who appear to have submitted themselves to being at the station for the long haul. Although the ‘out of town’ station, Mughal Serai that we needed to get to wasn’t far away and there were supposedly many trains going there, it was proving difficult to suss out which platform to next delayed train would stop at. Station officers, we have discovered, are very unhelpfull and rarely actually know what is going on. Luckily, the tourist information man turns out to be the most helpful person we have met in India. He made a conserted effort to give us the correct valuable information we need. We decide to risk not buying a ticket, as navigating queues and the chaotic concourse seems worth avoiding for the 30 min train journey. Our connecting train turns out to only be a mere 2 hours late which is comparitively small to our wait in Jalgoan!
When the train did arrive, finding our train carraige was a little more tricky than usual and the LCD screens were not working on the platform. After asking a guy in uniform we locate the correct carraige and then embark on wading through bodies and luggage to find our reserved berths. The train is extremely full, and when we do find our berths, they are already occupied and all the floorspace is full of luggage, including a huge metal trunk. The battle, unfortunately, commenced…
No one would own up to the trunk, no one would tell us where their reserved seat was, and no one was prepared to move themselves or their luggage. So it was a case of either standing for 12hours or fighting for our rightfull seats that we had confirmed and paid for. From previous lessons when we feel we have come to a standstill, the only way to solve it is get on with it. Al moved the unclaimed trunk so that we could access a cavity of space for our bags, with the intention on putting the trunk back as soon as we had ofloaded our heavy bags. Of course as soon as he moved the trunk, the rightful owner spoke up. Not prepared to help us, he made a problem, of course this attracting attention to us and the situation. Explaining to him our intentions was useless when it became clear that English was a no-go, as was our boken Hindi. He only spoke Assamese and wasn’t really responding to our sign language, other than a bewildered blank expression! He finally understood that we meant no harm to his luggage when Al pushed the heafty trunk back into place. All of a sudden I looked around to see a sea of curious faces – of course this is quite normal when you are the only white people in the carraige – but when extra attention is focussed, it feels all that bit more intimidating and harder work.
The next battle was actually being able to claim our seat. No one was willing to give up the space, nor were they willing to show us their reservation slip so we could figure out who it was who thought they would take our seat for the next 12 hrs! Al, rightfully, asks the only adult on the seats if he can see her ticket, so we can try to decipher who should and shouldn’t be there. Out of nowhere a bellowing man comes to her defense. He was very confrontational, defensive and domoneering. It turns out that he is her husband and father of all the kids sitting on the berths. Eventually they make space for us to sit, but by this time, we definately have an audience now. I just wanted to go and hide somewhere. It is pretty uncomfortable when you feel like the odd one out, even though you may be fighting a rightuous cause. It felt like we were fighting a loosing battle, especially with this man shouting his head off and making us feel like we are being unreasonable for wanting to use our reserved berths.
When things quietened down and the curious faces stopped staring as much, Al breaks the awkward silence with the man in an effort to pass an olive branch. The man receives it happliy and explains to Al that the reason he was so defensive is partly to do with the fact he had spoken to his wife. Also, that he is the ‘head’ of the party, so Al should have found him to clear up the problem. This was a strategy we had been unaware of, but will definately put into practise next time. He told Al, ‘My wife doesn’t speak English. She is not in charge of the party. She doesn’t know what is going on’ and winked at him as he smiled. It is one of those cultural differences that caused offense without intention. I thought how weird it must have been for him and his family to see me act as an individual and speak to Al with my own opinions during that journey. I ceratinly don’t practise the ‘woman should be seen and not heard’ mentality!
All of this aside, the journey was amazing once we all relaxed and got on with it. The journey took 6 hours longer than it should have. I think this was due to a thunderstorm and traffic on the lines with all the late trains clogging up the rails. The family got off the tain at Bihar which gave us a little more room and breathing space. For me the best part of the journey, above all other train journeys in India so far, was the change in landscape. So far many of the views have been of dry, arid, barran and sparse landscape.When I woke up at 5am for loo, I peaked out the window to find a beautifull green, lush countryside with sugar cane fields and the odd padi field. WOW. Al and I squeezed onto his middle berth bed which allows you to just about see out the top of the cabin window, and we catched the changed landscape whizz by. Late morning we went through strong rain, which was really exciting as I hadn’t seen rain that heavy since England. It is quite a relief to see rain and green after dry weather and cracked earth.
As the train journey continued, as always, people move around and make themselves more comfortable. An old Holy man along with some younger men shared our cabin. It turned out they had been on the train all the way since Dehli and they were travelling to Gujurhat (Assam) for a special Hindu event where pilgrims from all over India were attending. Apparently there were to be sacrifices of animals such as chicken and goat. At one point the older man began to mix up some kind of concoction- which Al and I watched very curiously. 5-10 mins later he offered us a glass of a thick chunky liquid which turned out to be chickpea flour, chili powder and water mixed together to make a very warming and filling drink called ‘Satu’ traditionally from Bihar. The old man explained to us that it would give us ‘raw energy’ and advised us not to drink anything else other than water for the rest of the day. It tasted pretty good and definately filled a hole! It was brilliant to be involved in their culture for the remainder of our journey.
A Sikkimese guy also chatted to us in flawless English (refreshing and this stage of our journey!). He was really friendly and it was a lovely first encounter of a Sikkimese person. When we finally arrived at New Jalpaiguri (near Siliguri), he did his best to point us in the direction.
We had intended to get to Darjeeling as soon as possible, and by the Toy Steam Train. However, this turned out ‘not to be’. There were no Toy Trains available indefinately, so we decide on finding a place to stay in Siliguri with the idea of somehow getting Darjeeling the next day instead. Siliguri wasn’t the nicest place I had seen, and was definately a transit town- not somewhere you want to be stuck for too long. It was grubby with a lot of traffic and that was about it!
Exhausted, we decide the best tactic is for Al to scout around for the best deal whilst I guard the bags next to a petrol station. Eventually Al came back having done a stirling job of negotiating a nice room nearby.
With it being my birthday the following day, we thought it pretty apt that we locate somewhere for a beer and some good grub. Surprisingly we managed to find the perfect place. A tandori restaurant with a TV sceen to watch to footie and G&Ts! Yay. Al treated me to a great evening. Just what the doctor ordered after our mammoth journey.
In the evening, from our hotel, we heard a bit of comotion and rather bad singing on a loudspeaker. From our window we could make out a few trucks full of people driving slowly down the round with green flags. ‘How nice’ we thought, ’some kind of parade’. The next morning it became apparent that actually we had been very dumb. It had been a Gorka protest, with the knock on effect of the West Bengali Hills being restricted due to an indefinate banda (strike). SO, no Darjeeling for us! Al was dissapointed as he had his heart set on treating me to high tea in for my birthday. To be honest, I had a great day anyway- I am travelling around India after all!! We found somewhere for tea in Siliguri and I ate as many Indian sweets as I could for breakfast as my alternative birthday cake. YUM.
To celebrate my birthday we did a street crawl of the street food…Momos (steamed sumplings), Egg rolls, pakora. And then we couldn’t resist repaying the same Tandori restaurant a visit which was equally good. We soon discover that this part of India goes to bed pretty early and when we reach our hotel that night, we a locked out. After shouting for a while, Al decided that the wall with metal spikes didn’t look too hard to climb. Unfortunately, he didn’t see on of the spikes, which went right into his foot. SHIT. Luckliy we managed to make enough noise for the hotel concierge to hear us and let us in. Al’s foot did’t bleed too much, just was painful due to how deep the spike had gone. Not great, seeing as we were hoping to be trekking soon! Well, it got a load of iodine on it and a lick and a promise. Fingers crossed that it heals without infection.
With the banda not having been lifted the following day, we decide to get a jeep to Gangtok (Sikkim) as the route can bypass the roads that were off limit. At the jeep stand we found a group of travellers with the same idea as us, so after some haggling with the jeep driver, all 10 of us catch a jeep to Gangtok. It was one of the first times since Goa that we had encountered ‘travellers’, and the jeep journey ended up being a great bonding session. Half way to Gangtok, we had agreed that some birthday drinks were in order and that we should have a little party when we arrive. In true me style, I was more than happy to continue my birthday for as long as possible! Bring on Sikkim!!
Written by Laura
Real Varanasi July 5, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentAfter our relaxing 3 days we prepared ourselves for ‘the real Varanasi’ and headed off by autorickshaw to be dumped 15 minutes walk away from our destination “The brown bread bakery”. Rated by the Lonely Planet, but not by us. Overcharging, uninterested and the volunteering they apparently offered seemed to be seasonal (I am not sure that poor and abused kids are only in such a condition from October till May, but overall felt the whole brand they have built up (Everyone knows The Brown Bread Bakery) seems to be a self fulfilling prophecy of money-making to me. My advice? Ask around there are loads of good projects to get involved with, don’t follow a guidebook to help people, chose a cause you actually care about, one that you can actually contribute to and one that is less well supported. Locals always know of good causes you can help out with. We sacked the place off and followed a tout who took us to another basic hostel come hotel, for just Rs150 for a double room (that’s 1.20 each).
Unfortunately like Aurangabad an overstretched city like this experiences many power cuts. In 46C heat with 60% humidity you feel that. We woke up when ever the power and our life line the ceiling fan turned off. Reading was the only option. It was tough, but had to be done after 3 days extravagance. We considered that we deserved it and sacrifice is a part of travel. The Golden Lodge was a good cheap place though and the guys who ran the place were really interesting guys, the chef had a crazed (as most are) laugh and was happy to have in depth conversation about being a Hindu and of Brahmin caste. Brahmins always wear thin cord around their shoulder and waist. It turns out that there are too many Brahmins working in religious institutions and religious teachers for the amount people need, so now the are setting up businesses and tend to do well as they are the most respected group in society. Before you ask, yes if you wear a cord and pretend it will not wash as you have to have in depth knowledge on the lineage of the Brahmin caste and this is something other Brahmins will ask you instantly.
The first day was pretty much sent exploring the old city, a rambling maze of narrow, cobbled alleyways which ultimately all led to the Ganges and the Ghats. As Varanasi is one of the most Holy cities in India and the oldest constantly inhabited city in the world things center around religious practice. This generally focuses on the Ghats as the Ganges is the provider, absolves people’s sins and the toilet all at once. The Ganges has 25 raw sewage points in Varanasi and yet people bathe, drink and wash in these waters. This is despite the fact that 8 million fecal particles exist in every litre of water, over 100x the recommended for drinking water. I know this due to the many conversations I have had with Indians about the irony surrounding the situation. Hindus do not eat pigs as they eat and wallow in their own excrement and are the lowest class of animal. And yet the most holy river for the Hindu religion has more poo in it than most other rivers in the world. Ha. Tragic really and everyone in India agrees, generally with a slow shake of the head in dismay.
Either way the Ghats are a hive of activity at any point as not just foreign visitors pour into the area. Mostly Southern Indians come to Varanasi for their major “Puja” (prayer) and every morning will visit the golden temple, make offerings to Shiva and then walk down the alleyways to the Ganges to bathe in the holy water or float a candle down the river. The place is a mass of colour, sounds and action. Different ceremonies are happening at the same time, people bathing, chanting, waving flames around, tai-chi like moves on the banks, loudspeakers reciting prayers all at the same time.
The next day we took another another stroll through the lanes of Old Varanasi to get used to the layout and the place in general. We looked at some of the temples, performed puja ourselves at the Ganesh shrine to wish for good fortune in the wealth department (Ganesh’s specialty) before investigating a boat ride the following morning. Before a further explore we needed tea. It was just 10:20am and I was already soaked all the way through in sweat. It is seriously hot in the summer in the confines of the old city. Gazing across from the highest view point on the river bank we saw a dust devil form and die on the sands on the other side of the Ganges through shear heat. It was that hot.
Understanding the fabric industry:
After a brief scope around we headed back towards our hotel and stopped in at some of the many clothing shops lining the streets. Khadi is the Varanasi fabric of note and what they are famous for. It is a hand woven cloth that can use various materials, but ultimately results in a loosely woven, but thick cloth. Ghandi used Khadi as a symbol of Indian independence and urged Indians to only buy Khadi cloth to support the people. In India it works well as its thickness absorbs a lot of sweat, but its loose weave means that a draft penetrates to your body, cooling you down and drying the material quicker than machine made fabric. The sellers were a mass of information on fabric and were more than happy to teach you what they knew. Did you know that in order to tell what material is being used you can pull off some of the thread and burn it? If it smells like newspaper it is cotton, if it smells like plastic it is polyester and if it smells like burning hair then it is silk. A lot of the sellers will mix polyester with silk and sell it as raw silk to improve their profits, but not if you know this! If you are going to try this then you must take thread from both directions of the fabric and test it, as fabric is produced by weaving thread in two directions. You can also see if a fabric has been machine or hand woven. Machine made fabric shows uniform lines on one direction as small imperfections deposit more colour in some areas that you can see.
We sat with the Khadi wallers (men) and drank tea from disposable unbaked clay pots, which you chuck out of any window onto the street for the rain to reclaim the clay into the earth. What an ace idea (although seen in some UK festivals it is not used widely enough!) We discussed the nature of Khadi, who produced it, learnt about its background and became more and more interested at looking at the distribution of Khadi clothing in the UK. Not only does it support local people with a fair wage, but is also a practical material that Westerners know little about.
….and back to reality:
Being spat out of a shop after sitting there for hours is like being given birth to… the heat and smells hit you once more like being slapped…. in a good way! The next day we thought we would relax and catch up with ourselves. You need time to relax and take stock, sitting and observing things as they happen, for me, is the most valuable experience, as you get to pick up on things that you wouldn’t otherwise see. I learnt about Paan that day and how people process Betel Nut bark to produce a highly concentrated stimulant that is rolled in a Betel Nut leaf with dried coconut, the actual Betel Nut and tobacco. This is the red substance that we now know covers the pavements and stains the rubbish bins (people spit like they would with chewing tobacco but all over the place). Apparently unscrupulous dealers are replacing the red jelly that is formed with red food colouring that is reducing the potency of the mixture, something many Paan chewers are concerned about.
At the Ghats a tout/guide/ overly friendly person introduced himself in the usual way, which spells money grabbing. We are becoming accustomed to this now though and as long as you do not feel guilty for taking and then not giving (what the Indians often pray on) then there is no problem. The guy was helpful in showing us around and explaining some of the temples and the well that Shiva and Parvarti supposedly bathed in together. Then he fetched us some tea and then tried to sell us some marijuana, when this didn’t work he tried to take us to his shop and then the factory where the things he sells in his shop are produced. When a decisive “No” is given they continue to follow, but as long as you don’t mind that and continue as you would then they lose interest and leave you alone. Shanty (to be easy/ chill!) is the key.
Meandering through the lanes, picking up the best spinach and onion pakora (deep fried crispy veg) en route and realising that rice flour is the key, we stumbled across the burning Ghats, which is where wealthy Hindu’s burn and scatter their dead. We actually ended up walking above the pyers quite by accident. Usually priests lead you up there and drag a donation to help pay for the wood that is used during the burning process. There was no one around and so we saw 7 bodies at different point of decomposition, flesh and form exposed to leave a prominent image in our heads about this truly interesting ritual. Different types of wood are offered, sandlewood being the most expensive, the amount of wood is weighed and then calculated accordingly depending on the size of the body. The bodies are carried down to the Ghats through the lanes with two pole bearers at the front and back, who are not related to the dead. All the way “Rama is true” is repeated, which they ultimately say to mean “Here is the dead, the one thing that is guaranteed is to ultimately be reunited with God (Rama)”
The next day the boat ride came. We woke at 4am to get there for sun rise and after a spot of negotiation agreed on a slightly above the guide price, but this meant we secured a full 2 hours, which many people had said was too long. It was not. Trawling slowly down the Ganges watching morning puja take place, with more people spilling onto the Ghats to perform their personal prayer and blessings. The morning was misty and yet still humid, which gave the distance a dulled view and dampened the colour of the place, giving it a really eerie feel. Across from the Ghats on the other bank is a flat of sand that is flooded during the monsoon, a few temporary huts and boats sat there bobbing in the slow current and just a few boats were out pulling out inadequately sized fish and definitely something I would not want to eat. We slowly rowed past all the Ghats to the south, each having been built by a different civilization that owned or influenced the city at the time. At the southern most point I landed ashore to pick up some tea and slowly headed back upstream to see the same backwards. We saw a fish that was dead by “natural” causes- I suspect the toxicity of the river. We saw a dead cow being ripped apart by wild dogs and a man literally 6 meters away having a wash. We saw people washing their clothes directly next to the sewage outlet pipes. We saw the ceremonies and daily chores all being performed simultaneously. You can see why the Ganges is believed to be the prover of everything that the city needs, but unfortunately it just isn’t as effective at doing that as it should be given the state it is in.
The next day we had arranged to do some Yoga with a guy that was recommended to us by our Hotel Manager. After a lot of the warnings of fake teachers we felt this would be ok. It was. For Rs200 (3 pounds) each per 1.5 hour session we covered the basic Hathi Yoga positions and 30 minutes of meditation, which compliments Yoga as ultimately the aim it to develop external and internal strength. We both left feeling great and looked forward to the next day. The next day came and went in a relaxed “what did we do today” kind of way. This session was equally good and straight afterward we headed to the Ganges feeling very Shanty for the evenings Ganges puja, which literally worships the river as provider. The ceremony was awesome, with intoxicating loudspeakers blasting out recitals of blessings and prayer. 7 bells were rang in time continuously and the drums rolled along with the spoken prayer. The usual throng of sellers left you alone if you looked involved in proceedings enough out of respect (for once) and just during the climax of events the rain began, people’s faces lit up as the monsoon rains finally reached Varanasi. It was just a shower, but the season had finally caught us up and at the most meaningful point. Magic.
The next day we had an afternoon train and so we just had time to go back to the Khadi shop to complete our final round of negotiation. This needed to include packing as the postal service require you to have a cloth stitched wrapper sealed with a wax stamp. We picked our colours and arranged things for our return journey back through Varanasi, which we felt was inevitable considering we pretty much buried ourselves in the old city, while there is some much more to explore.
To Varanasi and Luxury! July 3, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , 1 comment so farLanding on in our 2-tiered AC cabin because every other class was full, we were happy as we had previously decided to try every class in order to compare and find out what the differences were. Thus the relatively expensive Rs1950 (30 pounds for both) was a must and we didn’t feel bad. Feeling good about saving Rs700 on avoiding a hotel in Agra, we decided to treat ourselves to a spot of luxury when we reached Varanasi. Checking out a few Lonely Planet options we saw that there was a hotel called ‘Hotel Surya’, which had a good restaurant and pool for just Rs800 (12 pounds) for the room per night.
Both of these experiences fit into the upper middle class style that was also facing us on the train and so it all made sense… unfortunately for the train ride the people opposite us were the worst we have had to share a space with for over 8 hours. The middle classes in mid/north India are all so aloof and value themselves so much that they are rude and really selfish. They were ready to sleep at 9:30 and turned the only light off despite the fact they knew we were eating and reading. On the light goes…. you can already see what was bound to happen, but the tutting and childish game of turning the light off every 5 minutes was wearing especially considering the “two fat ladies” were just drinking coke and eating crisps and making the most (impressive in some circles) disgusting burping that made me feel ill. What was interesting though was that in sleeper class we have always been faced with a dominant male character who is very much the head of the household. The man in this situation just sat back and said nothing while sharp words were being exchanged and ignored literally everyone all night. I suspect this relates to other middle class people I have seen and met. The women are subservient to the man of the house, but not in the middle class.
I have to also emphasis what we suspected on previous train journeys. AC cabins disconnect you from the country and passing land. For us that is not ideal at all. It is sterile. You are given blankets and a towel for the shower, but really, where is the fun in all that!?
Being disconnected from the outside for 10 hours and eventually being woken up by vile scoffing noises we neared Varanasi. Having picked up on the fact that more expensive hotels in major cities will pick you up for free, we gave them a call to arrange in order to avoid the hectic onslaught of touts and rickshaw drivers. We were whisked away in a jeep in sweltering 46C heat sticking to your T-shirt within 5 minutes. When we arrived at Surya this was a moot point. A really good looking hotel, which would cost at least 75- 100 pounds per night, we realised we had made a good choice. First one in the pool was a loser and after that we ended up expending our stay by “just one more day” for 3 days. The good thing was that if we just stayed here in the pool and spent the cash on accommodation we were still within our 8 pound a day budget! Even more reason not to leave- sweet! To be honest we did well to avoid the spa treatments and get carried away. All we needed was a pool to jump in when the heat became too much and relax.
This was clearly disconnected from Varanasi. We were next to the Radission so the area was fairly posh (as it gets). Again we inadvertently ‘met’ a middle class family and I hate to say that it makes eating hard, but it does. They are very loud people and so ‘having a quiet meal’ is hard. Either way I had the first meat dish since Aurangabad- a mutton curry- which was good and was cooked through (I chose Mutton as it needs to be cooked for a long time and should therefore avoid the undercooked chicken issue experienced last time). The Indian gravy tastes so much better with a meat that needs slow cooking, the flavour develops. Laura craved some western food and so had moussaka. This panned out, but is a risky game in India- western food is generally terrible, and something I avoid generally as it is generally either bad quality or small in size. This was the only meal we had in the hotel restaurant due to cost. The remaining nights we ate street food. We found a great stall dishing out a mash up of all the food he had. Pani is a hollow crispy semolina shell, usually filled with spicy liquid (Puri) and coriander. Yet this guy mixed it with fried potato with tamarind and beans. It tasted so much like BBQ beans that considering the stuff this guy was using was quite different was really amazing. Culinary creativity on the streets!
We met another traveling couple who reconfirmed the benefits of working and traveling. Being a lumber jack in Canada or picking berries for 20USd per hour? Maybe a hostel worker in Australia? All seem doable to earn enough and carry on traveling. Forever maybe? Ah day dreaming in the sun, but definitely worth thinking about….
