(John) We arrived in Varanasi from Agra. We were on a sleeper train and it was the first train that we had confirmed seats for. The train left on time we had plenty of room, and if I had been able to turn off the fan I would have been able to sleep. As it was I was just cold enough to be awake all night. Frustratingly Sam switched it off on his first attempt an hour before we got off the train in the morning. The Guide book warns that commission hunting auto-rickshaw drivers are particularly aggressive in Varanasi and that there are many many scams to watch out for. We had learned from another traveller to watch out for drivers taking you to bogus hotels where your bags could be stolen. We managed to come out unscathed by ignoring all the drivers, going directly to the pre-pay booth, and getting into the next in line rickshaw. Sounds easy but we were met at the platform as we stepped off the train by three different drivers and as we shrugged them off another three would appear until we stepped into a rickshaw. We did not ask to go to a particular hotel but requested a restaurant close to where we wanted to be, but got dropped off at least ½ km from our goal. It seemed that the auto rickshaw was prohibited from driving the street we wanted but we learned later that there was another way to get there. Some drivers don't like it when they can't rip you off, but they can sometimes find a way to get you. Still given the warning we reckon we got off lightly.
We ate our meal at the restaurant we had been looking for and it was good, popular with locals, fast, cheap, tasty food, with friendly and jovial servers. Then we headed off to find a hotel. The area we were in is in the old city right by the famous ghats. There are 500,000 people crammed into a few square kms. We think it was about the size of Wolseley, but maybe I'm overstating it. It was hot, it was crowded and it stank. We chose a hotel quickly because we were tired and ready to put down our loads. Normally we would try to hunt for a hotel unburdened, but this time we never found a place big enough to rest our packs - the restaurant had graciously allowed us to block their fridge while we ate, but not while we looked for a hotel. We were picked up in our hunt by a tout, who tried to lead us to his choice, but we veered off to a different one and, as the price was right, we took it. The tout tried to get commission but the owner laughed at him, asked us if he had bought us to his hotel, we said, never met him before and the tout slunk off. I took a liking to the hotel owner straight away. I grew to like him more over the two days we stayed. Although the room was really one of the worst we have stayed in. The bathroom was cramped, there was no toilet seat (a squat style toilet would have been better), the plumbing was lousy, there was no hot water, the drains were open enabling rats to potentially enter freely, it was infested with ants, we needed to cover the hole in the wall for privacy and we couldn't close the door properly. The room itself was small but we persuaded the owner to put in an extra bed so we can't complain about the size, the electrical socket didn't work until we found the correct pattern of switches – this is often a good game – but we needed the owners electrician friend to figure out this one, and mosquitoes were finding their way in around or through the screens. On the plus side, we had a view of the Ganges through one window and a shrine through the other, the mattress was soft and there was a T.V. Which was great because I started to feel a bit squiffy on the second day and England played South Africa in the Cricket World Cup and I watched most of the game and England won and that was fun. Then I watched India beat Ireland and that was fun too.
But that is not what one goes to Varanasi for. Varanasi is a deeply spiritual place for Hindus. Despite a foecal count that is still through the roof in the Ganges, the faithful come to immerse themselves in the sacred river to be purified and also they come to die to release their souls from the cycle of reincarnation. We witnessed the bodies on the funeral pyres at the burning ghats - an experience that impacts all your senses at once. Walking along the ghats we were constantly asked if we wanted a boat, or a massage, or a shave, or a blessing. In the narrow alleyways behind we ran the gauntlet of stall holders while dodging impatient motorcyclists, while the main street was hot and dusty and equally perilous. In the evening of our first day there we went to watch the ceremony that is performed daily at the main ghat. It was quite wonderful. Seven young men clad in gold outfits sang and performed in unison a long serious of rites involving various religious articles, most of which were on fire. The staging was ornate and brightly lit, and with the Ganges as the backdrop the effect was magical. We were moved to buy small floating lanterns to send our prayers to be received by the river.
The following morning we got up before dawn and went to find Deet, a boy that had charmed us into a boat for a view of the ghats at sunrise. We found him at the water’s edge and he led us to his friend, a slightly older boy a little smaller than Sam who skilfully pulled us into the current and rowed us up the Ganges and into the day. It was the perfect time to see the river and our boatman only tried once to lead us to his uncle's souvenir boat. Mhari commented as we turned around to come back that we were now going with the current. I corrected her and pointed out that the Ganges flows south from the Himalayas and that we were looking to our right at the sun rising as it always has done in the east, so were obviously going north, against the current. Then our boatman made her day by telling us that it was now easier for him as he was rowing with the river. It turns out that at Varanasi the river makes a turn and heads north briefly. I had to concede that Mhari was right.
At night, as in the day, there was a heavy police presence along the ghats and in the back streets. But the metal detecting door frames were out of order and the armed police officers were relaxed. Bombs were exploded here in recent years and on the Sunday we were there one of the Gandhi family was married. We hadn't noticed, we just read about it in the paper the following day.
Sam really liked Varanasi. I think, thankfully, that he is a deeper person that I am. I am glad I came to Varanasi but was glad to leave. It was by far the dirtiest smelliest and most unhealthy of places I have been to on this trip. The stench of urine and foeces was everywhere, the alleyways and the ghats served as toilets for cows, dogs, monkeys, goats and people alike. It was noisy and vastly overpopulated and I felt guilty adding to the problem. I didn't need to be there, it served no purpose for me other than to experience humanity exposed. Our hotel room, being at ground level and close to the river, gave little shelter from the noise and the smell, but we managed to find a rooftop restaurant that, on our second and last afternoon, gave us some respite and great pictures of the Ganges. That night I started to feel ill, slept badly and knew when I woke up that, if I was to avoid more uncomfortable symptoms, I'd need to eat sparingly dry crackers and sprite for 24 hours. Mhari was also experiencing similar symptoms. For me, Varanasi was memorable, but not repeatable.
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| Getting a shave by the Ghats |
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| A prayer on a wall by the Ghats. |
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She was cute; swinging her legs, singing in her own little world.
All this is lost however in the still photo.
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He watched Sam and I for a bit, saw my camera and indicated, with a nod of his head,
that he would like me to photograph him. I obliged.
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| Some of many down by the ghats. |
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| Boat building on the ghats between our guest house and the water. |
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Our guest house in Varanasi. Our window is on the left just over that tea stall.
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Great stuff, John. You're in the heart of the Indian Rebellion, here. The seige of Lucknow is a famous bit of grisly history. I'll lend you a book I've got on it when you get back. There was slaughter on both sides - it makes for a ripping yarn.
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