1 April - Varanasi
Trip Start
Nov 20, 2007
1
16
22
Trip End
May 04, 2011
Varanasi,
India
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
For part of our journey we were engaged in discussion with a local GP from Allahabad with a clinic in Bodhgaya... at least that's what he said. Eager to make our acquaintance, he moved from his berth to a seat closer to ours and greeted us with the usual pleasantries and a string of personal questions. Hearing we come from NZ, he exuberantly rattles off NZ cricketers and gushes over Stephen Fleming. Given our lack of knowledge of the Black Caps season we half heartedly tried to match his enthusiasm, alas, in vain. The discussion was short lived. Keen to continue the exchange he adamantly declares Jonathan to be a business man, despite being told the contrary, and pleads that Jonathan be his friend. Jonathan quips that everyday people ask to be his friend but inevitably just want money. The guy says "No, no, nothing like that", so a harmless exchange of phone numbers takes place. We decline offers to share his drink and for him to teach Louisa Hindi over the phone. The banter helped whittle away the time and seemed genuine enough, but sufficient Lonely Planet "Be wary if..." signs were evident to cause mild suspicion. It's a shame to find yourself always looking through this veil of mistrust, but with all the publicised safety warnings for tourists it is difficult not to. Still, we are slowly becoming better at tuning into the truth of people and situations, which helps to reduce the somewhat ugly need for presumption.
Varanasi (formerly Benares) is an ancient, very spiritual city, situated on the holy (but septic) Ganges River. The most fascinating parts of the town are the old city and the ghats, which sprawl about 7km along the western bank of the Ganges. The ghats, a series of steps which lead down to the river, are the focus of much of the cultural expression in the city. People come here to bathe, pray, take part in festivities, play cricket, generally hang out, do the washing and cremate the dead.
Unfortunately, Varanasi is also known for its endless scams and relentless harassment of tourists. Enough for one woman Louisa spoke with to label it 'City of Darkness'! Despite ample warning and due care, our first interaction in Varanasi managed to entangle us in one of the many scams designed to defraud tourists. We carefully select an autorickshaw driver and ask to be taken to the Alka Hotel, where we have a reservation.
Chewy buffalo
The driver seems somewhat reluctant, but assures us he will take us as close to the hotel as possible. We reiterate our request a number of times on the half hour journey to make sure there is no chance of a misunderstanding. The welcome to each new city we visit seems to surpass the previous in intensity. The ride into Varanasi was a bone-splitting, eye-watering, lung-charring traverse. The sun had recently set and thick, toxic smoke, sustained by countless rubbish fires, reduced visibility to a few meters in all directions. This didn't discourage our driver's attempt to sustain top speed, overtaking and interweaving the continuously unfolding stream of buses, trucks, cyclists and pedestrians that flickered in front of us.
The potholed streets and rickety pontoon bridge shake us senseless, and we both retire into inner sanctity - the only option when you realise you have left your life in the hands of a complete stranger. A few moments inside and the scenario takes on a different flavour - less chaotic, more of a dance. It becomes clear that the madness is orchestrated on some unseen level - a conscious inter-connection, life itself, upholding its own survival. Only fear can interfere with the dance and cause calamity. And with that insight we both relax into the remaining journey. Not without the occasional flinch though. At one point we motored past a young sari-clad girl on a bicycle, only millimetres to spare, almost wedging her into a parked rickshaw. A glance back revealed she was still peddling on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Apparently her life had not just flashed before her eyes. Damned if I didn't see the spark in the corner of my eye!
Our hotel is located alongside the Ganges river, in the Old City - a tangle of narrow lanes that can't be accessed by rickshaws. As we near the old city, the driver predictably starts recommending numerous alternative hotels, hoping to earn himself a commission for depositing us at their door. We are firm in our instructions and he eventually pulls up and says that this is as far as he can go. We pay him the agreed fare and he walks us the short distance to the Ghats, motions us to turn left and says our hotel is a 5 min walk away. We start walking in the dim evening light, parrying constant queries from men and children eager to be of assistance and earn themselves a few rupees. On one occasion we reply to a young boy's question of, "Where you go?" telling him we are heading to Hotel Alka. His reply, "Only a kilometre or so further"! We are both weary from the train and rickshaw ride, and each laden with a good 20kgs of luggage - we assume (hope) the friendly local must be mistaken.
Surprisingly, we pass a number of men who seem to display clairvoyance, predicting that we are looking for Hotel Alka, and offering us "very good price" boat rides to take us there. I thought it was only 5mins away! We decline and continue walking. The determination not to be sucked into any scams gives us the vitality we need to keep moving. It seems the young boy was correct. After a good 45 mins we finally see the sign of our hotel. It seems the rickshaw driver had deliberately dropped us off at the opposite end of the ghats and rung ahead to his boat-owner mates in the hope that we would take their offers of a ride, thus earning a commission. Not sure who came out trumps here, but we felt invigorated from the walk and happy to have avoided the lure to pass more money onto the rickshaw driver. Needless to say a few unpleasant thoughts went his way that evening.
After a good night's rest, we spend the first day exploring our surrounds - the old city and the ghats. A step outside of the hotel and we are amidst of network of narrow alleys that twist and turn their way from the ghats to the main streets. Each bend revealing something new; a cow or two blocking the path, a procession of holy men heading to the ghats, hordes of women spending up large in the silk and accessories shops, children lined up waiting for school to start and military officers carelessly fondling their rifles. The one reliable sight was a dusty old man in holy garb trying to lure you into receiving 'puja' with a resounding "Hello!" and a hand out awaiting a shake. Everyday, no matter when, he was there. On the last day we finally gave in to his insistence.
Every lane has a different personality, framed either side by rambling rows of individually distinct buildings. Each door is unique in style and colour. Some brightly coloured, most well worn and faded. Some closed, others ajar, offering glimpses of dim rooms and bright private courtyards, or abruptly introducing narrow, twisting stair cases that advance into darkness. All invite a curiosity for the detail of the lives that unfold on the inside.
The lanes, the buildings, the doors and stairs are undersized, jumbled and faded, almost as if a standard city block had been given a heavy duty wash and then left in the drier too long. Men sit in 1m x 1m openings, nestled amongst the snacks and supplies they offer for sale. Most of the buildings are two or three stories, sufficient to shade the narrow lanes from the midday heat, but the sunlight finds its own way in and the resulting patchwork contrast of vibrant hues tickled by the Indian sun is stunning.
The Varanasi cuisine had us on our knees. Literally! We both got very nasty arse and gut at Assi Ghat Varanasi! 'Scuse the pun but that's what you get after two days in bed with a fever and the shits. Thankfully it wasn't too severe and for a couple of days we consoled ourselves with the usual rainy day activities in between dosing ourselves with paracetamol, oral rehydration salts and frequent visits to the loo. So we could have used that doctor from the train after all.
Fortunately Hotel Alka had all the necessary facilities to keep us relatively comfortable. We only had to stumble about two meters from the door to our usual dining table, so we didn't have any excuse for not keeping up regular intake of mashed potato. Many of the staff at the hotel had tikka - the ubiquitous red mark placed on the forehead of Hindus. We watched this process take place on a number of occasions, performed by the apparently resident holyman (who looked remarkably similar to Jonathan's father, only skinnier, and Indian). Catching the eye of the holy man one morning we were soon initiated into this ritual. Not sure if it helped with our recovery or not, but the Holy man did offer us a short prayer which may have sped up the healing process.
After that brief interlude, it was once again time to face the music. It was a day of two halves, full credit to us both but Varanasi was the winner on the day. Not bearing to look at the walls or toilet floor any longer we set out to achieve two simple tasks - to get Jonathan a Reiki treatment and to buy train tickets. The result was a scavenger hunt over the ghats where we were referred from one place to the next. Halfway through our search we stumbled upon an energetic physiotherapist who gave us a break from the searing midday heat. Jonathan came away with some exercises, a weight revelation of a few more kilos lost, 30 calcium tablets and a report of low blood pressure. A bargain for only NZ$8. The appointment itself only cost NZ$2!
Continuing our search we reached what we hoped was the final destination only to find the Reiki Master out for lunch. A few attempts to get train tickets were also in vain so, defeated in our pursuits, we slumped into Open Hand Cafe and quietly rejoiced in finding a wireless internet cafe, tastefully furnished in silks and designer furniture. We head back into the field of traffic with a cycle rickshaw but halfway down the road the chain comes off. A blessing in disguise, as the combination of hard seats, no suspension and cobbled streets was beginning to reverse any benefit from the physio appointment. Figuring the driver had well and truly earned his 30 cent fare already, we pay him off and head to the ghats for the walk back, zapped of energy and enthusiasm. This proved to be one of those days you shouldn't leave home - when we arrive back at the hotel the manager on reception gives us helpful information regarding the train and Jonathan organises a massage next door all in the space of 10 mins.
The remaining days were generally more rewarding, fleshed out with numerous excursions to the ghats and deeper exploration of the labyrinth of lanes that make up the old city. On one of our many walks, Jonathan was thrilled to see his first real live rectal prolapse! The poor dog didn't seem particularly distressed by the fact his rosy pink rectum was dangling between his legs. Come to mention it, out of the many animals we encountered sporting some form of unappealing disease, most seemed pretty happy.
Negotiating the main streets can be a challenge if your spirits are a tad weathered. Some days you can walk along relatively unscathed, but on others it seems everyone wants a piece of you (or your wallet). On such occasions you inevitably slip into tunnel vision mode - head down, blinkers on, pacing towards your destination, offering only short, sharp responses (or none at all) to even the most polite solicitation. In this mode it is interesting to note how sensitive you become to the movement of would be fiscal predators. Something of survival instinct kicks in and your vision becomes heightened with the ability to identify and track their movements at the exact moment their instinct to pounce is aroused, often resulting in a clean getaway.
Going off
On one such occasion we divert our path to avoid confronting a man who is making a bee line for us. As we pass him by, the brightly dressed stoner sputters, "Do you wanna get high?" and then breaks into the best rendition of a Billy-T laugh we've heard in years. Offers of drugs actually seemed to occur with remarkable frequency. Perhaps the bait is the new 'heroin chic' appearance Jonathan is sporting courtesy of all those new found bacterial friends hanging out in his gut. On one occasion Jonathan engages our friendly local (hangs out near our hotel) opium dealer in a conversation about consciousness. The dealer insists that opium lets him talk to god. Jonathan plays down his suggestion noting that it is only a low level god - the opium consciousness - that you can reach through opium and suggested that he should use meditation if he wants to reliably connect to higher consciousness. A very entertaining discussion unfolded as we were escorted back to the steps of our hotel, where we bid him farewell.
Such interesting encounters were frequent on the ghats. The reflex affirmation of a handshake offered by one old man lead to Jonathan enjoying a very effective half hour massage for only Rs50. A young girl strikes up a conversation with Louisa, asks if she can swap earrings and eventually invites her back to her uncle's house to witness a photo taken with Goldie Hawn many years ago. Louisa politely declined all offers. After we buy from a small girl, a lotus flower candle arrangement (for setting adrift on the Ganges), her smaller boy companion insists we buy one off him too. When we decline, he becomes incredibly angry and points at us with distain saying, "You are a very bad person!" and then follows us down the path hurling abuse, shoving the flower into our hands. When we made it very clear that we had no intention of buying anything from him he stalks off only to pass again later with more abuse. Not sure how such a small boy could pack in so much anger. Must be something in the water. Probably the faecal coliforms.
Such encounters gave us a welcome break from the monotonous chorus of, "Hello! Boat?" which intrudes on any attempt to enjoy the sights peacefully. After trying out countless responses we found that a rapid interjection of "No Boat!" was the best way to stun the boat touts into offering up a brief interlude of silence. It also served to produce a few giggles.
Varanasi is a photographer's playground and we relished the opportunity to give the camera a good work out. A particularly favourite subject is the water buffalo, who, despite not being officially holy, know they're just so much cooler than the cows.
Colourful ghats
They spend much of the day hanging out in the Ganges, expressive eyes relating great contentment, jaws surrendered in an unbroken elliptical motion, as they chew on their muck. In combination with the very photogenic surroundings, Jonathan's heroin chic rock-star-esque appearance inspired us to start deliberately trying to get some suitable photos for a MySpace page to promote his music. Hence the few "ee-that's- a-bit-posy-for-a-holiday-snap" photos. Apologies if they offend.Probably the most spectacular sight on the ghats is the myriad women in their wonderful saris. A thousand shades of vivid brilliance graciously framing an equal number of dark-skinned, bright-eyed faces. On our way back after a particularly exhausting day exploring, we stumbled upon a festival where hundreds of women were arriving boat load upon boat load to pay respects to one of the many Hindu gods (we never did find out which one). It was a very uplifting sight. We set ourselves down on one of the ghat steps and let the slow flow of colours and festive energy revitalise our spirits. New Zealand may possess natural beauty on par with that accessible in India. But it is the mingling of her natural splendour with the beauty that overflows from her rich and vibrant culture that makes India such an amazing place to experience.
Having watched the stunning sunrise from the ghats on a few mornings while declining persistent offers of boat rides, we hire a boat one morning to see the dawn activities on the ghats from a different perspective.
Varanasi traffic
Many people were out performing their rituals, bathing, washing dishes and clothes on the edge of the ghats. A few out for a morning swim dodging the boat loads of tourists.10km from Varanasi is a small town called Sarnath, where the Buddha came after enlightenment to preach his first message of the middle way. Sarnath was home to many monasteries and tall stupas, however with the Muslim invasion the city buildings were destroyed. The amazing ancient ruins we saw were rediscovered in 1835 by British archaeologists who excavated the site. We paid a worthwhile visit to the archaeological museum and marvelled at the great reliefs and sculptures, all very well preserved and effective in creating a picture of what the early centuries must have been like in the area.
Unfortunately we let our enjoyment of the day become slightly tainted by our rickshaw driver's repeated attempts to inflate his fare using techniques he learned at Rickshaw Driving 101 class. There is a simple little phrase bandied about by drivers: "as you like". The literal meaning is something like this "you can pay that much if you want, but it's not a lot. I'm very poor, you must be very rich. At the end of the ride I'm going to try very hard to guilt trip you into paying at least twice that, maybe three times. If you don't agree to this I will do my very best to make you feel like you're ripping me off. " The alternative technique, which is sometimes used simultaneously, is for the driver to say "yes, yes" in agreement to a fare, but then rattle off a rapid string of half-pronounced English words, a deliberate exaggeration of the language barrier, especially designed to leave a grey area in interpretation. Again, at the end of the ride, the driver will try and inflate the fare due to "unforeseen" conditions such as busy traffic, or again, just because of their perception that you can easily afford it. It seems there is no escaping such preconceptions, which in turn makes it a constant challenge to keep any of your own dormant preconceptions from rising to the surface.
Ahh, Varanasi! We'll take away a mixed bag of memories from your sacred streets and bustling banks. Though the name 'City of darkness' does not befit you in our eyes, you did bestow on us a few unfavourable gifts. Unnatural bowel movements. And other memories which, when recalled, will cause recoil for some time still to come. Varinasi, you do have a Very Nasty side.
But you also let us feast our eyes on your unique displays of beauty and life, striking a multitude of endearing poses as we happily snapped away. You gave us an abundance of good memories, many of which were captured on digital film. These will remain safe from the weathering sands of time. So, while we're not sad to be shaking your hand and bidding you adieu, I'm sure there will come a time when we'll look back and say, "Ahh Varanasi. You were so Very Nicey!". Ahem.
