India Trip Varanasi Day 1 and 2 November 19 Not Exactly the Solution He Expected Why does one visit India. It certainly cannot be for an ordinary travel experience. One cannot come here with expectations, they just get in your way. Since it is impossible to not have expectations, the second best plan is to let them go quickly. India does not play by our rules. Sometimes it seems it does not play by any rules at all. To visit India, one must be ready for a ride through a mysterious, crazy-quilt of sights, smell, attitudes and behaviors for which our usual experience does not prepare one. It will change the way you look at the world forever and will give you new insight into things you thought you already understood. Tonight we had a moving, mysterious and confounding (in a typically Indian manner) experience that puts a lot of my carping in perspective. In a rickety row boat, we experienced sunset on the Ganges. Not only sunset, but the moving mystery of Indian funerary rites. I will come back to that. Yesterday, we arrived in Varanasi, India on a Spice Jet Airlines plane from Delhi . After the overnight train trip from Pushkar, and a disappointing breakfast in Delhi (smelly Delhi, smokey Delhi, cranky and confusing Delhi) and our final goodbyes to the band of folks with whom we have shared the past 2 weeks of incredible, crazy, beautiful and frustrating experiences. We hate to part with them as we have all bonded over these experiences. We hope and believe we will see some of them again. An Intrepid rep and a driver met us at the airport. With our bags tied to the roof, we headed to the the Surya Hotel, our home for the next 3 nights. This rep will not be our leader. The hotel is not close to the river and the gatts (spell checker has been changing this word to batts, sorry about that.) The hotel looks nice, but, as usual, it is somewhat less than meets the eye. After check in we all get massages. Not the best Ive ever had but o.k. The room is a bit dingy and the sheets not exactly white. These are the kinds of things you have to accept here. But, believe me, there is a lot to make up for it. We had a really great dinner of India food in the restaurant. After 2 weeks of meal after meal of the same second rate tourist hotel glop, this was a pure pleasure. The butter chicken, or chicken (murg) makani, was a perfect balance of sharp and smooth flavors, and, it was boneless for a change. Fish Tikka, yum!!. Byrianni, Nan and Kolcha, all just great. It is about time we had a really good meal. The last was in a rooftop restaurant in Jaipur after or first tuk-tuk adventure. After dinner, we had some drinks with Guy in the courtyard. The smoke here is a constant companion. Something, mostly little piles of trash, is always burning. The atmosphere is thick and barely translucent. Ones sinuses often burn. After dinner we went to bed for an 0900 meeting with our tour leader tomorrow. We get to the lobby at 0900 after a buffet breakfast, not bad. I had some somewhat rubbery pancakes with honey and an omelette. Coffee, actually pots of Nescafe. Fruit and juice. We meet with Anoup, our Varanasi tour leader, in the lobby. Right off he wants to change our itinerary as he has tests to set for this evening. He wants to do the sunset boat ride on the second day and the morning boat ride on the last day. When ever we ask about seeing something he says, day after tomorrow. We keep telling him that we are leaving early on that day but he does not seem to understand. If we do the evening boat ride tomorrow, then the morning boat ride, for which we have get up at, you probably guessed it, 0500, the next day, we would get about 4 hours sleep then spend some 10 hours in travel to Kochi. We let him know that will not work. We take off through the incredibly crowded streets of Varanasi in a Toyota 6 passenger SUV. The streets are simply teeming with humanity and animals. Cows, of course, dogs, everywhere, horses, goats, cats and monkeys. Every few blocks we come to a full stop in an anarchic knot of pedestrians, bicycles, pedicabs, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, cars and buses. Each one pushes, honks and hollers for their space in the conglomeration. It is amazing we move at all. Of course, this gives ample opportunity for people watching. We are on the road to Banaras University. In the bicycle rickshaw next to us a beautiful young women is singing amidst the din. She is holding an open book, apparently practicing a piece while on her way to class. Somewhere on the campus we arrive at a temple to Ram, a manifestation of Brahma. Many avatars of Brahma are represented by statues here, including Krishna an the Buddha. The guide does not have a high opinion of the priests here. At one of the many shrines a priest set in front of a line of supplicants. They offer milk or other offerings to the gods. The priest urges them to give money to him to help with their requests rather than putting money in their offering box. He puts the money in his pocket. He has a uniformed guard with him to harangue the penitents and to protect his booty. The guard gets a share. From the temple we proceed to a museum that has a renowned collection of miniature painting. Miniature painting, as we learned at the Udiapur city castle refers, not to the size, but the incredible detail of the paintings. Each leaf of a tree is uniquely visible. The museum also contains exhibits of textiles, artifacts from castles, forts and temples razed by the Moguls in the 12th century, and an exhibit on the sculpture, painting, writing and archeological analyses of Alice Boner, a 20th century Italian born Swiss renaissance women. Everything she did was first rate an amazing.friends had planned to take us back to the hotel for lunch and free time that was not on our itinerary. The girls would hear nothing of it. The meals weve had at our hotels have been less than spectacular. They asked Anoop to take us to his favorite restaurant. This he did. My stomach is still is a bit queasy, especially after several very rich meals, so Cheryl and I have a mushroom pizza and a salad (without greens which can be problematic if rinsed with unfiltered tap water.) I had a sweet lassie and Cheryl had a Tuborg Extra Strong beer. G & L had more Indian food including mutton. During our meal, at another table, 15-20 pubescent girls were having some kind of celebratory lunch. It may have been a birthday party. Their laughter and talk is raucous. After a bit they start singing popular songs. Their joy is palpable. After lunch we head toward the, Ganges, or Gonga, as the Indians call it. We could only take the car to about a half-mile from the river and the gatts. We have to walk again through the teeming street. Anoup warned us about pick pockets, scammers, fake sadhus and other con jobs we would encounter. The word riot comes easily to mind amidst this scenes. A riot of color, of sounds, smells, faces. A riot of billboards, motorcycle horns and shopping stalls. A scene profoundly free of serenity. We board a small row boat that sets in a mass of vessels of various sizes. The boatman is very young, less than 20. He must be exceedingly strong from rowing up and down the river, but he is also very small. He works us out of the clotted landing and into the open water. The gatt is colorfully lit. 9 rope light umbrellas stand near the edge of the pier like structure. Citizens and tourists gather for the evening ceremony to come. Our boatman heads the boat down stream. Another stream, this one of boats, flows down the river filled with tourist, like us, from all over the world. Many colorful scenes line the river from gatt to gatt. I do not think I have explained what the word refers to. In previous times kings, princes and wealthy Brahmins build step-like landings down to the Ganga for themselves and their friends and family to have access to the holy river for bathing and cremation ceremonies. At the time, the untouchables were not allowed onto the gatts. Now the gatts are a cultural heritage site and are protected and administered by the government. I am not exactly sure what protection the government affords as they are all covered with billboards and stalls selling everything. I was offered hashish at one of the stall. I had earlier been offered opium at an alley stall nearby. The untouchable caste are the only ones that handle the corpses and tend the cremation fires. We are told by Aloup that some, as a result of this, have become quite wealthy. As we watch from our boat, some 30 feet or so from them, the workers (I think the untouchable caste is referred to as Dalits , not to be confused with Dr. Whos Darlicks) strip the colorful shrouds, made from strips of sari-liker cloth, from the bodies after dipping the whole thing in the Gonga. Pieces of the shroud are then given to family members. Only males are allowed at the cremation site. Aloup says that it is thought that women would become too emotional and not let the spirit go. The nearest male relative, an oldest or youngest son, preferably, with head and face shaved for the ceremony, lights the pyre. He is attired in a traditional white dhoti. The cremation takes 3-4 hours to complete. Ashes from the creamation are offered to the Gonga. It is moving and strange to observe this ceremony. It feels like a profound intrusion. Anoup assures us that the people here do not see it that way. We go on taking our photographs. It is difficult to understand, from a western perspective how this could not seem gouche, at best. Maybe it is the same impulse that drives the way people interact on the roads. With so many people always around, the sense of private space or private action becomes moot. Traffic seems to be based on two contradictory principles; opportunism and trust. When one must take rather than defer or be left without, greedily grabbing your space becomes the norm. Yet, one must trust that other drivers will try to avoid running into or over you. People just step in front of cars and speeding motorcycles in order to cross a road. They seem to tune each other, as people, out completely. Maybe the same happens at the gatts. After the boat ride we set in the boat until the evening ceremony begins. It starts with the blowing of conch shells. Bells, horns and what looks like burning miniature Christmas trees. Chanting and singing ensue. A couple of thousand people observe the ceremony on the gatt. The same procedure is repeated across the 6.5 km of gatts. Anoup says over 200,000 will participate every night. After the ceremony, we walk back up the approaching street to where the driver waits for us. We return to the hotel, each affected in some way by what we have observed. I am again struck by the ironies and contradictions involved. This evening is not one to soon be forgotten. Back st the Surya Hotel, we have drinks, good Martinis for the girls and I and an Indian whisky Old Fashion for Guy. Dinner is a great feast of Indian, Asian and Continental food, including Momos, an Asian dumpling, pesto pasta, and other dishes. All are excellent. Afterwards, beat by our long day, we get to bed around 2300. We will meet Aloup in the lobby at 1000. More later.
Posted on: Wed, 20 Nov 2013 18:48:09 +0000
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