Varanasi: Part Duex

I digress. Soon we get out of the Death-mobile and walk five minutes in the narrow streets where the rickshaws can’t fit. Our little driver takes us to Shanti Guest House where we check in, giving all information from passport number, visa number, house address, next destination and our first born. Due to all the information we gave, we assumed that we would have wonderful rooms. Well, you know what they say when you assume… We were all made asses when we walked into our utterly bare rooms, with only a light, two beds pushed together with holey sheets and a toilet and sink behind another door. And because there are seven of us, instead of making one person sleeping alone; Charlotte, Scott and I shared one room. What is wonderful is that we paid about $2 for the room and only spent about 5 hours there sleeping, so who cares!

By now, we are starving and headed to a restaurant that supports local NGOs. The menus in India are so expansive offering many courses of diverse regions of the globe: Indian, Thai, Chinese, Tibetan, Italian, Mexican, Continental and breakfast foods. Menus are about 15 pages long. However, with these various cuisine adventures, the food always takes forever to come out because there are so many different things to be ordered, the cook must be overwhelmed at times. We waited an hour and a half for all our meals, and the last meal to come out was Hannah’s eggs and toast. I ordered a cottage cheese sizzler (oh my god, Indians love their cottage cheese and so do I!) and boy, does it sizzle! I couldn’t see my plate when it came out because it was covered in steam. After eating we walked down to the ghats, which are the steps that lead down directly to the Ganges River.

Here’s a little history of the Ganges and Varanasi: the Ganges River is known to Hindus to be the most scared of all rivers and bathing yourself washes away all your sins. The story is that a sage wanted to create a river that would save the soul of her ancestors that were destroyed by Lord Vishnu for their wickedness. Creating the river almost caused a torrential flood that would destroy the world, however Lord Shiva stepped, wrapping the sage’s strength around his hair to prevent global destruction. The result was the river Ganges was left over that does absolve all the sins of all who bathe in her waters, as well as those whose ashes are dumped into the river. Your ashes in the river ensures that you will be released from the reincarnation cycle and become one with the universe (moksha but many know it as nirvana). Varanasi is the holiest city on the Ganges River because it is the city of Shiva, the Destroyer. He burst out of the ground here in a streak of light, sanctifying the whole city. Both the Shiva and the Ganges make the city super special and sacred. The ghats (steps) lead down to the river making it easy for Hindus to bathe and for boat rides.

Just our luck, the boaters are on strike. At first we were disappointed, but like the rain, it made the city feel real – not just this little vacation resort with a perfect skyline, but a city that has been around for 5000 years and will continue to do so without my presence. It was really interesting to learn about the boater’s strike: the city is taxing boaters to take people out in boats and the boaters are not happy about it because they have to up their prices much higher just to make money. The city is taxing them about 300ruppes a head, therefore boaters charge 350 which turns off a lot a people. The strike has been on for a weeks when we arrived. We encounter the strike again the next day… but first our evening at the ghats.

But even before arriving at the ghats, we went into one vendor’s saree shop. Mum Mum, my homestay mother, was born in Varanasi and told us that it we wanted to buy cheap, good quality sarees – this was the place to do so. So the seven of us sat around on the floor while a bunch of men dropped colours and prices of the different scarves and sarees they had available. Each cloth is so enticing by the way the hold onto the corners and whip the material out so it dances down and falls perfectly onto your lap. It is so hard to make shopping decisions in India because things get more and more beautiful as you shop – with infinite colours and designs that feed your eyes. But, we were on a mission and decided to take a more aggressive approach to buying material. Putting on a façade that we knew what we were talking about, we demanded specific materials, colours, sizes and prices from the vendors who willingly obeyed every request, regardless if it was a fruitless effort. Us girls made big sarees decisions quickly. And the boys were wonderful, helping us with color combinations and prices, holding onto specific items for us so they don’t get lost among the hundreds of yards of material tossed across the floor, ignored in the rush. Eventually, I bought a burgundy saree with orange flowered trim. The colour combo is exactly the colours I see when I think of India. It is silk on cotton and lightly floats across the body, and I bought it for 500Rupees ($13). We were all very successful in our purchases.

We arrived at the Dasashamedha ghat, centrally located and considered the holiest ghat. Immediately upon arriving vendors swarm us with lotus flowers and candles to place in the river for luck. It was only ten rupees ($0.25) but Brittany and I decided to have joint custody of luck (because we feel our lives are lucky as is… or we are really cheap. Either or.) After taking a few pictures, we walk down the river exploring more ghats as the sun set. Soon it became dark and we headed back to the main ghat to watch a fire ritual. Men dressed in red robes stood on platforms chanting, swinging assorted items in the air and blessing all around them. The chanting is quite intimidating and foreboding – but there we stood, shoulder to shoulder with Hindus, worshiping the world we live in (isn’t that what religion should be about?)

Soon after, with stomachs rumbling, we made our way through the dark streets, attempting to avoid cow feces and warning each other of violent bicycle riders. We passed one restaurant where live music was playing and couldn’t resist the love of being surrounded by good sounds, smells and conversation. The Lucky Seven have a common understanding that whatever one orders, six more forks will dive in to try. Food ranged from Indian kofta to Thai rice to banana chocolate pancakes, combined with amazing ginger lemon tea. The live music of sitar and table (drums) was soothing and welcoming after the ominous chanting. Nate was in his glory, for his only goal in Varanasi was to find a sitar. The sitar player walked around the tables trying to sell his CD and Nate asked him where he could find a good sitar. The musician is a grey haired man, but barely any hair, with one eye swollen shut and a high pitched voice that made him sound like a little boy. He only gave him price ranges, but then came back to our table later on and said to meet him at the restaurant tomorrow at 10am so he could take us to his friends shop; claiming “price for Indian, price for tourist – same!”

We finished our meal and wanted a drink but it is illegal in the Old City. We asked the owner where we could find a good beer and he could only suggest a bar 2km away. Then he crouched down and said that for special guests he could bring us something secretly from upstairs. He turned to point to a group of French men drinking out of a tea pot, and told us it was straight whiskey. Feeling rebellious, Breezie and I had rum and Coke (just to warm our bodies up I say!) We paid and attempted to make our way through the tiny, winding and indistinguishable streets to our hostel. Accidentally, we found ourselves at the Mani Ghat, the man burning ghat. It is famous because of Shiva and his wife dropped pieces of jewelry here when bathing. After using our feline-like abilities to explore in the dark, we turned around to actually find our hostel in the cold dark night. We had to walk through a night market full of candles, canopies and eyes watching us in confusion. Men were standing around fires in the street to warm up, wrapped in shawls (or as Nate calls them, man shawls, aka mawls) who sleep in their stalls to be sure to be ready for the next morning’s dawn.

We immediately felt the weight of the long day and previous night on our eyes as we stepped into the hostel. After on agreeing that though there are no sunrise boat rides, we would still get up at 5 for sunrise. Charlotte vigorously read the end of “The Kite Runner” while Scott and I had a pillow talk session about religion and homosexuality. The entire night we had to disregard the crazy Swedes in the hallway making a lot of noise, and try to ignore the fact that our room was around 0 degrees Celsius. Eventually, we combined blankets and huddled as if we had hyperthermia.

The next morning, Charlotte rose bright and early while Scott and I bummed around in bed. Eventually we all got up and headed to the ghats. Now, to be quite honest, a lot of the morning in now a blur because I was sleepy. But I can remember how I felt that morning: my surroundings and environment were, I think for the first time ever, entirely foreign. There were sounds of daunting, ominous chanting of an unknown source. Some streets were so dark and sinister to a point where I might have seen a demon spirit lurking in the gloom. Seeing people up before the sun for the only reason to bathe in the dirty water of the Ganges made me feel that I could never believe something so strongly nor convince them of anything than what is in their mind and their culture. It truly was foreign and I could not hide my façade as an outsider. And even if I could find a skin that made me look the part, it was the first role that I felt I could not play. I never noticed that I might have prided myself with having the ability to blend in somewhere if I tried – and walking around the ghats that morning taught me that it might have just been a superficial pride. Maybe I will always belong nowhere, and everywhere at the same time. That is something I can live with.

Post-ghat excursion, we headed to a roof top café for hot chai and breakfast. Thankfully, the restaurant was indoors with full length windows and good service. We comfortably sipped our chai, watching a band of a dozen monkeys teasing and humping each other on the opposite roof. This is India.

By now, we headed back to the hotel to pick up Scott who chose to sleep in. We checked out of the hostel but left our stuff in the back of a closet that had no lock. Crossing our fingers we head out to meet the musician we met the previous night about buying a sitar. The boys waited by the restaurant while us girls preformed what I think is terminally called “Extreme Impulse Shopping.” I cannot even tell you what I bought in those 15 minutes because things were being thrown at me that I could not say no to. Needless to say, we did not have such a dominating position as we did at the saree shop due to our lack of time. Soon, Nate passed by with the musician and we ran to catch up. He took us out of the Old City on a 10 minute walk to a music teacher’s house who sold sitars. The teacher and his wife were very hospitable as they offered tea. Nate disappeared into the back of the house to make his big and only purchase in Varanasi. After chatting with the wife, Nate came out, beaming from ear to ear with a new sitar. The musician tuned it and played us a little song. Scott became so inspired by the foreign music that he disappeared to come back with a tabla set, aka a drum set. Nate plays guitar at home and Scott fools around with bongos so they do not have too much learning to do. We were all so happy for their wonderful purchases and thanked the teacher and left to drop our many gifts back at the hostel.

After making our way through the crazy streets, we decided to go to the Golden Temple. Unfortunately, as obvious non-Hindus, we are not allowed into the temple but it was still gorgeous to look at from afar. We made our way over to the Nepali Temple which overlooks the beautiful shore of the Ganges kissing the steps of Varanasi. We are lucky kids. Period.

Sadly, we made our way back to the hostel to eat at our rooftop restaurant and pick-up some food for the long train ride home. I ordered naan, a special Indian bread that I am addicted to, but can only be made in a certain kind of oven. Rats. (As an aside – Indian food for me is a hit or miss. Or in better terms, the different between a final strike out or a wining home-run. Some foods I just cannot bear to get down – while others, my God, my hands need to be cuffed to the chair to keep me from grabbing more. And it’s not all as spicy as one might think. Especially because Bengalis love their sweets.)Towards the end of our meal, we are waiting for our bill and Charlotte suggests that we run to the shops to grab a few more little items, like stringed bracelets before we head out to the train station. Hannah, Brittany, Charlotte and myself fly downstairs and through the side streets to get to some shops to buy last minute souvenirs.

As other moments in this crazy city, it was a blur of colours, choices and cash. We found a man who sells these cute stringed bracelets for one rupee. Soon we realized we needed to run back to the hostel to meet up with the rest of the group to catch our train back to Kolkata to make sure we get back in time for service the next morning. So, literally, we ran through the streets of Varanasi (well, Hannah slid the streets because her flip flops have no friction on the slippery mud streets.) And as always, we draw attention to ourselves because 1) we are four girls running in the streets 2) we are four white girls running in the streets 3) we are four giggling white girls running in the street… there isn’t a stranger sight to Indian than this sight. Also, though Varanasi is a big tourist stop in the Backpackers’ Guide to India, the people in Varanasi stare much more than a lot of locals in Kolkata. I stick to my theory that in smaller towns, Westerners are a shock and therefore we are not approached. But in the tourist spots, they know we visit there so we are almost expected to be seen in certain spots – but white people sightings are less than likely. The young boys also make a lot of comment comparable to men in Brooklyn. However, it’s a shock when a twelve year old boy asks Hannah which of her friends are wearing bras and panties. But, sometimes that’s better than being offered opium on numerous occasions. If there are stereotypes about Westerns, I’d rather be that we wear underwear, and not that we want opium.

Getting back to the hostel we grab our stuff and trek for the main road. It seemed to take longer, because we also had twice as much stuff as we came with (which is how we are going to measure the quality of a good trip – the quantity of stuff we bring back… consumerism at its best!) Cramming into two rickshaws, we had to watch the 13 year old boy rewire the rickshaw as we were waiting in it. At least we know how the rickshaw runs in the unfavorable and likely case it breaks down. We arrived at the train station, sad we have to leave Varanasi so soon, only to find out that our train is delayed an hour. And on top of it, the sun came out as we were leaving. So to entertain ourselves until the train arrived, we sat outside in a circle playing the card game ‘bullshit.’ After the first game ended, we noticed that our skin and laughter attracted about 40 spectators. So many that a man decided we were a worthy subject of a pencil sketch.

Soon we headed into the station to wait for the train. I made friends with a girl from Ireland backpacking by herself – Emma. We talked for about a half hour and she was entirely sweet and inspiring. Working as a secretary for 6 years, she quit and started to backpack Nepal for two months then lived in Varanasi for one month, now is traveling to Thailand to meet up with some friends. Australia is in her eventual plans and there is a definite possibly that she might love it and decide to live and work there. I have been saying this whole trip that I am not sure if I have that kind of courage – but she made it seem so wonderful and easy. I wouldn’t aimlessly wander for a year as she did, but I am inspired to take my own trips to cities when I want to, without the company of friends. I shouldn’t have to rely on the company and support of friends when traveling.

After two hours, our train arrived and we were split up into different cars but Hannah, Brittany, Charlotte and I were near each other, comforting each other when we were stared at intensely. I had a good bonding time with Hannah for the first time and I really love to hear what she has to share. The train ride was freezing and we got into Kolkata around 10:30 as opposed to the expected 7:30. There was no point on going to service for a half hour so we headed home in a taxi in the rain, exhausted from the non-stop trip.

I’ve been writing this blog for a week and there is so many other things that have gone on that I want to write about so I will wrap this up: what I took away from Varanasi is that there is no perfect way to travel. People always tell you that you have to do this and see that when you visit a particular place – but that mentality is so external and artificial. The perfect blue skies in a 5x7 do not reflect the true depth, uniqueness and beauty that is a city. I have become comfortable with my own experience in travel, even if I missed that one important site; because I saw something less obscure yet more revealing, and it is mine to have and to hold.