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Sun June 6, 7:18pm - Scindhia Guest House, Varanasi We've arrived in Varanasi to much fanfare. First there were the taxi drivers -- two of them in the car -- who were pressuring us to tell them where we were going, and generally making us uncomfortable to the point that they dropped us off far away from where we should have been. So instead of walking only five minutes through Venetian-like corridors where cars can't pass, we walked for a good 20 minutes on busy roads in 110 degree temps with huge packs on our backs (well, truthfully, only mine can be called huge). We were fortunate, however, to have a really nice guy our age show us a shortcut, and he delivered us directly to the place we were hoping to find. And then there was the giant rainstorm that came up out of nowhere. One minute it was hotter than hell and I was out purposefully getting lost in the labyrinthine passageways. Then I came back, started chatting with this New Zealand girl in the fucked up, trash strewn courtyard, when within five minutes the light became very dark and the wind picked up something fierce. And then all hell broke loose. The men and boys below were yelling to try and save the shade structures over their market stalls, and the rowboats were quickly floating away. Finally, we've been treated to the clanging of bells and banging pots right below our balcony as the sounds of the evening ceremony are going on from the river side of the building. I can hear that as well as the pumping of the guest house's generator. Little droplets are collecting on my LCD screen as it continues to rain. I'm sitting outside of the door to the room that Megan and I are sharing. She's trying to sleep off a grumpy mood, so I'm out at the top of some stairs sitting in a plastic chair writing on my computer. Mon June 7, 10:22am - Scindhia Guest House, Varanasi Well, we've got our first winner in the food poisoning sweepstakes, and the winner is (drum roll please)... Megan! The only silver lining is that she was puking and shitting during the night, so at least she was near our own facilities. But unfortunately, we had no electricity during the night, which meant no fan. (We were told by the proprietor that Varanasi hotels don't have AC during the summer. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense.) But even though it was dreadfully hot and even though Megan kept getting up to run to the bathroom, I slept through the whole thing. The reason we had no fan was all my fault, apparently. The other three of us were waiting outside of me and Megan's room for her to get ready to go to dinner (the fateful dinner where she got sick) when I saw a switch on the wall outside our room, and I tried it to see what would happen. I thought that nothing had happened, but in reality I'd killed the juice in our room. And Megan wouldn't have thought it was strange that the power went out while she was still in the room since the power is constantly going out in this country. So now the poor girl is lying down in a tank top and briefs, having just swallowed a packet of electrolyte replenishing powder mixed with bottled water. We think the culprit was the restaurant on the rooftop of a neighboring guest house, Mishra's. The rest of us didn't come down with anything, so it must have been the veggie pizza she had. If anyone should have gotten sick it was me with the Garlic Soup I had. The base was pure water, with bits of garlic and some floating spongy things. It was good, but definitely could have been dangerous. While up there we met a guy from a mountain town in the north of Italy whose English was pretty good. He came over to buy a pack of cigarettes and Megan just gave him her whole pack, and then proceeded to have to go bum cigarettes off him the rest of our time there. But then he gave Tamarack some hash. It was shitty hash, but it was a nice gesture. A couple of minutes later he came running back to our area of the roof after a monkey attacked their table, securing a piece of food and then retreating to the railing. The guy then proceeded to tell of how he's been sleeping on the roof, and he accidentally kicked a monkey in his sleep, which then proceeded to attack, scratching the arm of his friend. What a horrible way to wake up! We also met these two Scottish sisters who are spending months in India. I tried relating with them with my referencing of the "harry coos" I'd seen in the Highlands, but they didn't know what I was talking about until I said "hairy cows". (I won't be using that reference anymore.) One of them was
quite talkative and entertaining, and I believe it was her reminisces
of Dharamsala that lead Tamarack to concoct the following plan: after
Varanasi, Megan and I will spend a week going to Khajuraho, Agra and
Amritsar while Tamarack and Crissy go trekking in the mountains. The
four of us will then meet up in Dharamsala where we'll spend a week
in the hilltowns before going back down to Delhi and flying south to
Maderai, which is where we'll leave India.
So back to our arrival. When we got off the train, we were immediately intercepted by not one but three taxi drivers. Even though we spent an extra ten minutes in the station, with some going to the bathroom, some buying water and me getting a map from the tourist information center, the taxi drivers still waited for us. I really didn't feel like we should be rewarding their stalking of us, but Tamarack decided they were just as good as any taxi. But I really got a bad feeling when two of their number climbed into the front, with me riding shotgun. Then one got out, and another got in. It was very suspicious, but by then they had our packs in the trunk. Along the way, they started out nice enough, telling us about the city, and even reciting a number of rhyming English cliches like "No money, no honey," and others that I wish i could remember. But then they mentioned one too many times that Varanasi was not like Agra or Delhi, that it was a holy place and you could trust everybody. (If anyone tells you to trust them, don't trust them. Especially in India.) After we got to Chowk, they pulled over the taxi, trying to pressure us into telling them where we planned to stay. After paying them 100 rupees, we ended up standing with our packs on our backs, waiting for them to drive off before walking. We even walked in the opposite direction from where they drove, in the hopes that they wouldn't follow us. They didn't, but we found ourselves with one hell of a walk ahead of us. After a few minutes, Megan wanted to stop to put on some sunscreen, asking if anyone had any readily available. Crissy said she did in the top of her pack, but it was held together by a complicated knot of leather laces. So there we were on the side of a narrow road, resting our packs on wooden wagons, with a steadily growing group of men gathering to gaze at the white womanfolk. As we were there for a good ten minutes while the knot was untied and the lotion was slathered on exposed skin, their number grew from three to about 15, all just sitting, staring and mumbling. Crissy yelled out "Hi!" a couple of times, and even took their picture. It could have been a bad scene, but I support Megan's need for sunscreen as a sunburned Megan would be a bad thing (especially on top of her now sickened stomach). It was soon after that we met this guy Raj, who was kind enough to escort us to our guest house of choice, the Scindhia above Scindhia Ghat. I kept waiting behind for Megan, who was valiantly trudging on in the heat, and meanwhile I got pretty exhausted myself. But then we finally caught sight of the Ganges and it was a very beautiful sight. We stopped to rest under a boatman's small overhang, which was nice of him. We drank water and took pictures of the goats and the boats. And we saw our first monkeys of the trip, which was very exciting. We secured our room, I showered very slowly, and then we went down to the "Rooftop" restaurant of our hotel, which is really two floors below our rooms. I had a nice veg and cheese Biryani, and Megan had a very good veg curry. Megan wasn't feeling up to going out, so I went to put her to bed, and before I knew it Crissy and Tam had split. So I went out on my own, wandering east down the ghats, encountering some men bathing in the Ganges right next to water buffalo who went swimming past them -- a delightful scene. But then a young man whacked the buffalo with a reed. I guess they weren't supposed to be congregating by that particular ghat. I also found a group of boys playing cricket. One of them called me over and I sat and watched them play. They wanted me to take a crack at it, but as I had already taken out my video camera, attracting some undue attention, I didn't want to leave my pack alome. A real shame because I would have loved to have tried. Except I'm sure I would have hit their ball straight into the river. It was then that I went back to the guest house and met Tara and Miranda, the Kiwis who are traveling for 1-2 years. Tara is a psychiatric nurse, and Miranda a journalist/marketing writer. I admire their ability to go mobile, and they said there's no reason, as a writer, that I couldn't do it as well. Pretty inspirational. I took off on another walk, wandering through the meandering alleyways, trying my best to avoid stepping in cow shit but not succeeding. There are so many small temples and so many doorways that look like alleyways that I was afraid to accidentally wander into people's homes, or mistake a temple for a home. Indeed, this one outdoor temple I took pictures of had scooters and motorcycles parked practically right inside it. I had many young boys saying hello to me, almost as if it was a game, or a show of pride. I said hello back to them all. But then this one boy sitting amongst two others said to me, "Elvis Whiteman!" And to him I replied, "Good evening." I didn't think it could get any better than Elvis Whiteman, but Tamarack said one kid said to him, "Hello Michael Jordan!" (Tamarack is white.) It was then that I made it back to the guest house before the storm, and I believe that catches us up. I was just informed
by my weakened girlfriend through the use of hand signals that we're
leaving Varanasi on the 9th, which is in two days. Besides taking a
dawn riverboat ride, I'm not sure what I want to do here. I guess it's
time to read the guidebook!
email: ryan[at]monkeyduck[dot]com
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General advice: Getting from the Varanasi train station to the Ganges River (known locally as the Ganga) takes time and much effort. A 20 minute ride by taxi or auto-rickshaw only gets you to a labyrinthine maze of alleyways where cars can't go. Once you arrive, be prepared to carry all of your things for a good 15 minute walk up and down long sets of stairs. Be sure to dress accordingly before leaving the train. Be sure to stop in at the tourist office at the Varanasi train station. They can give you a map and point you to the only ATMs in town. (I think there's two.) You'll also want to ask them how much the taxi or auto rickshaw fare to the ghats will be. You'll want to think about asking your driver to take you by the ATM on your way to your lodgings, as there won't be ATMs near where you should be staying -- the ghats -- and there really isn't any need to leave that area. The general layout of Varanasi (aka Benares) is very bewildering. But in general, you'll want to stay at a guest house with a river view (otherwise, what's the point?) and one that's near the area called Chowk. Once you're dropped off near Chowk, you really have no choice but to accept the help of strangers in exchange for some rupees. (50 or less, depending on your generosity.) You could just wander into the maze of alleyways and try to find the river, but since both sides of the street where your taxi drops you off have alleyways, and only one actually leads to the river (with the other side potentially being dangerous), it really is best to get help. But don't worry -- there'll be plenty of eager helpers. It's best to go with the younger ones.
Transport: Since there were four of us and we had a lot of baggage, we elected to take a taxi. Unfortunately, our drivers really creeped us out and we got out much sooner that we might have otherwise. May you have better luck than we did.
Accommodations: We stayed at the Scindhia Guest House, which is located (appropriately enough) above the Scindhia Ghat. The proprietor was nice enough, though the old man who sleeps in the lobby is a real grouch. The rates were a little steep considering the fact that there was no AC. We were told that AC wasn't allowed in the summer, but there's no way to know if that's true. But the view and people watching from the balcony more than made up for it. Also, the kitchen was pretty good and very reasonably priced. Unlike the food at neighboring guest houses, it was prepared using fresh ingredients and we weren't served suspicious looking bottles of water with cracked lids.
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