Scribblings

Gallery: Varanasi scenes II

dilixi — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 06:59:00 GMT

Goodbye Varanasi

dilixi — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 06:12:00 GMT

Decision:

My brain is full and my body is on empty - I’m cutting this trip short and flying home early.

I’ve accomplished my goals: Meeting wonderful people and seeing life from the other side. I’m now overwhelmed by the heat, my continuing intestinal trouble and I really need some non-Indian, un-spiced food!

Download:
Varanasi is old and worn down. Lots of crumbling brick, pavement so spotty the streets are ‘off-road’ and garbage is always underfoot. Most of the clean storefronts belong to the motorcycle dealerships - their showrooms sparkle with spotlights and glass. Their glow can be seen for half a mile.
Owing to the narrow streets, cars are scarce – everyone rides Honda ‘Hero’ motorbikes. Relentless and chaotic, traffic here is 65% motorbikes, 30% auto-rickshaws (see photo) and the rest are either bicycle-rickshaws or stone-age carts pulled by donkeys, bulls or skinny old men.
Dinesh:

I was fortunate to find a honest auto-rickshaw driver by the name of Dinesh. He claimed to be 28 years old but looked and acted older and wiser, a true gentleman. The other night, he led me through the hubbub of the ancient maze of streets in the oldest part of the city. The streets near the Ganges become so narrow Dinesh had to park his auto-rickshaw. He ran interference as we hurried past the temples and beggars to the waterfront to catch the elaborate nightly Hindu ceremony to honor the ‘Mother’ river.

Dinesh helped negotiate the services of an 18-foot rowboat so I could view the holy extravaganza from the water.
As we were shoving off, a small boy of ten appeared on the boat and insisted I light a couple of lotus/candles to float down the river. I thought “Why not, can’t hurt to participate”.
Afraid to actually touch Ganges water, like any westerner with a lick of sense, I carefully plopped the candle-flowers onto the water and watched them float downstream to join hundreds of other flickering gems in the darkness.

“Fifty rupees!” muttered the kid.
“Hunh?”
“For charity” he answered, cynically.
I handed over a fifty-rupee note and he glared at me, “C’mon,sir…” as if a tip was required.
“Hey!” I bellowed. “The candles were your idea!”
He grabbed the fifty and scurried over to another boat to hit up more tourists.

The fire and incense ceremony was performed at the water’s edge in front of hundreds of devotees watching from the steps and others, like me, watching in boats. Lots of bell ringing and chanting made the spectacle hypnotic.

Later, walking back through the alleyways to the vehicle after my river excursion, I noticed Dinesh was now barefoot. I shuddered at the thought of walking these streets without shoes.

“While I waited for you,” Dinesh said, “I took off my sandals and waded in the Ganges for a blessing. Some lady sitting on the steps thought they had been abandoned and tossed my sandals into the river ‘for good luck’. They floated away before I could catch them.”

Once back in the rickshaw, he asked if he could run into a shop to buy more slippers. We pulled over at a hole-in-the-wall shoe shop on a hectic corner. As soon as Dinesh hopped up the steps, who should appear alongside the rickshaw from out of the crowd, but the lotus-candle kid.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“I’ve got his sandals!”

I leaned out the window and hollered toward the shop “Hey, Dinesh! We’ve got your shoes!”
Dinesh and the kid had a brief exchange in Hindi and all was well. Dinesh slid on his shoes and we zoomed off toward my hotel.

Okaaaay…

Delirious:
Time to head home. There is so much to share, both good and less than good. I will try to sum it all up in a video piece.
Ciao!

Train to Varanasi, the holy city

dilixi — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 07:52:00 GMT

It was time to leave Agra and the friends I made there.

I took the overnight train to Varanasi. It was not what I expected. There is no railway staff to facilitate boarding and without the help of some wise and cheerful locals, I would still be looking for my seat.

The tracks are in questionable (read “frightening”) condition. During the night there were stretches so bumpy that I was almost tossed from my bunk. In the spirit of “going with the flow”, I held on and pretended that I had a vibrating bed, like a cheap Vegas motel. I got a pretty good massage and even a little bit of sleep.

There was no food or drink available – I went fourteen hours without anything passing my lips.

The Lonely Planet guide raves about Indian railways but I don’t share that view. My train accommodations may seem deluxe to locals, who must define “deluxe” as anything away from the noise and filth of the streets. Water, food and air-conditioning are obviously beyond “deluxe”.

I’ve been battling dehydration and stomach disease since I left home and was hitting a wall as we arrived mid-morning in Varanasi. It has taken forever, but it finally dawned on me: I’m in the Third World! I now know it in my bones.

My hotel failed to send a driver to pick me up at the station as promised. This left me at the mercy of the aggressive horde of drivers, “guides” and other desperate “helpers”. Tired, thirsty, sick and over-heated, I had no one to trust and simply nodded to the first honest face that stepped forward through the glaring humidity.

This caused a riot among the other drivers and we hurried away from the pushing and yelling with my luggage across the parking lot to where my guy’s taxi had been sitting in the sun for hours (or days). The engine would not start. Welcome to the “holy city”.

Who told me to come in September?

Gallery: Agra, my town

dilixi — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 03:13:00 GMT

Agra is my kind of town

dilixi — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 02:47:00 GMT

I've been laying low and battling bacteria...

The heat dictates that you plan your outdoor excursions to coincide with power faliures - without AC, there is no reason to stay in your hotel room.

I took a stroll to the corner and got caught up in a funeral procession. (See photos) It was so casual that, at first, I did't know where the crowd was headed or why. I finally spotted the deceased, covered with flowers on the stretcher. (Whoa, 'scuse me, wrong parade!)

Later, I took a ride on the river behind the Taj Mahal and saw the funeral pyre.

Agra is mellow

dilixi — Sun, 7 Sep 2008 21:26:00 GMT

After Delhi (12 million people on the street at once), Agra is a mere village of 1 million (cows). I've gotten to know some locals and they laugh when I ask if they have travelled outside of India. The cook at my hotel giggled "we are too poor - I once went to Delhi, but that's all".

It's not a cliche - The Taj Mahal is a jaw-dropping sight. Photos can't do justice and I certainly don't have the wits to describe it. To have a wonder-of-the-world in the middle of this mud-hut existence is hard to comprehend.

If I'm getting spooky here it's cuz... it's humbling (and spooky).

The heat is insane and I'm gonna head to the Himalyas as soon as I finish my commitments in this area.

Now, where did I put those antibiotics?

Journey to India

dilixi — Thu, 4 Sep 2008 21:43:00 GMT

Yowser!

22h hours on a jet plane to Delhi. Now, I get to wait in traffic behind a Brahma bull pulling 30 feet of iron rebar on a wagon from biblical times.

A lot of people here just stand around staring into space - I feel right at home.

Time for another shower.