The Holiest and Dirtiest City in India

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Hello everyone! Since my last entry, a ridiculous amount of things have happened (finally!), and I am currently in Varanasi, which I can't describe better than Mark Twain did: "Older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together." But I'm going to start from where I left you in McLeod Ganj and work forward. I took a taxi from McLeod Ganj to Pathenkot, a dusty little town, and then waited several hours for my train to come (the man who booked my ticket told me I didn't need to leave so early, but after missing one overnight train, I wasn't at all interested in missing another). I sat in the women's waiting area, which thankfully had a fan, blowing the wet, 95 degree air all over me. I couldn't get a reserved sleeper seat because I was buying the ticket too late, so I had to buy a general ticket and hope there was a sleeper available so I wouldn't end up with the chickens (seriously). What made it really nice was that an Indian woman who had seen I was alone came inside the waiting room to keep my company and talk to me. She made sure I got on the train safely and walked along with me to the TT (I have no idea what that stands for--ticket taker?) to make sure there was a sleeper available for me. Also, the porter who had walked me around with my bag took good care of me even after I thought he was gone. He must have waited outside the waiting room because he let me know the train was 10 minutes late, and then without me asking, grabbed my bag to take it onto the train. I imagine it's because I probably paid him way more than he usually gets--he carried my bags back and forth from the different counters people kept sending me to for about 15 minutes and I gave him rs. 100. As a comparison, I was taken 8 or so km today by a cycle rickshaw and I gave him the same for 45 minutes of hard cycling. Anyway, when we're talking about two dollars, I don't mind over-paying. Still, what's crazy is that the rickshaw driver today told me I was his first customer. If that's true, he netted 2 bucks today. That blows my mind considering how much a Starbucks coffee costs in the U.S.--potentially three days of work for that guy. I guess even though I knew that conceptually, it doesn't buffer the awe of how I live like an absolute queen compared to so many people here. Meeting actual people is different for me than seeing them starving on television.

Back to the train: I ended up sitting by an Indian woman who lives in America. I guess her father-in-law is some big-time military guy because she was escorted onto the train by about eight army men. She was really sweet, and gave me her phone number in Atlanta, in case I am ever there. The most memorable part of the train ride is that it was when my rash began to truly itch. I was amazed that it hadn't previously, remembering how when I had the same amoxycillin rash seven years ago, I thought I was going to lose my mind because the itching was so intense. I was living in a dorm at Northern Arizona University and I couldn't wear clothes because they itched so much--I just loosely draped a sheet over myself, and only when absolutely necessary. Three of my friends rubbed pink calamine lotion all over my body and reminded me that true love was your friends rubbing calamine lotion on your butt. Well, the calamine lotion was not helping this time, and I ended up walking around in the small area near the toilet (which smelled disgusting and was super-hot) because I couldn't sit still from the itching. At one point I really started losing it, because I was itchy in too many places to scratch all it once, and I'm sure the lack of sleep wasn't helping. It was far worse than any pain I've been in, and I was worried that I would soon be in bad shape emotionally if I couldn’t get the itching to stop. Then I remembered that I had been taking a homeopathic remedy and had stopped the previous day. It dawned on me to take it again, and it helped some with the itching and a lot with the emotional stress.

I arrived in Delhi and went to the hotel where I had previously stayed, but it was booked. This was a little after 7 am. By 7:30 I had thought to myself, "What the heck, I'm going to fly to Varanasi." So by 8 am, I had gone to the ATM to pay the person who booked it, by 9 am I was on my way to the airport, and by 10:30 am I was on a plane to Varanasi. It was the one time that travel arrangements have happened seamlessly since I bought my ticket to India;-)

A taxi can only take you so far into Varanasi, after which you have to walk because the streets are narrow and winding, like in Venice. I've heard a lot of people say that Venice is dirty, although I didn't think it was bad at all. So please know that when I say Varanasi is the filthiest city I have ever seen, that I'm not even that picky. A little kid ran alongside the taxi at the end of our journey, and the driver had a conversation with him in Hindi. I could smell a scam coming, and sure enough, the little kid "worked" at the hotel I wanted to go to, and even had the business card. Nice touch. I had read in my guidebook that pretty much everyone volunteering to help you at no charge in Varanasi is scamming you, and almost every hotel gives a commission to touts who bring you there. Even my taxi driver tried to take me to another hotel, and the person he brought along for part of the ride tried to sell me a train ticket. The little kid spoke very sincerely to me about the spiritual beauty of Varanasi, where they do the cremations on the Ganges River. I told him I knew he was scamming me, and that I wasn't interested in his help, but he persisted, so I let him walk me to my hotel. He said he had a silk shop he wanted to take me to, so I told him I was sick and exhausted, but to write down the name and I would go later. He said it was difficult to find (before he said it was almost next-door) and wouldn't write down the name because if I went without him I wouldn't get a good price, and that he didn't have a business card. I told him it was quite amazing that he had a business card for my hotel and not for the shop he works in. He left soon after that:-)

My “air-conditioned” room had an air-conditioner, but since the power was out all over the city, it wasn’t working. I soon found out that the power goes out all the time, and so I had a/c for about an hour when I got back to my room that evening. Then there was no power, then I had a fan, then no power again with no fan. That was really brutal, because at least the fan had provided some relief. Then the itching started. But before I go there, I’ll back up and tell you about my day. I spent the afternoon and evening with a French woman and an Israeli man, exponentially increasing the amount of people who spoke Hebrew to me. First we went to the ghats to watch the cremations. It’s difficult to put in words what it’s like to watch so many cremations simultaneously. I was up on a roof, watching from above, and the smoke was in my face, and smelling the burning bodies made me conscious of that if I can smell it, it’s in my body. I began to be able to taste it as well, which was a bit eerie. Right next to the burning bodies, there were a large number of bulls bathing in the river, and naked children would climb up onto their backs, and jump into the water, splashing and playing all around in the filthy Ganges. As if it weren’t dirty enough with all the ashes of bodies that go into it, babies and certain holy people are not burned before they are thrown in. Then every day, people bathe and drink from the holy Ganga. It makes me think about how with my sterilized American immune system, I would probably be dead before they got me to a hospital if I were to take a sip! However, I was blessed later that evening with water I assume was from the Ganga…

Hang on, there was just an interruption in my internet connection and Anoosh, who fixed it, came back and in perfect British English said, “I see you’re staying in room 243. Are you comfortable?” I asked him if I shouldn’t be, and he said it wasn’t that, but since I have two double beds, they could upgrade me to one larger one. Ahhhhh….it’s nice to live in luxury for one day;-)

Anyway, back to the day. I was blessed by a holy man in some ceremony where I went from being an observer to a participant. He put a red dot on my forehead and gave me holy water to drink (I splashed it on myself instead, not wanting to die for my blessing), put a hibiscus-looking rosary around my neck, and then I gave him some money, as everyone does. There was a lot of chanting and walking involved, with loud bells rung every so often. Inside this cage-like area everyone was standing around were several ornate shrines with flowers everywhere. It’s these ceremonies and the cremations that have been some of the most amazing aspects of India, and unfortunately they are also nearly impossible to describe and photographs are strictly prohibited. It was really fun, and at the end of the day I was ready for a good night’s rest. Now back to the itching from several paragraphs ago. This itching was even more traumatic than the previous bout seven years ago, because this time I was alone with no power, at 3 or so in the morning, in India. I had one more anti-histamine pill, so I took that, and after a cold shower and a good deal of spazzing out, I was able to lie still. I barely got any sleep, and my throat started to hurt. In the morning I was coughing up thick yellow phlegm, and I’m still coughing stuff up now and my lungs hurt a little. I swear, I almost don’t want to say it, but it’s so weird that just about every organ system has gone out of whack since I’ve been here EXCEPT my digestive system!

That was day 1 in Varanasi. I will continue with day 2 in the next e-mail.

Lots of Love,
Jessica

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