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Published: March 14th 2008
As the tour drew to an end I realised that it was high time to get out the India Lonely Planet and work out precisely where in the country I was going to head next. My original plan to travel to warmer south India was now out of the question since I had arranged to return to Jaipur in January…so where else should I visit, and more precisely, where should I spend Christmas?
I spent a few days in Delhi after the tour getting used to my return to solo backpacking…I swiftly moved out of the overpriced area the tour had based us in and got an auto to Paharganj, the backpacker and budget heart of Delhi. A nightmare for touts, but a hive of cheap hotels and guest houses.
There was only really one place I wanted to see before returning to Jaipur. Varanasi, the hub of Hindu spiritualism. At this point in my travels my heart was fading from my journey and I was longing to return home. I very much wanted to see India, the country I had most been looking forward to, but I was missing Steve like crazy and craving Christmas at home.
In South-East Asia Christmas had been entirely irrelevant to my summer lifestyle. In fact, the Christmas decorations that I encountered on the flights to India and in Singapore airport, my transit stop, seemed very bizarre. It was like stepping into a totally different season and mood that I had been absent from. During the tour, however, people spoke about their plans for Christmas at home, mentioning such delights as mince pies and mulled wine…needless to say I started to wish that I was returning home too…
I am stubborn, however, and was determined to complete what I had set out to do. I had decided before I left England that I would try to volunteer in India somewhere and now that I had found a placement I was not going to return until I had done so.
So for Christmas I set off to Varanasi. Since the city was one overnight train journey to the east of Delhi, and Jaipur was one overnight train journey back to the west, it made sense to see it before returning to Rajasthan, especially as my flight home was in Mumbai, further south-west.
Before I arrived in Varanasi some people
had told me that I would love it, others that would hate it…I liked it, it was unusual, interesting and amusing, but my week there was long enough.
Varanasi is a sprawling, bustling city with its fair share of India pollution and traffic and added crime, revealed by the huge number of armed police on patrol. The city changes from new to old as you approach the Ganges river, the source of the city’s holy status. Large streets change to a maze of narrow alleys, lined with local and tourist shops, guesthouses and places to eat. I was grateful for the tourism initiated painted signposts on the walls of every corner, which were a key lifeline for finding my way. The best thing about those alleys was that aspects of urban India stood out more. The dirt and piles of rubbish were more noticeable and large horned cows took up nearly the entire street as you squeezed past.
Emerging onto the riverbank of the Ganges is a sunlit relief. I expected the ghats to be scenes of chaos, but in fact amidst all the activity there was a great sense of tranquility. I enjoyed just wandering along or
sitting on one of the many riverside steps and just watching the world go by.
People come to the Ganges for spiritual and daily business…bathing, washing laundry, washing cows (perhaps an impulse decision?!), prayer…there is much to be seen. I was particularly amused to see that Indian men wear tight little underpants when bathing and, in some cases, what could only be described as men thongs. On the waterfront the usual cries of ‘rickshaw?’ and ‘auto?’ were changed to ‘boat?’ as endless boatmen tried for your business. There was one particular ghat that was a hive of activity; masseurs, people relaxing, large communal meals, salesmen, and worshippers…
The key religious feature of Varanasi is that it is the most desired destination for Hindu funerals, done by cremation. Manikarnika ghat, the main burning ghat, operates day and night sending plumes of smoke and ash into the air. Bodies, robed in orange, are carried through the old city by male relatives, chanting ‘Ram, Ram sati am’. They march so fast and with focus that if you don’t jump out of the way you risk being mowed down. At first it seemed bizarre and rather creepy to see bodies carried passed,
their lifeless heads wobbling under the cloth, however, after a few days it seemed perfectly normal within the context.
An interesting thing about Varanasi is the contrast between the different aspects of the city…tourism has boomed in the last thirty years and the many tourist aimed shops, cafes and guesthouses clearly rake in a large income for residents. However, the tourists flock to Varanasi due to its status as a holy city, and because it is a holy city foreigners are not really welcome there. Other travellers commented that they found the general attitude to them cold compared to other settlements they had visited. Nevertheless, the conflict between potential gain from tourists and the intrusion of private ceremonies is a grating one…to take photographs of the burning ghat is understandably frowned up and unaccepted, however, it is easy to purchase a postcard backed photograph from one of the many boys keen to sell them.
…..
Being a backpacker in Varanasi…
I began my stay at ‘Shanti Guesthouse’ because it was recommended by the Lonely Planet. Particuarly appealing was the statement that the rooftop restaurant was a great place to meet other travellers. However, the remark that the
rooms were small and basic was an understatement to the cold, damp prison cells with mouldy, peeling walls, which I discovered. It did for a night or two but the rooms were so depressing and I could not face spending Christmas there. After a second bad choice I finally found a delightful place, which for a little bit more money provided me a homely room with natural light (don't underestimate that when you're backpacking!) I would recommend Ganga Fuji Home to any budget traveller visiting Varanasi since the owner was the one of the most friendly I have come across. Well travelled himself and having lived in Japan for many years he understood what travellers were looking for and different values. He was honest and generous, joining his guests one night in the rooftop restaurant and treating us to free drinks, and inviting me to share his family’s lunch, which they were eating one day as I walked in.
Despite this better find, however, the Lonely Planet were right about Shanti being the place to be for socialising, so I spent most evenings returning to the dreadful rooftop restaurant to hangout with the many people I met there.
CHRISTMAS
One backpacker, Tom, had decided to stay in Varanasi to study Indian singing and had various links to the local music scene. He took us along to a concert on Christmas Eve. A fairly simple affair on the rooftop of a ghat side hotel, a drum and a harmonium player accompanied a fantastic and vibrant dancer.
My Christmas Day began with a trip back to Shanti to take part in the backpackers’ Secret Santa organised by one of the people I met. The selection of gifts each purchased for twenty rupees and wrapped in newspaper were distributed by a jovial bearded aussie wearing a santa hat. I received a small wooden five headed Ganesh figure!
The next entertainment was provided by another, rather more crazy aussie, who had previously vowed that he would swim the Ganges on Christmas Day wearing nothing but a mankini. I thought he had been joking…
About fifteen of us marched along the banks of the Ganges whilst he sort a suitable location before stripping off and going for the swim, still wearing his sunglasses! The boys washing close by were amused, but the aussie’s exploits attracted less attention than one
might expect a large white man stripping and swimming in the Ganges to attract.
Christmas night was spent back at Shanti where the owners had put on a Christmas party. Backpackers, nibbles, Punjabi drumming and a three-tier sickly Indian style cake…it was a nice night.
Varanasi experiences:
After going to an evening concert with Tom and other Shanti backpackers I thought that I would try out a few music lessons on the local instruments. At 100 rupees for one hour it seemed like a great idea. Since I had a cold the Indian flute seemed a little out of the question, so I went for the Jambe. Ten minutes in I realised my error, the drum was huge and heavy to balance between my legs and my hands really hurt to hit it. After fifteen minutes I was longing for the one on one lesson to end…I made it to forty-five before giving up. That was enough for me, there were to be no more music lessons. Clearly, I am not a percussionist!
Along with cows, Varanasi has its fair share of goats and monkeys. On one particular afternoon I got charged at by a cow
Jambe lesson
It was a nightmare!(the only time this happened, and the thing was half the size of most!), harassed by two dogs and rescued by a little boy, and then mugged by a monkey which snatched my newly bought bag of fruit from my hand and jumped onto the nearest rooftop. The little boy, who was still accompanying me, found it hilarious. Once again he went to my rescue, chasing the monkey and retrieving two oranges, which he caused it to drop. Though since they were split I thought it best to offer them to the boy and by some more for myself, since they were purchased for that evening’s overnight train journey to Jaipur.
During my time in Varanasi I came to realise just how much the kite is the Indian child’s favourite toy. Every day and evening the sky was filled with hundreds of them…old style paper, cane and string creations that sawed high above the flat rooftops decorating the misty sky over the city. It was wonderful and peaceful to watch.
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