Days Two and Three in India - Bombay to Varanasi

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Day two in India - En Route to Varanasi

07/01/12



Another bad nights sleep with people talking until late and then again early this morning. My back was in pieces from the taxi ride home from Colaba yesterday so I couldn't get comfortable and I'm panicking a little that I might not be able to carry on. It has gotten better through the day. I woke early to the sound of birds squawking and dogs howling below. It seems that the streets belong to the animals at this early hour.



Breakfast at the Anjali Inn was omelette and toast with beautifully spiced Chai. It was good. My taxi arrived on Indian time about 30mins late but I made it to Lokmanya Tilak Terminal well in time for my train. I checked the list for my name but could not see it so ran back to the enquiry desk to check I had been booked on. I was told it was all ok and that I was booked into carriage A1 seat 38 so I made my way towards the train on platform one. There are literally hundreds of people milling about at the station, all seemingly oblivious to my tired expression and sweat dripping down my face as they all proceed to block my path at every possible opportunity.



I get to the train, thinking that the upper class carriages will be the closest. I was wrong. I quickly realise that this is the longest train in the world and my carriage is about half a mile away. Luckily I have plenty of time to get there which is lucky because it takes me a while. I finally clamber aboard pouring with sweat and find my seat. My Indian roomies don't seem to understand why I am so hot but then I guess this is winter for them. They're also not carry around 25kg of stuff on their backs. I push my backpack up onto my bed and climb up after it. The man opposite then proceeds to stare at me sweating and huffing for at least 15mins before I hang a sarong up to hide from it all. India is a fantastic place but it can get to be too much sometimes. I read my book, watch a movie and catch up on my blog notes. I have the best nights sleep in a while, gently rocked by the swaying of the train on its tracks, the murmur of Indian voices and the quiet bellowing of some Indian music playing on another passengers phone. The sominex helped also.



Day Three in India - Varanasi First Impressions



08/01/12 I wake the next morning at around 10.30 am to find the the majority of my long journey is over. It has been comfortable and pleasant (though, unfortunately, the toilet shares neither of those attributes). I ask my Indian roomies repeatedly if how I find out which stop is my station Benares, or Varanasi in modern Hindi. They give constantly vague answers but see my concern and eventually say they will let me know when we are at Benares. I am grateful to them but still worried that I may miss it. We try to converse in english but even though the man I am speaking to says he speaks english and he probably really does believe that what he is saying is english, it definitely is not. I can pick out some words but the majority sounds like a hybrid language. Maybe it's Hinglish? I feel terrible that I am unable to understand or speak his language so I set about trying to learn some Hindi...which is a very very difficult language it turns out. In some cases there are five words to say just one English word!



I somehow manage to get off the train at the right station and am again surrounded but hundreds of people pushing to get on the train. I am squeezed out the other end to find that I am the only westerner as far as the eye can see. I crossover the platforms and see monkeys sat atop the station roofs. My train has arrived late so I call the hostel to see if the driver can pick me up now. After calling the wrong number several times, I eventually get through but have absolutely no idea what the man at the hostel is trying to say to me. I manage to grab 'driver' and 'two minutes' but nothing else so I wait. I get a call from another man who says he is waiting at the information office so I try in my panic stricken state to find the information office. I ask for directions but am pointed to the postal information office where I wait for ten minutes before another phone call. I manage to understand that we are not in the same place. I am in the wrong place. By this point I am close to tears with the constant gawking and the heavy weighted language barrier, plus my bags, plus not knowing where I am going. A group of young indian lads tell me I should go to the tourist information centre and tell me how to get there. I find the man who had called me and he introduces me to my driver. Relief is quickly followed by a certain level of caution as my driver is the most shifty looking character I've ever seen outside of a movie.



We walk to the rickshaw where he interacts suspiciously with other men, laughing, shaking hands and making mysterious exchanges. This is probably all very innocent but to me and my paranoia it looks bad. We drive through streets so dirty that the shit rises up the sides of building and seems to completely engulf the people walking in it. If Mumbai was a post apocalyptic city, Varanasi has no words to describe it. I wrap my sarong around my head so as to avoid attracting too much attention and we arrive as close to the hostel as is possible in the rickshaw. We have to walk from here. My guide hops off the rickshaw and stands watching as I struggle with my bag. We set off at his breakneck pace and I try to keep up as we meander through streets so narrow we struggle to pass by people on the other side. There are open doors that allow you a view into nothing but complete darkness beyond and miniature temples decorated with plastic figurines of chosen gods. The streets are filthy and I find myself pushed up against the walls as motorcyclists push passed. Despite all this I find I am in wonderment of this place.



It feels although I am walking back in time to a place that the rest of the world has forgotten. Eventually I see a sign for the hostel and am relieved that I have not been led by this shifty driver to my death in the dirty streets of Varanasi. I clamber up mountainous stairs and my guide, who sees me struggling, reaches out his left hand to help me. I grab it and in that moment try hard not to think about where it has been. I sit and wait.



Indian check in procedure is unlike anywhere else I've been. You just have to sit an wait whilst they do whatever it is that they are doing, sometimes you fill in a form, other times they are cleaning your room, other times you all just sit around chatting together until they feel that the moment is right to show you to your room. In this instance I met a Polish couple who were waiting for their taxi to the train station. I am ashamed to say that it felt good to speak to westerners and I asked how they liked Varanasi and if they had any tips for me while I'm here. They warned me of the wood touts who try to ingratiate themselves with you by telling you about the burnings but then demand money for their services. A young lad gathers my attention and asks if I would like to see the roof. 'Why not' I reply, wondering why he would want to show me the roof before showing me my room but I go along. The rooftop allows views over much of the old town of Varanasi and even down to the Ganges but the mist does not allow for a view to the other side. Thousands of small kites fill the sky and the boy tells me that there is a kite festival on the 14th January. The kites will have to fight in the sky for first place. The idea is that they have to intertwine with the other kites and cut their line. The stronger the line, the better. The boy introduces himself as Mayur. He is 18, studying economics at college and speaks excellent English. He seems embarrassed when I tell him this, he is embarrassed that he does not speak it as well as the English. He has never been taught it in school, he has learned only through the westerners that come to stay at the hostel. I am impressed. Finally he shows me to my room where I dump my bags and head bad to the reception area where Mayur waits to tell me about Varanasi. The streets are like a rabbit warren and I fear that if I ever leave the hostel that I will never find my way back. Luckily Mayur doubles as a tour guide and offers to show me around. I ask him for how much and he says that if I think he has done a good job then I should give whatever I think suitable. So we arrange to meet here at the hostel in the morning at 10am for a tour of the main Varanasi temples.



After mentioning to Mayur that I was interested in volunteering, he introduces me to Sandra whis works for an NGO helping children in the slums of Varanasi. We arrange for me to visit the orphanage after my temple tour in the morning to see what they do and to help out if I can.



I get an early night after dinner and fully expect to be woken several times...

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