Varanasi, here we come

Actually I expected more trouble arriving at the main Varanasi train station. Lonely Planet (the travelers Bible) seemed to think we would be tricked, robbed and harassed to death, shortly after exiting the train station. Or at the very least, long before finding our guest house in the maze of vehicle-free (in theory) alleys that are designed to get you lost and invite you to buy colorful, but needless things.

But after being dropped off by our auto-rickshaw about 10 minutes from the guesthouse and having several attempts at getting directions, we finally found Eden Halt and met our delightful host, Sanjay. His 4 bedroom guesthouse is family owned and overlooks Raja Ghat, a relatively peaceful temple on the banks of Mother Ganga (The Ganges River).

Time to take in the chaos that only a Hindu festival on the holy river could provide.

A view from the water aboard Shiva’s boat was next for us. I feel bad even saying it, but it was a peaceful break from the dozens of beggars. Young and old women alike, touting sickly looking babies and pinching them for the “extra-unhappy” effect. Kids pulling at our sleeves and trouser legs, hand to mouth, gesturing hunger and demanding we remedy the problem. Meanwhile puppies, skinny and itchy, squeal underfoot, cows and their calves yield to no one and one eye must always, always be on the ground…just in case the smell doesn’t alert you first!

Varanasi is alive. From the diverse people, their intensely colorful garb to the funeral Ghat, or as Shiva referred to them; the burning bodies. Despite the cold, cold water, men and women are dunking themselves repeatedly in the river that looks like it needs cleaning more than they do. Yes, for the most part this is religious and ritualistic, but for those without water at home, it really is a daily bath too. The Ganges also provides dish and laundry washing facilities, and the shores for which to float off your candle and flower offering.

If you are Hindu and lucky enough to die right here in Varanasi, you can be assured that you are now free from rebirth!

I am quite sure there is no other place like this on earth and the 16 hour train journey back to a place that captured my imagination in 1998 was definitely worth it.

The next day...

How can a day of wandering, shopping, eating and people watching be so tiring? I am exhausted, but in my defense we did start the day at crack-o-dawn. Umm-Hmmm…Before the sun rose we were down at the Ganges watching other people bath, chant and add to the pollution.

Highlights included; Those that got up before us; Those that bathed, despite the cold;

The needy and disadvantaged; And of course...tasty street food.

(My cast iron stomach is still in tact, touch wood.)

Shoot Me Now!

How did a 5 hour train journey from Varanasi to Gaya turn into a 12 hour mess? Well, it starts with the train running a bit behind. Then late, then much later. We left 3 hours behind schedule - which is by all accounts, not that bad for India.

Our sleeper car was packed with all sort of people. Kids wailing, couples sitting silently and backpackers like us. Peanut husks, amongst everything else, littered the floor. I don't even want to think about the wet spots. At every stop the train was swamped with beggars - quickly in, then quickly out again. Not content to simply put out a hand, these ones grabbed a leg and tugged on it ... right about the time my book was getting really good and I had almost blocked out the smell of the nearby toilet I was brought back to consciousness!

Stop the train! We want to get off!!!

While it did appear the open doors were a safety hazard, I was pleased with the cross ventilation and it was, after all, another option if things got really bad!

Another "express" train races past the open door.

We soon found ourselves in Gaya and after banding together with several other US tourists, managed to get a very respectable looking SUV to drive us all to Bodhgaya, about 18km away... our final destination tonight.

Unguided Jaipur

Both Osman and I were far more interested in the daily market life, goats wearing sweaters and monkey antics.

My favorite monkey duo… a mother and infant who posed for me for a minute before the mother decided she no longer wanted her baby photographed, and prompted covered its head with her massive monkey paws!

Agra... the two-faced city

As a city, Agra definitely has its problems. Of course there is the usual stuff that goes along with poverty…

Open sewers. Read this as too many people who pee and poop all over the ground, against every wall and into every gutter. And when a public restroom is provided, it gets the same treatment!
No waste and rubbish disposal system. Again, too many people who think it is thoroughly acceptable to throw anything and everything on the street, in the drains, gardens and other public places.
And full-on harassment by those who have little or no other option for feeding their families and see us (tourists, foreigners etc) as having plenty to share. Completely understandable, yet undeniably and unfortunately, barking up the wrong tree too.

It’s a city that is tiring. Over-stimulation and exhaustion quickly results from the daily struggle to understand the language (body language mostly), avoid becoming road kill, and perhaps most surprisingly, to stay warm during the coldest temperatures that most can remember here.

It sounds funny, since obviously Colorado gets way colder and we have just left snow and ice, so we should be feeling kind of balmy at 40-50 degrees. But consider this; In Colorado we have heated homes and we eat inside! Yes, that’s right… no heat here and the one portable heater we managed to con out of our hotel kept blowing the fuse in our room… which has no windows and more than enough other scheduled and unscheduled power cuts. I could say its really hard to dress and get ready in pitch black, but the truth is, with no hot water (which is dependent on the electricity) I’m having trouble finding the motivation to change clothes anyway. Besides, like most things, filth is relative and I’m still doing ok in India!!!
As for the eating outside thing. I have no explanation, except that perhaps in order to capitalize on the stunning view of the Taj Mahal from the top of many of the buildings, or maybe to rise above the smell of street life, many (or all) of the restaurants in our adopted ‘hood were indeed outside or at least were missing vital walls and doors. And I am getting a much better understanding as to why the women mostly cover their heads here. It may have more to do with staying warm than being modest I suspect.

Agra Fort... a place to imprison thy father, after he annoys you, and of course after he has built the Taj too.

This is what a monk looks like when he is impressed with the Agra Fort. (And in all fairness it's also what he looks like at the time he is suffering from in-your-face-cell-phone monk photography!)

So why did we come here? The Taj of course! And despite a foggy start to the day, we had an awe inspiring time wandering the grounds and taking in one of the worlds most breathtaking sights. On top of it all, we both seemed to have cemented ourselves as the “go to photographers” of the Agra sights - as voted by Indian and foreign couples alike. Yay us!

The view from the restaurant atop of our hotel.

What we came to see!

Just so you know… these pics don’t even come close to doing it justice.

The Taj and Us

Mandatory picture... worth the queue for the good spot. And eventually worth the wait for the guy who didn't try to change the settings on our camera!

Suspicion on the Varanasi Express

It strained our “getting it together” skills but we did manage an early morning today and left Agra at around 8am, bound for Delhi. A final road trip with trusty Bilu and his little white Suzuki.

Not much to report except a delicious aloo parantha and chai, roadside, for breakfast. Then a brief stroll through Chandni Chowk (crazy, local textile market) before it was all aboard the sleeper train for Varanasi.

I write from my top bunk! Not a bad way to travel.
Osman and I find ourselves sharing a 4 berth sleeper area with just 1 other person. Mr Grumpy.
I named him that based on his behavior towards a young man who works on the train. He has not been grumpy to me… just a bit leary.

I think Mr Grumpy works for the government… he has some sort of name badge and carries a locked briefcase - chained to his hand. He has obviously dyed his beard - it’s orange. I know! I thought it must have sensitive documents or tons of cash inside too… perhaps the secret codes needed to blow something up or another 5 passports, each with different nationality and name, but the same photo inside?

Alas, from my perch, I was able to get a good look inside when he opened it. It contains only several average items of clothing, a fist full of 10 rupee notes and what looks like toiletries. Bor-ing!

But since I have nothing else to keep me occupied, am all hopped up on sweet, sweet chai and I do have laptop power up here, I decided to treat you with a pic of the briefcase … so you can see I was not exaggerating about the lock-to-wrist thing.

In the words of my brother…Bored much? Yes, just a bit... But then so are you if you are still reading!

Yes, since you noticed; Those are his trousers with belt on top of the case. He left, without them, to go to the bathroom!!!

Goat Designer Wear Update

And what blog post would be complete without my goat apparel report? This one sported 3 layers and actually seemed to be better prepared for the weather than I am! Who would have thought?!

Not only that, but he had a family of servants and was having his meal chopped into bite-sized pieces as we wandered past.Now that's just spoilt!

The Pink City

After a hotel breakfast of aloo parantha, yoghurt and banana and of course, chai, Bilu picked us up. He had a plan already. We had a full day ahead of us, first stop was the local snake charmers!

Then we were off to Amber Fort.
Under a heavy shroud of fog we ascended. Walking alongside colorfully painted elephants I stopped to give one a scratch on the trunk. He swung his left foot lazily, almost coyly as I spoke to him.

Our guide spoke enthusiastically about the fort, its history and place in the area. His name was Rajish and this was his weekend job, while he was a student of tax. The fort was originally the home of the king and his 2 queens… and each queen had her own rooms. One for winter, one for summer and another for the monsoon season. No detail was left undone and the architects had built in primitive, but effective air conditioning systems, places for the queens to watch from - without being seen, and ramps for their wheelchairs. I guess when you are delicate and wear traditional garb weighing in at 14 kg, walking is not always an option!

Then lake palace and cenotaphs.

We ended at the City Palace in the downtown (walled) part of Jaipur. At this point we were both sight-seed out. Our audio guided walking tour became a speed-walking abridged tour as we made tracks to find food outside the palace.

Karol Bagh

Our hotel was located in the neighborhood of Karol Bagh. A lively, colorful community engaged in hard manual labor, enjoying comradeship and cricket, against the backdrop of intense poverty and mind blowing filth!

We wandered aimlessly, enjoying home cooked Indian desserts and the attention of playful children - apparently we were a novelty for the adults too. Not surprisingly, we didn’t see other tourists in this maze of dark alleys and interesting smells. And it seemed all too quickly that we hailed a cycle rickshaw to head back to our hotel for checkout.

We were heading of Delhi to Jaipur. The chaos of this enormous city was overwhelming and the forts and palaces of relatively more peaceful Jaipur were beckoning.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) our flip-flop decision making process didn’t allow for fully booked trains and we found ourselves in a private car with driver Bilu, for the 7 hour journey. Bilu agreed to be with us for the next 4 days as we traveled to Jaipur, then Agra and back to Delhi before heading to Varanasi.
Note: Half the drive time to Jaipur was actually escaping the Delhi traffic. Holy cow! (completely appropriate here.) Im not going to miss the pollution and dust levels that only come with 11 million people jibing for space on roads without lanes , rules or common courtesy.

Up In The Air

Getting there is half the fun, no?

Um, yes and no. I guess it depends where you are going and how you get there! For us, the 15 hours of flying, broken with an Etihad Airlines stop-over in Abu Dhabi, was a mixed bag. The aircrafts were modern, featuring state of the art entertainment systems and really, really good food. The company we kept was … interesting.

Out of JFK I was lucky enough to be seated in front of a woman who thought if I raised the armrest between Osman’s and my seats, putting the seat controller buttons tantalizingly in front of her, it meant I wanted her to use them.
Not so much!
In fact I thought we were making a bee-line for the ocean floor the first time she decided that my seat needed to be bolt upright - as I lay unconscious in it at 3am! The hostess looked mortified as I flew upright and she managed a weak apology on behalf of Ms Inappropriate behind me.



From Abu Dhabi to Delhi I shared a 3 seat row with a pint sized, 150 year old Indian lady with no boundaries, no respect for airline safety procedure and no inkling that I didn’t understand her when she jabbered to me in her language. Once I had safely kicked her out of my seat (and no she didn’t care what her boarding card said) she spent the rest of the flight nudging me for favors.
I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom… as did 10 other people. The line was long but the bathroom conveniently located near my seat! After a 20 minute wait, I finished in the bathroom and headed back to my movie and book. Just after I had reseated myself, put back on the seatbelt, blanket, earbuds, opened my book and restarted the movie, I got a poke to the arm. She had a pointy, wrinkled finger in the air like she had had a brilliant thought…In fact I could almost see the light bulb going off over her head. She motions for me to go stand in the aisle so she can get out and use the bathroom! Osman and I burst out laughing.
But my favorite “old lady moments” were when she screwed with the flight attendants. They would come by and demonstrate again and again, how to do up the seat belt and to stow her (larger than her) handbag under the seat in front of her for landing. Then she would ask me to help her undo the seatbelt and up would come the handbag. I really believe that she thought she was immortal anyway, and given her apparent age, I might have to agree.