Varanasi (5 nights)

I should begin where I left off in the previous blog, which was arriving at the train station in Gaya. My train was scheduled to arrive at 14.55, but when I entered the foyer and looked at the display I said aloud, 'this must be a mistake'. Another traveller saw what I was looking at said 'Oh my God!'. We made separate enquiries as to the truth of the matter and were disheartened to find that the time of 00.30 was correct!

Bodhgaya was an hour bumpy rickshaw ride away, so me, Amri, and his girlfriend Rain, decided to stick it out at the station. We sat outside until the sun set and we could bear the cold no more. It turns out that India can get quite cold at night in winter (who would have thought it?). Then we ventured into the 2nd class waiting room, a large and mostly empty space with benches around the perimeter. As the hours passed the room gradually filled with people, most of whom were just coming in from the cold streets to sleep. Our game of cards quickly grew us a crowd and Amri found himself immersed in somewhat awkward conversation with a curious local. Slowly the clock ticked. Very slowly for me, as I was still suffering from an unhappy tummy. I will leave the state of the station toilets to your imagination!

Midnight came and went, 1 o'clock came and went....eventually the train arrived at 02.00 a good 11 hours after it should have. We separated to find our respective beds and re-grouped on the platform at Varanasi at 06.15! I had managed a couple of hours of sleep at least. We shared a rickshaw toward the river and got as close as we thought we could to where we wanted to stay. There had been a terrorist bomb attack in the city only a month and a half earlier and the rickshaws were not allowed access to the whole city anymore.

We ambled into Varanasi's maze of tiny backstreets and after a little exploration came across our guesthouse. It was a seven storey building with a cracking view from the rooftop restaurant (though the food was rubbish). The rooms were like cells, small boxes with sheet metal doors that locked with a padlock. Mine was about big enough to squeeze in a bed and my bag and little else. The bathroom was reasonably clean, though it became clear later that hot water was a most rare commodity. It was cheap, it would do.

Before I go on, I should describe a little about Varanasi itself. The city is squashed up against the banks of India's most holy river, the Ganges. Stretched along the river side are a serious of Ghats, terraced stone platforms stepped down into the river. It is here that the Hindu people of India flock to bathe, to offer prayer, or to cremate their dead. To die in Varanasi releases ones soul from the cycle of rebirth, so elderly Indians come here to perish. I spent the majority of the rest of my time wandering along thes ghats, taking in the ever changing sights and smells, including those of burning human flesh, of course. Funeral parties parade through the alleyways down to the river, carrying their deceased loved ones on a bamboo stretcher, wrapped in bright gold cloth, chanting as they go. The corpe is doused in the river water then set upon a pile of wood that has been purchased in just the right quantity for the occasion. The higher classes, or 'castes', get to go higher up the banks, and can afford to buy better woods, the best being sandlewood.

In addition to exploring on foot, I also took an early morning and evening boat trip, which gave further excellent views of the riverside. Furthermore, I made an excursion to Sarnath one day with the Indonesians, Amri and Rain. This is another of the four main Buddhist pilgrimage sites, where the Dali Lama himself had been just days before. It is where Buddha gave his first sermon after achieving his enlightenment at Bodhgaya. It has some nicely excavated monastery ruins and a nice little museum.

The ghats, in fact the whole city, is a real attack on the senses. The tiny back streets are full of cows, goats, their waste, and piles of litter, alongside little shops selling clothes, sweets, tea etc etc. I was often glad to escape the madness by retreating to the rooftop veranda to relax. I met a few other people up there, including an English Indian called Sam (constantly getting mistaken for a native), and two Canadians called Laura and Trevor. Together we shared a rickshaw to the train station, we were catching the same train, but to different destinations.