From Varanasi to Sarnath

We woke up before sunrise to catch the Ganges before it wakes up, but apparently it doesn't sleep.

Dozens of boats full of tourists soon filled the river's edge.

To take pictures of the pilgrims taking their early morning dip.

One minute it was dark, and the next minute the horizon was misty grey.

And as each boat emptied its contents back into the ghats, the (fake) saddhus descended upon the tourists to ask for alms in exchange for pictures.

And once the sun came out, life more or less went back to normal.

This time we walked to the north of the river, where again we walked unwittingly into a cremation. A man came up to us, shouting we shouldn't take pictures even though we didn't take any. He said we were in big trouble and asked for a "donation."

So Henri told the man to scram, then the man got angry and said we were taking pictures of the bodies and shouted that we were bad. He was making such a ruckus that I told Henri we should walk away, but Henri shouted back at the guy until the little cockroach said he would bamboo us. WTF. Henri said, "Go ahead!" Then the little cockroach took a bottle that washed ashore, still full of Ganges water, and aimed at Henri!

I catched it and asked for the help of other Indians around. They said something to him and he left. We found him ready to annoy a group of tourists on the other side so I pushed him hard, he became crazy, must be on drugs and I pushed him a few times before an Indian told him to leave. This guy, working here in respect, told me the other guy is crazy and taking money from tourists for drugs. I told him I was shocked they would let such an insect stay around such a holy place.

I needed to stay here for a while, such an impressive and emotional place. I didn't want this b*stard to spoil the moment. Seeing burning bodies is something really deep and intense. The other guy said "forget about him, he is nothing", and he is right. What a emotion there! Then Marj and I kept on walking, watching people washing in the river.

Now, to treat a cremation as if it were the Taj Mahal is insulting to the grieving family and I don't know why anyone would want to make money out of turning death into a show - but that's just me.

My heel was hurting very badly more and more since I fell from the tree in Khajuraho. We tried to go in the little streets up but turned around for 20-30 minutes to end up in the same ghat!

It was very interesting to walk along the small streets of Varanasi, it seems like it hasn't changed in hundreds of years. I'm sure if I had a time machine, it would have looked exactly the same in the age of rajahs. Because we were still in Diwali week, the houses were freshly painted a very bright shade of blue and looked all cute and clean - except they weren't. There were cow pies every few inches, sometimes human poop, the stench of urine assaulted the senses from all sides, and garbage lay forgotten on every street.

At some point, we stumbled upon an area full of military men. We heard there were soldiers guarding the Golden Temple against terrorists, but nothing prepared me for the crush of humanity pushing at the gates. We could hardly get through, and I was surprised that those who pushed hardest were the chunky women!

A soldier pulled me out of the crowd, and once we got out I saw a guy talking to Henri (I think he was a postcard seller). The guy said Henri was right to do what he did in the burning ghats - news travels fast here! Eventually, we escaped the bottleneck at the temple and arrived at Brown Bread Bakery...

Where Henri got the buffet breakfast and I got a salami sammich! SALAMEEEEHHH!

The food is highly recommended, and they have Italian cheese duplicated in the Himalayas and Auroville in India. Great to have some good food! And they support a women's coop and a school for needy kids too, so it was money very, very well spent!

The next morning, we had an early breakfast at Jyoti Cafe and bought clothes at a shop recommended by Emilie, a French girl we met at the guest house. She gave us a magic word that could get us a discount, and it worked! Henri got a new kurta and I bought a sweater in case we make it to Darjeeling. I got to bargain it down from 500 to 300. Then we rushed back to pack our stuff and get out of Varanasi.

Getting a rickshaw out of the backpacker's area was a ginormous headache. The rickshaw drivers all asked two to three times the amount they would ask of Indians. Eventually, we got a cycle rickshaw who asked for double the price, but since he worked hard we gave him a ten rupee tip --- but he asked for more once he dropped us off. I felt sorry for him, but ENOUGH WITH THE DRAMA! Just work hard like the rest of the population, man!

At the train station, we took tickets for the train to Gaya three days in advance. It took a long time because the man at the counter didn't have change and he took 30 minutes to get back. We were still lucky though, because the power died after we got our tickets. And from here, we took a prepaid rickshaw to Sarnath - but that didn't stop the driver from asking for a big tip, although we were offering him ten rupees. Why the h*ll are they so insulted by ten rupees?

Sprucing up like it was Christmas!

But what's important is we got to Sarnath - the place where the Buddha gave his first sermon. We had a bit of trouble getting shelter because we arrived at the beginning of the big buddhist conference; and buddhists from all around the world had just landed along with us. We found a room at the Jain Paying guest house, where we were warned not to kill the mosquitoes for religious reasons. Ouch :(

We were quite lucky that the guest house was just within striking distance of the main sights, so we got to see a bit of everything before it got dark. And right now, it gets dark at 5 o'clock!

The Sri Lankans spilling out of the temple.

Henri pulled me to this spot next to the light and said "stand here!" So I grabbed the marigolds and acted ditzy.

But we were tired and it got dark very quickly, so we got dinner from the guest house and chatted with an oxford scholar who translates sanskrit and tibetan texts, and a canadian social worker who was traveling on her own.

Varanasi Days 1 and 2

We took the night train from Khajuraho at 11pm. It was very cold in the train all night, and a group of Japanese tourists were chatting loudly in the morning so we woke up earlier than needed.

Henri reenacts his reaction to the noisy tourists.

There was also a dude with a stick who banged on the bunk behind me at 5 or 6 am, shouting. The conversation went like this:

Man With Stick: Where are you from!?

Tourist: Korea.

Man With Stick: Do you have a travel problem?

Tourist: No???

Then the man with the stick walked away WITHOUT EXPLANATION. India had just redefined rude awakenings for me.

We were supposed to arrive at 11:20 am but we got off the train at 2pm. Arghhh!

After struggling with rickshaw drivers, which was stranger than a Twilight Zone episode, we eventually got to the guest house which was surrounded by monkeys. Some of them started getting violent and chased me and Henri off the rooftop. My scream brought out the guest house manager and the french couple staying next door. I kept flashing back to the Czech girl we met in Agra who said, "monkeys are not your friend!" I don't think I'd never been more frightened since I arrived in this country; not even when I was "attacked" by a cow!

Autumn has definitely arrived, it was only 5:30 and the sun had already set. We took a short walk from behind the guest house, which led to Pandahey Ghat, which in turn was just five to ten minutes away from the Main Ghat. We saw some people seated on the steps, so we picked a spot to sit too. Others had started lighting candles to release onto the river.

Soon after, a show had begun on the ghats and tourists came on boats to watch the fiery offering ceremony.

The next morning, we decided to explore the southern ghats, but not before having some breakfast at Mona Lisa Café, a backpacking institution here in Varanasi. Just in front was this resto-guest house, which proudly advertised why they are different from other places:

The concept of cleanliness seems to have escaped the minds of most people here, wading through trash and merde daily. Restaurants have a legendary reputation for making tourists sick; some of them will try to convince you they are more clean -- when it's obvious they are not. A case of self-delusion?

We happened upon a cremation and it was a shocking sight. I didn't want to see one, but it was unavoidable, I guess, even though I looked away as soon as I realized what I had walked in on. There were three bodies in the fire and one unlit body on top of a pyre that looked like it was sleeping. It was a powerful and unforgettable sight.

No, we did not take pictures of that, but we snapped a lot of other things. This time, there were no costumes and ritual fire dances, but it still felt like we were watching a movie set on the Ganges -- no, better yet, we felt like we were IN a movie. Life along the Ganges is bizarre but vibrant, eccentric but exciting, stinky AND sticky.

I'm pretty proud of Henri's journalistic shot of a cow peeing.

There was a big flooding here a few months back, and these guys are still trying to wash the 18-foot high wall of river waste that had hardened over the ghats.

We tried to avoid the black burak but some people are just not as lucky...

And because of that, Henri found his excuse to wash himself clean of his sins on the River Ganges.

This is just the top of the wall of mud, it continues below. This is what we tried to skip over.

While some continued on their routine of washing clothes, taking baths, washing the buffalos, brushing teeth...

Along the way we saw a few temple ruins, and a cricket game.

Sometimes, there is really no way to cross to the ghats so we would take the little medieval streets of Varanasi.

That same night, there was a Diwali show at the second main ghat (I know it doesn't make sense, but...) and foreigners had a special section. Some locals tried to sit in our tiny area but the guard sometimes sneaks behind them and slaps them on the back of the head.

But I think we were brought there as human sacrifice for the bugs - they turned us into a buffet!