It's New Year's Eve as I write this, or rather more accurately it's about 5:00 in the morning on New Year's Eve, and I'm sitting on a train waiting to go to Delhi. We've been in India for 13 days now and I still haven't decided whether I like it or not. I'd better make up my mind as we leave next week...
Walking through the filthy, dusty streets of Varanasi, in which we arrived last week, I started making a mental note of my likes and dislikes about the country to try and put things into perspective. However, while avoiding the rivers of human piss, trying not not step in piles of rotting cow shit or puddles of betel stained gob, the list was growing rapidly on the dislikes side. I gave up on that as it was making me even more depressed so I decided from then on that I was going to focus on the positives rather than the negatives.
We were in Varanasi, or Varanasty as Rich re-Christened it, for four days which was more than enough. In fact two days were plenty as it's a fairly claustrophobic city and holds little of interest other than the numerous ghats that line the Ganges river. A Ghat is a stoned step-way leading down to the water's edge that is used for a particular purpose such as bathing, laundry or cremation and each of them along the Ganges is uniquely named and varying in style. We walked along the banks of the river taking in the views when we came across the cremations area. A bloke invited us up to watch and asked us not to take photos which was fair enough. As I stood there it occurred to me just how matter of fact these deeply personal and emotional ceremonies were being carried out. An image that will probably stay with me forever is seeing a bloke pushing a half burned body back into the flames while goats wandered around the funeral pyres munching on ceremonial garlands of chrysanthemums. It was all quite surreal and to be honest made me feel pretty melancholy.
It was an education though and very interesting. Apparently it's not that unusual to be shampooing your hair or washing your smalls downstream from all this and for body parts to drift gently by as the cremated remains are placed into the Ganges regardless of whether they are completely reduced to ashes or not. Fortunately we weren't witness to that.
Along the way we encountered numerous little kids who would spend hours flying their makeshift kites in the gentle air currents. It was lovely to see something so simple giving them so much pleasure. I bet they didn't spend Christmas Day opening hundreds of pounds worth of electronic entertainment only to be bored with it by Boxing Day. Some of the kids tried selling us little candle votives to send floating down the river; apparently our karma would have been healed if we'd bought one. I wasn't sure that mine needed healing just yet so I left it.
The traffic in Varanasi was hideous, as it is in most Indian cities and I've come to the conclusion that pedestrians are the lowest in the pecking order of all traffic. It doesn't matter how clearly you make yourself seen, all vehicles will just hurtle towards you as if you are completely invisible. There are rarely any pavements to seek sanctuary on and even when they do exist they are just regarded as nice bits to ride motorbikes or auto-rickshaws on. I've lost a few pounds in weight since reaching India and I'm sure it's due to my increased adrenaline levels.
For Christmas Eve and Christmas Day we booked into the top hotel in Varanasi. It was pure heaven sleeping in a soft bed in a clean, quiet room and we didn't leave the room other than for dinner on Christmas Eve and to complain about the Internet connection packing up. The bathroom had a bewildering array of products and I was determined to use them all to get my monies worth. I bathed my skin in Indian berry bubblebath, I moisturised with rose scented cream, I shampooed with apple flavoured shampoo and dried my bum on soft, white, fluffy towels. I smelt like an exotic fruit salad afterwards but didn't care as I was properly clean for the first time in ages. How can such small pleasures make such a big difference?
Our Christmas dinner consisted of a packet of curry flavoured Nik-Naks, some processed cheese and a few Ritz style crackers. We didn't want much else after our massive dinner the previous evening plus we're on a budget you know... We spent most of the day watching Christmas telly on the Star Movies channel which was a Godsend, but there's only so much Tim Allen you can take for one day so we stopped at The Santa Clause III.
Boxing day came and we were on a train again. This time we headed for Lucknow and checked into an hotel near to the station. It was run by a complete zombie who's expression or position didn't change in two days, no matter what time of day. He also had this creepy knack of having our room key in his hand behind his back each time we returned to the hotel. He would hand it over with a sinister glint in his eye and a slight twitch of his moustache.
The sights in Lucknow were as disappointing as everywhere else; years of neglect, peeling paint, crumbling walls and pigeon crap everywhere. I really don't understand where all the money goes as they get hundreds of visitors, each paying a small fee to enter, or a large fee if you're a foreign tourist (often 20 times what the locals pay). Somebody somewhere is making a lot of money out of doing very little and it's intensely irritating to pay so much to see so little. The most annoying thing is watching so many staff sitting around doing nothing or just idly chatting amongst themselves.
While at one of the mosques, we sat down for a rest after several hours walking and this family came up and asked for a picture. I assumed she meant of them, as I've done so many times before, but then she positioned her son and daughter either side of me and snapped away on her phone's camera. She then shooed her daughter out of the way and took another photo. As she started to walk off I asked her if I could see the picture and she'd completely zoomed in on me, cutting off her son's head. I pointed this out to her and she just shrugged and giggled to her friend as they returned to the rest of their family. The daughter looked ever so disappointed at being excluded. I guess that's just another of the photo albums around the world that I'll star in!
Two days was plenty in Lucknow and we had another train to catch, this time to Amritsar. We got to the station and it was complete and utter chaos. None of the electronic information boards worked, as usual, and half of the speakers belching out confusing and garbled information had blown. We went to the advertised platform but there was no sign of the train well past its due time so we went looking for some information. I ran across to the 'information' counter to join the huge, surging crowd of others that were in front if it. No queue of course, just pandemonium. Like everyone else I tried pushing and elbowing my way to the front to ask about our train. There, behind his screen of iron bars and Perspex, sat a fat bloke chewing a pen, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair and barely bringing himself to give a toss. I was furious but powerless to do anything about it. If that was back home the bloke would have been lynched, I'm sure.
Eventually, a local family asked us where we were going and gave us the information we were after. It turns out they were going the same way and were even in the same carriage. It was a stroke of luck so we latched onto them while trying to ignore the various misshapen beggars that were demanding money from us. After a while, the father came up to us and asked us if one of us would swap our lower bunk with his wife's top bunk as she supposedly had a slipped disc and couldn't climb up. A last minute platform alteration showed us just how disabled she wasn't as she legged it up the footbridge laden with luggage. We said we'd think about it and let them know. When the train eventually came they managed to secure what they wanted without us having to swap by having a quiet word with the carriage attendant. Presumably some sort of financial encouragement was involved as that seems to be the way to get whatever you want here. So, with the family out of the way, we ended up sharing our little area of the carriage with some insects, a mouse, a travelling underwear salesman that snored a lot and two old Seikhs that spent the journey farting and belching. Presumably they were on a high-fibre vegetarian diet. Twenty one hours later, due to fog apparently, we arrived in Amritsar. After checking into The Grand Hotel, which wasn't grand at all, we took a car to go and see the border with Pakistan. Every evening at sundown they have a ceremony at the gates where the two country's flags are lowered as part of an elaborate ritual that involves much parading and puffing of chests by soldiers on both sides. It's a curious mixture of bravado, jingoism, feirce patriotism, shouting and cheering with a small dollop of restraint. It's a good show though.
After that we were driven to the Golden Temple which is a massive Siekh built structure, covered in gold and surrounded by a sacred lake. It was stunningly beautiful at night as it was all lit up. It was worth the horrendous train journey for that alone. We visited it the next day as well to see it in the daylight. There's an amazing feeling of calm in the whole area as religious men chant readings from the holy book and people queue silently to get inside the temple and make their offerings and prayers. I loved it there and the people were all so friendly. It was one of the few places where kids would speak to you without asking for anything and we could walk around without being stared at constantly. This was the best place that I think I've seen so far in India and yet we were not asked for a single rupee in return. The place was spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained and hassle free yet all of this was done on voluntary donations. It speaks volumes.
We spent last night in a great restaurant called, rather exotically, Crystal Restaurant. We'd been there earlier in the day to look at a menu to see if was worth the walk in the evening and it was a little confusing as there were two restaurants with the same name, one upstairs and one down. As we approached the doors, both of them sprang to life and competed with each other to get us in. It turns out that the original one downstairs was so popular that somebody else opened one upstairs with the same name hoping to cash in on its neighbour's success. Bloody cheek! Of course, we went to the original and the food was superb. It was one of the few places that I ate a meal at and didn't have to think about asking the hotel for spare toilet rolls when we got back.
Well, Delhi is next on the agenda and this train is a delight. We've got proper seats, a clean carriage, tea and coffee and breakfast is being served as I write this. Rich just said "If only all of Indian Railways was like this" and I couldn't agree more.
We're still running two hours late though, despite leaving on time.
Walking through the filthy, dusty streets of Varanasi, in which we arrived last week, I started making a mental note of my likes and dislikes about the country to try and put things into perspective. However, while avoiding the rivers of human piss, trying not not step in piles of rotting cow shit or puddles of betel stained gob, the list was growing rapidly on the dislikes side. I gave up on that as it was making me even more depressed so I decided from then on that I was going to focus on the positives rather than the negatives.
We were in Varanasi, or Varanasty as Rich re-Christened it, for four days which was more than enough. In fact two days were plenty as it's a fairly claustrophobic city and holds little of interest other than the numerous ghats that line the Ganges river. A Ghat is a stoned step-way leading down to the water's edge that is used for a particular purpose such as bathing, laundry or cremation and each of them along the Ganges is uniquely named and varying in style. We walked along the banks of the river taking in the views when we came across the cremations area. A bloke invited us up to watch and asked us not to take photos which was fair enough. As I stood there it occurred to me just how matter of fact these deeply personal and emotional ceremonies were being carried out. An image that will probably stay with me forever is seeing a bloke pushing a half burned body back into the flames while goats wandered around the funeral pyres munching on ceremonial garlands of chrysanthemums. It was all quite surreal and to be honest made me feel pretty melancholy.
It was an education though and very interesting. Apparently it's not that unusual to be shampooing your hair or washing your smalls downstream from all this and for body parts to drift gently by as the cremated remains are placed into the Ganges regardless of whether they are completely reduced to ashes or not. Fortunately we weren't witness to that.
Along the way we encountered numerous little kids who would spend hours flying their makeshift kites in the gentle air currents. It was lovely to see something so simple giving them so much pleasure. I bet they didn't spend Christmas Day opening hundreds of pounds worth of electronic entertainment only to be bored with it by Boxing Day. Some of the kids tried selling us little candle votives to send floating down the river; apparently our karma would have been healed if we'd bought one. I wasn't sure that mine needed healing just yet so I left it.
The traffic in Varanasi was hideous, as it is in most Indian cities and I've come to the conclusion that pedestrians are the lowest in the pecking order of all traffic. It doesn't matter how clearly you make yourself seen, all vehicles will just hurtle towards you as if you are completely invisible. There are rarely any pavements to seek sanctuary on and even when they do exist they are just regarded as nice bits to ride motorbikes or auto-rickshaws on. I've lost a few pounds in weight since reaching India and I'm sure it's due to my increased adrenaline levels.
For Christmas Eve and Christmas Day we booked into the top hotel in Varanasi. It was pure heaven sleeping in a soft bed in a clean, quiet room and we didn't leave the room other than for dinner on Christmas Eve and to complain about the Internet connection packing up. The bathroom had a bewildering array of products and I was determined to use them all to get my monies worth. I bathed my skin in Indian berry bubblebath, I moisturised with rose scented cream, I shampooed with apple flavoured shampoo and dried my bum on soft, white, fluffy towels. I smelt like an exotic fruit salad afterwards but didn't care as I was properly clean for the first time in ages. How can such small pleasures make such a big difference?
Our Christmas dinner consisted of a packet of curry flavoured Nik-Naks, some processed cheese and a few Ritz style crackers. We didn't want much else after our massive dinner the previous evening plus we're on a budget you know... We spent most of the day watching Christmas telly on the Star Movies channel which was a Godsend, but there's only so much Tim Allen you can take for one day so we stopped at The Santa Clause III.
Boxing day came and we were on a train again. This time we headed for Lucknow and checked into an hotel near to the station. It was run by a complete zombie who's expression or position didn't change in two days, no matter what time of day. He also had this creepy knack of having our room key in his hand behind his back each time we returned to the hotel. He would hand it over with a sinister glint in his eye and a slight twitch of his moustache.
The sights in Lucknow were as disappointing as everywhere else; years of neglect, peeling paint, crumbling walls and pigeon crap everywhere. I really don't understand where all the money goes as they get hundreds of visitors, each paying a small fee to enter, or a large fee if you're a foreign tourist (often 20 times what the locals pay). Somebody somewhere is making a lot of money out of doing very little and it's intensely irritating to pay so much to see so little. The most annoying thing is watching so many staff sitting around doing nothing or just idly chatting amongst themselves.
While at one of the mosques, we sat down for a rest after several hours walking and this family came up and asked for a picture. I assumed she meant of them, as I've done so many times before, but then she positioned her son and daughter either side of me and snapped away on her phone's camera. She then shooed her daughter out of the way and took another photo. As she started to walk off I asked her if I could see the picture and she'd completely zoomed in on me, cutting off her son's head. I pointed this out to her and she just shrugged and giggled to her friend as they returned to the rest of their family. The daughter looked ever so disappointed at being excluded. I guess that's just another of the photo albums around the world that I'll star in!
Two days was plenty in Lucknow and we had another train to catch, this time to Amritsar. We got to the station and it was complete and utter chaos. None of the electronic information boards worked, as usual, and half of the speakers belching out confusing and garbled information had blown. We went to the advertised platform but there was no sign of the train well past its due time so we went looking for some information. I ran across to the 'information' counter to join the huge, surging crowd of others that were in front if it. No queue of course, just pandemonium. Like everyone else I tried pushing and elbowing my way to the front to ask about our train. There, behind his screen of iron bars and Perspex, sat a fat bloke chewing a pen, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair and barely bringing himself to give a toss. I was furious but powerless to do anything about it. If that was back home the bloke would have been lynched, I'm sure.
Eventually, a local family asked us where we were going and gave us the information we were after. It turns out they were going the same way and were even in the same carriage. It was a stroke of luck so we latched onto them while trying to ignore the various misshapen beggars that were demanding money from us. After a while, the father came up to us and asked us if one of us would swap our lower bunk with his wife's top bunk as she supposedly had a slipped disc and couldn't climb up. A last minute platform alteration showed us just how disabled she wasn't as she legged it up the footbridge laden with luggage. We said we'd think about it and let them know. When the train eventually came they managed to secure what they wanted without us having to swap by having a quiet word with the carriage attendant. Presumably some sort of financial encouragement was involved as that seems to be the way to get whatever you want here. So, with the family out of the way, we ended up sharing our little area of the carriage with some insects, a mouse, a travelling underwear salesman that snored a lot and two old Seikhs that spent the journey farting and belching. Presumably they were on a high-fibre vegetarian diet. Twenty one hours later, due to fog apparently, we arrived in Amritsar. After checking into The Grand Hotel, which wasn't grand at all, we took a car to go and see the border with Pakistan. Every evening at sundown they have a ceremony at the gates where the two country's flags are lowered as part of an elaborate ritual that involves much parading and puffing of chests by soldiers on both sides. It's a curious mixture of bravado, jingoism, feirce patriotism, shouting and cheering with a small dollop of restraint. It's a good show though.
After that we were driven to the Golden Temple which is a massive Siekh built structure, covered in gold and surrounded by a sacred lake. It was stunningly beautiful at night as it was all lit up. It was worth the horrendous train journey for that alone. We visited it the next day as well to see it in the daylight. There's an amazing feeling of calm in the whole area as religious men chant readings from the holy book and people queue silently to get inside the temple and make their offerings and prayers. I loved it there and the people were all so friendly. It was one of the few places where kids would speak to you without asking for anything and we could walk around without being stared at constantly. This was the best place that I think I've seen so far in India and yet we were not asked for a single rupee in return. The place was spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained and hassle free yet all of this was done on voluntary donations. It speaks volumes.
We spent last night in a great restaurant called, rather exotically, Crystal Restaurant. We'd been there earlier in the day to look at a menu to see if was worth the walk in the evening and it was a little confusing as there were two restaurants with the same name, one upstairs and one down. As we approached the doors, both of them sprang to life and competed with each other to get us in. It turns out that the original one downstairs was so popular that somebody else opened one upstairs with the same name hoping to cash in on its neighbour's success. Bloody cheek! Of course, we went to the original and the food was superb. It was one of the few places that I ate a meal at and didn't have to think about asking the hotel for spare toilet rolls when we got back.
Well, Delhi is next on the agenda and this train is a delight. We've got proper seats, a clean carriage, tea and coffee and breakfast is being served as I write this. Rich just said "If only all of Indian Railways was like this" and I couldn't agree more.
We're still running two hours late though, despite leaving on time.
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