This time it was Marcus who decided that he wanted to stay longer, so I set out about 12 hours ahead of him for Varanasi where we would meet up again. Lumbini is very close to the India border but it still took a rickshaw ride and 2 buses before I reached the border and walked across into India. I couldn’t find a direct bus to Varanasi, but I found one to Gorakhpur where I knew I could catch a train the rest of the way.
After the 4 hour bus journey I went to the train station to book the night train to Varanasi and discovered the craziness of Indian bureaucracy. To book the ticket you had to fill in a form, which I filled out to the best of my ability as most of the information only the attendant would know. He handed it back to me in a disinterested way and said “train number?”, “I don’t know?”, he then told me the train number and I wrote it in and handed the form back, he pushed it back, “time and date?”, “what’s available?”, he tells me what time and date is available and I fill it in and push it back to him. This continues 4 or 5 more times and eventually everything is filled in before he tells me that no trains are available today, so I ask him “what about tomorrow?”, he pushes the form back, “nothing available today”, I scribble on the date for the following day and pushed it back, “no sleepers”, I fill in 3rd class and finally we’re there and I have a ticket to Varanasi.
Having been up since 4am I book myself into a hotel close to the train station, unfortunately I hardly managed to get any sleep due to the noisy main road and the noise from the festival going on outside my window. I finally got to sleep sometime in the morning and slept through my alarm, when I woke I checked the time and found that I only had ½ hour to get the train. I quickly got ready, ran to the station and jumped on the train just as it was about to set off on the 7 hour journey. The journey was kind of depressing due to the poverty and squalor that so many Indians have to live in. Out of the train I saw slums surrounded by huge piles of rubbish, sick looking animal eating whatever they can find. At some stops beggars came onto the train including 2 really unpleasant lady boys who aggressively threatened everybody in the carriage for money. I thought somebody had made a mess in the toilet as there was an unbearably bad smell that started about 10 minutes before they reached our carriage and continued 10 minutes after. At one point one of them was going to show me whether they were male or female by lifting up their sari, while his friend shouted while baring his rotten teeth.
When I arrived I got a rickshaw to central Varanasi and even as we went along the street people were trying to sell me things, direct me to overpriced hotels and one even offered me a rickshaw ride even though I was already in one. I checked my e-mails and found that Marcus had already arrived and so headed to the hotel right on the Ganges. The same rickshaw driver dropped me off on the street and pointed me down a maze of alleys. A boy approached me and offered to show me the way, the alleys were narrow and covered in animal excrement, shops and temples were on either side, cows and dogs strolled around, including one very sick looking dog with a badly infected neck from fighting and another that was dead with its legs pointing to the sky. When I reached the hotel I had a vegetarian Daal Baht having decided to become vegetarian in Varanasi because of the condition of the animals, while I ate enjoyed the views over the river.
After the peace and tranquilly of the Korean monastery in Lumbini, Varanasi came as quite a shock, whenever I ventured out of the refuge of the hotel I was hit by the chaos of the surrounding city, while walking around the streets you are constantly getting approached by beggars, people trying tell sell you something, people wanting to give you directions for money, give you a rickshaw ride or pick your pockets. At first I tried to politely decline them all, but in the end discovered that the only option was to ignore them as you just wouldn’t get anywhere otherwise.
That night as part of the Dashain festival there was singing, dancing and huge statues of the Hindu gods were paraded through the crowds and down to the river before being thrown in. The statues were moulded from the mud of the Ganges and brightly painted and decorated and some of the most popular Gods were cheered as they were carried through the crowds.
The following morning Marcus and me went on a boat trip down the river, there was a huge line of boats full of tourists heading down the river passing all the Ghats as the sun rose in the sky. Later we went to the cremation Ghat, we were shown around by what seemed like a really nice knowledgeable guy who showed us how the Ghat was split by caste into low, middle and high. He explained how he was a student and his spare time was spent helping at the refuge attached to the Ghat looking after the old, homeless, sick and poor and asked for a donation for the firewood that would be used for their cremation when they died. He introduced us to “mama” who he said had worked closely with Mother Teresa in Calcutta, who blessed us as we handed over our donations. We decided to go back later as it was still early and the staff were still preparing the fires for the cremations later in the day.
When we got back to the hostel, we discussed the cremation Ghats with several people and one guy said to watch out for the firewood scam. I just couldn’t believe that anybody could use the death of the sick and needy in order to line their own pockets. When we went back later we saw the same guy again as well as others who were spinning the same story that we had heard earlier in the day, almost word for word. Indians from all over the country are cremated in Varanasi and then the ashes and bones are put into the river, it is said to be a direct route to salvation. Some bodies are not cremated in the Ghats’ including children, pregnant women, holy men and people with leprosy.
The next morning I said goodbye to Marcus, his plan was to head north and I had decided to head south to Goa for some relaxation on the beaches. First I went to Mumbai where I would change onto the train to Goa. On the train I met some friendly Indian guys and we discussed everything from Cricket, Australia, Empire, Gandhi, Nero and Pakistan. I also met Raul from Spain who had been travelling around India and Nepal for 7 years having retired from his business at 29. It turned out that he was also going to be on the same train and carriage as me on the second train, so when we got to Mumbai we decided to stick together and he showed me some of the city. We saw the Gothic train station decorated with gargoyles, walked through the prosperous looking street and passed many large cars with chauffeurs waiting for rich businessmen. This was all in stark contrast to the slums that we had passed on the train. Everywhere you looked there were grand colonial buildings as we continued on past the Taj Mahal hotel and on to the Gateway to India.
Still having several hours before the next train we decided to watch an Indian movie at the cinema. It wasn’t typical Bollywood as there was only one scene that evolved singing and dancing. It had more of a feel of a 1970s/80s American cop movie, 2 detectives were investigating corruption in the local police force and there were lots of chases and the police chief shouting at the detectives. Although it wasn’t in English, it was fairly easy to follow. We arrived back at the station just in time for the train to Goa.
The next morning we arrived in Thivim and I said goodbye to Raul who was heading further South and took 2 local buses to Arambol. Arambol was beautiful with white sandy beaches, palm trees, blue seas and little hassle. I enjoyed the rest after 4 months of trains and buses. I met Alexei from Ukraine who managed to sniff out a party, it was before the trance party season had really started so there wasn’t that much going on. After my week of relaxation I headed back to Mumbai where I met up with Marcus again for a few beers before heading off to Australia.
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