Bodies burning, Ghats and all night Nepalese taxis… the adventure continues!

Brandy and I had to spend a few days in the sprawling city of Chennai on a train waiting list for the biweekly train to Varanasi. The trip to one of the holiest cities in India was to be our longest train journey yet: 40+ hours, if only we could get on the train. Chennai is a city of over 10 million people and like so many other Indian cities it is built out rather than up. It sprawls over a huge, dirty, chaotic area full of people, animals, autos and all the pollution that those three can produce. India has a population of over 1 billion and there are many cities with populations in the millions that most of us have never heard of. We find these large cities the most difficult to navigate, trying on our patience, and we always look forward to moving on.

We got on our train in a small open compartment made for six people but it would swell to up to ten people many times a day. Each new group would stare with googly eyes at Brandy and flash the famous 1000 watt Indian smile. This would be followed by “Where do you come from?” which is followed by a very polite conversation and the presentation of their email addresses. It truly is part of the magic of India… the first ten times… before noon! After that it can get a bit tiring.

While I’m on the subject of Indian character, let me explain another: the Indian head wobble. Please do not confuse this with a nod (yes) or a shake (no). This wobble is very similar to a bobble head doll that you see adorning many young Canadians’ dash boards. The motion, which varies by region, is always as if the head is on a pendulum. On the west coast it is a figure eight motion while the east coast is a bell tolling motion. This is a multiple response motion, yes, no, maybe is all covered. This observation may be new to most but well known to Dr. S. Koch, the infamous Indianologist.

Back to the train. After Egypt I have not been able to eat train food so I purchased bread and peanut butter… this is what we ate for two days. We were both glad when we hit Varanasi. Varanasi lies upon the Ganges River, known to Indians as “Mother Ganga” and the holiest water in all of India. Our hotel was right on the river in the maze of tangled alleys which make up the old city and is home to the famous Ganga Ghats. These are staired entrances to Ganga where the religious faithful bathe in the “pure” waters every day. Pure = some of the most septic water in the world. The pollution is so great that the water contains no oxygen. Old and sick men and women come to Varanasi to die and some are shipped here after death. They are then ritually burned at one of the two burning ghats and then set into the Ganga. Children, pregnant women, holy people and animals are pure and do not have to be purified by fire and are just set afloat in the river. This city has 1.2 million residents and their raw sewage is also set afloat directly into the river. We visited one of the burning ghats and saw several first sons set their parents funeral pyre aflame, as is tradition. It was as sad as you could imagine. We then turned to the bathing ghats to see the joy of the faithful as they immersed themselves in the Ganga.

At night we hired a rowing boat and guide to witness Hindu priests’ nightly homage to Ganga. Bells, chanting, rhythmically synchronized urns of fire all by firelight. It was amazing. We purchased flowered prayer candles for our families the Vincents, Brooks’ and Hughes’ and set them afloat down Mother Ganga for good luck. The candles on the water, the fire on the shore and an electrical storm on the rise made for a perfect end to a surreal day.

The next morning we were back in the boat to watch the sun rise and row up the river to the palace museum. The magnificence of the past was imaginable with its detailed buildings, exhibits of golden royal elephant saddles and great rooms. The hilarious parts were the royal automobiles with broken lights, fenders rusted and rotten interiors; royal costumes that moths had eaten until they fell off the mannequins and lay on the floor; the armory with a “Big Gun” and beside it a “Bigger Gun” were identified with brass plates. The one I liked the best was a huge display case with a set of 1970’s Dunlop golf clubs with a “Royal Clubs” name plate.

We wandered the alleys of Varanasi where revered cows roam the alleys, homes and streets at will. When you have cows you have cow pies and the hop scotch of every step was comical. I vowed to get through Varanasi cow pie free. Luck was with us and we made it out clean.

We took a 6 ½ hour wooden seat passenger train that left Varanasi at 5 am and barely made it to Gurakpur in time to catch a dilapidated bus to the Nepali border. This was made possible by Brandy’s challenge to a tout to be honest and tell us where the government bus station was instead of trying to get us on his private bus. They stared at each other for a few moments and as I expected he was crushed under her stare and told us the truth. It was so funny, as I knew the pressure of that stare personally. Like me, he could not take it either.

We cleared Indian and Nepali immigration with ease and ran smack into three crazy Israelis. We found we were all heading to the trekking centre of Pokhara and because of cost and time constraints we agreed to share a jeep for the seven hour drive from the border. Normally such a cost would be prohibitive but with the Israeli reputation for bartering, we did not blink and eye when they volunteered to organize a jeep. After 30 minutes they returned with a weeping Nepali jeep owner. The cost was about $9 CAD each - we had been quoted at least four times that. So five (there were two girls waiting in the wings) Israelis and two Canadians started off into the mountains of Nepal.

Due to ongoing Maoist violence, the road near Pokhara is gated at 9pm and we did not leave the border until about 5:00. We started up a beautiful green cliff river valley. The road was a narrow twisting black ribbon with a history of wash outs evident. We were halted behind a bus and transport truck accident that blocked the entire road. This was more of a source of local entertainment than hardship. Our travel mates answer to the delay was an impromptu flute, guitar and song fest. The stranded locals watched in wonder. Once the accident was cleared we passed several villages with military check points which our friends and driver talked our way through. We hit a large imposing and locked unmanned gate around 11:30pm. Our driver’s answer to this was to hunker down in his seat and fall fast asleep. We looked around the immediate area but there did not seem to be a soul that could help us through this gate. We were very noisy in our search and of course the flute and guitar were ever in action. What a show we must have been. Eventually we followed our driver’s example and got into some sort of sleeping space. Two people on the roof, one on the ground and four plus driver in the truck. The moon and stars were amazing as there is no light pollution or air pollution for that matter. In a short time, one, then two, then many soldiers materialized out of the dark with grim faces questioning us and then having to slap our drivers across the head to wake him up to find out what our little circus was doing on the road. I grabbed the brochure of our destination hotel and spoke to the man with a radio asking if he or anyone else could open the gate. He confirmed he could open it but not until 4:00am. This created a ruckus among us that again elevated the noise on this little outpost to an uncomfortable level for these soldiers and after further radio conversations the leader said he would open the gate and let us pass. We all shook his hand jumped in the jeep and starting singing “Hit the road Jack and don’t you come back”. We were loud enough to wake up the Maoists two valleys over and these government soldiers just wanted us away from them.

Our next job was to keep our tired driver awake and again the crazy Israelis kept the songs pouring out at high volume. After two more road checks we finally reached Pohkara, Nepal. It was an exhilarating experience that can only be created through spontaneity and we thank our new friends David, Maya, Daffi, Yogi and Oren. We never did figure out our driver’s name.

KLH

Photos:
Varanasi's Burning Ghat
Bathing Ghat
Varanasi from the Water
Us on our Boat
A Day at the Ghats
A Candle for Good Luck
Cows in the Streets
Truck/Bus Accident
Sleeping in the Jeep

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