Grand Voyages, Great Lies

Oh it feels like Christmas….its, cold, my nose is running and I have a cough. it began when we left Delhi when we all suffered from the pollution. Now its just me in Kathmandu and the cough is accompanied by sneezes.

The night before I planned to leave for Kathmandu Merav had to catch her train to Calcutta in order to board her flight to china the next day. It was the end of an era. We three; Kate Merav and myself had been traveling together for 3months and already Merav has scheduled a trip to England this summer and myself and Kate to Israel next year.

We said our goodbye at the rickshaw then I had the tricky business of finding my way through the dark streets of Varanasi. I got a tad lost but weirdly after trusting my instincts, I found my way back to Shanti guest house. Trusting your instincts in is not a method I’ve found to work in India.

The next day was the first leg of my journey to Kathmandu, tonight we would cross the border into Nepal and sleep in a hostel in the town of Sunali. This was all included in the ticket I had bought- as was the next days journey to Kathmandu. The ticket had promised a deluxe bus – not that I was adverse to traveling on the government buses but i thought two days spent never knowing when the next game of sardines would begin- a bit excessive. Plus the through ticket from Varanasi seemed the only/simplest way to make the journey.

What was promised and what was given was another matter. We were shown to a government bus that was to take us to the Nepali border. For a ticket costing 700ruppes we felt riped off and appealed to our tour guide. After much outrage and lack of options we boarded the bus. The gutting thing was that we could of caught the government bus ourselves and most likely paid less money- we wanted some money back because our fee, we had been told, included a deluxe tourist bus. Trust me theres a difference. instead we rattled up to the border draftily and luckily with thanks to my fellow travelers I slept most of that ride.

The border wasn’t guarded from what I could see, it looked like we could of just crossed anyway, but of course we would need our visa to book into the hostel on the other side. We were ushered through the visa forms all INFormally filled out on a dark table which we stood around and scrabbled for pens. I remember filling out my Indian visa application before the trip and taking great care with it. Here after I assumed I was done, the guard took it from me, scribbled and changed some things, presumably for formalities….. and sent me to the office where the visa was glued into my passport…..done.

This whole process too maximum 20 minutes. I proceeded to the hostel now tired and ill, had some hot thukpa (noodle soup) with my fellow travelers then gratefully fell asleep… I had double bed to myself as although the hostel/building site, wanted us to share beds thankfully several others kicked up a fuss as I was too tired.

There was actually no one else staying in the half built hostel so there would have been no problem giving us a room each….however this would mean a extra floor or two to sweep in the morning. A lot of the time I think some of the men that run such businesses just want to see how far they can push you. As a tourist they can tell you that this is how its done in our country or a shared bed is all your money gets you…but you can bet that the hostel wouldn’t of expected a group of Indian strangers, men and women, to share the same room.

The next day the 2^nd promised deluxe bus to Kathmandu….was also a government bus. This is India. (T.I.I.) Though I doubt a deluxe bus would of made any difference to the winding bumpy roads…or in fact the beautiful views. It would take 12 hrs to cover the distance to Kathmandu and it was a relatively short distance to the amount we could of covered in India in the same time. Each mountain had to be wound round, twisting through the valleys, following the M shaped path round the base of the mountains. The views were something so new to me. Yet again I was breath taken by what I saw. Green but rocky wooded hills provided the back drop for the turquoise ribbon that snaked the valley, the light green blue water gushed into rapids at the places where the white sand river bank turned in to stones and chalky rocks. Another image I will try and capture and bring home. Though 12hrs of such a view still allowed time for sleep and rest of this invalid.

Me and the only remaining traveler with me from Varanasi fell victim once again to a hotel tout on the bus….I didn’t feel so defeated this time however as I was planning to look round for a good place to settle after one nights decent sleep. Plus the tout gave us a free ride from the bus stop to the hotel pretty much in the center of town. We won.

I went walking round early the next morning looking for a better/cheaper hotel where I could set up camp for a week or so. Some of the rooms I saw might as well have been prison cells, they were as cold as too. The temperature up here reminded me of an English winter except in the day the strong sun heated up the air.

I moved my bags to my nice warmer room nearer the center of thamel. It was complete with wardrobe and my own hot shower…I was splashing out, literally. it would be more expensive now that i was traveling alone and couldnt’t share a room. I rested that day and ventured out feeling a little better in the evening. Thamel the tourist district of Kathmandu has everything. Plenty of ATM’s, Irish bars, English fish and chips (in some restaurants) street vended momo’s and supermarkets stocking everything from Hershey’s chocolate to Wrigley’s chewing gum.

The city is lively, though I am bearing in mind I am staying in the thamel district. Apart form the guest houses, hotels and restaurants, the bazaars were lined with; trekking shops, book shops, vast map shops and adventure tour operators, splashed with a few jewelery shops selling amber and turquoise pendents as big as the street vendors oranges. Plus the Tibetan and Nepali Yak wool and handicrafts, this was my dream town.

The map shops vast and fascinating made me vow to find the perfect map of nepal to add to my collection. The bookshops were well stocked and agonizingly had many large coffee table books with huge panoramas of the Himalaya and the national parks of Nepal. Portraits of Newari women stared at me from the tribal culture section next to the books full of rhymes and folklore.

The trekking shops filled with some authentic some fake items of north face and Salamon hiking gear, I took pleasure in spotting the fakes from the real items. This is what working in blacks does to you (amongst other things).

In the evenings music shops blared their CD players, while men on the streets pushed tiger balm and more subtly hash on tourists. The amusing thing is the hash sellers looked dodgey and would whisper ‘smoke’ to you as you passed, it didn’t matter whether you were in earshot of the police or not, the approach and the get up was always the same…dodgey puffer jacket and baseball cap… as almost if those guys either felt it was part of their job to dress up like that and act suspiciously…or they got kicks from acting like drug pushers from the east end of London. in reality I learn’t form some Europeans,that they were selling hay. Highly amusing.

Now the music scene is thriving in Kathmandu…. the bands playing in restaurants and bars with their groupies sat at the front tables painfully reminded me of watching local bands back home….even more painfully these bands of young Nepali guys where playing songs from the 80s that I often danced to in our hideous favorite clubs…i concluded Kathmandu was out to make me nostalgic and homesick with its music and its Christmas trees. The bands were good fun though and to add more insult to injury many menus at bars listed hot rum punch and/or mulled wine!…..it would only disappoint, nothing would beat the mugs of mulled wine on the German markets back home. From that 1^st cup of overly lemony, weak, red, luke warm wine, served in a wine glass no less I decided from there on in to avoid anything that tried to compete with the festive season back home…in other words…I became a scrooge.

After a day or so of resting trying unsuccessfully to improve my health, frequenting cafes and drinking thukpa I was to hear some local news. At the German bakery one morning I learn’t that for the next three days all businesses would be closed and there would be no buses in our out of the city! This ‘strike’ was enforced by the Maoists who from my shaky knowledge had marched on Kathmandu and claimed it only days before, now they were enforcing strikes to make people aware of their aims for peace…..or something along those lines….I’d best find a book that explains it all to me as all I ever learn’t in history was medieval crop rotations.

So the city would be on lock down for the next 3days….brilliant. I was in a hip hop song. It would force me to rest at least and get over my spectacular cold. I had hot water, a heater for tea and soup, my laptop, books and a t.v. to keep me occupied. I stocked up on some comfort food and was prepared for the worst. Luckily the worse didnt happen… aware they could make a killing by being the only ones open many restaurants and shops opened up in the evenings- after all people had to eat…

The guy at the hotel had told me…’ shops might open in the evenings, some restaurants, bar,cafe, but if a Maoist see them open day or night, they get rocks and throw at the the windows’ A brief Google search told me they’d been several strikes lately and their was an official warning for US citizens in Kathmandu to stay away from large crowds ect. a look out my window however told me that people were pretty much just going about as they usualLY would. the streets were a mix of tourists and locals visiting the odd shops of street vendor that took the risk to open up. I would learn later on their had been more violence in Pokhara.

A walk out of the tourist district and around more or the shops and cafes visited by local people, were open, making me aware that many shop owners weren’t afraid of opening though many had there shutters only half open or partially closed, in order I presumed for a hasty closure should trouble arise.

Tragically that day I got half way up to the monkey temple before I forced myself to go back to bed coughing…I went out that evening and replaced the herbal cough mixture the pharmacy had given me with a chemical ‘stronger’ one, on which it said under dosage….prescribed by doctor only….well this has got too b good I thought.

I had quickly had to regain my wits whilst shopping for shoes and clothes in Kathmandu as one pashmina was offered to me at 1,200, then as I walked away 700 and as I continued…ok, ok 500 or you name the price….the were out to rip me off for more money then the Indians. Or so it seemed.

Now my dilema would come…..I had around 3 weeks in Nepal and therefore would have to formulate a vauge plan of where i would spend my time ..the 3 days of strike were set…of course all I could do was walk round the city, the small bits which weren’t closed were poised to play dead at any sign of trouble….a roof top cafe – the tallest in Thamel I might add, provided wonderful photo opportunities of the high rising higgledy piggledy witchy looking flat roofed houses…if I hadn’t been coughing and snivelling so much I would have loved to sped and hour or so there with a sketch pad.

After India I don’t know how on earth I will kick the habit of putting sugar in everything. I presumed the first unsweetened coffee i was served in Nepal was a one off…but no, as well as the 15 minutes time difference the Nepalese differ from the Indians in the way they drink their hot beverages…even mas ala tea cam unsweetened…Nepali style

Of the cafes and bars, there were many gorgeous little finds with low dark wooden table intricately carved and surround with adorned pillows. Large tree trunk tables and smooth jazz or Moby…playing in the back ground. At night most were candle lit to ensure there would be light if the electricity cut out..which was custom around 7pm. It was all awfully cosy, friendly, romantic and festive. I met up with the American who had came from Varanasi on a few occasions, he had watched me sample the hot rum punch and mulled wine with disappointment while he sipped hot Everest whiskey and we watched bands.

I ate some beef… simply because I could, and then remembered I didn’t really like the taste. We eyed the stylish preformers and giggled at the one or two head banging friends. We got street side momo’s that could possibly of been yak meat…I mean there was yaks wool everywhere the meat had to go somewhere right? At this one momo stall a drunk/drugged nepali guy was given no attention as he proclaimed i was a prostitute and shouted abuse at me. Insultingly he told my American friend he would give him 30ruppes for me….just 25pence….

The drama didn’t end their that night as when I returned safely to my guest house the Nepali guy who worked there came and talked to me about applying for a visa for England….and if we went to his village and ‘got marriage’ … only on paper he added, it would be easy for for him to ‘get visa’….I explained to him that even if he did get a visa for England he would be able to live there as it would cost him nearly 600 rupees just for a 20min bus ride to town and back. ‘OHMYGOD!’ he exclaimed and made me type the number on a calculate to make sure he had understood me right.

On one of my ill days I thought I had slept off the worst (little did I know the worst was still to come) so I decided to venture the short distance through Thamel to ‘The Garden of Dreams’. It had intrigued me when I’d first opened the Nepal Lonely Planet and although it wasn’t listed a MUST do I definitely had to visit. It was a bit pricey to get in at 160ruppees, but it was defiantly as the guide had said. A paradise in the middle of a busy city.

Built by a Dutch man many years ago there was only a quarter left of the green colonial gardens. Neat and prim with native and foreign plants, plenty of peaceful little pavilions and private corners….I avoided the couples and found my own little nook to sit down and take in the greenery. Droplets from trickling copper fountains sparkled, glistened and disappeared in to basins like diamonds never to be found again and saffron coloured flowers sprinkled the vines creeping the side of the restored mansion that encased the jeweled garden. The vast lawns that were unseen else where in the city were as foreign as the silence only interrupted by occasional truck horns from the other side of the wall. Quiet cafes at either ends of the garden offered over priced coffee and lassi’s and high terraces provided a panoramic view, aswell as even more benches on which lovers hid. It almost had me thinking…if i had a wedding…..but then I actually laughed out loud at the thought…..it was a beautiful place though, juxtaposing what was on the other side of the walls.

From the garden of dreams I decided to take a taxi to the monkey temple…after my failed attempted to get there a couple of days ago I knew that although feeling better, I still wasn’t up to the journey. Besides I could always walk back. Aha I was kidding myself as the walk up the steep steps to the hill top temple nearly killed me….but it was worth it. It took me nearly 15min to climb the steps, stopping to take pictures and to cough a little. The views were magnificent. Tibetan prayer flags crisscrossed above my path and a pleasant amount of monkeys ran free over the stupas and statutes. Edging up the steps I caught new views of Kathmandu through the trees getting to the top I paid 200 rupees to walk the final ten steps to the temple. This was turning out to an expensive day.

The golden covered temple stood a-top the hill surrounded by alters and prayer wheels which worshipers spun as they walked round. I can’t remember if I was imagining it or there was actually peaceful pipe and drum music mixing from several sources around the temple and viewing areas of the Kathmandu valley. The platform on the hilltop was like another little town with shops and cafes offering yet more opportunists for visitors to spend their money. I spent an hour taking pictures and wandering round feeling very at peace. Mesmerized by the processions of fearless monkeys and the colours of new and faded prayer flags, some which bridged far across to another building on the neighboring hilltop.

I taxied back to Thamel that day, tired and coughing and my purse a lot lighter but feeling that I had achieved something..unfortunately it was not health and inner peace.

Wary of rickshaw drivers and there drive from commission we took a pre-paid rickshaw (though they still tried to get us to their hotel) the tiny streets surround the ghats on the side of the river Ganga didn’t along for rickshaws so at the main road I left Merav with out the baggage while i followed one of the drivers through the alley ways to check out a guest house. it was about a 10mintue walk…and i couldn’t help thinking how clever they were to split us up…now we were easier victims…haha no such luck – fresh from the crowds of Delhi we had both been itching to punch the next guy that tried to touch us and make scene.

The back streets were unlike anything I had scene in India so far- as I have said before each place is so different yet more beautiful. When I look back at my photos however I find myself reminded of how immensely beautiful previous places have been and am unable to compare the past and the current. The best thing is not to try. The alley so small and dark were still awash with people and tiny cupboard like shops, squeezing in a vague clearing of buildings was a vegetable market, adding more colour the the painted but peeling buildings and drawing my attention from the cow shit every half meter.

We weren’t heading in a straight line…nor even an Indian straight. We seemed to be turning corners every few seconds weaving deeper and deeper in although some times my orientation told me we must be turning back on ourselves. We reached the large Guest House and I went to see the room the receptionist had told me was free. I understood why he didn’t accompany me as I trasped up the four steep flights and past many guests (he obviously wasn’t desperate to sell us the room at the cheap price I had requested.

Satisfied I mazed back through the ally which would have been impossible without my guide. when I reached the rickshaw after noting that Merav hadn’t been abducted, whispered to her….’Ive just seen my first dead body’. Varanassi is the holy place by the Ganges that Hindus come to die. its a great wish by all to be cremated here then remains to be thrown into the great holy river. As I had been trying to familiarizing myself with the alleys on my way back to the luggage there had been a lot of drumming and noise- a procession led by a shrouded body tied to a wooden stretcher was headed our way. The body adorned in orange cloths and flowers looked almost like it was trying to escape as the men supporting the stretcher strode at different levels on the warped cobble streets.

we were staying near the main marakirna ghat. One of the main burning ghats in Varanasi. bodies are burnt here all day everyday and a holy flame, the flame of Shiva is kept burning through the night. it has been burning for 3000 years continuously. each funeral pire is lit from the holy Shiva flame. we made our way down to the ghat which cant be seen even from higher roof tops due to the close accumulation of buildings adopting a guide on the way who led us to the unmarked house from which non Hindus were allowed to view the holy flames and cremations. I hadn’t known what to expect as respectfully no pictures are allowed, so no one had ever showed me the amazing scene that was played out below me. around 10 large fires burned brightly and we felt the heat on out cheecks two floors up in a building 20ft away.

This building was actually a hospice the dweller told us and other western viewers. The dying would come here in their final days, to spend their final days/hours next to the river and ensure a cremation within 24hours of their soul leaving the body. Down below he pointed out a body shrouded in red cloth almost lost within the blazing grip of one pire- the body of a women we were told, men we could see were shrouded in white. the elder sons would shave their hair and beards before the body was carried through the streets to the ghat the representative of the hospice told us. The sons preformed the important parts of the ceremony by bathing in the river to purify them selfs, they would carry the fire of Shiva to light their parents pire and sprinkle the fire with powdered incense. they would wait 3hours for the body to fully burn then extinguish the fire with water from the river, the lass cup throwing over their shoulder then walking away without looking back.

The remains of the dead would be fished from the ashes, the strongest parts of the body would not burn fully, the hips of women and the chest of a man, these would be thrown into the river. sometimes flaming ashes are sprinkled into the river aswell. not every death is treated the same. The Brahman caste had a separate burning area higher above the river so their bodies are not touched by others flames. Holy men who are pure are thrown into the river without burning with a rock tied to their feet. Children who are also pure get the same treatment as do pregnant women. Strangely I find that if you are lucky enough to be killed by a snake bite you receive a holy death too and join the holy men and children in being thrown whole into the Ganga. Im told this is because a snake is the necklace worn by the god Shiva and so death by snake gives you right to a holier death.

The burning bodies didn’t smell. Bodies waiting to be doused in the water then place upon the piers of flames were laid somewhat unceremoniously on the steps till their fire was ready. All in all it was an amazing accumulation of ceremony taking place. No sadness just repect and smiles, even joking looked to be permitted at we saw smirks and laughs. We were asked for a donation and gladly gave what we could afford for the purchase of wood for poorer familes…it seemed not to be enough however as we were asked for more….they almost didnt take what we offered them.

We ventured round the streets finding all manner of things you could find in a town in India and lost ourselves within the allies finding our way back to the guest house where come morning monkeys would gallop across the congregated tin roof of the roof top cafe.

The next morning I rose around 6am and climbed to the roof top to find a magical sight, in the dark light I could make out the movement of a flame at the rivers edges, the light dancing its way round the angles of the building, the wind flickering the flame through the gaps to my eyes. Then on the water a boat of onlookers passed burning what must have been burning ashes floating on top of the water. The remains of a human. I watched the tiny pin lights till they disappeared. Eerie

Determined not to get lost in the maze of alleys again the next day we took notice of shop names and signs marking our way….we walked down the length of the ghats in the opposite direction from our guest house. The colours of Varanasi, alike with so many other places in Asia were predominantly saffron orange and red, but the sparkle of the saris wre different from the thicker multicolored mirrored dressed we had seen in Rajasthan and in turn different again from the paler floral patterns in the south.

Another body crossed our path, this time an old woman, we were able to tell as this bodies face was uncovered as it was carried through the streets.

The alley ways were just a smaller version of the moving streets of Bangalore, thought each one of these was akin to a secret corridor- if you didn’t take the right turn in on direction there was no getting back on track later on with out turning back…it was like there was only one route to each shop/square/place even though if it straddled several alleyways. We should have left a trail of red cotton behind us as it took us an hour to find the bakery we had ear marked for lunch- logically on 15mins walk away…but this is India.

That night a  river boat ride awaited. I dosed up on a pot of chai to make up for the little sleep I had last night and the potenial of another late one. My last night with Merav before he goes to china and I wouldnt see her till the summer.

The boat trip was at dusk which was eerie to say the least. I should add that this is also the foggy time of year in Varanasi due to the cold….and this, was a particularly foggy day. The boat trip we were to take was offered free by our guest house, so we assumed we wouldn’t be the only guest on the boat,…we were wrong. We had the boat and the driver to ourselves.

We started on the ghat just one further then the main burning ghat – Manikanika and our guide rowed us past the bathing men and the floating plastic and towards the flames of the funeral pires. We could feel the heat of the flames again as we sailed slowly past through the ashes and soot that lay in the water….a mixture of burnt wood and flesh. Safforn coloured flowers and red/orange drift in among the ashes.

The ride reminded me of some sort of dark pirate film or of the river of souls in the underworld guarded by Hedes…plus some other myths and legends which featured dark rivers of dead,,,as this was the thing we found strange, remains of hundreds were beneath us and around us in the water, we were floating on the dead. But to all th Indian people this is a way of life, no sadness or remorse is shown in the streets when a bodies passes, just respect, then the people get on with their lives, just as the sons of the dead would when they extinguished the fire with water over their backs and never look back.

Well after a fairly cozy but long night (13hrs meant to be 10) which had required ... [Continue reading this entry]