Varanasi - Peace and Chaos
For those of you more picture-oriented and who could care less about my rambling writing, there are new pictures to be found in the sidebar link for the photo album (right and down), located in the "Solu Khumbu" folder. Enjoy.
Right now as You read this in your peaceful cubicle, office or from home, perhaps with a nice cup of tea or soothing music in the background, Right now the teeming masses of India are crowding the streets, weaving in and out around each other in a mismatched kaleidoscope of vehicles, stopped, perhaps, buying vegetables, arguing about politics, or they are bathing in the river, washing their clothes. All the while thick, acrid smoke from the motorcycles and cars swirls about them, bits of ashes from the burning bodies on the bank float through the air, cows stand dumbly and chew cuds, and the sounds of horns, bells, prayer horns and more horns fills the air. Right now. And, if not now, then tomorrow, while you sleep.
I always like to stop and think of the busy moments happening around the world, particularly when I am in a peaceful place or mountain top, those people who are in the midst of the hustle of a city. I like the idea of the contrast. Maybe you do too.
The arrival in Varanasi yesterday was simple. The usual hustle at the airport, the crowds of people selling tickets to buses and offering taxis outside. You always know you are at the mercy of the taxi drivers when you arrive, for you know nothing of orientation and need them to link you to the next thing, but some places mercifully have the pre-paid taxi stands so you at least feel like you are somewhat in control. Travel certainly does not seem to be about control, more about letting it flow around you, but a bit of stability, particularly in prices, is nice. I talked with some people last night (Texans, of all folk) who were in Istanbul a few months ago and got driven in circles for a while with the meter running until they figured out they were passing things over and over again.
Arrived in the afternoon and got to my hotel well after dark. The drive from the airport takes well over an hour, particularly with thick traffic. I am pleased to note that there are plenty of horns, motorcycles and rickshaws here. I was worried I was not going to have my daily allotment of them. And the exhaust here is of the best quality, good and thick, full of particulate matter. Mmmmm.
Seriously, Varanasi is a fine city. It is as India is. Yes, there is shit in the street and on the shores of the Ganges, both human and cow, yes, people try to sell you things, many things, yes, you will get run over if you fall asleep on your feet while walking and, yes, you can get lost and most of the signs are in Hindi. But it is beautiful. It is so beautiful. I walked the shores of the Ganges for hours today, along the ghats, the many steps that lead into the river. This is where the people are, this is where the society gathers, this is where people come to die. It is busy, but has a peaceful feel to it at the same time. Laundry dries on the steps while bodies burn nearby, men cut and shave their customers or provide massages, and young children run and fly their kites. The ghats stretch for miles, but they really start at Assi Ghat, where the hotel I am staying in is at, and stretch along the west side of the Ganges for nearly six kilometers. The east side is a silty shore with few structures. Tomorrow I will take a sunrise boat ride, a highlight of a visit to the city, but today it was simply walking.
I received a massage today right on the ghats of the Ganges and thoroughly enjoyed it. It is a common "sales pitch" the barbers (for they also shave beards, cut hair and clip nails as well as massage) employ; they ask you if you want a shave or cut, you say "no," and then they offer to shake your hand, which they do, but then turn it over and begin to massage it. I had walked for over an hour at this point and was sitting on the ghats, looking like a fantastic tourist, reading my travel guide when this fellow "pitched" his sale. I realized I was actually quite sore, as the effects of trekking for a month are still patching up and airplane travel is never a joy for tall people like me, and decided a massage sounded like a hell of an idea. So, there I was, stretched out, face down on a burlap blanket with some puddle of soap scum and toothpaste inches away from my face in the hot, midday sun having this fellow crack almost every joint in my body and massaging the muscles right down to the bone. His technique for cracking the back, a sort of seated assist where he grips you from behind and limbers you up a few times with short swings before the final half-torso twist that sounds like wood breaking, was quite something. The neck-cracking is not for the squeamish, either. Payed a little more than the going rate for an about one hour massage - - 300 Rs, which is about six dollars, versus the "usual" 150 Rs per 45 minutes I saw posted at my hotel (they offer massage and free yoga at 6 am, too!). Good stuff.
A great thali lunch, sort of a "set meal" with many little "samplers" of Indian curries, panners, etc., along with nan (bread) and rice for a few dollars (120 Rs), a little more wandering and then this internet cafe, which has fairly fast service, and my day is almost over.
Tomorrow one of the political parties in India, the VGP, is staging a strike, according to a very chatty fellow I met who wanted to talk about his pending arranged marriage, Bruce Lee movies and love for his fellow man. I'm such a sucker for conversation. Anyways, it will be interesting to see who is actually open tomorrow.
Until next time . . .
Right now as You read this in your peaceful cubicle, office or from home, perhaps with a nice cup of tea or soothing music in the background, Right now the teeming masses of India are crowding the streets, weaving in and out around each other in a mismatched kaleidoscope of vehicles, stopped, perhaps, buying vegetables, arguing about politics, or they are bathing in the river, washing their clothes. All the while thick, acrid smoke from the motorcycles and cars swirls about them, bits of ashes from the burning bodies on the bank float through the air, cows stand dumbly and chew cuds, and the sounds of horns, bells, prayer horns and more horns fills the air. Right now. And, if not now, then tomorrow, while you sleep.
I always like to stop and think of the busy moments happening around the world, particularly when I am in a peaceful place or mountain top, those people who are in the midst of the hustle of a city. I like the idea of the contrast. Maybe you do too.
The arrival in Varanasi yesterday was simple. The usual hustle at the airport, the crowds of people selling tickets to buses and offering taxis outside. You always know you are at the mercy of the taxi drivers when you arrive, for you know nothing of orientation and need them to link you to the next thing, but some places mercifully have the pre-paid taxi stands so you at least feel like you are somewhat in control. Travel certainly does not seem to be about control, more about letting it flow around you, but a bit of stability, particularly in prices, is nice. I talked with some people last night (Texans, of all folk) who were in Istanbul a few months ago and got driven in circles for a while with the meter running until they figured out they were passing things over and over again.
Arrived in the afternoon and got to my hotel well after dark. The drive from the airport takes well over an hour, particularly with thick traffic. I am pleased to note that there are plenty of horns, motorcycles and rickshaws here. I was worried I was not going to have my daily allotment of them. And the exhaust here is of the best quality, good and thick, full of particulate matter. Mmmmm.
Seriously, Varanasi is a fine city. It is as India is. Yes, there is shit in the street and on the shores of the Ganges, both human and cow, yes, people try to sell you things, many things, yes, you will get run over if you fall asleep on your feet while walking and, yes, you can get lost and most of the signs are in Hindi. But it is beautiful. It is so beautiful. I walked the shores of the Ganges for hours today, along the ghats, the many steps that lead into the river. This is where the people are, this is where the society gathers, this is where people come to die. It is busy, but has a peaceful feel to it at the same time. Laundry dries on the steps while bodies burn nearby, men cut and shave their customers or provide massages, and young children run and fly their kites. The ghats stretch for miles, but they really start at Assi Ghat, where the hotel I am staying in is at, and stretch along the west side of the Ganges for nearly six kilometers. The east side is a silty shore with few structures. Tomorrow I will take a sunrise boat ride, a highlight of a visit to the city, but today it was simply walking.
I received a massage today right on the ghats of the Ganges and thoroughly enjoyed it. It is a common "sales pitch" the barbers (for they also shave beards, cut hair and clip nails as well as massage) employ; they ask you if you want a shave or cut, you say "no," and then they offer to shake your hand, which they do, but then turn it over and begin to massage it. I had walked for over an hour at this point and was sitting on the ghats, looking like a fantastic tourist, reading my travel guide when this fellow "pitched" his sale. I realized I was actually quite sore, as the effects of trekking for a month are still patching up and airplane travel is never a joy for tall people like me, and decided a massage sounded like a hell of an idea. So, there I was, stretched out, face down on a burlap blanket with some puddle of soap scum and toothpaste inches away from my face in the hot, midday sun having this fellow crack almost every joint in my body and massaging the muscles right down to the bone. His technique for cracking the back, a sort of seated assist where he grips you from behind and limbers you up a few times with short swings before the final half-torso twist that sounds like wood breaking, was quite something. The neck-cracking is not for the squeamish, either. Payed a little more than the going rate for an about one hour massage - - 300 Rs, which is about six dollars, versus the "usual" 150 Rs per 45 minutes I saw posted at my hotel (they offer massage and free yoga at 6 am, too!). Good stuff.
A great thali lunch, sort of a "set meal" with many little "samplers" of Indian curries, panners, etc., along with nan (bread) and rice for a few dollars (120 Rs), a little more wandering and then this internet cafe, which has fairly fast service, and my day is almost over.
Tomorrow one of the political parties in India, the VGP, is staging a strike, according to a very chatty fellow I met who wanted to talk about his pending arranged marriage, Bruce Lee movies and love for his fellow man. I'm such a sucker for conversation. Anyways, it will be interesting to see who is actually open tomorrow.
Until next time . . .
posted by JAshby at 3:11 AM
1 Comments:
I know you don't know me, but I stumbled upon your page some how. I enjoy it very much and it has quickly become one of my favorites.
You have a very articulate way of expressing yourself. When I read your posts it is almost like being there. Thank you for sharing your adventures and experiences ina very real manner.
Enjoy the rest of your travels, stay safe and all that jazz!
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