Varanasi, varanasi. Oh where do I start describing thee?
Let's pick our point of arrival: the train station. One is greeted by waves after waves of touts and scammers that follow one all the way to the main street, which harbours indescribable... traffic. No, India has reinvented the notion of traffic. Let's call it post-traffic.
Having survived that, it is then an arduous journey to the old city and the Ghats.
Not really the best first-impression.
But soon one forgets the traffic (assuming one sticks to the old city and doesn't step out to the main street), and the magic of the city springs to life in front of one's own eyes. It is difficult to believe that this place is real. It really belongs more in a myth - which incidentally it does. And yet, not only does it exist, but you can visit it!
Beneres, as the city was called (and still is by the locals), is built entirely on the west-bank of the holy Ganges river. The city's riverbank is almost completely covered with Ghats, steps (and attached buildings) that lead down to the river. The city is entirely built to accommodate the religious life which revolves around the ghats.
People go on pilgrimages to this city to pay respect to the Great Mother (the Ganges). They pray to, bathe in, shit in, wash in, and get their corpses burnt and thrown in this river.
Taking a boat at dawn, one can watch life as humanity pours down the ghats onto the river to do all sorts of things. A lot of them take ritual baths. There is always someone burning a corpse at the Burning Ghats. Some holy (and not-so holy) men go out to do morning puja (devotion).
The ghats themselves are always lively, with people walking around all day under the watchful eyes of the many gods depicted throughout. They make for convenient walkways as an alternative to what's behind the ghats.
If one were to climb the ghats, one eventually ends up in one of the innumerable alleyways that make up the labyrinth that is the Old City. The narrow, cobblestone paths can hardly fit two people walking side-by-side, and so one is tucked away safely from the post-traffic happening outside. But, like elsewhere in India, there is never a shortage of humans doing all sorts of things. One may try to openly sell you hash. Another will try to convince you to buy silk, and yet another will try to take you on his rickshaw. And then there is the very rare student who simply wants to talk to foreigners.
But it doesn't stop at humans. Rats, mice, cats, dogs, monkeys, and cows (especially the latter) take whatever space not taken by humans. No matter what you do, you simply cannot go to varanasi and not step into a pile of cow poo, I was told. And in a puddle of cow poo I stepped, trying (in utter futility) to find my way back to the guesthouse...
That said, sans monkey as cows (and open sewage), this city has a LOT in common with Aleppo or Bethlehem or Jerusalem - just what I love.
Some of the people in these narrow back-alleys offer to read your palm. It was there where I let myself get scammed big-time. I seem to have been mesmerized to pay an embarrassingly large sum of money (which shall remain a secret) to a certain Guru Ji to read my palm.
His opening lines were as follows: "Dear Sir, your heart line says that you are VERY passionate, but definitely NOT homosexual. Am I right, or am I wrong?"
He proceeded to tell me that I am trying to do something real bad, and that travelling will not help me do it. He suggested I stay a week in Varanasi to do it, then tried to convince me to do that at his Ashram (and of course pay inordinate sums).
Needless to say, I never went back to Guru Ji.
One thing of value that I DID take from Guru Ji was a mantra he claimed would help me - "Om Namah Shivae".
It was in the streets and alleyways of the old city that Lord Shiva winked at me, starting a process of baptism-by-fire, as a friend called it later. Somewhere in the northern end, there is a Drug Store with a Swastika in front of it. I stopped by to feed my Tramadol addiction. For some reason, I decided to ask if they had any Ketamine.
To my utter shock, the answer was Yes...
(To be continued)
Let's pick our point of arrival: the train station. One is greeted by waves after waves of touts and scammers that follow one all the way to the main street, which harbours indescribable... traffic. No, India has reinvented the notion of traffic. Let's call it post-traffic.
Having survived that, it is then an arduous journey to the old city and the Ghats.
Not really the best first-impression.
But soon one forgets the traffic (assuming one sticks to the old city and doesn't step out to the main street), and the magic of the city springs to life in front of one's own eyes. It is difficult to believe that this place is real. It really belongs more in a myth - which incidentally it does. And yet, not only does it exist, but you can visit it!
Beneres, as the city was called (and still is by the locals), is built entirely on the west-bank of the holy Ganges river. The city's riverbank is almost completely covered with Ghats, steps (and attached buildings) that lead down to the river. The city is entirely built to accommodate the religious life which revolves around the ghats.
People go on pilgrimages to this city to pay respect to the Great Mother (the Ganges). They pray to, bathe in, shit in, wash in, and get their corpses burnt and thrown in this river.
Taking a boat at dawn, one can watch life as humanity pours down the ghats onto the river to do all sorts of things. A lot of them take ritual baths. There is always someone burning a corpse at the Burning Ghats. Some holy (and not-so holy) men go out to do morning puja (devotion).
The ghats themselves are always lively, with people walking around all day under the watchful eyes of the many gods depicted throughout. They make for convenient walkways as an alternative to what's behind the ghats.
If one were to climb the ghats, one eventually ends up in one of the innumerable alleyways that make up the labyrinth that is the Old City. The narrow, cobblestone paths can hardly fit two people walking side-by-side, and so one is tucked away safely from the post-traffic happening outside. But, like elsewhere in India, there is never a shortage of humans doing all sorts of things. One may try to openly sell you hash. Another will try to convince you to buy silk, and yet another will try to take you on his rickshaw. And then there is the very rare student who simply wants to talk to foreigners.
But it doesn't stop at humans. Rats, mice, cats, dogs, monkeys, and cows (especially the latter) take whatever space not taken by humans. No matter what you do, you simply cannot go to varanasi and not step into a pile of cow poo, I was told. And in a puddle of cow poo I stepped, trying (in utter futility) to find my way back to the guesthouse...
That said, sans monkey as cows (and open sewage), this city has a LOT in common with Aleppo or Bethlehem or Jerusalem - just what I love.
Some of the people in these narrow back-alleys offer to read your palm. It was there where I let myself get scammed big-time. I seem to have been mesmerized to pay an embarrassingly large sum of money (which shall remain a secret) to a certain Guru Ji to read my palm.
His opening lines were as follows: "Dear Sir, your heart line says that you are VERY passionate, but definitely NOT homosexual. Am I right, or am I wrong?"
He proceeded to tell me that I am trying to do something real bad, and that travelling will not help me do it. He suggested I stay a week in Varanasi to do it, then tried to convince me to do that at his Ashram (and of course pay inordinate sums).
Needless to say, I never went back to Guru Ji.
One thing of value that I DID take from Guru Ji was a mantra he claimed would help me - "Om Namah Shivae".
It was in the streets and alleyways of the old city that Lord Shiva winked at me, starting a process of baptism-by-fire, as a friend called it later. Somewhere in the northern end, there is a Drug Store with a Swastika in front of it. I stopped by to feed my Tramadol addiction. For some reason, I decided to ask if they had any Ketamine.
To my utter shock, the answer was Yes...
(To be continued)
