Entering India again proved to be a fraught experience – several encounters at the border with officious little so-and-so’s, who have been given a small amount of power and let it go to their head. Three hours of sitting around various stifling hot offices eventually ended up with all paperwork complete, and we were free and clear back into India.
The road from the border to Varanasi is notoriously bad, and with over 300km to cover and a three hour delay at the border, it was an extremely stressful drive. We arrived in Varanasi well after dark, having dodged an endless stream of alternately suicidal and homicidal drivers (they all drive the same, the difference is based on the size of their vehicle – on bicycles and scooters, they’re suicidal. In buses and trucks they wouldn’t die, they’d just kill you, and they’re fine with that). We didn’t stop for a single photo.
In the morning, refreshed from a good night’s sleep, we wandered into the old quarter of the city, near the sacred Ganges River, through the tiny alleyways.
A very realistic claim for an Indian restaurant. Not “clean”, just “less dirty”.
As we approached the river, we caught sight of a Baba, one of the Hindu mystics, who was performing as a snake charmer. The King Cobra he had in the basket was very definitely alive and quite pissed off, but did appear to have been de-fanged.
On reaching the river front, we descended along one of the ghats, the stone staircases that lead into the river. There are over 90 different ghats in Varanasi, each with a different history and purpose. The shore is also littered with temples, shrines, hotels, apartments and schools, built up over the top of each other, like over-eager schoolchildren trying to peer into the river.
Diving back into the cityscape, the crowds and noise of India has an almost physical impact – it’s a constant assault on the senses. The incessant honking of horns, in particular, seems to be an innate part of driving – even when there is no apparent reason for honking, they’ll do it just for the sheer joy of piercing other people’s eardrums.
Rickshaws are a common way to get around, both pedal and motor-powered. This poor bloke had to try and haul my heavy frame around for a little while – we tipped generously.
The doors in the city are a constant source of interest – even if the building is completely run down and derelict, the door will have an interesting design or painting.
Late in the afternoon, we took a group tour from the hostel to re-explore the ghats in detail, with explanations from a local guide. The easiest and best way to get an overview of the complete extent of the riverfront is by boat.
Some of the ghats are for bathing or washing – believed to wash away the sins of devout Hindus. Personally, considering the pollution levels, the lack of sanitation or sewers in the city, and the other activities that occur nearby on other ghats, I wouldn’t be bathing!
One ghat is forbidden for people to bathe there (it’s said that if a couple bathes there, they will soon get a divorce) – so the cows and buffalo use it.
Some ghats were empty, some were very popular.
The other common activity on certain ghats is the ceremonial cremation of bodies. In Hindu belief, dying in Varanasi releases you from the cycle of death and rebirth, leading straight to nirvana. By being cremated here, your soul will ascend straight to heaven. Photos are only allowed from a distance, out of respect.
One of the temples on the riverbank wasn’t built with solid foundations, and has started sinking.
Each night, just after sunset, some of the ghats hold an “Agni Pooja” (worship to fire) ceremony, with Brahmin (the highest caste) performing the ritual. Still in the boat, we clustered close to the ghat along with hundreds of Indian pilgrims and other tourists to watch.
All the pilgrims (and some of the tourists too!) place small paper bowls filled with flowers and candles into the river, as an offering.
Our time in the holy city was short, but it was an amazing part of Indian culture and history.
