12 December in Orchha and overnight train to Varanasi arriving 13 December
Breakfast at the hotel cost 200 rups or $3. We had to have our bags packed by 10 am to be out of the hotel. We all piled into tuk tuks and visited the the Maya school for underprivileged children which was established by a German woman in 2005. There are grades 1 through to 4 in the three rooms. The school provides basic education, school uniforms and food for
some 80 children. The web address is: http://www.magicinmaya.com/ . We took gifts of bananas, note pads, rubbers and pencils.
The classes were all doing exams when we arrived but just before we left, out streamed the grades 1, 2 and 3. The children, in lines, were asked to recite things for us. Most of them recited two poems.
Hey, Johnny Johnny
Yes, Papa
Eating sugar
No, papa
Telling lies
No papa,
Open your mouth,
Ha, Ha, Ha.
Mumma dear, papa dear, I love you
See your child is dancing
Just for you.
These children tried so hard. One little boy in year 2 counted to a hundred. He didn't stop for a breath, but instead kept talking as he breathed in. I can remember doing that and I felt so smart when I got to the end, as did he.
Buffet lunch back at the hotel and after, we sat around a bit. I had an Imodium to stop what had just started since I suspected the toilets on the train would not be salubrious. Steve went walking with his camera and found himself with Janelle, right in the middle of a wedding. They were asked to dance and then had their photo taken with the married couple. Wish I'd been a fly on the wall.
Steve and I walked with Chantelle to see the sunset again and then had a look at the market stalls. I bought a cut lapis lazuli and some malachite for $3 and $1.50. Chantelle had an unfortunate experience on the bridge. I had noticed that she was nervous of all animals so it had to be her that the monkey noticed. I was ahead on the bridge and taking photos of the monkeys when suddenly one shot through obviously with a plan in mind. I didn't see it but Steve was beside Chantelle when the monkey went for her plastic bag. She let out a piercing scream. Fortunately a "money saint" was nearby because he'd been trying to entice some baksheesh out of them, so he took charge and discouraged the monkey. Polite amusement all round but a bad dream for Chantelle.
We left for Jhansi train station at 8:30 pm for a 45 minute drive after which we dutifully tipped the driver and his assistant and lugged our bags to the station. When we entered the station there was a line of people already asleep along the wall in the entrance. They were packed like sardines. There were more on the platform. It was distressing to see but then a young girl started begging for money and touching our handbags. She may have been on something or maybe just hungry as she was shaking badly. Our guide finally took her to a drink stand and bought her some food and a drink.
Back to the station. As we walked onto the platform I was sure I saw an army tank driving down the tracks. Later someone else said they had seen it also. What with the homeless, the beggars, the copulating dogs and the general melee, I thought I may have been seeing things. We women waited in the women's waiting room. My stomach was still on the queasy side and it did a major lurch every time a door at the back of the room opened with the accompanying whiff of drains. "Welcome to India" as CP says often.
The train left at 10:15 pm - on time. The sleeper carriage had three bunks on each side and two on one end with the passageway going in between. There was a curtain for privacy. Sheets, a blanket and a pillow were provided. I scored the bed on the bottom at the end of the carriage so just inside the door through which all toilet-goers went. This meant a shaft of bright light hit me each time the door opened and it seemed to be a permanent thing. I tried my head tube over my eyes to block the light but it wasn't comfortable so I eventually abandoned the idea. To boot, I was lying half on my handbag with my small backpack behind my head, and a water bottle and snack bag beside me. Cramped was the word. Then it started. There was a snorer through the wall from Steve who made the whole boudoir shake; there were sleep talkers and a bad dream was had by a man on the bunk to my right. I couldn't hang on any more so I took it in turns with Steve to go to the loo at 4:45 am (so we could mind the luggage) and had just settled back when my neighbours got up, packed up the middle bunk and started talking right at my level and in my ear. Just for a change, Steve didn't notice. I opened one eye and looked at them a couple of times but their story was so engrossing they didn't miss a beat. My bonus was that a chai-walla asked if I wanted a cup of chai so I sat on the just-disembarked neighbour's bunk and enjoyed it, however small. A minor disaster struck again though when I was eating the dry biscuits we had bought the night before. A minute piece stuck somewhere in the vicinity of my tonsils and, off I went in a coughing fit, going bluer by the minute, while all around me slept heavily. I did survive as you can tell.
From the window I could see: a very heavy fog, cow dung drying, adobe and brick farm houses, well-fed animals in the compounds, chaff cutters lying idle, neat cultivated fields, saris draped on roofs to dry, several pairs of "poo-buddies" squatting on the railway tracks and in the fields, passing trains that we constantly waited for, etc.
Now, Steve was up. The chaiwalla returned and this time we were served chai in disposable terracotta mini-cups about 2.5 cm high, which were chucked on the floor under a bunk when we returned them to the walla.
So we had arrived in Varanasi. It was 12:15 - our train was nearly two hours late. We had been told the hotel was just across the road, so I was mightily puzzled when we carried our bags up and over the line and then down again to a car park where a bus was waiting. The bus had been parked-in during the wait so the fun was not over yet. No-one gave way, the bus backed up until the assistant banged on the boot, then forward, then back; trying to do a three point turn, on 25 cm at a time. Eventually after about half an hour we were driving just around the block to the hotel. "Welcome to India" again.
The Hotel City Inn gave the impression of a pricey hotel with an expectation of a level of service, but you can't judge a book by its cover. The restaurant service was painfully slow although there were more than enough workers standing around. Some of us waited more than an hour for a cup of chai and even the bills took about half an hour. We all had been drooling over the thought of a hot shower BUT there was no hot water.
After a one hour rest we were in rickshaws heading to the Ghats - 4 pm. Sunset was at 5 pm. A boat was waiting for us and two rowers slowly and quietly rowed us along the whole length of the Ghats in one direction and then the other to the point where the cremations take place. All the time the light was becoming more and more dim. We lit a candle, floated it on the Ganges and made a wish. Then we stayed for a prayer with six sadhus all performing the same ritual movements to the chanting devotional music - the Ganga Aarti ceremony. Boats assembled in front of the platform and they just kept coming. There were boat boys running across from boat to boat in the dark. Once the ceremony began, a silence fell over the boats although nothing can stop the cameras from recording the memories and aren't we so lucky to have them. It takes your breath away to be in the presence of such deep spirituality.
Whilst I know it is impossible to get 100% inside an unfamiliar culture, I felt absorbed by it and part of the ceremony (not so much like a tourist in other words). And so the daily rituals of life and death are played out in public and yet it is so private. A must do and see experience, when visiting Varanasi.
If you want my advice, dear reader, don't be without a head tube when you travel. My head tube was used for: a scarf, a mask to stop breathing pollution, a head cover, a hair band, an eye cover for bright lights in trains and planes, a cover for electronics and camera to keep the dust out, and the list goes on. Feel free to add to this, head tube aficionados.
The classes were all doing exams when we arrived but just before we left, out streamed the grades 1, 2 and 3. The children, in lines, were asked to recite things for us. Most of them recited two poems.
Hey, Johnny Johnny
Yes, Papa
Eating sugar
No, papa
Telling lies
No papa,
Open your mouth,
Ha, Ha, Ha.
Mumma dear, papa dear, I love you
See your child is dancing
Just for you.
These children tried so hard. One little boy in year 2 counted to a hundred. He didn't stop for a breath, but instead kept talking as he breathed in. I can remember doing that and I felt so smart when I got to the end, as did he.
 |
| The kitchen at Maya School. |
 |
| The year ones and twos. |
 |
| The line-up. |
 |
| The drinking water supply. |
Steve and I walked with Chantelle to see the sunset again and then had a look at the market stalls. I bought a cut lapis lazuli and some malachite for $3 and $1.50. Chantelle had an unfortunate experience on the bridge. I had noticed that she was nervous of all animals so it had to be her that the monkey noticed. I was ahead on the bridge and taking photos of the monkeys when suddenly one shot through obviously with a plan in mind. I didn't see it but Steve was beside Chantelle when the monkey went for her plastic bag. She let out a piercing scream. Fortunately a "money saint" was nearby because he'd been trying to entice some baksheesh out of them, so he took charge and discouraged the monkey. Polite amusement all round but a bad dream for Chantelle.
 |
| Chantelle and the monkey. |
 |
| A "money saint" (fake sadhu). |
Back to the station. As we walked onto the platform I was sure I saw an army tank driving down the tracks. Later someone else said they had seen it also. What with the homeless, the beggars, the copulating dogs and the general melee, I thought I may have been seeing things. We women waited in the women's waiting room. My stomach was still on the queasy side and it did a major lurch every time a door at the back of the room opened with the accompanying whiff of drains. "Welcome to India" as CP says often.
 |
| In the women's waiting room. |
 |
| Early morning from the train. |
The train left at 10:15 pm - on time. The sleeper carriage had three bunks on each side and two on one end with the passageway going in between. There was a curtain for privacy. Sheets, a blanket and a pillow were provided. I scored the bed on the bottom at the end of the carriage so just inside the door through which all toilet-goers went. This meant a shaft of bright light hit me each time the door opened and it seemed to be a permanent thing. I tried my head tube over my eyes to block the light but it wasn't comfortable so I eventually abandoned the idea. To boot, I was lying half on my handbag with my small backpack behind my head, and a water bottle and snack bag beside me. Cramped was the word. Then it started. There was a snorer through the wall from Steve who made the whole boudoir shake; there were sleep talkers and a bad dream was had by a man on the bunk to my right. I couldn't hang on any more so I took it in turns with Steve to go to the loo at 4:45 am (so we could mind the luggage) and had just settled back when my neighbours got up, packed up the middle bunk and started talking right at my level and in my ear. Just for a change, Steve didn't notice. I opened one eye and looked at them a couple of times but their story was so engrossing they didn't miss a beat. My bonus was that a chai-walla asked if I wanted a cup of chai so I sat on the just-disembarked neighbour's bunk and enjoyed it, however small. A minor disaster struck again though when I was eating the dry biscuits we had bought the night before. A minute piece stuck somewhere in the vicinity of my tonsils and, off I went in a coughing fit, going bluer by the minute, while all around me slept heavily. I did survive as you can tell.
 |
From the window I could see: a very heavy fog, cow dung drying, adobe and brick farm houses, well-fed animals in the compounds, chaff cutters lying idle, neat cultivated fields, saris draped on roofs to dry, several pairs of "poo-buddies" squatting on the railway tracks and in the fields, passing trains that we constantly waited for, etc.
Now, Steve was up. The chaiwalla returned and this time we were served chai in disposable terracotta mini-cups about 2.5 cm high, which were chucked on the floor under a bunk when we returned them to the walla.
So we had arrived in Varanasi. It was 12:15 - our train was nearly two hours late. We had been told the hotel was just across the road, so I was mightily puzzled when we carried our bags up and over the line and then down again to a car park where a bus was waiting. The bus had been parked-in during the wait so the fun was not over yet. No-one gave way, the bus backed up until the assistant banged on the boot, then forward, then back; trying to do a three point turn, on 25 cm at a time. Eventually after about half an hour we were driving just around the block to the hotel. "Welcome to India" again.
The Hotel City Inn gave the impression of a pricey hotel with an expectation of a level of service, but you can't judge a book by its cover. The restaurant service was painfully slow although there were more than enough workers standing around. Some of us waited more than an hour for a cup of chai and even the bills took about half an hour. We all had been drooling over the thought of a hot shower BUT there was no hot water.
After a one hour rest we were in rickshaws heading to the Ghats - 4 pm. Sunset was at 5 pm. A boat was waiting for us and two rowers slowly and quietly rowed us along the whole length of the Ghats in one direction and then the other to the point where the cremations take place. All the time the light was becoming more and more dim. We lit a candle, floated it on the Ganges and made a wish. Then we stayed for a prayer with six sadhus all performing the same ritual movements to the chanting devotional music - the Ganga Aarti ceremony. Boats assembled in front of the platform and they just kept coming. There were boat boys running across from boat to boat in the dark. Once the ceremony began, a silence fell over the boats although nothing can stop the cameras from recording the memories and aren't we so lucky to have them. It takes your breath away to be in the presence of such deep spirituality.
 |
| The street leading to the Ghats. |
 |
Aarti is said to have descended from the Vedic religion which is more ancient than Hinduism. The traditional Aarti ceremony, represents one’s entire existence and all facets of material creation symbolically offered to the Lord. Solidity, represented by the flower symbolizing the earth. Liquidity, by the water and accompanying handkerchief. Heat, by the lamp or candle, representing the fire component. Movement, by the peacock fan conveying the precious quality of air. Space, by the yak-tail fan, representing the form of ether. Incense represents a purified state of mind, where one’s intelligence is offered through the adherence to rules of timing and order of offerings. Each Sadhu performed the ritual movements in sync. A must do and see experience, when visiting Varanasi which for my money is the "maddest" place in India. |
If you want my advice, dear reader, don't be without a head tube when you travel. My head tube was used for: a scarf, a mask to stop breathing pollution, a head cover, a hair band, an eye cover for bright lights in trains and planes, a cover for electronics and camera to keep the dust out, and the list goes on. Feel free to add to this, head tube aficionados.
posted by fay @ 2:54 pm
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