Posted by: Jenn
For our grand finale of this crazy country we ended the tour of India in Varanasi. We took an overnight train from Delhi where we met some more friendly locals. We met one guy that represents India in competition weight lifting. He was so excited to show Jonathan all of his supplements and talk about weight lifting with him. It was interesting meeting him because I wouldn't call India a 'buff' country. The majority of the guys are pretty small and definitely don't consume their time in a gym. He, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb with his broad build.
We also met a family consisting of three generations (grandma, grandpa, their two daughters, a son-in-law, and three granddaughters) and the three granddaughters were so excited to practice their English with us. They talked our ears off but we had a good time getting to know them.
For our grand finale of this crazy country we ended the tour of India in Varanasi. We took an overnight train from Delhi where we met some more friendly locals. We met one guy that represents India in competition weight lifting. He was so excited to show Jonathan all of his supplements and talk about weight lifting with him. It was interesting meeting him because I wouldn't call India a 'buff' country. The majority of the guys are pretty small and definitely don't consume their time in a gym. He, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb with his broad build.
We also met a family consisting of three generations (grandma, grandpa, their two daughters, a son-in-law, and three granddaughters) and the three granddaughters were so excited to practice their English with us. They talked our ears off but we had a good time getting to know them.
The family was going to Varanasi to spread one of the girls' father's ashes over the Gangas River. More on the Gangas River in a second. First I have to tell you what happened after we got out of the train station. Oh geez.
It's seven in the morning. We are tired, hungry, and dirty. We head straight for the prepaid taxi stand so that we know we are paying what we should and won't get ripped off. After we pay, a tuk tuk driver takes our ticket and leads us to his tuk tuk. We tell him that we want to go to the Shanti Guest House (that we read about in Lonely Planet). He says "Oh yes, I know this place". Twenty minutes later he pulls his tuk tuk off to the side and walks us to Shanti Rest House. Not only was the place an overpriced total dump, but it was not the bright yellow color that the book said it was and it said 'Rest' house, not 'guest' house. I ask the driver about Shanti Guest House and he says, "no madam, only one in Varanasi - this is it". I argued with him and he got defensive. Finally he said that he knew of a nice guest house within our budget and he walked us there. When a tuk tuk driver takes you somewhere, it is almost guaranteed that he is getting a cut of whatever we pay the guest house. So we knew we weren't going to take the room no matter what. We looked at it though, told him and the guest house no thanks and told him we would find a place on our own. He was furious with us because he drove us to where he wanted us to stay and we didn't take it, which in turn cost him the cut he would have received. He left us in a cloud of dust knowing that part of his little scam on oblivious tourists failed. After checking our map and asking around, we found out that he took us about five kilometers south of where we wanted to be and where we knew the real Shanti Guest House and backpacker area was - this part of his scam worked because we didn't refer to our map until after he left. We hired another driver to take us to our destination but we made sure we were there before we paid him. After a grueling search through a labyrinth of narrow alleyways in the sweltering heat with all our bags we arrived at the real Lonely Planet recommended Shanti Guest House only to find that it had become a run down hole in the wall that needed some major air freshener and a new paint job. Luckily the hotel a few doors down was cheaper, cleaner and friendlier. We FINALLY settled into a room at around noon.
It's seven in the morning. We are tired, hungry, and dirty. We head straight for the prepaid taxi stand so that we know we are paying what we should and won't get ripped off. After we pay, a tuk tuk driver takes our ticket and leads us to his tuk tuk. We tell him that we want to go to the Shanti Guest House (that we read about in Lonely Planet). He says "Oh yes, I know this place". Twenty minutes later he pulls his tuk tuk off to the side and walks us to Shanti Rest House. Not only was the place an overpriced total dump, but it was not the bright yellow color that the book said it was and it said 'Rest' house, not 'guest' house. I ask the driver about Shanti Guest House and he says, "no madam, only one in Varanasi - this is it". I argued with him and he got defensive. Finally he said that he knew of a nice guest house within our budget and he walked us there. When a tuk tuk driver takes you somewhere, it is almost guaranteed that he is getting a cut of whatever we pay the guest house. So we knew we weren't going to take the room no matter what. We looked at it though, told him and the guest house no thanks and told him we would find a place on our own. He was furious with us because he drove us to where he wanted us to stay and we didn't take it, which in turn cost him the cut he would have received. He left us in a cloud of dust knowing that part of his little scam on oblivious tourists failed. After checking our map and asking around, we found out that he took us about five kilometers south of where we wanted to be and where we knew the real Shanti Guest House and backpacker area was - this part of his scam worked because we didn't refer to our map until after he left. We hired another driver to take us to our destination but we made sure we were there before we paid him. After a grueling search through a labyrinth of narrow alleyways in the sweltering heat with all our bags we arrived at the real Lonely Planet recommended Shanti Guest House only to find that it had become a run down hole in the wall that needed some major air freshener and a new paint job. Luckily the hotel a few doors down was cheaper, cleaner and friendlier. We FINALLY settled into a room at around noon.
Back to the river. Varanasi is considered one of the holiest places in India and the sacred waters of the Ganges River is said to wash away a lifetime of sins.
With this said, our visit to Varanasi was extremely eye opening. I don't think I can explain to you in words what we saw here but I will do my best, especially since photography was prohibited in a lot of places.
The Hindu people believe that you are born again after death and you will have a better or worse caste (social/economic class) depending on the way you lived your life. However, if you die in Varanasi and your ashes are spread over the sacred river, then you bypass the reincarnation process. As quoted from our hotel manager, "Burn body here, you go directly to heaven". Therefore, a lot of elderly or sick people will come all the way from their home town to Varanasi to die. So what happens to all these bodies? They are carried to one of the burning ghats along the Ganges River and cremated, in public. A ghat is where concrete steps meet the water for ease of access. A burning ghat is a ghat where the deceased are burned. There is no building or special incinerator, just wood, the body, and fire. Seeing something like this in person was - well - terrifying and shocking, to be blatantly honest. We literally walked down the steps to the water and all we see is wood, smoke, and bodies wrapped in orange cloth waiting to be burned. In order to get the bodies to the ghats there are "funeral processions" through the narrow alley ways. More than once Jonathan and I would be walking around and we would hear chanting behind us, which was a clear sign for us to move it or be run over by people carrying a dead body to the ghat. With the alleyways being so narrow, we would have to make our bodies flush with the wall while the procession walked by with four men carrying a wooden stretcher holding the cloth wrapped body at eye level. It was an eerie feeling. The below photo is pretty bad but it was the only shot I could sneak without being seen. It would have been very disrespectful to snap one in front of everyone. But I was sitting in our hotel lobby and heard the chanting so I grabbed the camera.
With this said, our visit to Varanasi was extremely eye opening. I don't think I can explain to you in words what we saw here but I will do my best, especially since photography was prohibited in a lot of places.
The Hindu people believe that you are born again after death and you will have a better or worse caste (social/economic class) depending on the way you lived your life. However, if you die in Varanasi and your ashes are spread over the sacred river, then you bypass the reincarnation process. As quoted from our hotel manager, "Burn body here, you go directly to heaven". Therefore, a lot of elderly or sick people will come all the way from their home town to Varanasi to die. So what happens to all these bodies? They are carried to one of the burning ghats along the Ganges River and cremated, in public. A ghat is where concrete steps meet the water for ease of access. A burning ghat is a ghat where the deceased are burned. There is no building or special incinerator, just wood, the body, and fire. Seeing something like this in person was - well - terrifying and shocking, to be blatantly honest. We literally walked down the steps to the water and all we see is wood, smoke, and bodies wrapped in orange cloth waiting to be burned. In order to get the bodies to the ghats there are "funeral processions" through the narrow alley ways. More than once Jonathan and I would be walking around and we would hear chanting behind us, which was a clear sign for us to move it or be run over by people carrying a dead body to the ghat. With the alleyways being so narrow, we would have to make our bodies flush with the wall while the procession walked by with four men carrying a wooden stretcher holding the cloth wrapped body at eye level. It was an eerie feeling. The below photo is pretty bad but it was the only shot I could sneak without being seen. It would have been very disrespectful to snap one in front of everyone. But I was sitting in our hotel lobby and heard the chanting so I grabbed the camera.
We spent most of our time walking along the ghats and watching Indians from all over India bathe, wash clothes, and perform spiritual rituals. Our observations during these walks can really only be described by the photos we took.
One morning we woke up in time to watch the sunrise from a boat ride along the Ganges River. It was the most peaceful we had seen Varanasi because once the day gets started it turns into one of the most hectic places we have been.
We also spent some time just sitting at certain ghats people watching. At one of the ghats young boys and girls were trying to sell candles that you are supposed to light and then set in the river. It is said to bring good luck if you do this. We didn't want to buy any candles, aka support using young kids to sell things. But we did take a liking to one of the girls and it broke my heart to see her chasing down every white person to try to make a sale. She was so cute and far too young to be working like she was. We ended up going to a nearby shop and buying every flavor of chips and cookies they had, along with several drinks thinking that we could get her to sit with us for a little while and enjoy some snacks. The whole time she was sitting with us though, she was asking us to buy a candle. It is so sad that it has been engraved in her brain that her only purpose is to sell candles. She didn't seem happy about the cookies or the Pepsi (although she took them); she only wanted us to buy a candle. As much as I feel like I should 'help' a kid or as much as I want to show a little girl some love, it is useless unless I can fully change the situation they are in. They only want one thing and if they don't get it then they are beaten or yelled at for not meeting their nightly quota. It's a mad world sometimes.
The last night we were in Varanasi we met another older girl trying to sell postcards. We didn't buy one, but I had a spare pair of sunglasses I was toting and when I turned down a postcard, I offered her my sunglasses. She actually said thank you!
After Jonathan and I had sat down to eat dinner, we saw her through the restaurant window. She waved at us and I waved her in. She ended up being a super personal girl and spoke English, Spanish and Hindi perfectly. We talked to her about her family and her "job". She came from a broken household where her mom didn't make hardly enough money to support the family, hence her late night job of roaming the ghats selling postcards. She was fun to talk to and we ended up treating her to dinner. While we waited for our meal she pulled a board game out of her bag and wanted me to play with her. It was a take off of Parcheesi and we played until our food came. It really was a great visit and it made me happy to see that at least some of them can grow up to be sociable and thankful for other things than just someone buying their product.
Sorry for the long post, but I can't leave this last part out. A few posts ago I had written that I loved India. It had been such a dramatic change from where we had been that it was fascinating. Well...after a few more weeks, I am sad to say that my opinion has changed to "thank God we are leaving India". Three weeks is two weeks too long...
First, everyone stares so hard and so much that after a while it is just irritating. At first the staring was a novelty, in a way. However, after a week of it I felt that I was constantly on edge and ready to jump the next person that stared for a second too long. If I could send any message to the masses of India it would not be to clean up the trash, or to cover up the open sewer ditches. It would be "STARING IS RUDE - STOP!"
Second, after a while the dirtiness gets to you. We always felt dirty. Hotel rooms, bathrooms, restaurants, etc were always dirty. If we let our fingernails get any kind of length to them, they would instantly be filled with dirt. Don't ask me where it came from and how it magically made it's way under our nails. Also, every time we washed our hands, even if it was the eighth time in two hours, the water runoff would be brown without a doubt. Feeling dirty is okay for like three days - I can live with that. But three weeks...not so much. The smell of sewage and cow manure all the time doesn't help the situation.
First, everyone stares so hard and so much that after a while it is just irritating. At first the staring was a novelty, in a way. However, after a week of it I felt that I was constantly on edge and ready to jump the next person that stared for a second too long. If I could send any message to the masses of India it would not be to clean up the trash, or to cover up the open sewer ditches. It would be "STARING IS RUDE - STOP!"
Second, after a while the dirtiness gets to you. We always felt dirty. Hotel rooms, bathrooms, restaurants, etc were always dirty. If we let our fingernails get any kind of length to them, they would instantly be filled with dirt. Don't ask me where it came from and how it magically made it's way under our nails. Also, every time we washed our hands, even if it was the eighth time in two hours, the water runoff would be brown without a doubt. Feeling dirty is okay for like three days - I can live with that. But three weeks...not so much. The smell of sewage and cow manure all the time doesn't help the situation.
Lastly, and this is unfortunate that this happens, but some men will grope a white woman any chance they get. I hate that I got to experience this on two different occasions, especially since the second run in with it was the worst and it was as we were leaving India. Therefore, leaving me with a very bad taste in my mouth.
The pervert struck as we were trying to board a train along with about 300 other Indians. The crowd was unmanageable and we were barely able to push our way to the door of our train car for being swept away by the swarms of people. Having all our luggage in tow didn't help. I finally managed to shove through and board the train car, the whole while feeling a hand on my chest grabbing a certain lump of fat. I really didn't think anything of it, as there were hands pushing everywhere and elbows being thrown from every direction. At one point, I thought it was just Jonathan trying to help push me through the crowd. Once on board, I turned and saw Jonathan still standing outside of the train car. At that same instant, the guy that was actually behind me continued to walk past me and as he did his hand found another part of my body lower down. I was petrified. No one could see anything because it was so crowded, I felt defenseless with all my bags on, and Jonathan was ten people away still in the crowd outside the train. Anyone who knows me well, knows what happened next. Just as the guy was walking away thinking he got away with feeling me up, I decked him as hard as I could with the ball of my palm in the back of his head. Surprised with the unexpected blow he turned around to find me in an infuriating rage of screaming a few choice words at him. I then yelled at Jonathan and once he saw the look on my face he nearly knocked over two old ladies to get to me. I pointed at the perv and Jonathan found a certain part of his body and let him decide how he liked being grabbed at the crotch. The whole mess was terrible and I don't think I have ever felt so violated. But it's over and hopefully other men don't feel the need to obsess over white girls as much as most Indian men do. It's a bit overwhelming.
Once in our first class sleeper bunks headed for Nepal, our two bunk mates (Indian business men who turned out to be very pleasant) asked us what we thought of the Indian people. Jonathan fielded that question.
The pervert struck as we were trying to board a train along with about 300 other Indians. The crowd was unmanageable and we were barely able to push our way to the door of our train car for being swept away by the swarms of people. Having all our luggage in tow didn't help. I finally managed to shove through and board the train car, the whole while feeling a hand on my chest grabbing a certain lump of fat. I really didn't think anything of it, as there were hands pushing everywhere and elbows being thrown from every direction. At one point, I thought it was just Jonathan trying to help push me through the crowd. Once on board, I turned and saw Jonathan still standing outside of the train car. At that same instant, the guy that was actually behind me continued to walk past me and as he did his hand found another part of my body lower down. I was petrified. No one could see anything because it was so crowded, I felt defenseless with all my bags on, and Jonathan was ten people away still in the crowd outside the train. Anyone who knows me well, knows what happened next. Just as the guy was walking away thinking he got away with feeling me up, I decked him as hard as I could with the ball of my palm in the back of his head. Surprised with the unexpected blow he turned around to find me in an infuriating rage of screaming a few choice words at him. I then yelled at Jonathan and once he saw the look on my face he nearly knocked over two old ladies to get to me. I pointed at the perv and Jonathan found a certain part of his body and let him decide how he liked being grabbed at the crotch. The whole mess was terrible and I don't think I have ever felt so violated. But it's over and hopefully other men don't feel the need to obsess over white girls as much as most Indian men do. It's a bit overwhelming.
Once in our first class sleeper bunks headed for Nepal, our two bunk mates (Indian business men who turned out to be very pleasant) asked us what we thought of the Indian people. Jonathan fielded that question.