I am lying in my hotel room, Jennifer is checking ATM locations in a wooden chair by the door. We have been in Varanasi less than 24 hours but it has certainly impressed us in that very brief time.
We arrived at the train station after noon, about three hours late. A big part of the delay were police boarding in the middle of the night to investigate a bag that had been stowed, its owner having abruptly left the train at a previous station. The police woke up some of our party, but thank goodness they did not check passports, as Alejandro comes from Colombia!! We were oblivious in the next carriage and slept reasonably well on this overnight train from Agra, me in the top bunk and a Jennifer in the very bottom one. We paused 45 minutes just before the station just to enhance the fatigue of the journey. At this point, Jennifer and I decided to go upmarket on our accomodation in Delhi! We booked the Park Hotel in the centre of Delhi, five star bliss. The morbid thought of the dog chorus at three in the morning was an additional motivation to move upwards.

We are staying at Haifa Hotel in the old quarter, only a short walk from the Ganges and the many ghats which are spread along this side of the river. After a pleasant lunch at the hotel and a freshen up, including a shower and shave, Api and a local man, took us for a walk. We walked along a dusty, rough road, past shops, cows, beggars, holy men all dressed in orange, and other tourists. At the riverbank, there is a wide path to walk along, with steps leading to the sandy beach. On the beach, wooden poles are dug firmly in, and tied them are the many boats that are used for short trips on the Ganges. As I looked north, I could see the guest houses and temples, disappearing into the distance as the city followed the river as it curved to the east upstream. The boats are old, spacious vessels without any shade, their paintwork fading from what must have been brightly coloured when first done. I passed a man standing in a boat high up on the path, his hands covered in pitch to the elbows, and the interior of the boat covered in freshly applied black pitch. The water would be still but for the many boats criss crossing, some are power boats but many are rowed, a single rower somehow managing to row up to 12 tourists!

There are paintings on the walls to our left, there are paintings of Shiva, Ganesh, bright blue backgrounds and gaily painted gods, with gold and red ornaments in their hair and around their arms. There are paintings by the local white counterculture, not Indian at all, of cannabis smoking men or of Yggdrasil portrayed on a sloping wall. On a long pair of ropes, are many rectangular blue cloths, drying in the air – they form a visually interesting scene against the sandstone of the steps and walls.

The path is not all flat, I have to negotiate steps, avoid cricket games, and frustrate holy men who will bless me then demand money afterwards. Children and women in dirty neglected saris, try to sell small foil cups with a few flowers, to be dropped into the Ganges. Men grasp my hand, and call me friend, Namaste, and I pull my hands back as this is one more scam. Api our ever watchful, always competent guide shoos them off with more politeness than me.

At one spot, at a temple complex on the Ganges, the crowds got thicker, there are more people sitting and standing around, boats are filled with people, really filled, and the susurration of prayers is thick in the air. The smell of burnt sandalwood envelops the shore.
We reach the first of two outdoor crematoria on the Ganges at Varanasi. Before explaining about and describing these areas , I want to talk about the importance of this place in a Hindu’s lifespan. Through life there are many milestones, some unique to certain castes, birth, first haircut, second birth ( peculiar to Brahmins and occurs after much study and acquiring the capacity to read and recall sacred Sanskrit writings), marriage and death; and there us no place holier than Varanasi to perform these rituals. People who live locally or have been living here for at least six months can be cremated on the riverbank or concrete verandahs adjacent to the water. Other Indians are cremated locally then their ashes can be scattered into the Ganges later.

The crematoria are truly weird to a westerner. The process of cremation is not something we see in our culture while here in Varanasi, the experience is vivid and powerful, a sensation of sound ( the changing of the priests and family), of smell ( the burning cedar, sandalwood or teak and the body itself) and sight( the flames and ashes, the massive piles of timber stacked against the blackened temple walls and the untouchables who carry wood and wash down the concrete with huge hoses).

We climbed the narrow winding stairs beside the Burning Ghat, past the stacked timber, past ash rippled walls, and the little the shops selling gaudy, golden relics for the funerals and tourists. We entered tiny lanes, with shops at our elbows, the occasional motorbike braved the pathway but mostly pedestrians walk briskly beside us. We arrived at the Blue Lassi – this cafe provides low seating and on the walls are thousands of photos, all passport sized and stuck to the interior brickwork. The lassi artisan sits in the window, he ladles yoghurt with a steel spoon into a bowl, then adds fruit or seeds or coconut as per the order, to produce delicious lassis. I had banana and pomegranate and Jennifer enjoyed banana and coconut. Each one was served in a single use clay cup. They cost 70 rupees each, which is about 12 cents a cup. After we left there, we visited a fabric shop, I nearly passed out from heat stroke as he piled up blanket after blanket on my legs. No one bought anything, too tired and too late.

We walked through a narrow market that glittered with the local products for sale here, the metal work and jewellery, the lavishly bling infested clothes and bags, and the brightly wrapped spices and foods and into a political rally. The prime Minster of India, Modi, has been campaigning in Varanasi in support of his local BJP candidate for Uttar Pradesh, while Ravi Gandhi arrived later to campaign for the Congress Party. There were crowds supporting both parties in the elections, lots of car horns honking, and an excited populace singing out for their preferred party. Chaos in the flesh, so we walked the opposite way, and caught tuk tuks back to the hotel.

We had dinner at a pizzeria which overlooks the Ganges; during the meal the power went off, and so we ate with candle light; the lights of buildings further upstream were still working and I saw those lights on the water of the Ganges, scattered from vertical lines in the wake of the few remaining boats that still plied offshore.

This morning some of us were up to meet the boat owner to take us on a cruise. We climbed into his boat, taking seats along the ledge below the gunwales. The trip was slow and beautiful, the diesel motor was not obtrusive. We passed the ghats and the buildings above them, the air is clear, reflections rich and dark in the water, and we pass swimmers below us, their heads above the surface. Others are standing on the lowermost steps of the ghats washing themselves and letting the water run down their bodies, repeating the action again and again, then suddenly dive forwards to immerse themselves fully, while most splash out a few meters, there are some hardier souls who risk the boats going up and down the river. The Ganges is a magnificent river. On the other bank there are no buildings visible but there is a group of people, singing as the sun rises above them.
We met Api for breakfast at the Open Hand Cafe. A terrific venue with western style coffee, muesli and breakfasts. We chatted with Ray and Api over breakfast. Api told us about the situation with Indian women, they are still frustrated with the slow progress they are permitted to achieve by men. Intrepid is actively trying to develop women as tour guides.
After breakfast, we have decided to have a chill-out morning and afternoon before the cruise and flower ceremony tonight.
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