Yo yo yo!
Wow, that was a helluva train ride. Overnight from Gokarna to Mumbai, then what was supposed to be 28 but ended up being 35 hours from Mumbai to Varanasi. I just got in a couple hours ago.
I was psyched about being on the tourist quota, getting an A/C sleeper cabin, but ended up somewhat regretting that inevitability. I can sleep when it's too hot - the heat actually makes me pass out quicker - but if I'm too cold I just toss and turn. They gave me fresh blankets and sheets (!) but as it turned out, keeping one underneath me simply got twisted and uncomfortable, and keeping one only on top of me made my flesh stick uncomfortably to the plastic of the bed. There was a couple next to me who snored at about 30dB in harmony, wouldn't turn the light off even if they were asleep (and would quickly turn it back if I turned it off) and received calls on their cell phones until far past 3 AM. Also, the length of the journey made killing time the biggest hardship, and hanging out the open door to see the Indians in the 3rd class compartment hanging off the side and crowding in looked like so much more fun that I've decided next time I'm going lower-class seated and resting my head on my pack. I may come to regret that decision when I experience the results, but as of now I've made up my mind.
As soon as we entered Varanasi, or Benares in it's old-school terminology, I felt great. The sight of collected cow dung patties drying by the side of the road for use in burning and building warmed my heart, and as I stepped off the train into the madness that is Varanasi Junction, I found myself weeping in joy for the first time since arriving in India.
Benares is famous for the excessive - even for India standards! - unrelenting rickshaw wallahs and touts of merchandise trying to wave you down with every foot. I was supremely grateful for having a guidebook to India so that before being assaulted I could review the map of Varanasi and get a general sense of the number of kilometers to my destination, so that when the first bicycle-rickshaw-wallah offered 200 rupees for a 4 kilometer ride, I literally burst out laughing in his face and received a reluctant grin in return. Having a map also lets you in on a sense of direction, so I knew to head East and South and wouldn't be fooled by driving in circles. I finally found a chook-chook (autorickshaw) driver who quoted 35, and as the pre-paid stand said the average was 40 into town, I agreed. When he dropped me off - nowhere near my destination - and demanded 75, I was having none of it. He was such a pushy bastard he even aggressively suggested he take me back to the train station so we could find a policeman.
"There's one right there! Shall we talk to him? Come, let's talk to him! You are a liar, I give you 35." I said, and despite his reproach I shoved the money into his hand, hopped out and decided that unless I was falling over from exhaustion, I would walk the rest of the way. I rolled a cigarette and consulted my map again, then strolled off in the direction of the nearest ghat.
Everyone wanted to give me a ride, but I got some nods of approval from rickshaw-wallahs for walking a few kilometers carrying my heavy-ass bag. I found the ghats (hundreds of stones steps leading to and along the Ganges river throughout the city) and realized I'd gone straight to a burning ghat, as my sight alighted on the smouldering remains of what was once a person. Colorful clothes were spread along the ghats, as men and women in various stages of undress did the laundry, smacking it hard against the steps.
It was another kilometer or so along the river, which did indeed get difficult as I still had my pack and was going up and down, up and down steep steps. After realizing the choices of hotel from my guide were fully booked or way to expensive, I decided to trust in fate and agree to be shown a room by one of the many dudes calling out to me along the Ganges. I went with the guy who promised he wouldn't charge me as long as I went with him afterwards to look over his stash of marijuana, hashish and opium. What the hell, right?
What a piece of shit. The place was still strewn with litter and clothes from the last visitors, including rubber gloves and tampons on the table. I loved it right away at one hundred rupees a night - even cheaper than my beach shack in Gokarna! - and placed my stuff under the bed as I went to check out las drogas, which the dude and his brother laid out on the table in their restaurant. They kept trying to get me to smell it, and didn't understand when I said I couldn't, so I played along with ooohs and ahhhs.
When I got back (my wallet lighter, my pocket fuller), the manager still hadn't cleaned the room. Fuck it, I thought, and went downstairs to get a broom. I spent about 10 minutes shoving the trash into various plastic bags littered about the place and swept the rest under the table Good enough for now. My stomach was aching from 3 days of nothing but trainstation food, so I decided to treat myself to a meal at the famous Brown Bread Bakery.
As I was leaving, the manager stopped me and said, "You lock room?" I nodded assent. "But how I clean?"
"I already cleaned." I said. He looked flabbergasted.
"You clean?" he asked in disbelief.
"Well, kind of. I swept under the table. Good enough for now." I replied. He held his hand up for a high five, grinning in delight.
I know this is a long blog already, but I've gotta tell you guys about the Brown Bread Bakery. In cooperation with the Learn for Life school, they're committed to some really exceptional causes I've yet to see much being done about in India. My meal was pretty expensive (a whopping $3, wow!) but shit, man, check out some of these quotations from their mission statement:
"Our school is running 5 classes for about 85 kids from age 5 to 15, in reading, writing, maths and English. Additionally we offer artistic skills, daily yoga classes, breakfast and lunch. To be independent from daily power cuts, the energy supply of the school will soon be provided by a solar power device. Monthly health check ups for the children and sick family members are provided."
It gets better. The meat all comes from a butcher in Delhi, trained in Europe, who holds his produce to EU standards. All the baked goods are freshly ground organic grain, from local farmers that they visit and check in on regularly. The employees get a good salary, paid holidays, health insurance and pensions. Not only that, they also run a complementary women's empowerment group. They learn the same basic skills as the students, and are learning to produce jam, pickles, muesli and tahini, which is found in the meals of the school, restaurant and bakery. To quote further:
""The empowerment of women is a very important part of our concept of sustainability...You can buy these products at the counter and all profit goes straight to the women. We can only be successful with the help of the larger community. Only solidarity can fight poverty."
I was fucking tearing up reading that shit, and sob-choking on my (delicious) bread. Like them on Facebook, people: look up Learn For Life NGO School - Varanasi, India.
Aight, I'm gonna go sample my illicit wares and purchase some white clothes for Holi. Woot woot!
Wow, that was a helluva train ride. Overnight from Gokarna to Mumbai, then what was supposed to be 28 but ended up being 35 hours from Mumbai to Varanasi. I just got in a couple hours ago.
I was psyched about being on the tourist quota, getting an A/C sleeper cabin, but ended up somewhat regretting that inevitability. I can sleep when it's too hot - the heat actually makes me pass out quicker - but if I'm too cold I just toss and turn. They gave me fresh blankets and sheets (!) but as it turned out, keeping one underneath me simply got twisted and uncomfortable, and keeping one only on top of me made my flesh stick uncomfortably to the plastic of the bed. There was a couple next to me who snored at about 30dB in harmony, wouldn't turn the light off even if they were asleep (and would quickly turn it back if I turned it off) and received calls on their cell phones until far past 3 AM. Also, the length of the journey made killing time the biggest hardship, and hanging out the open door to see the Indians in the 3rd class compartment hanging off the side and crowding in looked like so much more fun that I've decided next time I'm going lower-class seated and resting my head on my pack. I may come to regret that decision when I experience the results, but as of now I've made up my mind.
As soon as we entered Varanasi, or Benares in it's old-school terminology, I felt great. The sight of collected cow dung patties drying by the side of the road for use in burning and building warmed my heart, and as I stepped off the train into the madness that is Varanasi Junction, I found myself weeping in joy for the first time since arriving in India.
Benares is famous for the excessive - even for India standards! - unrelenting rickshaw wallahs and touts of merchandise trying to wave you down with every foot. I was supremely grateful for having a guidebook to India so that before being assaulted I could review the map of Varanasi and get a general sense of the number of kilometers to my destination, so that when the first bicycle-rickshaw-wallah offered 200 rupees for a 4 kilometer ride, I literally burst out laughing in his face and received a reluctant grin in return. Having a map also lets you in on a sense of direction, so I knew to head East and South and wouldn't be fooled by driving in circles. I finally found a chook-chook (autorickshaw) driver who quoted 35, and as the pre-paid stand said the average was 40 into town, I agreed. When he dropped me off - nowhere near my destination - and demanded 75, I was having none of it. He was such a pushy bastard he even aggressively suggested he take me back to the train station so we could find a policeman.
"There's one right there! Shall we talk to him? Come, let's talk to him! You are a liar, I give you 35." I said, and despite his reproach I shoved the money into his hand, hopped out and decided that unless I was falling over from exhaustion, I would walk the rest of the way. I rolled a cigarette and consulted my map again, then strolled off in the direction of the nearest ghat.
Everyone wanted to give me a ride, but I got some nods of approval from rickshaw-wallahs for walking a few kilometers carrying my heavy-ass bag. I found the ghats (hundreds of stones steps leading to and along the Ganges river throughout the city) and realized I'd gone straight to a burning ghat, as my sight alighted on the smouldering remains of what was once a person. Colorful clothes were spread along the ghats, as men and women in various stages of undress did the laundry, smacking it hard against the steps.
It was another kilometer or so along the river, which did indeed get difficult as I still had my pack and was going up and down, up and down steep steps. After realizing the choices of hotel from my guide were fully booked or way to expensive, I decided to trust in fate and agree to be shown a room by one of the many dudes calling out to me along the Ganges. I went with the guy who promised he wouldn't charge me as long as I went with him afterwards to look over his stash of marijuana, hashish and opium. What the hell, right?
What a piece of shit. The place was still strewn with litter and clothes from the last visitors, including rubber gloves and tampons on the table. I loved it right away at one hundred rupees a night - even cheaper than my beach shack in Gokarna! - and placed my stuff under the bed as I went to check out las drogas, which the dude and his brother laid out on the table in their restaurant. They kept trying to get me to smell it, and didn't understand when I said I couldn't, so I played along with ooohs and ahhhs.
When I got back (my wallet lighter, my pocket fuller), the manager still hadn't cleaned the room. Fuck it, I thought, and went downstairs to get a broom. I spent about 10 minutes shoving the trash into various plastic bags littered about the place and swept the rest under the table Good enough for now. My stomach was aching from 3 days of nothing but trainstation food, so I decided to treat myself to a meal at the famous Brown Bread Bakery.
As I was leaving, the manager stopped me and said, "You lock room?" I nodded assent. "But how I clean?"
"I already cleaned." I said. He looked flabbergasted.
"You clean?" he asked in disbelief.
"Well, kind of. I swept under the table. Good enough for now." I replied. He held his hand up for a high five, grinning in delight.
I know this is a long blog already, but I've gotta tell you guys about the Brown Bread Bakery. In cooperation with the Learn for Life school, they're committed to some really exceptional causes I've yet to see much being done about in India. My meal was pretty expensive (a whopping $3, wow!) but shit, man, check out some of these quotations from their mission statement:
"Our school is running 5 classes for about 85 kids from age 5 to 15, in reading, writing, maths and English. Additionally we offer artistic skills, daily yoga classes, breakfast and lunch. To be independent from daily power cuts, the energy supply of the school will soon be provided by a solar power device. Monthly health check ups for the children and sick family members are provided."
It gets better. The meat all comes from a butcher in Delhi, trained in Europe, who holds his produce to EU standards. All the baked goods are freshly ground organic grain, from local farmers that they visit and check in on regularly. The employees get a good salary, paid holidays, health insurance and pensions. Not only that, they also run a complementary women's empowerment group. They learn the same basic skills as the students, and are learning to produce jam, pickles, muesli and tahini, which is found in the meals of the school, restaurant and bakery. To quote further:
""The empowerment of women is a very important part of our concept of sustainability...You can buy these products at the counter and all profit goes straight to the women. We can only be successful with the help of the larger community. Only solidarity can fight poverty."
I was fucking tearing up reading that shit, and sob-choking on my (delicious) bread. Like them on Facebook, people: look up Learn For Life NGO School - Varanasi, India.
Aight, I'm gonna go sample my illicit wares and purchase some white clothes for Holi. Woot woot!
omy delight
ReplyDeleteYou are so the shit. And a badass. And amazing. <3 <3 <3
ReplyDeleteVery cool.
ReplyDelete35 hour train rides would kill me now but it's nice to re-live the insanity again through you! love ya
ReplyDelete