India Episode I - I See Dead People

As the trip progresses, the blogs lengthen. Best get a pot of tea on the go for this one...

When we last wrote, we were in Lumbini, near the Nepalese/Indian border and about to venture south for three weeks in India. Another land border crossing and as with border crossings, a day of jumping from transportation mode to transportation mode. The first blast consisted of a local bus ride and then a local taxi. The local taxi in this part of the world is generally a range rover where the driver squeezes as many on board as he can. In this case, he squeezed 20 into the front seat, back seat and rear tray, with another 5 (including Mat) hanging off the side and back. Even this number was too many for the local constabulary who waved the driver over and gave him a stern speaking too, before letting him continue with all 25 people on board (only fair – we’d all paid for a ride).

At the border crossing, we bumped into an Australian guy and his Kiwi partner. He asked whether Kiwi’s could get an Indian Visa upon arrival to which we responded yes, but only if you’re arriving by plane into Mumbai, Goa or Delhi. Not swayed, the Aussie set about finding a way for his partner to get into India without a Visa. As we departed immigration, the Aussie had given up on the ficticous story of advice from the Indian Embassy in London and was flashing some cash in the hope of finding entry to India the old fashioned way. Bumping into a couple of travellers we’d met earlier and left behind in Lumbini, it transpired that the bribe had not worked and India was now off the itinerary as they looked for flights to Thailand.

From the border, we took another local bus to Gorakhpur, a city of 625,000 people with no redeeming features (we reckon the Indian equivalent of Newsboy would treat this place with the same distain as Gore). The 5 hour wait here for onward transportation was awkward at times as a dozen or so Indians stared at us, unflinching even when we stared back. This is something we’re having to get used to as it is not a phenomenon limited to Gorgeous Gay Gorakhpur. In fact, one smartly dressed young Indian lad had spent 95% of the bus trip to Gorakhpur staring at Mat (a Vince Vaughan line from ‘Wedding Crashers’ about a woman who catches his glance at a wedding ceremony comes to mind here).

Our first Indian train experience was far better than our first Chinese train experience, though Lady Luck did look favourably on us. The original plan was to bus all the way to Varanasi, but the thought of a 7-10 hour local bus trip and arriving into Varanasi without accommodation at 3am did not appeal. Thus we looked for a train option, though a little late in the piece. There are a range of classes on Indian trains, and the general advice from friends is unequivocal in avoiding anything lower than 3AC at all costs. Unfortunately, the only train available to us was an overnight effort that offered only sleeper and a dusty, non air-conditioned ‘1st class’ which was a third of the price of 3AC had it been available. Thankfully, while the 1st class option was very dusty, in need of repair and a bit close to the grunty end of the train to secure a great sleep, we did have two bunk beds in a lockable compartment all to ourselves.

Our first 'chai waller' experience.

A pretty standard scene outside the window at any station stop.

On a later train, getting down to some consultancy work (the bill is in the post MSC).

In visiting India, we’re following in the steps of some good friends and are therefore travelling with some good advice, the first of which was to travel from north to south and east to west, so as to leave the more ‘full-on’ parts of India behind us early on. So following this advice, our first stop was the Holy Hindu city of Varanasi on the banks of the Ganges River.

It is hard to convey in words how in your face Varanasi is, and those that have been their will understand this well. It comes at you from all angles, with touts of all ages at every turn trying to earn a commission on anything and everything. We tended to be polite, answering the initial questions about name, country and hotel, and end the conversation with an “OK, later”. We soon learned this was not a great strategy as when we returned to the hotel after our first wander through the city we found two Babu’s, a Sanjeev and an Apu, all touts whom we’d crossed path with in the preceding 90 minutes, all waiting at our hotel for us with a friendly ‘hello Caroline, hello Mat’ and pointing out it was now ‘later’.

We took a harder line with the touts from here on in. One in particular walked into a shit storm when he asked Mat if he wanted some drugs (apparently word had come forth from Nepal). Seeing the armed military personal up the road, Mat quite audibly said “if I can’t buy a beer this close to the Holy Ganges, then I’m pretty sure you can’t sell me drugs this close”. The tout, having now seen the military presence, high-tailed and the army officers had a good laugh.

The touts are just one part of the Varanasi fabric, with the other key element being the proliferation of animals and their excrement in all the narrow streets of the old city. Holy cows, goats, dogs, rats and the odd cobra (accompanied by a snake charmer and a minor contributor to the poop issue) call the narrow cobbled streets home and not a lot of effort goes into cleaning up their mess. So keeping an eye on where you stood and breathing through your mouth was par for the course. We’d love to report we avoided any misplaced steps, but this was not the case for Mat.

Unfortunately as we left our hotel at the end of our stay, loaded up with pack and day bag, Mat’s obscured vision prevented him from avoiding a slip in a fresh one in his double pluggers, The 25kg of weight saw Mat go down quickly and heavily and remove a bit of skin from the right shank. A bit concerned with the likely contact with the faecal matter, the hand sanitizer soon became shin sanitizer, while the anti-septic was applied liberally and often. Could have been a lot worse however as Caroline can testify to – she’d trade the couple of maggots found in her muesli and yoghurt on our first morning in Varanasi for a shitty shin graze any day.

The main attraction in Varanasi is to take in life amongst the ghats, the long steps down to the Ganges that line the western river bank where the Hindu Varanasi population go about their ways. The majority of the ghats are bathing ghats, while some are used for religious ceremony and some are ‘burning ghats’, where Hindus are cremated. I think we successfully conveyed the point on the last blog that the monsoon was late, and thus the Ganges was at full flow and very high. This meant that the chance to walk along the ghats was lost, but we did manage a couple of boat trips to see what was going down.

One of the washing ghats.

Notice the kid giving it the a back flip into the river from the right.

We took in a pretty impressive ‘ganga aarti’ Hindu ceremony one night at Dasawamedh Ghat which involved a prolonged ‘puja’ fire dance and some rather repetitive music. At the end of the ceremony, locals would come down and wash their hands and face in the water and throw a few rupees into the water. At this stage, a couple of young boys appeared in the water, one walking round in nipple deep water trying to locate and retrieve coins with his feet, the other preferring to stay as dry as possible and casting a magnet attached to nylon out into the water to try and find a few pieces if silver. The contrast of religious offering and survival on the street is something we’re seeing again and again in India.

Now the next six paragraphs are not necessarily going to be nice reading for all, so those that prefer a lighter and more humorous travel anecdote may want to skip ahead in this blog and avoid details of the crematorium ghat. For those reading on, there are no photos either...

We took the opportunity to learn more about the burning ghats, an aspect of Varanasi that is hard to ignore. Out guest house was located two ghats upstream from the main burning ghat, the most auspicious place for a Hindu to be cremated. So each time we’d be out walking in the narrow streets of the old city, we’d often have to move to one side as a body was carried through the laneways towards the burning ghat on a bamboo stretcher and wrapped in beautiful coloured fabrics. The first time this happened we were both taken a back – a day later this was just a normal sight for us when out and about in Varanasi. With the Lonely Planet Advice read thrice, we ventured to the main burning ghat where a tout took us to an elevated spot to see what was going on and give us the low-down on what we were witnessing.

The primary reason a Hindu wants to be cremated and have their ashes scattered in the Ganges is to end the cycle of reincarnation. Thus, Hindus from across India (and wider afield we assume) come to Varanasi to live out their final days, while families also bring their deceased here to be cremated. Hundreds of cremations occur every day with the cremation happening over an open fire on the concrete stepped ghat after the body has been dipped in the Ganges, fuelled by wood purchased by the family. Again we were struck by the contrast present in what we were seeing. While bodies are burning and others are lined up for cremation in this incredibly holy place, a few feet away in the water are a few men who are ‘gold panning’ the ashes for any items of value – the Hindu tradition is to be cremated with any jewellery still on and thus these men were looking for the spoils of death.

Another thing we noted was the absence of women and grief. On this point, we were informed that to cry at the cremation was a sign that bad spirits were about and that the cycle of reincarnation would not be broken. Thus, women do not attend the cremations (unless of course they’re the one’s being cremated) and the men sit round and quietly observe the proceedings. The rituals of death span over 10 days following the cremation, so there is no doubt plenty of time for grief before and after the cremation.

Not all bodies are cremated, and there are 5 circumstances under which the body is considered more pure and instead of cremation, the body is interred directly into the Ganges. So the bodies of children under 10, pregnant woman, lepers, people killed by the bite of a cobra and male Hindu elders will not be cremated but instead, to end the cycle of reincarnation, will have their bodies placed into the river.

While we were taking in the experience of the ghats, we witnessed this very thing, with the body of a pregnant woman arriving at the ghat, identified by the colour of the cloth she had been wrapped in. Not a lot of detail is required to record what unfolded, other than to say it was a very moving experience and characterised by a very clear and strong Hindu faith and an abrupt and ‘matter of fact’ approach to handling the body. After the final prayers had been said, the body was quickly tied to a stone tablet, crudely draped over the bow of a boat and rowed 20 metres from the bank and rolled overboard.

With the experience of the burning ghat behind us, we tried to clear our minds of death by taking a boat ride up river where much more lively activities are the order of play. Unfortunately, this didn’t transpire as planned as we encountered the body of a man that had obviously been interred into the Ganges quite a few days earlier upstream of the main crematorium ghat and was now snagged on the mooring line of a boat. Such is Varanasi that this sight did not illicit much of a response from either of us (though chivalrous Mat, the first to notice the body, did calmly say to Caroline “If you do not want to see a dead body, look left for the next 5 minutes my love”).

Next stop was Agra and, unintentionally in the grand scheme of things, a ‘big travel tick’ for the two of us. About three and half years ago we were on the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico and ventured to a place called Chitchen Itza, a series of Incan Ruins a few hours from Cancun (see http://carolineandmat.blogspot.com/2007/05/once-upon-time-in-mexico.html). It was here we learned of a competition being run in 2007 to identify the ‘New 7 Wonders of the World’. A shortlist of 20 sights was drawn up and a public vote would decide the final 7. In visiting Agra’s Taj Mahal, and without an initial plan to do so, we have now visited all 7 of the new wonders of the world (the others being Machu Pichu (Peru), the Colliseum (Italy), Petra (Jordan), Christ the Redeemer (Brazil), the Great Wall of China (China) and Chichen Itza (Mexico)). Before turning to the Taj though, we want to pass comment on these 7 wonders...

The selection process is probably best described as ‘iffy’, with the short-list being narrowed to the final 7 via a public vote. Thus, those who wanted to see a particular sight make the final list just needed to campaign hard for the votes. In the case of Cichen Itza this meant anyone accessing the ruins could do so only after being ushered through a mobile internet office within which one had to place a vote for this site. This is probably harmless when compared to the lengths Brazil took to get Christ the Redeemer in the final 7, which included some 30 million Brazilians getting a text the night before voting closed with a number to which a free vote could be sent.

So while we’ve visited the 7 modern wonders that won the vote, we’ve also visited 9 of the 13 that missed the cut and would note two of which we consider should almost certainly be on the list being Angkor Wat (Cambodia) and the Statues of Moai (Easter Island). How can one seriously say that a 50m statue of Jebus (no offence intended) built with concrete in a modern era of CAD plans, planning permissions, cranes and concrete trucks is more wondrous than an ancient empire of temples carved by hand from stone over several centuries. Tifffft we say, tifffft!

Rant aside, the Taj is certainly a beautiful building and deserving of a place on the list in our view. Despite the masses visiting, the design of the Taj is such that you almost always get an uninterrupted view and you’d have to be an absolute moron to not get a great photo of the place. The only detraction from the beauty of the building was the activities of a puce-faced Italian woman who had dressed herself in a full sari ensemble and was having terrible photos of herself in God-awful poses taken at every opportunity. Again we say tifffft and note that your football team cheated to earn a draw with the All Whites in South Africa. TIFFFFFFFFT!!!!!

Nice photo - nooooot!

The rest of our time in Agra was spent visiting the other notable sights, including the Agra Fort and another tomb known colloquially as the Baby Taj. We were escorted round these sights by a very dodgy auto-rickshaw driver that raised the ire of both of us and received some terse responses from his numerous efforts to rip us off, including a slight of hand pretend bribe with an army officer. We be too clever for that mate – triple tiffffft!

A view of the Taj from Agra Fort - Agra Fort is good, but not as good as the Taj...

Following Agra, we headed further west where we were all lined up to make horse-ey sounds and Mark Todd jokes in the city of Jodhpur. Unfortunately, not one pair of the beige thigh hugging trousers for equestrian inclined individuals were spied, but this did not distract from our visit to the Blue City. First stop was a small shop reported to sell the best Makhania lassis in all of India. While we’re not experts in such matters, the lassi was delectable and in our view, worthy of the plaudits it receives.

In no way related to the previous paragraph, this is an auto-rickshaw rubbish truck which we liked!

This was followed by a visit to the famous street side ‘Omelette Shop’ where the owner cracks a thousand eggs a day, whipping up all sorts of omelettes (masala omelette anyone) for hungry travellers. His story goes that the 97 edition of the Lonely Planet listed him as the king of omelettes which, in his view, was an editorial mistake (at the time he didn’t even sell omelettes). Ever the entrepreneur, he set up an omelette stand (who was he to deprive those following the Lonely Planet advice) and on the back of the business he now has a couple of side ventures in the form of an internet cafe and travel tour company. The omelettes were very good, so perhaps this was more a prophecy than an editorial mistake. The other option was that the omelette man was full of it, which is a distinct possibility given the wider conversation we had.

Cook me some eggs!

In the last blog we received a stunning response to a plea for help with a cross-word (yes, the answer to the clue ‘more precipitous’ was ‘steeper’, something we were never going to get to as our travel-weary minds kept thinking the clue was about rain (precipitation)). So our next plea for help is an answer to the following question. Why do so many middle-aged (that’s 40-50 and certainly not 30 something!) Indian men dye their hair a burnt orange colour? There has to be a good reason, we expect Hinduism is at play, but we haven’t found an answer yet. We ask this because the afore mentioned auto rickshaw driver was sporting the burnt orange do, as was our omelette man.

Continuing with the food theme, one thing we’ve noted thus far in our travels through India is the obvious absence of alcohol on restaurant menus. Given the Hindu faith, in retrospect this is not surprising, but it has been weird assimilating the warped western view of Indian cuisine (butter chicken, a garlic naan and a pint of Kingfisher please) we have with the reality of India (vegetarian thali and a Limca). It was therefore quite humorous in Jodhpur at a great garden restaurant that we frequented that the waiter would take our order and then, under his breath, ask if we wanted a beer. If answering yes, two coffee mugs of beer would appear and ‘special coffee’ would feature on the bill.

The jewel in the crown of Jodhpur is the Mehrangarh Fort which towers over the city. Brilliantly preserved and given over to tourism by the current Maharaja, we spent a few hours following the audio guide around the palace and the defences which had never been breached inspite of numerous attacks. The audio guide was brilliant, one of the best we’ve used and we might even jump on iTunes when back home to see if we can download it. And it is only from the view offered by the Fort that one appreciates why Jodhpur is given the name of the ‘Blue City’ as the seemingly sporadic at street level blue painted houses form a blue mosaic when viewed from above.

So our first week in India is now behind us. We crossed the border and headed to Varanasi with a fair bit of trepidation following the numerous and repeated warnings we’d had to ‘be prepared for India’. Several hundred urban residing holy cows, a few dozen dead bodies and one maggot breakfast later, we’re in the groove and looking forward to another couple of weeks split between the north and south of India.

For sports fans, the next blog will be a pearler. For those of you planning on taking in a bit of Commonwealth Games action, keep an eye on the first NZ women’s hockey match and the first night of swimming finals for the two of us, a NZ flag and a ‘Vote Jum Morten’ message for un-decided voters in the earthquake ravaged Selwyn electorate.