I feel like I have writing diarrhoea (not a nice image, I'm sorry!). I haven't written in so long that everything I see or do in Varanasi feels like a writing opportunity.
I can't stop scratching my nose! Also, on the train journey to Varanasi I ate an apple that I thought I had previously washed. As I was eating, I felt like there was something on it but I ate it anyway. A few hours later I developed a rash on my top lip that has left my skin peeling. I'm also continuously scratching my mosquito bites, so as I walk down the street I'm having to do a strange solo dance that involves bending down to scratch my feet, scratching my nose then sometimes my back. It's really uncomfortable.
I took a cycle rickshaw to a restaurant called Madhur Milan, which was recommended on the Lonely Planet website. For one reason or another I always seem to chose elderly rickshaw drivers. I'm amazed at their strength though! I laughed to myself as I was riding the rickshaw, when a man (clearly seeing that I as already on a rickshaw) offered me to ride his rickshaw. What did he want me to do? Fall in love with his face then jump from my rickshaw into his arms?
When we got to the restaurant I paid him 20 rupees, but he wouldn't take one of my notes, saying that it was no good. I thought to myself, this isn't a car you're buying, this is a ten rupee note and if it has a staple through it no one's going to lose a little sleep over it! He wouldn't budge so I ended up raising my voice a little and leaving him the offending 10 rupee note on his rickshaw.
The restaurant was packed. I was put in a very tight space in front of two Indian men tucking into their dosas (stuffed deep-fried pancakes). Behind me, two British girls looked utterly lost in the chaos inside and left, without ordering anything, as soon as I sat down.
I ordered a masala dosa, aloo dam (spicy potatoes) and banana lassi. I realised my attempts at getting the waiter to explain the content of each dish is absolutely futile since he could barely string together the sentence 'What do you want'.
As I sat waiting for my food I got more and more irritated by the Indian men opposite me. One of them was coughing all over the table, making no attempt to guide his cough particles anywhere else. The other was letting out long, drawn-out burps then tapping himself on the stomach as if in congratulations. Under my breath I muttered a thousand Arabic curses, hoping my strange murmurings might alert them to my growing discomfort - it didn't.
The food came very quickly and it was delicious! The dosa in particular was very nice. Inside the deep-fried pancake was mashed potato and peas, spiced with masala. The lassi was also very nice, and really helped to extinguish the masala-enduced flames in my mouth.
On the way out I decided to buy some water. The water here is always 'packaged drinking water', never mineral water. If you're lucky you might pick up a bottle of 'packaged drinking water with added minerals', such as the one proudly sat in front of me on my desk.
After I bought the water a little boy with a turban started to follow me. 'Ma'am, hey ma'am'. I ignored him. He kept following me. Then to my horror I noticed what he was holding in his hands. He was holding the circular box that is used for carrying cobras.
'Oh crap!' I thought, if I don't give this kid money he's going to let his cobra out on me. I tried walking faster but in front of me a huge bull was blocking the road. The bull was very angry, tossing its head to the right and left and swatting its tail aggressively. I did a quick 360 and disappeared into a narrow lane, safe from bulls and cobras.
I can't stop scratching my nose! Also, on the train journey to Varanasi I ate an apple that I thought I had previously washed. As I was eating, I felt like there was something on it but I ate it anyway. A few hours later I developed a rash on my top lip that has left my skin peeling. I'm also continuously scratching my mosquito bites, so as I walk down the street I'm having to do a strange solo dance that involves bending down to scratch my feet, scratching my nose then sometimes my back. It's really uncomfortable.
I took a cycle rickshaw to a restaurant called Madhur Milan, which was recommended on the Lonely Planet website. For one reason or another I always seem to chose elderly rickshaw drivers. I'm amazed at their strength though! I laughed to myself as I was riding the rickshaw, when a man (clearly seeing that I as already on a rickshaw) offered me to ride his rickshaw. What did he want me to do? Fall in love with his face then jump from my rickshaw into his arms?
When we got to the restaurant I paid him 20 rupees, but he wouldn't take one of my notes, saying that it was no good. I thought to myself, this isn't a car you're buying, this is a ten rupee note and if it has a staple through it no one's going to lose a little sleep over it! He wouldn't budge so I ended up raising my voice a little and leaving him the offending 10 rupee note on his rickshaw.
The restaurant was packed. I was put in a very tight space in front of two Indian men tucking into their dosas (stuffed deep-fried pancakes). Behind me, two British girls looked utterly lost in the chaos inside and left, without ordering anything, as soon as I sat down.
I ordered a masala dosa, aloo dam (spicy potatoes) and banana lassi. I realised my attempts at getting the waiter to explain the content of each dish is absolutely futile since he could barely string together the sentence 'What do you want'.
As I sat waiting for my food I got more and more irritated by the Indian men opposite me. One of them was coughing all over the table, making no attempt to guide his cough particles anywhere else. The other was letting out long, drawn-out burps then tapping himself on the stomach as if in congratulations. Under my breath I muttered a thousand Arabic curses, hoping my strange murmurings might alert them to my growing discomfort - it didn't.
The food came very quickly and it was delicious! The dosa in particular was very nice. Inside the deep-fried pancake was mashed potato and peas, spiced with masala. The lassi was also very nice, and really helped to extinguish the masala-enduced flames in my mouth.
On the way out I decided to buy some water. The water here is always 'packaged drinking water', never mineral water. If you're lucky you might pick up a bottle of 'packaged drinking water with added minerals', such as the one proudly sat in front of me on my desk.
After I bought the water a little boy with a turban started to follow me. 'Ma'am, hey ma'am'. I ignored him. He kept following me. Then to my horror I noticed what he was holding in his hands. He was holding the circular box that is used for carrying cobras.
'Oh crap!' I thought, if I don't give this kid money he's going to let his cobra out on me. I tried walking faster but in front of me a huge bull was blocking the road. The bull was very angry, tossing its head to the right and left and swatting its tail aggressively. I did a quick 360 and disappeared into a narrow lane, safe from bulls and cobras.
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