After my delicious lunch and talk with the interesting woman I headed out into the town. I made my way to the main temple (also known as the Golden Temple) and was once more overwhelmed by the smells, sights and noises.
I saw two foreigners sitting ear the temple and asked them how to get to the entrance. They pointed the way to me but told me cameras/cell phones etc. were not allowed in. They offered to hold onto my bag because they had two friends who were in the temple already and they were holding their bags. One guy was British, the other German and they were installing some radiotherapy equipment in South Delhi, and had just come to Varanasi for the weekend - like me.
'When you come out there may be two different guys holding your bag. They're not as good-looking as us though',. the older one quipped. I burst out laughing. Then I realised it has been so long that I've laughed like that - since being in Egypt.
After all of the kerfuffle I still didn't manage to get into the temple. They wanted my passport but I hadn't been given it back since I handed it in to the hotel. I started swearing at the police who wouldn't let me in (in Arabic of course and in a sing songy fashion that no one would have ever suspected my aggressive intentions).
I continued my walk through the narrow alleys and came to a stop at a sweet lassi shop. The reason I stopped was because there were so many Koreans there I thought it must be some good lassi! My stomach was still not 100% so I decided against getting some for myself. Lassi is a yoghurt-based drink which can be salty or sweet. I watched the man as he peeled an apple then crushed it into large pot. he then added the yoghurt and a lot of sugar before serving it in a clay flower pot.
I continued walking. I bought a bell (for my Study India speech on Monday). a glue stick and a black marker pen. The chaotic Varanasi roads had now come to a complete standstill and a fruit cart, ten rickshaws and hoards of people tried to pass by the same point, at the same time.
Eventually I couldn't take anymore. I was scratching and sniffing continuously (I think there's some sort of powder that I'm allergic to in the air) and I was convinced that I was about to contract some deadly disease because the alleys were so narrow and everyone was spitting, coughing and scratching as well. happily though, there'd one major hygienic difference between Varanasi and Delhi. And that's in Varanasi me pee in designated areas, not like Delhi where peeing in new and innovative places is seen as something to aspire to.
I ducked into an internet cafe and did some research about Varanasi and what the hell I should be doing in this crazy town. Happily, I found that what I had been doing - randomly walking around - is exactly what the internet recommended me to do.'This is a town', I read, 'that is about seeing and experiencing life more than it is about visiting places'. Suits me fine, I thought, I love walking in new cities.
I also read online that every night at 7pm there is a religious ceremony on the main ghat in the River Ganges. I read somewhere that it is the oldest continuously-performed ceremony in the World, but a cafe owner told me that it was a hotel-chain ploy to bring in more tourists.
At 6.30 I made my way to the ghat (which is conveniently only 5 minutes away from the hotel). I sat near the front when a woman came up to me and offered me a flower garland with a candle in the centre that I was to light and put into the river (and make a wish/blessing for my family). I decided to do that if she'd take a picture of me. She unfortunately had ever handled a camera before, so her picture featured more of my feet than anything else. Luckily a younger man came to the rescue and gave me the photo I desired.
I then resumed sitting down on the step but once more I was interrupted. The holy man who was conducting the ceremony started shouting at me for sitting so close to the front. Up I got, and scuttled back. I noticed that throughout the ceremony, he was being very grumpy indeed and shouting at people left, right and centre. 'Not very religious and peace-loving' I thought to myself. May be the cafe owner had a point.
The final interruption cam from a very cute young girl. She opened up a box and started printing my arm in various patterns and colours. The girl was so sweet a nd beautiful that after she finished the print I was willing to give her 50 rupees just for it. Instead she was selling the entire box of colours for 100 rupees, and I agreed to buy them straight away. She let out a sweet 'Oh thank God' when I agreed.
'You're very pretty' she said to me. 'You're very pretty I said to her', meaning every word. She was also very intelligent and talented (at sales and art from the few minutes I spent with her). I was shocked by her reply. 'No I'm not pretty, my skin is black'.
Throughout the rest of the ceremony I was looking for that girl. I wanted to take her into a corner and tell her she was the most beautiful person in the World and that people all of the World would kill to look like her. But, I never saw her again.
The ceremony featured five strapping young men (did I just say strapping?) in orange garb. Three of them had shoulder-length hair, the other two short cut hair. They washed themselves in the Ganges before the ritual (I'm contemplating trying it too before I leave but the dead bodies in the river are a slight deterrence, what with all the diseases I may contract from them) then took their places behind five separate shrines. A half hour display of fire and incense twirling then followed. My favorite part was when all five of them blew loudly on conches, in honour of the mighty Ganges.
I started getting paranoid about things biting me about halfway though the ceremony when I noticed some black marks on my skin that hadn't been there before (not to my knowledge anyway). I began to pinch and scratch at my skin after I decided that it must be a tick lodged inside. Nothing came out but I was left with red mark all over my arm and strange stares from those around me.
I saw two foreigners sitting ear the temple and asked them how to get to the entrance. They pointed the way to me but told me cameras/cell phones etc. were not allowed in. They offered to hold onto my bag because they had two friends who were in the temple already and they were holding their bags. One guy was British, the other German and they were installing some radiotherapy equipment in South Delhi, and had just come to Varanasi for the weekend - like me.
'When you come out there may be two different guys holding your bag. They're not as good-looking as us though',. the older one quipped. I burst out laughing. Then I realised it has been so long that I've laughed like that - since being in Egypt.
After all of the kerfuffle I still didn't manage to get into the temple. They wanted my passport but I hadn't been given it back since I handed it in to the hotel. I started swearing at the police who wouldn't let me in (in Arabic of course and in a sing songy fashion that no one would have ever suspected my aggressive intentions).
I continued my walk through the narrow alleys and came to a stop at a sweet lassi shop. The reason I stopped was because there were so many Koreans there I thought it must be some good lassi! My stomach was still not 100% so I decided against getting some for myself. Lassi is a yoghurt-based drink which can be salty or sweet. I watched the man as he peeled an apple then crushed it into large pot. he then added the yoghurt and a lot of sugar before serving it in a clay flower pot.
I continued walking. I bought a bell (for my Study India speech on Monday). a glue stick and a black marker pen. The chaotic Varanasi roads had now come to a complete standstill and a fruit cart, ten rickshaws and hoards of people tried to pass by the same point, at the same time.
Eventually I couldn't take anymore. I was scratching and sniffing continuously (I think there's some sort of powder that I'm allergic to in the air) and I was convinced that I was about to contract some deadly disease because the alleys were so narrow and everyone was spitting, coughing and scratching as well. happily though, there'd one major hygienic difference between Varanasi and Delhi. And that's in Varanasi me pee in designated areas, not like Delhi where peeing in new and innovative places is seen as something to aspire to.
I ducked into an internet cafe and did some research about Varanasi and what the hell I should be doing in this crazy town. Happily, I found that what I had been doing - randomly walking around - is exactly what the internet recommended me to do.'This is a town', I read, 'that is about seeing and experiencing life more than it is about visiting places'. Suits me fine, I thought, I love walking in new cities.
I also read online that every night at 7pm there is a religious ceremony on the main ghat in the River Ganges. I read somewhere that it is the oldest continuously-performed ceremony in the World, but a cafe owner told me that it was a hotel-chain ploy to bring in more tourists.
At 6.30 I made my way to the ghat (which is conveniently only 5 minutes away from the hotel). I sat near the front when a woman came up to me and offered me a flower garland with a candle in the centre that I was to light and put into the river (and make a wish/blessing for my family). I decided to do that if she'd take a picture of me. She unfortunately had ever handled a camera before, so her picture featured more of my feet than anything else. Luckily a younger man came to the rescue and gave me the photo I desired.
I then resumed sitting down on the step but once more I was interrupted. The holy man who was conducting the ceremony started shouting at me for sitting so close to the front. Up I got, and scuttled back. I noticed that throughout the ceremony, he was being very grumpy indeed and shouting at people left, right and centre. 'Not very religious and peace-loving' I thought to myself. May be the cafe owner had a point.
The final interruption cam from a very cute young girl. She opened up a box and started printing my arm in various patterns and colours. The girl was so sweet a nd beautiful that after she finished the print I was willing to give her 50 rupees just for it. Instead she was selling the entire box of colours for 100 rupees, and I agreed to buy them straight away. She let out a sweet 'Oh thank God' when I agreed.
'You're very pretty' she said to me. 'You're very pretty I said to her', meaning every word. She was also very intelligent and talented (at sales and art from the few minutes I spent with her). I was shocked by her reply. 'No I'm not pretty, my skin is black'.
Throughout the rest of the ceremony I was looking for that girl. I wanted to take her into a corner and tell her she was the most beautiful person in the World and that people all of the World would kill to look like her. But, I never saw her again.
The ceremony featured five strapping young men (did I just say strapping?) in orange garb. Three of them had shoulder-length hair, the other two short cut hair. They washed themselves in the Ganges before the ritual (I'm contemplating trying it too before I leave but the dead bodies in the river are a slight deterrence, what with all the diseases I may contract from them) then took their places behind five separate shrines. A half hour display of fire and incense twirling then followed. My favorite part was when all five of them blew loudly on conches, in honour of the mighty Ganges.
I started getting paranoid about things biting me about halfway though the ceremony when I noticed some black marks on my skin that hadn't been there before (not to my knowledge anyway). I began to pinch and scratch at my skin after I decided that it must be a tick lodged inside. Nothing came out but I was left with red mark all over my arm and strange stares from those around me.
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