The Diary Om's omlettes for brekkie again and then we headed to the nearby Golden Temple through windy cow-pat infested lanes. As with many of the temples in India only Hindus are allowed to enter - which is fair enough. And you cannot be converted so if your parents aren't Hindus, forget it. LP said the temple could be viewed from a balcony across the way. A local tried to lead Oz to what he said was the balcony but was probably his shop but I spotted the right place and in we went. The top floor was closed and the view from the first floor could be described as disappointing. We watched the alleyway from above and saw cows shitting on the piles of flip-flops outside the temple and then a man - obviously an untouchable - come along to mop up the cow shit. What a strange country.
We then wandered down to the ghats avoiding the boat sellers and head massagers and found ourselves at one of the burning ghats with a cremation about to take place. A young lad came along and asked us to move but said we could watch from the second floor of a building. We went up and discreetly took a photo each. He seemed to think it was OK as we hadn't been seen but then more Indians came up and accused us of taking photos and started threatening us with the police and 3 months prison. At this point I said "come on, Oz" and we strode out with the young lad shouting behind us "baksheesh". We disappeared into the maze of alleyways until we were safe. Had we been set up? I'm not going back to find out.
We wandered through the alleys and after asking directions several times we made it back to the river and wandered along to the mosque. It didn't look very spectacular and when we climbed the steps it was shut. We ventured through the alleyways yet again and eventually found the road. We hired a rickshaw driver to take us to a Chinese restaurant near the station. He seemed to be struggling with the destination but another local explained it to him and we were off. He took us straight to Aces where we'd eaten the previous night. "No", we complained and after much frantic pointing at maps we were on our way again. He stopped on the way to ask directions but we got there. He seemed disappointed with his reward but then everyone here always does.
Meat! We broke our enforced vegetarianism and went to the station. The station had a tourist office. "Come back in the morning and buy your ticket then" we were told. This is easy. We then went in search of a temple opened by Gandhi which Tony Wheeler had got in completely the wrong place on the map. The LP maps are pretty atrocious at times and they quite often don't even have a scale. I threw a strop when they wouldn't let me put my shoes in my bag to carry them in. I didn't fancy leaving them outside, too many people about. "Who cares about your effing religion anyway?". I'm sure it's not going to be the last time I lose my temper in India.
Later in the evening we hunted out El Chico's which turned out to be Yelchikos but it did good meat curries as long as the meat was chicken. Hindus won't eat cows, Muslims won't eat pigs, mutton is always on the menu but never in the kitchen and that leaves chicken (that was starved to death). We bumped into Jack in the restaurant and talked to him about dodgy stomachs, work, holidays and Japan amongst other things.
The Diary We had omelettes (made by Om) and toast for breakfast and then headed to the ghats at the nearby riverside. "Change money, good rate, this way, you want boat, 10rp, come see my shop....." on and on it went. As bad as at Kuta. Nobody takes no for an answer until you've said it 10 times, ignored them for 5 minutes and then walked away. Shouts of "hello" from 10 yards away were invariably followed by "you want boat, 10rp".
Despite this the ghats were still quite a sight and had an unreal, ethereal feel about them. People were bathing and washing clothes all along the ghats just yards from floating sewerage and garbage. It might cleanse the soul but it'll probably pollute everything else.
We walked south along the ghats in the midday heat. It was hot but it surely isn't the hottest place we've been to. When we got to the end of the ghats we came inland and then more by accident than design we arrived at the pontoon bridge that crossed the river to the fort. We walked across, got up to the entrance and were told that it was closed until 2pm. LP wrong yet again. We sat down in the shade and had a drink. A few people sat and watched us, some even tried a conversation although some were more successful than others. "Which country is Afghanistan in?", "Sorry, I don't understand", "Which country is Kabul in?", "Afghanistan - you just told us!"
Oz replied with "which state is Dallas, Texas in?". At least it wasn't the usual "which country?", "How long in <insert current county>?" etc.
Oz scrubbing up
We waited 45mins and then we were let in. 3rp each for entry to the museum. We walked around guided by the arrows but a few explanations would have helped the displays which definitely had potential. We had to wait for a while, while a queen was sneaked out (!!). No-one was allowed to look at her. As if anyone cared. We walked on to the outer walls, everyone else disappeared into a temple, so we left.
Sweaty
We bargained with an auto-rickshaw driver and for 12rp he took us to the monkey temple. I'm not quite sure that LP has got all its facts right regarding the monkey temple and what it is properly called. I don't think we saw the one described in the book. It had lots of monkeys though but it was very unremarkable. We then dd the long trek back to Om's but our auto-rickshaw driver made a couple more attempts to do business with us. I attempted to buy a newspaper but absolutely nobody here seems willing to part with change. 100rp = 2 quid but it might as well be 200quid.
So far we'd only eaten a packet of biscuits so we set out in search of food. The Chinese restaurant was closed so we settled for Aces which did a large selection of, surprise, surprise, vegetarian dishes. It was like a British Rail waiting room in a small branch-line station that was about to be closed down. The food was edible though. We went back and Oz phoned home. "Worcester lost" said his Dad.
2012 Varanasi was an assault on the senses and even the previous 4 months travelling in SE Asia had only partly prepared us for it.
The driver probably did take us to a completely different monkey temple. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on Lonely Planet. The Thailand LP was rubbish though.
The Diary A day of wasting time before the flight. Nothing at Poste Restaurante, another visit to the British Council Library, we changed some more Nepalese rupees into Indian rupees and then tried to waste the few Nepalese rupees we had left. Cadburys did quite well out of us although I wonder how much they worry about vendors selling out of date stock? It'll get them a bad name. We wasted a bit more time and then caught a taxi to Tribhuvan Airport at 4pm. One of the least picturesque airport routes, even worse than the route to Teesside Airport that goes past Urlay Nook.
We encountered complete confusion at the check-in desk. No real queue and the least helpful staff anywhere. We got through, customs seemed to be non-existent, nobody wanted to check exchange receipts so we sat down to wait. Eventually the boarding signal went up and there was a mass charge. We waited calmly to the end and wandered through. Our baggage hadn't been labelled but when we got to the plane it was all laid out on the tarmac. We identified our bags and they were loaded on.
The view from the plane was fantastic as we were overland all the way, it was light and I had a window seat. The mountains disappeared and then it was completely flat. The in-flight meal consisted of a plastic beaker of water and a cardboard box marked 'vegetarian' which contained a tiny tomato sandwich (no butter), a pastie filled with vegetarian curry (a samosa?) and a slice of fruit cake all served by two unsmiling stewardesses in their Indian Airlines saris. On a par with United Airlines.
By the time we landed it was dark. Customs and Immigration were slow, strange and bureaucratic. The English speaking foreigners on the plane - the two of us and six Yanks - grouped together for moral support. The passports were checked by two people and then passed to a third who checked our visas against a huge computer print-out. Then we had to pick up our bags and join a queue and declare the amount of money we'd brought with us. Nobody seemed interested in checking our bags. This might have been slow for us but the majority of Indians were not even past the passport check.
The three American backpackers, 2 girls and a very old-looking young man called Jack, suggested the five of us catch a taxi together. We agreed and stepped outside. At that point, all hell broke loose as we were engulfed by the most insistent and persistent taxi-drivers and hotel touts encountered anywhere. Jack did the bargaining and got us a cab for 150rp. Even after we'd got in the cab people were opening the doors, pulling down the windows, shoving their cards in our faces, trying to tell us the cost was more than 150rp but we stuck it out and eventually moved off into V.S. Naipaul's 'Area of Darkness'. We reached the town and drove for miles through bustling streets full of pedestrians, rickshaws, cows, dogs, donkeys and auto-rickshaws. Eventually the cab stopped and the driver said we were there. At first we weren't convinced but it turned out we were in the right area.
We walked around being helped and hindered by more touts and 'helpful' locals. Through a labyrinthine bazaar area we went to the Yogi Lodge; not enough room, awful beds and full of hippies.Then we went through even more impossibly windy back streets and found the Om Lodge. Oz and I took a room and Jack went off to find the others. They were eventually led to the Hotel Ganges which they reckoned was far better. We were OK at Om as the owners were exceedingly helpful and friendly.
We were shown the way to a local restaurant but by this time it was 10pm and everything was shutting. We gave up and went to bed. The moral of the story? "Don't arrive in the dark". Why can't they follow the British example and have summer days that end after 10pm?
