Varanasi, India

Arrival from an overnight train from Rishikesh into a super-busy Varanasi station was a shock, to say the least. Incredibly sleepy and un-bothered to haggle I jumped in the first tuk-tuk and requested to be taken to Shanti hostel, the first cheap place recommended in the lonely planet. This is where the fun started. There are 2 other Shanti's in Varanasi due to the popularity of the original, and of course I had no idea where I was going. The tuk-tuk driver and his "friend" that suddenly appeared were obviously working on commission. On arrival I questioned exactly where on the map we were - the hostel owner sheepishly pointed to somewhere much further south that the LP Shanti. I would've stayed there - most of the time imitations are better (and cheaper) than the LP alternatives, but it just wasn't where I wanted to be: near the Manikarnika burning ghat. Waving goodbye to the imitation Shanti and the still-waiting hand-rubbing tuk-tuk drivers I decided to walk along the river on the vast ghats. Hawked for hotels, boat trips and all kinds of drugs en-route I arrived down a dirty alley to an unfriendly welcome at the "real" Shanti. I asked for the cheapest room they had and ended up in a 150 rupee concrete box, with no window and a prison-hard bed! This is fine, but I couldn't help think it was slightly overpriced. 

After a dire nights sleep from the heat I decide to check out and find somewhere new. On walking around the tight old city alleys I hear the Sur Sarita music school recommended to me by a chap I met on a ghat. I poke my head in and see a girl proficiently playing tabla, a man making tabla and another man making a sitar. All of this in an open sided room with the Manikanika burning ghat not 50m away. The girl (Scottish Angie) beckons me to sit so I go over and listen and chat for an hour. She'd been there for a few days, with one one-hour lesson a day and as much time as you want to sit there and practice! (she's still there now at the time of writing this). I meet the teacher and book my first lesson. From this point I spend a lot of my time here. Locals, cows, dogs and goats all pop in of pop their head around the door to say hi. The "beautiful man" (Angie's quote) from the stall on the ghat brings tiny pottery cups of delicious chai for us to drink and smash the cup once finished.  

 

As it's so open it's incredibly hard to concentrate on learning tabla. Being next to the burning ghat for hours every day you really get a feel for this place and something gets inside you, compelling you to stay, just one more day. When I first saw the burning ghat I sat for ages, feeling slightly ill from the overpowering smells and sights - my very first time I saw a leg poking out from the blazing pile of wood, and couldn't help but stare at it in morbid fascination. Wandering around the maze of back streets in the old town you're passed regularly by male family members quickly carrying their sparkly robed dead to the pyre on bamboo stretchers while chanting "Rama nama satya hai". Surrounded by death at first seems too much, but then you read more about the rituals and religious thought processes with the families (and animals) involved and you start to understand. Krishna said "worn-out garments are shed by the body: worn-out bodies are shed by the dweller within. New bodies are donned by the dweller". It's incredibly complex and far too much to write about on this diary. You can read more about Hindu cremation ceremonies here.

Manikanika ghat under a full moon

My tabla learning was seriously hindered (Hindu-ed) by everything that was happening around me, I could concentrate more when in the private room upstairs but even then (with a better view of the ghat) I found myself staring out of the window. I loved playing the tabla and have always been interested in percussion instruments and seeing them made by matriculate craftsmen right in front of me prompted me to buy some. (the top-end copper ones if you must know!) Maybe I'll be able to concentrate (and therefore play) more in London - if the neighbours don't kill me.

Panna Lal (expert tabla maker) and my tabla!

As I have nowhere to stay Angie recommended her hostel to me, the Sunrise, just down from the Manikanika ghat. What a great place! The staff are so friendly and welcoming, and the food is fantastic. On their door it says "Our guest house is poor but our heart is big for you". They have a 150 rupee room for me, suspecting the worst I go for a look. I'm led down the side of the building towards the river, and up a tiny staircase. The manager opens a door to the smallest room I've ever seen. It's perched high up, almost over the river, with two windows (chicken wire) and a bed... that's it! I love it! Such charm, and what a view, wow! I put my bag down with a smile and the manager smiles back "good room!" I settled in here nicely.

 

Varinasi is an extra mind-bending place just when you thought you'd seen it all in India. I met people who hated it and didn't understand the fuss or notion behind it but I absolutely fell in love with it, and the people. Anyone going to India has to have this on their to-do list, but when you're there you don't have to do anything - you'll simply absorb it. 

Rishikesh, India

Arrived off a freezing cold 13 hour, two tier AC2 sleeper train into Haridwar. Immediately teamed up with a half Spanish half Uruguayan chewing tobacco addict and hopped on the local bus to Rishikesh for a pleasant hour-long jaunt up into the foothills of the Himalayas. Rishikesh is almost split into three parts: the backpacker haven on the west side of the river up the hill, the main town over the southern footbridge and "tourist town" further north on the east side of the river. This caused a little confusion on arrival. The backpacker haven is cheaper and quieter but an annoying walk to get to the town and the northern tourist town is, well, just tourists. We opted for the main town which seemed a nice mix of everything - and the Beatles ashram is close. Vehicles aren't allowed into the town, apart from motorbikes, bloody motorbikes, they're even allowed on the PEDESTRIAN bridge across the Ganges. Why is this so? Somebody stop them!

The bridge over to the east side

Checked into the Usha guest house for 200 rupees a night. Not in the lonely planet and set right at the back of Rishikesh it's quite peaceful. The staff (and dog) are very friendly and the the people that are here seem to be long-stayers. My room is nice and bright but also baking hot. As it's on the top floor at the end there's no passing traffic so I move the mattress outside and sleep in the nice cool air. A German girl in the next room also decides to do the same when she spots me.

Balcony sleeping

With the Ganges flowing right through the middle Rishikesh is a holy town. There are Babas, cows and monkeys everywhere. Monster relaxation is the main reason people come here. There's lots of tourists wandering about in post-meditation/yoga trances, wearing the popular travellers uniform of Ali-Baba pants and colourful tops!

I spend my time relaxing, inhaling the fresh mountain air with my tobacco chewing friend and a German girl. We take pictures, eat delicious dosa and paddle in the Ganges - it's relatively clean this far up! I spent an amazing afternoon at the Beatles ashram. I developed a taste for chai from a particular street vendor, run by a 9 year old called "lucky". He would mix and pour the fantastic chai for me and I would sit with him while he played the really shitty game (copter) on the really shitty phone I'd bought to travel with. 

Lucky

I ended up spending more time here than anticipated, mainly because of a complete balls-up in some planning. I'd booked a train to leave a day earlier than I wanted to, and only realised the mistake on the day that I wanted to leave! With that money down the toilet I went online and looked for the next train, the day after. I was on a waiting list of 7 people, which is a bit of a risk, but I booked it. The trains are so busy in India that people book them if they think they might need them, then cancel, hence the waiting lists are normally fine under a certain number (I've been successful on a 10 person waiting list before). Next day came, I ran checks via SMS and it went down to 6, then 5, then 4. I packed my stuff, got a tuk-tuk to the bus station, then a 1 hour bus to Haridwar and checked the SMS again... waitlist 4 still. I hung about in Haridwar for a while checking the SMS every hour or so, but I didn't budge from 4! The train leaving time came and still waitlist 4. I was going nowhere tonight! I was going to stay in Haridwar but couldn't find a room at a good price so did the bus, tuk-tuk, walk back to the guest house in Rishikesh. I then booked the train for the next day which was a waitlist of 2, which worked out fine :)

Pushkar, India

The day train heading west from Jaipur to Pushkar takes you into dryer and dustier landscapes. Camels appear in the fields and the heat noticeably rises. We get a side seat by the window and in the berth opposite are possibly the friendliest family i've met so far - photographs and smiles are exchanged for most of the journey!

Surrounded by a swarm of determined tuk-tuk drivers we leave the train station and walk up the road in the sweltering heat to the bus station. On the way there are some bulls munching a tiny patch of rare green grass in what looks like a school field. The gate is slightly open so we go to take some pictures, when a bull raises its head in what looks like a gurn and rapidly starts moving towards us. I try and close the gate but didn't get there in time so turn and run. Greta is already running to the amusement of the locals! After a minute I stop and look around - the bull has stopped in the road, traffic flowing around it, doing the head thing again - strange!

The bus is so busy. We sweatily push our way on with rucksacks and get to the back. Standing room only for this 40 minute journey up the hill. At the top, thankfully, everyone gets off the bus and we're in a super-dusty bus stand / market area. There are the usual crowds of people, cows and dogs but now also the odd working camel walking past. We set off in search of a guest house.  

We end up staying at the Mayur guest house for 200 rupees a night. Lovely little place with spacious rooms, en-suite, and cute little courtyard out front and run by a lovely family, who's house (and private temple) is attached. This could be one of my favourite guest houses so far. 

Pushkar is a holy city so there's no meat (not even eggs) or alcohol allowed (although some places do sell it under the counter). The lake is the centre surrounded by Ghats (steps) where people can get to the water, and the town is built up all around this and surrounded by dusty hills. It's very pretty, and spiritually "touristic" with modern and classic hippies roaming the main street in Ali Babar trousers - you can get espresso's and pizza here no problems! 

One day we saw a dog arched over, limping, slightly drooling from the mouth and blood coming from its rear, it looked at us with such a heartbreaking face as the locals dash around it like it doesn't even exist. Not wanting to touch it we try and find a vet: someone that can maybe put the dog out of its misery. This is not possible. Even if there was a vet we're told that culture wouldn't allow them to kill something - nature has to take its course. The next day we see the dog again and it's still alive but lying in the road, eyes closed, in the full heat of the sun. it's so frustrating to see this and not being able to do anything. The next day the dog is dead, and has been covered up by someone, who will then move it. It was only later that day that I found a leaflet for a UK animal charity working in India called TOLFA - who care for sick and injured animals.

We're here over Indian new year and there's a festival or procession happening every morning, noon and night! There's just too many to list and I forget which is which as this was over a week ago and they all melt into one colourful array. People dressed as Shiva sit on thrones in the town square watching fire breathers, and spinners. Free food is offered to thousands of people celebrating on the streets. Holy water is collected from the lake and taken through the streets on ornate carts with trumpeters and drummers alerting of its presence. Holy men bless people as they are transported through the streets on carts while extremely random sounding (LOUD) organ recordings play. One ghat is decorated and huge collections of musicians sing and play while people (and occasional cows) flock to the water. I've never seen anything quite like it.

Over breakfast one morning I got talking to a Spanish American lady with an identical twin and a huge interest in photography. They live in Pushkar for months at a time and know some interesting people. We go to an "invitation only" antique shop buried off the side of a temple - you would never find it unless taken. The shop is tiny but tall. Shelves full of Indian antiques and rarities pile high to the ceiling, years of dust cementing things together preventing collapse. Tobacco tins, paintings, cameras, cards, syringes, jars and instruments - more things than anyone could ever look at! The old smiling Indian owner enters the room and offers chai and smokes with a gruff voice then sits cross-legged. We chat for a while, I buy a cool old Indian tobacco tin from the 50's for a gift and we say goodbye. It was quite surreal, like being on a film set.

There are various temples around Pushkar, and some out on the surrounding hills. All reachable within 1 hour and with some great views back down to the town.

Loaded with items from the fabulous falafel shop me and Greta head to the overnight sleeper bus pick up area on our way deeper into the desert.