The Wandering Chocoholic

Varanasi, India

Sunrise on the Ganges

This morning started off at the ungodly hour of a quarter to five when we got up for our sunrise boat ride on the Ganges. We all thought we were meeting at five-fifteen in the lobby, but when we got there, we waited about ten minutes and still no sign of Adi. We phoned up to his room and it turned out he had told us to meet at five-fifty. As in, five-five-zero. With his accent, we’d all misunderstood, and missed out on a valuable half hour of sleep. Groan.

Oh well, we were up, so into tuk-tuks and down to the waterfront we went. Unlike last night, it was a bit quieter this morning. We walked down to the river, this time getting into a quiet, serene rowboat, as opposed to the noisier motorboat from last night. And we rowed up and down the river, watching the sun come up through the haze. It was quite pretty, in a smoggy, polluted sort of way.

Plenty of people were bathing in the river. I can’t say I understand the appeal, personally; after seeing what goes into that water, my instinct is to keep myself as far away from it as possible. But pilgrims flock here to take a dip, and they even buy river water to drink, believing it will cure their ills. A microscope and an intro to biology class might suggest otherwise. But then, religion has never been exactly rational about such things.

Trudeau, not Trump

After the morning boat ride, we headed back to the hotel for breakfast. Some people took naps. I was operating on about six hours of sleep already and didn’t feel too terrible, so I stayed up and caught up on some blogging and such. I went around the corner to top up my phone credit — yep, I’ve blown through over a GB of data in a week — but luckily another GB only cost about a toonie. Gotta love India.

The guy at the phone shop asked me if I was American and said “Trump?” and gave a big thumbs-down sign. So I said “No, I’m Canadian and we don’t like Trump either.” He said, “ah, Canadian! Trudeau!” with a big thumbs-up. It’s good to be Canadian these days, I tell ya. Our PM is such a rock star that even the mobile phone recharge guy in Varanasi knows him.

(He then said “Modi” — the Indian Prime Minister — and gave a big thumbs up, too. “Yeah? I asked. “Yes, he fights corruption and terrorism. Very good,” he replied. I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the popularity of a guy who, with the stroke of a pen, unleashed such insane chaos on a billion people with a move that has made the whole country grind to a screeching halt, and that ultimately will have questionable impact on any real corruption. But, then, populist politics are everywhere, I suppose. And I’ve only been here a week; what do I know?)

A visit to the weaver’s village

Late morning, we headed out in tuk tuks to the local weavers’ colony. Varanasi is known for silk weaving; it’s an ancient art here, practiced today by the (majority Muslim) weavers. We visited some of the looms and studios where garments and textiles are made, both for local consumption and for export on a large scale. The nylon, polyester and cotton are woven on giant mechanical looms fed by punchcards painstakingly punched out by operators one at a time. The noise level was deafening. The silk is woven by hand on giant hand looms; to make seamless larger pieces, two weavers work together side by side on a single master loom.

We were led through the neighbourhood by a local shop representative. It’s Friday, so many of the men were on their way to the mosque for midday prayers. We saw lots of kids everywhere who seemed eager to greet us and pose for photos.

After the tour, we were ushered into the shop’s showroom for the usual sales pitch. But that was okay; this time I didn’t mind, since I was specifically here to shop. The owner poured us some chai, and brought out item after item — elaborate blankets, bedsheet sets and tablecloths, one-of-a-kind tapestries, pashminas, scarves and more.

Sari in a saree

And I finally got to fulfill one of my wishlist items for India and try on a sari (or, as it’s spelled here, a saree). I couldn’t pass up the chance to try my namesake dress. The shop attendant draped a ton of fabric around me in impossibly intricate folds, gracefully managing with a few flicks of his wrist to dress me in Indian finery. I didn’t get the full effect since they didn’t have the blouses or skirts to try; this was really just a demonstration. Ready for a wedding, dare I say?

Anyway, pretty as they were, I wasn’t going to buy a saree. I would have very limited occasion to wear such an elaborate garment back home, not to mention the uncomfortable cultural appropriation overtones. But it was fun to try one.

In the end, I purchased some scarves. They cost quite a bit more money than I’d planned to spend, but they were real silk, and actually made here by the fair trade cooperative, as opposed to, say, in China with fake materials and child labour. Quite happy with my purchases, I grabbed some lunch with the others at a local vegetarian restaurant before heading back to the hotel.

Last evening in India

This evening was our final night in India. You’d think we would be spending it partying it up in Varanasi. But no. We leave tomorrow early morning — well, middle of the night, really — for our train to the Nepalese border. Plus, a number of us weren’t feeling too great; my cough and cold symptoms, which had nearly disappeared in Orchha, returned with a vengeance in Varanasi’s smoggy, polluted air. A number of others on the tour are coughing as well, and some people are fighting stomach and other assorted ills. So we made tonight another quiet, low-key evening.

Against the backdrop of the flickering power in the hotel — it seemed to go out every few minutes or so, only to switch back on a few seconds later — we did some prep work for the journey. We bought snacks and water for the train. We got our laundry back and repacked our bags, doing some jigsaw magic to fit in today’s purchases. My Indian sim card won’t work in Nepal, so I took advantage of my last full day of internet access for what may be a few days to blog and reply to some emails.

After eating such a big late lunch, most of us weren’t really hungry for dinner, so we just got some light bites in the hotel restaurant. (Mom, you’ll be happy to know that the chicken soup I got to soothe my throat helped a little, though it couldn’t hold a candle to yours.) And we went to bed really early, because we’ve got to wake up well before sunrise.

Reflections on India

Would I return to India? I don’t know, honestly.

On the one hand, it’s the first travel destination I’ve been to in a long time that I really didn’t love. India is stressful at the best of times, and the cash crisis certainly added to the stress, especially for the first few days. The smog and pollution have probably done more damage to my lungs in a week than smoking would in a year. The way you have to dodge crazy traffic and cow patties and people trying to harass, scam or target you every time you so much as walk down the block is exhausting. I saw some amazing sights, but the big cities I saw (with the possible exception of Jaipur) are not very nice. And everything just takes forever and is so disorganized. India teaches you patience, because it’s the only way to keep smiling through it all.

On the other hand, I’m keenly aware that India is huge and I can’t possibly form a realistic opinion in a mere ten days. I’m quite interested in seeing parts of the country that are meant to be much nicer than the ones I’ve seen, especially Kerala and the southeast. Also, India is completely mad, but it’s certainly unique; there’s no possibility to get bored here. So there may well be at least another India trip in my future, possibly more. But at this point, I think I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen and quite happy to be done with this leg of the trip.

Thank you, India. It’s been real. More soon from Nepal!