I read William Sutcliffe's "Are You Experienced?" one night in a delightful reading frenzy. It's a bit racy at times, but captures some of the tourist and traveller vibe on the road in India. And has some hilarious black humor.
The day after I read it I sat down in a crowded restuarant in Bodhgaya opposite two German fellows on their third day in India. I was shocked that they had arrived in Bodhgaya after 3 days, since they had landed in Mumbai (Bombay). They had managed to visit Varanasi in between. No small feat. It turns out they had flown from Mumbai to Varanasi. They were in shellshock. No doubt. Varanasi is an intense town. It's the epitomy of India. Filthy. Crazy to the western mind (I met an Irish guy there two years ago, who said "cows are supposed to be in pastures, not in town!"). The German fellows said they were overcome by the smells and filth. Every shop has a different smell... intense inscense, strong foods, burning charcoal, burning garbage. The street has a variety of dung in it... most often smelling a bit like a cow barn.
They had been hassled by touts. Sold a bus ticket for a bus that didn't exist. When they got to where the bus was supposed to be there was nothing. They were at the mercy of a rickshaw driver who suggested they go to Bodhgaya. Not knowing what else to do, they agreed to pay him an inflated price to go to the train station. They were smart enough to say they wouldn't pay him if he was lying about the train.
They said "everyone here is lying and cheating!" They had taken a proper taxi from Gaya to Bodhgaya. Everyone takes rickshaws. They had clutched there bags beneath their feet afraid of being ripped off. They were truly in shock and fear. I don't know if they didn't have a guide book or what. Usually I try to get some information on transport and prices.
They had a crazy 5 week itinerary. Mumbai, Varanasi, Bodhgaya, Patna, Gaya, Kolkata, Varanasi, Mumbai, Goa, and the west coast. I tried to tell them there were two ways I knew of to get some relief from the intensity of India... one is to go to non-tourist areas. Sometimes just a few kilometers will make all the difference in being suffocated by touts and aggressive approaches. And then there is the mountains... the Buddhists, and the mountains are much less intense.
I tried to convince them to take a trip to Darjeeling or Sikkim. They had 18 days before their flight from Varanasi to Mumbai. Kolkata, I told them would be a repeat of Varanasi. Intense. Poverty. Filth. Touts. Nobody goes to Gaya and Patna... I had never heard of anything interesting about them... they were just intense, crime-ridden travel hubs from what I had heard.
An American guy Jason sat down. He's been doing research on NGO's in Bodhgaya and lived there 6 months aready. He tried to convince them to change their itinerary as well. He said, "You know all that filth that disgusted you in Varanasi... the dung, and urine, and dead rats, and half burned trash? when it rains in Kolkata, the streets flood up to your waist and you have to walk through it!"
I saw the German's the next day. They had been on one of the school tours to see the money making school operations. (I'm proud to say, I didn't see one school in Bodhgaya). It's the number one touted item. The German guy went on about how the children sit in a dark dingy room without light, or proper books, or paper etc. He said how amazing it was because you hear such things about the third world, and now he has seen it with his own eyes. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was likely not so real as he thought.. but merely a staged show to let tourists feel compassionate and charitable. I felt sad because I'm sure that such ill equipped schools do exist... in a way the one he saw existed... but it was merely a cash hog for it's owners.
They had booked a train for Darjeeling. I was relieved for them.
It reminded me of a tourist I met my first days in Bodhgaya. She had been on a local tour with a local guide to see some poverty stricken village. She exclaimed, "They are so poor they eat rice and cow dung!" "I don't think so," I said, "I know they dry cow dung to burn for fuel, but I don't think they eat it." "No, really", she said, "I had a local guide and he showed me how they shape it into round disks and dry it in the sun... and he told me they are so poor that is what they eat!"
I took it in. I said, "Well, in India, anything is possible, I suppose." Yesterday, I told my local friend Kundan about it, and he burst out laughing, "Tourists will believe anything!" I joked that maybe we should make a business an make fried cow dung to sell to tourists. It could be like the fried grasshopper carts I see roaming the streets late at night in Thailand to take advantage of drunk tourists who want to show off.
I tried to explain to Kundan the humorous folk song "Moose Turd Pie." The song is about a group of cowboys and how whoever complains about the food has to cook. It goes on about how this one night, the cook makes moose turd pie and feeds it to the cowboys. One cowboy exclaims, "Uggh, this is moose turd pie.... but it's the best I've ever had!"
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bye Bye Bodhgaya: Hello Varanasi
I left Bodhgaya at 4am on 31 August. My last day found me a bit sad and resisting leaving. I spent some time under the Boddhi Tree and regretted not having spent a whole day at one time sitting under it. I'm not sure I have ever felt such a powerful place... everytime I went there and sat under it, I felt an amazing energy pervade me instantly.
Over the last few days in Bodhgaya, I finally regained my strength and felt strong again after the pilgrimage. I befriended the chef at the next guesthouse and spent some time with him when I could... it was difficult because of communication and also that he was bad with appointments. Twice he said he would come by my room at a given time and never showed up. A man that had sold me a piece of plastic for the pilgrimage emailed me worried that I did not get back safely. I went to visit him at his father's hardware shop. They were so nice. They treated me to chai and asked how the pilgrimage went. Narij had given me his mobile number in case I had any trouble. We tried to meet for a bike ride, but when I showed up at his house at the appointed time, he was not there. Local custom is to give the guest tea and biscuits. Sweet, but I find it a bit grueling to have to sit through awkward social situations with those that I can't communicate with. And I hate being put on a pedestal. One day Narij took me to his house and I was given some dry snack mix... apparently only for me to eat and not the family. I went to work trying to politely down it all quickly. I left my chai(tea) alone wanting to save it to was the food down with. A woman who lived at the house told me "Drink your tea!". People here are often willing to tell you what to do. I am tired of it.
I made the mistake of agreeing to go to Sunil's (the chef) village one day. I was in a very Western frame of mind. I alotted 1.5 hours for the village trip, then I wanted to do some internet, and try to visit some other folks that had helped me prepare for the pilgrimage. The twenty minutes of predeparture time turned into an hour. It didn't help that I had a bout of diarrhea. The 5-10 minutes I was quoted for the travel time turned into 30 minutes. Sunil asked if I had gifts for his family while we were on the way. Why he didn't think to brief me before I don't know. I was also upset because I hate being treated like some ATM or gift machine. I told him I didn't have gifts. I thought we could just skip it. Next thing I know we stop at a shop/stall and he asks for 22 rupees (a small amount) and purchases a bunch of candies and some sweets (kind of like cookies). He gets an amazing amount for such a small price. And we continue to his village. I am stared at like I am maybe the first white person to visit their village... if not the first, definitely an unusual occurence. Sunil keeps asking "any problem?" I tell him I am tired, and don't want to stay long. His village is primarily of mud huts. Naked and half naked toddlers run around. His house is set up like a small compound with a tiny courtyard surrounded by mud rooms with thatched roofs. There is a brick building of two rooms as well. He shows me what was "his room" (he stays at the guest house where he works), a small space cramped because of a huge mud urn to store the family's harvest of rice. He tells me "give gift. one to one." One piece of candy to each child. I don't like this. It feels silly because I am being told what to do, rather than giving out of my heart. Plus I don't like the idea of starting the tradition of giving teeth rotting candies to "poor children" from "rich tourist". It starts a habit of begging, and a "poor me" attitude. There are much better ways to gift and be charitable. I could have bought them a big bag of dried beans or something.
Sunil asked me whether I wanted water, tea, or hot milk. I declined saying I was sick in my stomach. I really didn't want to put anything questionable in it. And since I was having diarrhea, I didn't really want to put anything in my stomach until I was near my guest house and "my toilet". I was surrounded by his brother's kids and probably some neighbors. I presented the box of fancy sweets to his brother's wife as instructed. Then I was led into a tiny room in the brick structure and presented with a glass of hot milk that was far too hot to drink. In the hot weather, it would take forever to cool. I was cornered in this stuffy little room with about 12 mainly kids staring at me. A hand fan was brought and one of the children fanned me. I fumed with hate on the inside... hating being a spectacle, and being put on such a pedestal. I smiled graciously on the outside. Luckily the little child fanning me quit quickly, and I grabbed the fan and fanned the children nearest me. They smiled. After about 15 minutes, my milk was finally cool enough to drink. It tastes of smoke from the fire to heat it. Probably they burnt the dried water buffalo dung I saw plastered in a mosaic on the outside walls drying in the sun. I made the prayer that the milk was just what my stomach needed and tried to counter my thoughts of unsanitary conditions. My eyes had noted distended belly's and skin rashes on the children. I prayed for their health. Finally, Sunil said "let's go" and we escaped. But when we got to where we'd left our bicycles, he asked if I had my camera. I did and so we had to go back so I could take pictures of his home and family. Finally we were on our way back to town. I was ready. The 1.5 hours I had allotted had turned into 3 hours. I was starved. We rode with a small friend of Sunil's and next he was pleading with me to stop at his house. I tried to get out of it, but they said they had to run a 5 minute errand. So I was "dumped off" at his house. His father stared at me. His sister spoke some English, and I was offered tea, milk, or water again. I explained my stomach was upset and opted for the water. My friends left. I tried to smile in spite of my exhaustion and frustration. Sure enough, they were back in five minutes. The family tried to present me with some food that looked like mashed potatoes, but was some sort of sweet. I declined pointing to my stomach. Sunil got stuck being the guest to eat the offering. He didn't eat all of it. Finally we left. I was ready to eat and be alone. Sunil and his friend I think tried to get me to take them out to lunch. I gave him the choice of me printing the photos for him or taking them to lunch. I felt a bit guilty. On one hand it is nothing, but on the other hand I have a small daily budget and my savings are depleting. And I resent being expected to gift and pay everyone. I wasn't sure if Sunil understood my offer of choices to him, but when we got to the restaurent, he and his friend turned away on their bikes saying they didn't have money. I ate and felt better that my hunger was gone.
One afternoon I stopped by the clothing shop where I had bought some of my "orange wear" for the pilgrimage. The man didn't speak much English, but found a neighboring shopkeeper who did. He had explained to me what to expect and how to prepare for the pilgrimage. They had asked me to come by when I returned from the pilgrimage. The older man who didn't speak much English was there... genuinely glad to see me. He set me in a chair.. the only chair at his stop... most sat on the mat on the floor. Then he went to get me tea, couldn't find any, and brought me a soda instead. I was touched. We couldn't share much in words, but I told him a little of my experience and indicated that I had carried the Holy water on my shoulder with the stick. He was happy to sit in silence with me after our words ran out. I was grateful not to have to have forced conversation. The genuine interest and hospitality made me feel good... a nice counter balance to the streets full of touts. He asked me to come by again before I left. I came back the next day to show some pictures of me on the pilgrimage.
I spent my last time in my room at the guest house. I would miss it a bit. It overlooked some fields and a cluster of ramshackle houses. Low brick walls surrounded the nearest fields. The first days there I noticed kids squatting on the walls... I thought it was sweet how they were hanging out with each other. Then one day I noticed a girl squatting on the wall and a pile of feces under her. I realized they were using it as a toilet! For some reason in Bihar, toilets don't seem to be fashionable. When I rode along the roads, seeing people squatting and doing their business was a common sight.
Hairy black pigs roamed around the area as well. Wallowing in the flooded swampy areas. I thought perhaps they were part of the system in this lack of latrines. I have heard that in China the outhouse backs up to the pig pen and provides a food source for the pigs. But I noticed the girl's feces was still there a day later.
My train was at 5:30 am. I was traveling with a local fellow and businessman who I had befriended during my stay in Bodhgaya. Having someone to travel with would make things easier. It turned out there was a group of three Japanese tourists going on the same train, so we arranged to hire a rickshaw together. I didn't sleep much, waking every half hour to make sure I was up and ready at 4am. Everything went smoothly and we got to the train station 30 minutes away in Gaya. Our train left on time. I got some sleep on it. Then the train became delayed by several hours.
We arrived in Varanasi around noon. My friend negotiated a bicycle rickshaw... I was grateful not to have to deal with the haggling. Varanasi is hip to tourists... in the sense that there are plenty of touts looking to take you for as much as they can. We bumped along the crowded mayhem of Varanasi streets. It was hot. The roads were crowded. I was getting lots of attention. Passing bicycle rickshaw drivers kept saying "Hello". I ignored them.
My friend planned to return to Bodhgaya the same day after he did some business. I was sad. He had talked of staying several days here, and I would have liked that. But for some reason I couldn't convince him to. I was hurt the night before when he talked with another friend in Bodhgaya the night before... a friend he had planned to come to Varanaisi with. He told him he wished he was coming so they could have fun and hang out. I was hurt that he didn't want to do the same with me, though he talked of how sad he was that I was leaving Bodhgaya.
In the heat on the bone shaking rickshaw, it came out. He asked me why I wanted him to stay and hang out. I replied to "hang out like you said you wanted to do with your other friend Jason." "But with you it's different," he said, "People know you here." I was flabberghasted. It was homophobia. He was afraid he would get a reputation. He was silly because only one local person in Varanasi knew I was gay and I didn't expect or plan on seeing him. It all began to come together... comments made and actions made with other of his friends the last few days. I had felt slighted at times, but had tried to ignore it and not take things personally.
It was silly because my friend, the chef, and his colleagues knew I was gay and they didn't have any issue hanging out with me. The group from Assam I finished the pilgrimage with had known and didn't have any issues.
I was upset, because I had really liked this guy... we had been close platonic friends. I thought good friends. And now I realized he would let his paranoid fears limit his time with me. I fumed along the bumpy crowded road. I told him that really I didn't have any reputation here in Varanasi. I said I was quite annoyed with his issues and behavior. He didn't reply. I fumed more. After little to eat and long train ride, it was harder to keep perspective. But I vowed to myself I would be fine and happy here anyways. We got off the rickshaw in the busy Goudalia Center. We paid the driver and he tried to extort more than the agreed upon fare. We ignored him. I shook hands and said goodbye and turned away abruptly. He asked if something was wrong. I told him I was angry with his behavior and told him to go away. I walked off into the crowd half hoping he would follow me. The touts pleaded with me ... did I need a guest house, hashish, a rickshaw.... I flicked them off like fleas, saying "cello" which means go away in Hindi. I began to feel good. It was a familiar place. The energy swelled up inside me. I felt the magic and power of Varanasi... or maybe it was just a sign from my spirit that I was supposed to be here.
I stopped at the internet shop I remembered from before, where a nice young man worked. Sure enough, Rahul was there. He remembered me. He agreed to let me stash my big backpack there while I found a place to stay. A big backpack is an invitation to all the touts who assume you are looking for a guesthouse. The problem is that if a tout takes you to a guesthouse, you end up paying an inflated price to cover the money they demand from the guesthouse for bringing them a customer. Plus, I had ideas about where to stay.
I wandered through the narrow alleys, watching out that I didn't step in ever present cow dung. I saw the poor, wretched dogs I remembered. Never reincarnate as a dog in Varanasi... they are the worst looking, unhealthiest dogs I have ever seen. Starving, rabid, mangey. I got stuck behind a tri-cycle with it's cargo of soda trying to navigate the narrow alley. (On the road I had noticed one of the greatest ironies... a tricycle with a cargo of color TVs!).
I decided to eat in one of my favorite restaurants here before searching for a room. Then I got my room... 70rs for a single with attached bath. It wasn't spectacular, but it was cheap and done. I was dissapointed because I had thought that guesthouse allowed local guests... in case I made amends with my friend... but they no longer did... something about permits, and more likely bribe money for the police. Many times it is common for guesthouses to segregate... to try to create a safe place for tourists away from hustlers and touts. I'm not sure how I feel about this form of bigotry. I can see both sides.
I walked down to the River... the Ganga... as broad as an ocean... well not really... but it gives the feeling of the ocean. I thought about bathing in it to purify my sins. But I saw it's filthe. And even though I know that cholera can not survive long in it, from the blurb in the guidebook, I decided I would put off a plunge into it. It was easier at Babadham in Sultanganj, when I was doing the pilgrimage and egged on by locals. I tried to stroll along the ghats (banks), but was dissappointed to find the river was too high now. When I was here two years ago, it was winter and the river was low, and you could walk the river the length of the town.
I found Shelley, a traveller and kindred spirit I had met in Bodhgaya, and had a good visit with her. I met some of her friends in her guest house. I considered moving there. It was a traveller's hang out. It might be a good place for me now... having been immersed alot in the local culture.
I slept a good night's sleep in my room. I am looking forward to doing some painting and sitting by the river. Looking forward to eating some good cheap, food... the variety is good here. There is even a wood fired pizza place. The last few months I have been in places where food options on my budget have been limited.
I will also decide where next. The season is ending soon in Ladakh... the place I felt called to come here for... but have procrastinated getting to for 3 months. It's about 60 hours from here. I'm not sure how many treks I can do by myself there. Most require guides and ponies. So I am considering going someplace closer for a mountain experience. I am realizing that I really miss the US for outdoor things... here can be hard to be alone, and information and maps for what wilderness are hard to come by. I think back to my fun on Mauna Loa in 2005... the park service had a map and a trail and shelters.
I also heard from my Indian friend and colleague in Rishikesh, that it is good there, and he would like me to teach Reiki there. The idea of having a home base appeals to me... perhaps I would like to do that sooner rather than later (after Ladakh).
So todays plans are to research Ladakh, and other options and sort out my feelings... if I head to Ladakh, I might end up on the bus for my birthday... it would be nice to plan something nicer...
Speaking of homophobia, someone sent me this link about the first federal official in Canada to have a same-sex marriage:
http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20070818/brison_wedding_070818/20070818?hub=TopStories
Over the last few days in Bodhgaya, I finally regained my strength and felt strong again after the pilgrimage. I befriended the chef at the next guesthouse and spent some time with him when I could... it was difficult because of communication and also that he was bad with appointments. Twice he said he would come by my room at a given time and never showed up. A man that had sold me a piece of plastic for the pilgrimage emailed me worried that I did not get back safely. I went to visit him at his father's hardware shop. They were so nice. They treated me to chai and asked how the pilgrimage went. Narij had given me his mobile number in case I had any trouble. We tried to meet for a bike ride, but when I showed up at his house at the appointed time, he was not there. Local custom is to give the guest tea and biscuits. Sweet, but I find it a bit grueling to have to sit through awkward social situations with those that I can't communicate with. And I hate being put on a pedestal. One day Narij took me to his house and I was given some dry snack mix... apparently only for me to eat and not the family. I went to work trying to politely down it all quickly. I left my chai(tea) alone wanting to save it to was the food down with. A woman who lived at the house told me "Drink your tea!". People here are often willing to tell you what to do. I am tired of it.
I made the mistake of agreeing to go to Sunil's (the chef) village one day. I was in a very Western frame of mind. I alotted 1.5 hours for the village trip, then I wanted to do some internet, and try to visit some other folks that had helped me prepare for the pilgrimage. The twenty minutes of predeparture time turned into an hour. It didn't help that I had a bout of diarrhea. The 5-10 minutes I was quoted for the travel time turned into 30 minutes. Sunil asked if I had gifts for his family while we were on the way. Why he didn't think to brief me before I don't know. I was also upset because I hate being treated like some ATM or gift machine. I told him I didn't have gifts. I thought we could just skip it. Next thing I know we stop at a shop/stall and he asks for 22 rupees (a small amount) and purchases a bunch of candies and some sweets (kind of like cookies). He gets an amazing amount for such a small price. And we continue to his village. I am stared at like I am maybe the first white person to visit their village... if not the first, definitely an unusual occurence. Sunil keeps asking "any problem?" I tell him I am tired, and don't want to stay long. His village is primarily of mud huts. Naked and half naked toddlers run around. His house is set up like a small compound with a tiny courtyard surrounded by mud rooms with thatched roofs. There is a brick building of two rooms as well. He shows me what was "his room" (he stays at the guest house where he works), a small space cramped because of a huge mud urn to store the family's harvest of rice. He tells me "give gift. one to one." One piece of candy to each child. I don't like this. It feels silly because I am being told what to do, rather than giving out of my heart. Plus I don't like the idea of starting the tradition of giving teeth rotting candies to "poor children" from "rich tourist". It starts a habit of begging, and a "poor me" attitude. There are much better ways to gift and be charitable. I could have bought them a big bag of dried beans or something.
Sunil asked me whether I wanted water, tea, or hot milk. I declined saying I was sick in my stomach. I really didn't want to put anything questionable in it. And since I was having diarrhea, I didn't really want to put anything in my stomach until I was near my guest house and "my toilet". I was surrounded by his brother's kids and probably some neighbors. I presented the box of fancy sweets to his brother's wife as instructed. Then I was led into a tiny room in the brick structure and presented with a glass of hot milk that was far too hot to drink. In the hot weather, it would take forever to cool. I was cornered in this stuffy little room with about 12 mainly kids staring at me. A hand fan was brought and one of the children fanned me. I fumed with hate on the inside... hating being a spectacle, and being put on such a pedestal. I smiled graciously on the outside. Luckily the little child fanning me quit quickly, and I grabbed the fan and fanned the children nearest me. They smiled. After about 15 minutes, my milk was finally cool enough to drink. It tastes of smoke from the fire to heat it. Probably they burnt the dried water buffalo dung I saw plastered in a mosaic on the outside walls drying in the sun. I made the prayer that the milk was just what my stomach needed and tried to counter my thoughts of unsanitary conditions. My eyes had noted distended belly's and skin rashes on the children. I prayed for their health. Finally, Sunil said "let's go" and we escaped. But when we got to where we'd left our bicycles, he asked if I had my camera. I did and so we had to go back so I could take pictures of his home and family. Finally we were on our way back to town. I was ready. The 1.5 hours I had allotted had turned into 3 hours. I was starved. We rode with a small friend of Sunil's and next he was pleading with me to stop at his house. I tried to get out of it, but they said they had to run a 5 minute errand. So I was "dumped off" at his house. His father stared at me. His sister spoke some English, and I was offered tea, milk, or water again. I explained my stomach was upset and opted for the water. My friends left. I tried to smile in spite of my exhaustion and frustration. Sure enough, they were back in five minutes. The family tried to present me with some food that looked like mashed potatoes, but was some sort of sweet. I declined pointing to my stomach. Sunil got stuck being the guest to eat the offering. He didn't eat all of it. Finally we left. I was ready to eat and be alone. Sunil and his friend I think tried to get me to take them out to lunch. I gave him the choice of me printing the photos for him or taking them to lunch. I felt a bit guilty. On one hand it is nothing, but on the other hand I have a small daily budget and my savings are depleting. And I resent being expected to gift and pay everyone. I wasn't sure if Sunil understood my offer of choices to him, but when we got to the restaurent, he and his friend turned away on their bikes saying they didn't have money. I ate and felt better that my hunger was gone.
One afternoon I stopped by the clothing shop where I had bought some of my "orange wear" for the pilgrimage. The man didn't speak much English, but found a neighboring shopkeeper who did. He had explained to me what to expect and how to prepare for the pilgrimage. They had asked me to come by when I returned from the pilgrimage. The older man who didn't speak much English was there... genuinely glad to see me. He set me in a chair.. the only chair at his stop... most sat on the mat on the floor. Then he went to get me tea, couldn't find any, and brought me a soda instead. I was touched. We couldn't share much in words, but I told him a little of my experience and indicated that I had carried the Holy water on my shoulder with the stick. He was happy to sit in silence with me after our words ran out. I was grateful not to have to have forced conversation. The genuine interest and hospitality made me feel good... a nice counter balance to the streets full of touts. He asked me to come by again before I left. I came back the next day to show some pictures of me on the pilgrimage.
I spent my last time in my room at the guest house. I would miss it a bit. It overlooked some fields and a cluster of ramshackle houses. Low brick walls surrounded the nearest fields. The first days there I noticed kids squatting on the walls... I thought it was sweet how they were hanging out with each other. Then one day I noticed a girl squatting on the wall and a pile of feces under her. I realized they were using it as a toilet! For some reason in Bihar, toilets don't seem to be fashionable. When I rode along the roads, seeing people squatting and doing their business was a common sight.
Hairy black pigs roamed around the area as well. Wallowing in the flooded swampy areas. I thought perhaps they were part of the system in this lack of latrines. I have heard that in China the outhouse backs up to the pig pen and provides a food source for the pigs. But I noticed the girl's feces was still there a day later.
My train was at 5:30 am. I was traveling with a local fellow and businessman who I had befriended during my stay in Bodhgaya. Having someone to travel with would make things easier. It turned out there was a group of three Japanese tourists going on the same train, so we arranged to hire a rickshaw together. I didn't sleep much, waking every half hour to make sure I was up and ready at 4am. Everything went smoothly and we got to the train station 30 minutes away in Gaya. Our train left on time. I got some sleep on it. Then the train became delayed by several hours.
We arrived in Varanasi around noon. My friend negotiated a bicycle rickshaw... I was grateful not to have to deal with the haggling. Varanasi is hip to tourists... in the sense that there are plenty of touts looking to take you for as much as they can. We bumped along the crowded mayhem of Varanasi streets. It was hot. The roads were crowded. I was getting lots of attention. Passing bicycle rickshaw drivers kept saying "Hello". I ignored them.
My friend planned to return to Bodhgaya the same day after he did some business. I was sad. He had talked of staying several days here, and I would have liked that. But for some reason I couldn't convince him to. I was hurt the night before when he talked with another friend in Bodhgaya the night before... a friend he had planned to come to Varanaisi with. He told him he wished he was coming so they could have fun and hang out. I was hurt that he didn't want to do the same with me, though he talked of how sad he was that I was leaving Bodhgaya.
In the heat on the bone shaking rickshaw, it came out. He asked me why I wanted him to stay and hang out. I replied to "hang out like you said you wanted to do with your other friend Jason." "But with you it's different," he said, "People know you here." I was flabberghasted. It was homophobia. He was afraid he would get a reputation. He was silly because only one local person in Varanasi knew I was gay and I didn't expect or plan on seeing him. It all began to come together... comments made and actions made with other of his friends the last few days. I had felt slighted at times, but had tried to ignore it and not take things personally.
It was silly because my friend, the chef, and his colleagues knew I was gay and they didn't have any issue hanging out with me. The group from Assam I finished the pilgrimage with had known and didn't have any issues.
I was upset, because I had really liked this guy... we had been close platonic friends. I thought good friends. And now I realized he would let his paranoid fears limit his time with me. I fumed along the bumpy crowded road. I told him that really I didn't have any reputation here in Varanasi. I said I was quite annoyed with his issues and behavior. He didn't reply. I fumed more. After little to eat and long train ride, it was harder to keep perspective. But I vowed to myself I would be fine and happy here anyways. We got off the rickshaw in the busy Goudalia Center. We paid the driver and he tried to extort more than the agreed upon fare. We ignored him. I shook hands and said goodbye and turned away abruptly. He asked if something was wrong. I told him I was angry with his behavior and told him to go away. I walked off into the crowd half hoping he would follow me. The touts pleaded with me ... did I need a guest house, hashish, a rickshaw.... I flicked them off like fleas, saying "cello" which means go away in Hindi. I began to feel good. It was a familiar place. The energy swelled up inside me. I felt the magic and power of Varanasi... or maybe it was just a sign from my spirit that I was supposed to be here.
I stopped at the internet shop I remembered from before, where a nice young man worked. Sure enough, Rahul was there. He remembered me. He agreed to let me stash my big backpack there while I found a place to stay. A big backpack is an invitation to all the touts who assume you are looking for a guesthouse. The problem is that if a tout takes you to a guesthouse, you end up paying an inflated price to cover the money they demand from the guesthouse for bringing them a customer. Plus, I had ideas about where to stay.
I wandered through the narrow alleys, watching out that I didn't step in ever present cow dung. I saw the poor, wretched dogs I remembered. Never reincarnate as a dog in Varanasi... they are the worst looking, unhealthiest dogs I have ever seen. Starving, rabid, mangey. I got stuck behind a tri-cycle with it's cargo of soda trying to navigate the narrow alley. (On the road I had noticed one of the greatest ironies... a tricycle with a cargo of color TVs!).
I decided to eat in one of my favorite restaurants here before searching for a room. Then I got my room... 70rs for a single with attached bath. It wasn't spectacular, but it was cheap and done. I was dissapointed because I had thought that guesthouse allowed local guests... in case I made amends with my friend... but they no longer did... something about permits, and more likely bribe money for the police. Many times it is common for guesthouses to segregate... to try to create a safe place for tourists away from hustlers and touts. I'm not sure how I feel about this form of bigotry. I can see both sides.
I walked down to the River... the Ganga... as broad as an ocean... well not really... but it gives the feeling of the ocean. I thought about bathing in it to purify my sins. But I saw it's filthe. And even though I know that cholera can not survive long in it, from the blurb in the guidebook, I decided I would put off a plunge into it. It was easier at Babadham in Sultanganj, when I was doing the pilgrimage and egged on by locals. I tried to stroll along the ghats (banks), but was dissappointed to find the river was too high now. When I was here two years ago, it was winter and the river was low, and you could walk the river the length of the town.
I found Shelley, a traveller and kindred spirit I had met in Bodhgaya, and had a good visit with her. I met some of her friends in her guest house. I considered moving there. It was a traveller's hang out. It might be a good place for me now... having been immersed alot in the local culture.
I slept a good night's sleep in my room. I am looking forward to doing some painting and sitting by the river. Looking forward to eating some good cheap, food... the variety is good here. There is even a wood fired pizza place. The last few months I have been in places where food options on my budget have been limited.
I will also decide where next. The season is ending soon in Ladakh... the place I felt called to come here for... but have procrastinated getting to for 3 months. It's about 60 hours from here. I'm not sure how many treks I can do by myself there. Most require guides and ponies. So I am considering going someplace closer for a mountain experience. I am realizing that I really miss the US for outdoor things... here can be hard to be alone, and information and maps for what wilderness are hard to come by. I think back to my fun on Mauna Loa in 2005... the park service had a map and a trail and shelters.
I also heard from my Indian friend and colleague in Rishikesh, that it is good there, and he would like me to teach Reiki there. The idea of having a home base appeals to me... perhaps I would like to do that sooner rather than later (after Ladakh).
So todays plans are to research Ladakh, and other options and sort out my feelings... if I head to Ladakh, I might end up on the bus for my birthday... it would be nice to plan something nicer...
Speaking of homophobia, someone sent me this link about the first federal official in Canada to have a same-sex marriage:
http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20070818/brison_wedding_070818/20070818?hub=TopStories
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