On the Grand Trunk Road

Graptolite's Sailing Log
Martyn Pickup & Heike Richter
Sun 11 Dec 2016 17:44

Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, 11th December 2016

 

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I had a look around Allahabad in the misty morning. Allahabad didn't look to be too wealthy a city as cycle rickshaws make up the bulk of the transportation. Tuk-tuks looked to be for special occasions and taxis only for foreigners.

 

My taxi driver took me to see some streets where some un-blessed caste specialised in making cow-dung patties. He seemed very proud of it.

 

The next stop was the vast sandbank at the junction of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers. There were hundreds of people there, either camped out in rough shelters or setting out religious trinket stalls. At the major festivals, there can be several million people hanging out on the sand. A rowing boat to go out into the huge river to the place where the different coloured streams meet seemed popular but it was foggy and time was pressing.

 

I wanted a look around the Alahabad Fort but it was apparently being used by the Indian Army. In the wall of the fort, in what looked like an old dungeon, I saw an entrance to a temple. I went in for a quick look around but it seemed to be set up to repeatedly extract small sums of money from visitors. Or just me, as I was the only visitor. There was a parade of priests dabbing red marks on my head and demanding offerings to a whole pantheon of tackily painted idols. I was feeling a bit queasy from the incense, and staring into my wallet watching my rupees vanish, so after the fifth blessing I beat a hasty retreat ignoring the calls that there were some poor gods who were still waiting for their money.

 

Next was a wild drive for a few hours along the Grand Trunk Road through rural Uttar Pradesh to the city of Varanasi.

 

The streets of Varanasi are not really streets. Just narrow spaces between rough buildings made up of potholes, people and rubbish. Also there are cows everywhere blocking the way but they get away with whatever they want with their 'I'm so sexy' eyes.

 

I spotted an ATM near my hotel with only about 20 people and a water buffalo (it's true) standing in line. So I managed to get a little tipping money. 2,000 rupees (€28) is the max they allow from ATMs these days.

 

As sunset approached, I wandered along the famous ghats for a mile or two. Ghats are steps leading down to the river. They come in two types; bathing and burning. Self-explanatory really. It's a very strange place. I watched a few cremations at one of the burning ghats but they must have been rich people as there was enough wood to do a proper job.

 

I did touch the Ganges at one bathing ghat but I confess to using hand disinfectant straight away as a lot of bodies are tossed into the river only slightly toasted.

 

At sunset, the Ganga Aarti ceremonies start up with much singing, bell ringing and fire. Nowhere looked safe to eat so after the ceremony I went back to my hotel for a mutton biryani. I was the only diner and had a sitar and drums trio to myself with them playing a medley of Christmas favourites. Which was nice.

M