Varinasi is known as the Holy city of India. It runs along the Ganges River, which is where people from all over the country are taken to be burned when they're dead. The Ganges serves as a river of redemption, where all sins and fucks ups are washed away by bathing in the disease infested water. The bodies of the lepers and children under 10 apparently don't burn so well, so they are sunk in the bottom of the river. It is by no means a tourist destination and those who go there are lucky to get in n' out without getting sick. After learning all this we decided to stay only 3 days and move on.
Our train rolled in two hours late as the sun was reaching it's boiling point. After some loose altercations with a crooked tuk-tuk driver, we met a Nepali man who walked us 40 minutes into the old city, right to the doorstep of the Uma Guest House, which would have been virtually impossible to find. The old city of Varinasi has only a few main roads. The rest are narrow stone walking paths, set up like a labrynth. There were huge bulls around every corner. The cows in India do whatever the hell they please and are free to roam because they are considered a sacred animal. People touch them and say prayers and bless themselves with the beast's tail, and in return we are given land mines of dung to slip in day n' night.
Then there's the monkeys. Varinasi is their playground and if you try to obstruct their fun you'll get bit. If this happens you'll need to go to the hospital for nine shots in your belly (or so the rumour goes). They are also notorious for stealing from your room and dropping dookie bombs from above.
The Uma Guest House was one of the oldest buildings in the old city. It was a family guest house that dated back all the way to the 1800's. The owner, Mr. Bohlu was the 4th generation of men to run the business. He was proud to introduce us to Avi, the new born son - generation 5. The reason we chose the guest house was because it was connected to a small school where we could volunteer. We were quite lucky and got the last three rooms for 150 rupess each (under $4.00). We got back out into the labrynth to look for some other places we'd heard of. In terms of beggars and shady merchants, it was was one of the worst places I'd seen. They were so bold in their attempted schemes that it insulted my intelligence and pissed me off.
Later, down by the Ganges river we watched the bodies burn while we talked with an informative Indian fellow who explained that the majority of the locals didn't like foreigners in their "funeral house", which I could understand.
The day was long. When the sun went down we three J's reformed to go find a good restaurant and damn near walked ourselves out of the old city before we found a little place with a good price. Then we strolled through a market area and sampled a variety of crazy snacks that we probably shouldn't have. When I got back to my room, Mr. Bohlu's mom, Uma asked me where I ate and when I told her she said two words; "uh-oh"
Read Day 6
Our train rolled in two hours late as the sun was reaching it's boiling point. After some loose altercations with a crooked tuk-tuk driver, we met a Nepali man who walked us 40 minutes into the old city, right to the doorstep of the Uma Guest House, which would have been virtually impossible to find. The old city of Varinasi has only a few main roads. The rest are narrow stone walking paths, set up like a labrynth. There were huge bulls around every corner. The cows in India do whatever the hell they please and are free to roam because they are considered a sacred animal. People touch them and say prayers and bless themselves with the beast's tail, and in return we are given land mines of dung to slip in day n' night.
Then there's the monkeys. Varinasi is their playground and if you try to obstruct their fun you'll get bit. If this happens you'll need to go to the hospital for nine shots in your belly (or so the rumour goes). They are also notorious for stealing from your room and dropping dookie bombs from above.
The Uma Guest House was one of the oldest buildings in the old city. It was a family guest house that dated back all the way to the 1800's. The owner, Mr. Bohlu was the 4th generation of men to run the business. He was proud to introduce us to Avi, the new born son - generation 5. The reason we chose the guest house was because it was connected to a small school where we could volunteer. We were quite lucky and got the last three rooms for 150 rupess each (under $4.00). We got back out into the labrynth to look for some other places we'd heard of. In terms of beggars and shady merchants, it was was one of the worst places I'd seen. They were so bold in their attempted schemes that it insulted my intelligence and pissed me off.
Later, down by the Ganges river we watched the bodies burn while we talked with an informative Indian fellow who explained that the majority of the locals didn't like foreigners in their "funeral house", which I could understand.
The day was long. When the sun went down we three J's reformed to go find a good restaurant and damn near walked ourselves out of the old city before we found a little place with a good price. Then we strolled through a market area and sampled a variety of crazy snacks that we probably shouldn't have. When I got back to my room, Mr. Bohlu's mom, Uma asked me where I ate and when I told her she said two words; "uh-oh"
Read Day 6
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