When I got off the plane I had to walk a long way through the airport. Customs checked nothing – just as customs to England did not – and to leave the airport I had to enter a walkway flanked by two crowds. Lonely Planet says go to the taxi booth and get a prepaid ticket. My plan was to do that and go to the New Delhi train station and from there to Varanasi, with intention of finding a Hindi language school. LP says get a train ticket from the train station and ignore those who would say to go elsewhere.
At the end of the crowds a man appeared at my side sending me somewhere but I ignored him. The airport was quite Western-styled but I was looking at the newness of the crowd. When I ignored him it was scarcely a conscious choice.
Soon other people started vying for my attention and I realized what was up. I got my bearings and found signs directing me to the prepaid taxi booth. I paid Rs 250 and got a ticket with a four-digit number. Still people tried to direct me about. I looked outside and saw a sea of taxis – somehow wandering through the confusion the first man who approached me was my driver – his license plate contained my number. Two girls – Swiss – asked me where I was going. I told them and they wanted to go with. I said okay. They negotiated with cabman and agreed to Rs 100 for both.
It was far – twenty-five minutes. Undoubtedly it was the most thrilling ride I have ever taken and it far exceeded the excitement of any roller coaster I have riden. One girl talked and the other was quiet. The one said, “Look at how old he is and still he is alive. If he survived this long he will not crash today.”
By American standards traffic is insane here. Vehicles do not have speedometers or turn signals and everyone just goes as fast as needed to tailgate whoever is in front of them, honking all the while. The roads are divided into lands by paint but I do not know why. At one point we slowed for five seconds as milirary crossed to inspect a person presumably hit and taken to the side of the road. The driver got gas – it costs Rs 50 / litre, so about twice the price in Texas.
I said goodbye to the girls at the trainstation. The one told me that I would meet a lot of babas and that I would not know where they were from, how long they had studied, what they had done in the past, or if they were real babas. I asked what a baba was. She told me a baba was a monk.
I asked how I could tell a real baba. She said ask to see his baba certificate. I asked what that was. She said that there were thirteen families of babas and each one gives out its own certificate. She told me to go into the train station and go to second floor to the ticket counter for foreigners.
She said that she and her friend were also going to Varanasi, but the next day, and that if I needed to stay in Delhi I should find a guest house across the street.
I walked to the train station and someone stopped me and asked me if I was going to the ticket counter. I said yes and he pointed me up toward the boarding platform and left. I now know that was misdirection, but I do not know what he was getting at and he was the only such person to ever leave my side up to the present time.
Anyway, I go up some stairs and a man asked to see my ticket. I said I wanted to buy a ticket. He said wrong way, come with me and he pointed close to the sign that said “tickets” but not quite to where it directed. I went there with him and he said in that building, which was a bit further. I went a bit further and he said further again. By that time I realized that I was the only person whose ticket was checked and went back. I was still in the station complex – perhaps he wanted me to go to a travel agent across the street.
The large posted sign was not clear to me. More people told me different ways, told me they worked for train station, told me the station was closed, whatever elese.
I found the office and in front of it was a sign saying do not believe touts, but it did not matter at that point because I was already there. There was a slow line for six sales reps with six old computers. I met a guy named Omar from near Milan who spoke “Laden,” which I had never heard of. He and I bought tickets to Varanasi at the same time. Rs 826, which the man at the counter said was expensive.
Omar wanted to charge his cell phone but none of the outlets we found had juice. He said he was going to wait at the station but I wanted to walk around.
There is a bazaar across the street. It is huge. It is a maze of narrow alleys which curve and do not make a grid. Some alleys have homes but most are packed with shops. Some tout led me away from the bazaar to a travel agent – who politely did not try to sell me anything after I told him I would not buy – and to two swank “government emporiums.” The statues – bronze, stone, wood – paintings, fabrics and clothing, jewelry, and everything else were world class. The stores were in five-story buildings, spaced blocks apart, but were equal in quality goods. No one tried to sell me anything – they just showed things to me.
I had nothing but fun in the bazaar. I saw potters, metalworkers, all kinds of food prep and sales, and cows. When it was time to go back I met some jr-high age kids in uniform. They did not know English, but they recognized choo-choo sounds and train wheel motions. They put me on a rickshaw. A very old man pedaled it quickly and I held on, rather scared of the street.
At the train station I met an MCA – master of computer application – named Rajesh. He said he went to school in Lucknow and had heard of the biotech park there.
The loading platform was packed but I found my coach easily and a piece of paper at the door even had a list of names for persons on that coach.
I found Omar there. He introduced me to some girl from Chicago who was travelling with kids from the University of Washington, not present. A Korean family four adults four children shared our compartment and were elsewhere; only eight to a compartment. The train left at 8:30pm, on time for a thirteen-hour trip. I slept well as I had scarcely slept on the plane.
I woke up to see lots of fields. Off in the distance I saw more buildings, old, well-made, big, beautiful, and run-down. That is how it is everywhere. It is as if someone had loads of money to build but then abandoned, so little upkeep.
Omar and I walked toward signs pointing to Vishwanath Temple, which we both knew to be near ghats. We walked until we saw no more signs, then I had a chai with him, which was awesome and tastier than any I had before. We got in an autorickshaw which took us on a long ride that ended up at the train station where we started. Omar gave the man Rs 10 and we started walking again.
We got in another AR and this one took us close. Sometime after disembarking we had a tout who led us to Puja Guest House (@hotmail.com) D 1/45 Lalita Ghat 2405027 and I got a room for Rs 500 while Omar got one for Rs 800.
Mine was big, w / private toilet/sink/shower, two single beds, shelves, wall with full windows looking at the city from (I think I am now on) fourth floor, balcony, and an extra room with desk and study amenities.
I am about to start my day and check out this place. I want to find a language school. As I look out right now, this instant, I see a monkey scaling a building side that I doubt a squirrel could climb. He looks into a window and is shoo’ed by an old lady in a bright yellow sari. He climbs to the roof – I see four monkeys total in various places. They are all active and I have seen all jump rooftop to rooftop.
There is a man who I see not so far away with a stick and possibly a whistle. He has a flock of pigeons circling his roof and – I think – changing formation on command. They land and take off every few minutes and have for the half hour I have watched. They go out of my sight but not far.
I see nine kites. Yesterday evening as I watched the sunset I saw maybe thirty. Also last night I saw fireworks. The display was sparce, maybe one boom a minute and small explosions, but was good to see.
I need to go – there is no way I can make my journal complete – it should be complimented with an understanding of the area from visiting the city or reading other books.
Some other notes – I met a Canadian woman about 60 who is visiting alone for tenth time and seems quite green. She has no hippie quality to her. I met two UW students. I went to burning ghat. I saw loads of shrines. I went to see silk with a tout – I have no interest in buying anything but it was like magic. The salesman unfurled huge swaths of fabric. I met Lal-Baba – a huge man who wanted $120 oir $50 then Rs 1200 or Rs 500, who was direct but not forceful. He was a first-rate speaker and my immediate thought was that I could make a lot of money with him in the US. His English and style were great. I have little doubt that he almost daily gets $100+ from a single tourist, and I believe him when he said he has worked with American has-been celebrities.
I saw an elaborate costume and live music event at night on the river. I got word that I should go to Allahabad on Jan 14 for some iteration of the Kumbh Mela.
