You have been Puja-ed!

And so to the sights and smells of India, whose land border we crossed at Sunauli en route to Varanasi, India’s holiest city, where we would spend Divali – the festival of Light and India’s answer to Christmas. The border was the usual mix of food sellers, money changers and shady characters. This time, unusually, the scams came not from officials looking for ‘baksheesh’ (bribes) but from a bunch of aggressive, thoroughly nasty fake bus workers, who were extorting money out of tourists (including us) who had prepaid for their bus tickets on the Nepali side of the border. We stood our ground – having been in this situation a few times before – but after an almighty row, in which we threatened to call the police, and they threatened to throw us off the bus (100m from the armed guards at the border post), we gave a third man half the money they were asking for to make the problem (and the men) go away. A small victory we felt, although I did wonder if this was to be the start of a long round of the annoying scams and rip offs for which Indian travel is so infamous. Arriving at Varanasi bus station late at night, after a bone-rattlingly uncomfortable 12 hour journey, we braced ourselves for an onslaught of rickshaw drivers, who are notorious for taking you to any hotel other than the one you want to go to. Much to our surprise and delight, the few rickshaw wallahs at the station not only took us, no questions asked, straight to where we asked, but did so at a reasonable price and with a friendly smile. First impression of Varanasi – very good!

We had heard of the Shiva Ganga guesthouse through friends, who described it as the kind of place which makes Varanasi easy – a retreat from the madness of India’s number one craziest place. It’s basic, clean and cheap but with a garden and beautiful setting right on the edge of Shiva Ghat, where the steps lead down to the River Ganges some distance from the old town. More than anything, it was one of the friendliest places we’d stayed in months, with a collection of different people who reflected much of the spiritual tourism that attracts people to Varanasi.

We met up with our friends, Caroline (English) and Affe (Dutch) who had booked us a room for the night. Caroline was on her second journey of spiritual enlightenment, inexorably drawn to Buddhism and on her way to Bodhgaya for a huge gathering of pilgrims before heading to an Ashram in Tamil Nadu. Other guests included Tim, a wonderful and ever so slightly camp Canadian Yoga teacher with a charisma which draws people of all nationalities together; Laina and Al, who we felt we gelled with in our essentially cynical, but nonetheless open minded, shared sense of normality; and Roddi, a blissed out Iranian Hindu convert who told us in all sincerity that we’d be fine in Varanasi because ‘you’ve got the 12 here, and they’ll look out for you’, referring to the full compliment of Hindu gods which look over the city; and because ‘God runs through the centre of town’, referring to the river Ganges – also known as the Universal Mother, and which is worshipped as a Goddess fallen from heaven. Unfortunately, the 12 couldn’t help Roddi when he stepped in a cow pat from one of the thousands of cows which roam all over Varanasi, and landed flat on his back with his white tunic covered in shit.

For two rather unspiritual types like us, Varanasi was a strange balancing act. We tried hard to put our usual attitudes on hold and surrender to Varanasi’s fantastic atmosphere (“feel the energy, man!”) as something to be cherished and enjoyed; but also to pre-empt that sinking feeling as yet another special ‘karma cleansing’ moment – such as Puja (prayer) offerings to the Ganges, in the form of lit candles sent downriver - ended in a request for money or donations, preferably in Euros, US Dollars or Pound Sterling. Even a simple guided tour of the fascinating burning ghats, where Hindus are cremated to ensure their safe passage to heaven, ended in a demand for money to safe guard not only our karma but also that of our next of kin (preferably including parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins and those who have already passed on to the next world...). In India, becoming 'spiritually cleansed', is like doing the supermarket shopping for the whole family.

Despite this, the lights and excitement of Divali were an awesome spectacle. The ancient town was like a warzone, albeit lit up with fairy lights, and after a few days of bangers and rockets being fired everywhere, had a strangely smoky, dreamlike quality. On our last day in Varanasi, we happened across a fantastic carnival, which amazingly no other tourist seem to have discovered, and spent the afternoon in mutual amazement as we stood and gazed at the spectacle of Varanasi’s citizens in full party swing, and they in turn gazed at us simply for joining them.