VARANASTY

Hello. This is Matthew Ridenour. You may remember as the chief editor of such blogs as "Matthew Heads East". I know I haven't updated much of anything as of late- but don't think I've forgotten my mission. I FULLY intend to "stay the course". Unfortunately (or fortunately) I have been out of internet's reach for the majority of the last 2 weeks- attributing to the lack of posts. So if you failed to receive a reply to an email you sent to me, please understand it is nothing personal. It just means that your email may have been slightly less important than the others I had to tend to with a limited amount of time.

I will now attempt to pick up where I left off- back into the chronological format that we all know, love, and warmly embrace. Cheers!

AGRA, INDIA: CITY OF TAJ
Where did I leave off? Oh yes! The Taj Mahal. As we rejoin our two bold heroes, we find them entrenched deep within the throes of a new and unfamiliar society....

Basically, Greg and I left the Taj around 8am and had about 12 hours to kill before our train left, in a city KNOWN the world over for its crappiness. Seriously. And literally. There's cow crap everywhere. Manu decided to take us to "Mac-D's" for some lunch in an air conditioned, nearly sanitary space. I got a McVeg Puff. Not sure what it was... just ordered because it sounded the funniest to say. We then toured the "mall" of 12 or so retail stores, and then went back to the hotel to chill out before dinner, as neither of us felt particularly healthy.

PIZZA HUT: THE FLAWLESS RINGING BELL SYSTEM
Knowing that we had reached the inevitable "last supper" with Manu, we let him decide where to eat. "Pizza Hut". The decision was clear.

Pizza Hut in India has all the classic pizzas: the "Chicken Masala Munch", "Veggie Delight", and of course, "Hawaiian". The meal was truly very tasty, and we all left shaking the Pizza Hut "ringing bell"- installed to allow the customer to make the appropriate amount of noise relative to their perceived quality of experience. Ring the bell violently = Best meal ever. Ring the bell timidly = Enjoyable. Don't ring bell = The cook spit in my masala munch pizza. The "ringing bell" system is much more effective than telling the waiter that you appreciated his service. Or giving him a tip.

After dinner, it was off to the train station. We bid Manu "Adieu" over near tears (Greg only), and were off to wait for the night train to Varanassi. Amidst the 26,000 Indians laying all over the station floors, we managed to find a group of lost-looking foreigners much like ourselves. Enter: MAGIC!

NIGHT TRAIN: AGRA --> VARANASSI
This is the point at which we met our 2 other travel buddies: Jessica (Jerry Bruckheimer's personal flight attendant from Orange County) and Stephano (Brazilian working in Brussels as Portuguese translator for the European Union). The 4 of us were a match made in heaven.

We boarded the train, and Jessie, Greg, and I were in the same room (along with 2 Canadians and an Indian family of about 16). We had a great time talking about California, hearing about Jessie's travel solo from South Africa to Turkey overland for over a year, hearing about flying in airplanes with Jerry Bruckheimer.... normal conversation stuff.

Soon enough, we were all best friends, and before we knew it we had arrived in Varanassi in the morning.

VARANASSI? MORE LIKE VARANASTY.
Jessie, Stephano, Greg and I left the station for a hotel completely unprepared for what lay ahead. After checking in and eating, it was time to go down to the Ganges River. Our hotel was 5km from the river, and being the unassuming foreigners we were, we decided to walk. Bad, yet adventurous idea. After over an hour of walking the dirt road in 95 degree heat and asking (with minimal success) every 5 minutes for directions, we eventually arrived at a street bazaar area. Jessie proceeded to buy souvenirs from nearly every shop owner and his cousin, while the rest of us were forced to continually deny the ever-present and blatantly forceful carpet seller and his cousin. Pushing our way through the bazaar, we moved on to the next stage in our journey: assailed by irresistably cute schoolchildren wanting their picture taken, then asking me to buy them candy for the picture. "Oh, no- that will rot your teeth." Narrowly escaped that one.

The final and most challenging stage: getting by the dozens of "Holy Cows" and their "Holy Shit" while winding through the confusing network of narrow stone streets. During this difficult stage, we regrettably lost a few members of our ourfit to the "holy shit". By this point, only Stephano and I could continue on to the witness the glory of the Ganges unscathed. And eventually, we arrived. The mighty Ganges- the Hindu Spiritual Mecca where dead bodies are publicly cremated.

DEAD BODY MANAGER WANTED!
We were immediately greeted by an informational "tour guide" who explained the scene before us. He was of the "untouchable" caste, and introduced himself as the "Dead Body Manager". To which I replied, "Do you put that on a Resume?" He didn't get it.

Essentially, a group of 8 men will carry a freshly dead body (wrapped in a white bag and decorated with flowers) down to the river, purchase a bundle of logs from the certified Hindu body-burning log vendor, perform a ceremony over the body in the Ganges, place the body on the logs, and light the logs on fire. As this transpires, boys immersed in the water beside the dead bodies and ashes will search for jewelry that may have fallen off the dead bodies.

Apparently, those who can't afford logs may opt to simply put the body on a boat and send it down the river in hopes that the gods will revive the dead person back to life. I asked if anyone had ever come back to life- the dead body manager said "No".

To be honest, I didn't understand the process at all, but that's my take. After the informative session with our very own dead body manager, we attempted to soak in the scene for a second- which proved tough. It was such a heavy experience- the spiritual darkness was tangible. Not only was it spiritually unhealthy, the whole area was completely unsanitary. I refuse to believe that religious practices that completely disregard basic human health are centered in truth. I pray over the area- that the TRUTH of Jesus might come to the people of Varanassi.

DOLPHIN HOTEL: GOOD FOOD AFTER BURNING BODIES
With heavy hearts, we sullenly departed in search of anything else- which brought us to the roof deck of the Dolphin Hotel. The Dolphin Hotel proved to be our little slice of heaven in the midst of craziness all around- the calm in the eye of the storm. We stayed for over 3 hours: enjoying good food, chilled Lassis (yoghurt drink that Stephano drank by the gallon), great conversation, and warm sun with a slight breeze. The experience was made all the better when contrasted from the heaviness of the previous scene. Luckily, we were all able to process it together.

TESTING THE WATERS
We left Dolphin Hotel and continued along the riverwalk towards the "German Bakery". On the way, I decided that I had to at least touch the Ganges river with my feet- just to say I did. Stephano agreed that he would touch it with his hand. No one else stepped up for the potentially fatal challenge. I approached the dead-man's-ash-carpeted water a bit nervous, but concious of the goal ahead. The thought did occur to me that I could accrue a gnarly foot disease from this stunt, but I pushed it aside. I waded out. Not bad. And to this day, no foot disease. Take THAT, Ganges!

We continued and came to some city steps where we met a man, Pasha: absolute skin and bones, in his seventies, begging for food. Jessie and I sat down on the steps with him and we began to talk. He explained how he had no food and had a number of medical conditions. Greg ran off to get him some food while I conversed with Pasha. It was heart-wrenching to hear his story- void of hope for a fuller life. However, by the time we had chatted for 10 minutes and fed him some good Rice pudding and a Chewy Granola bar I still had in my bag, he was all smiles- praising Lord Shiva. It was beautiful. Pasha asked where I would be traveling next: "Nepal and Calcutta", I answered. His face lit up, and his toothless mouth formed a smile: "Calcutta? I grew up there! I could be your tour guide! Take me with you!" The thought did cross my mind of just taking him along for the rest of the journey- but in the end, sweet as Pasha was, two American twenty-somethings transporting a 75-year-old malnutritioned Indian through the mountains of Nepal would most likely be a logistical nightmare. Politely, I declined Pasha's sweet, but difficult-to-execute offer.

HOLY SHIT!
Wishing Pasha all of God's blessings, the group left and made our way to the German Bakery to enjoy some upstairs "Houkka Lounge" style relaxing. After an hour we once again braved the "Holy Shit" stained streets of Varanassi to witness a "big deal" Hindu ceremony on the banks of the Ganges. On the way, the inevitable occured. I stepped in it. It. Yeah. It. I yelled out "Shit!" as if someone had inquired as to what I had stepped into. A young Indian man turned to console me: "No, it's good. It's a Holy Blessing- it comes from the Holy Cow." "Uhm... you're kidding, right?" I asked. "No, really, it's a blessing. Good luck", was his response. "I'm sorry, but this bull here does not make HOLY shit" I told him, pointing at a bull next to me. And I kid you not: immediately after I finished that sentence, the Holy Bull lunged with its full body at me. Luckily, I evaded him and ran up a few steps to safety, but it was close and totally unexpected. I guess the bull taught me a lesson.

We arrived at the ceremony and once again, our entire group was lost the entire time... but at least this ritual was not conducive to uncontrollable vomitting. Essentiially, 6 young men each stood up on separate platforms and held different gold vases or lit metal objects on fire and waved them around in synchronization. This went on for an hour and a half... and when we looked around and realized that literally NO westerner spectators were left in the crowd besides ourselves, and given the fact that we had NO understanding of anything we were watching, we decided head back to the hotel to beat the crowd.

BEATING THE CROWD
Unfortunately in India, you can't "beat the crowd". The entire country IS a crowd. If you want to beat the crowd you have to buy a plane ticket from Delhi to Des Moines, Iowa. Our small group of four quickly found ourselves trapped in the middle of the most insane amount of people moving through the streets of Varanassi I could possibly imagine. For us, the experience was comparable to a 5th grade schoolgroup traveling from Romania being dropped into the middle of San Francisco's Gay Pride parade. We were lost, a bit confused, and didn't know if we were gonna make it out.

Eventually (THANK GOD!) we found a Rickshaw that we all piled into- embarking upon the most wild rickshaw drive of my life. Narrowly avoiding masses of Indians people, Holy Cows, dogs, other rickshaws, bicyclists... the list goes on- and at the same time maintaining a pace with which you would have believed we were filming the Bollywood version of the Keanu Reeve's classic "Speed", I clung on tightly while being very impressed. Our driver managed not only to expertly weave through every obstacle, but also to pick up various "buddies" or "cousins" of his along the way.

And as we were just getting near to the hotel, of course, the rickshaw's tire blew out. AWESOME! We pulled off, and the driver informed us we would no longer be riding with him. DOUBLE AWESOME! We began walking... unsure exactly of where we were going. After a few minutes, another Rickshaw approached us and we hopped in, arriving safely back at the hotel. Phew!

At the hotel, the four of us ate dinner and debriefed about the day. There was ALOT of disbelief mentioned, as well as some good laughs. We all concluded that it was the most all-around intense day in recent memory. Oh, Varanassi!