Smoke on the Water
We travel on from Khajuraho by car as far as the town of Satna, where we have our second of two encounters with the Indian Railway system. Now, maybe the Gods of Rail took our earlier comments about the blandness of the experience first time around as something of an expression of disappointment, but while we are waiting on the platform for our train to arrive, another pulls in on the opposite platform, and - hallelujah - this one is the real deal, a long, mouldering old hulk, ancient carriages with barred, predominantly glass-less windows behind which passengers sit or stand, crammed in together like sardines. Ha! I think - that's more like it, and I scamper up and down the opposite platform, snapping photos, at the same time giving thanks that our train when it arrives is going to be so very different.
Twenty minutes or so after that train has gone, our train pulls in. It looks exactly the same. In vain we watch the cavalcade of rusting metal roll past, hoping against hope for sight of the smart, air-conditioned carriage with our name on it mysteriously sandwiched in amongst all the other old iron. But no. Our designated seats are in a carriage which is indeed one of the more luxurious ones - but only by virtue of having glass (through which you can barely see) across those tiny barred windows. Inside, its murk and gloom and as our eyes become gradually accustomed we realise we are in a sleeper - carriage divided into compartments each with four bunks, two up, two down. We have the two lower bunks in our compartment, in the bunk above, an unknown companion peacefully sleeps.
So far, so not so good, but as we settle in for pour scheduled 7 hour journey, some positives start to emerge. For a start, with a bit of creative use of the pillows and blanket (provided) you can make for yourself either a bed or a decent position from which to stretch out and read. Second, its quiet - surprisingly quiet, probably quieter than the more conventional service we travelled on before. Third, once the train has pulled out - a bit late, but not too bad - it trundles along at quite a decent clip, so by now we are beginning to have high hopes for the journey ahead.
Of course, we really should have known better.
One station and a scheduled 25 minutes short of our destination, the train slows, and then stops. Several times. One suspects that level crossings and/or sheep/ cows/ wedding parties on the line might have been to blame, but through the virtually opaque windows, it was hard to be certain. What was certain was that after a whole series of these stop / starts the whole plot came to what felt like a very dead halt, and then stayed halted, for a very long time. No announcements. No friendly advice from the guard (no guard). No civilisation in sight. No nothing. Finally, at around 9.15 in the evening, and an impressive near two hours late, the train finally creeps into Varanasi station. Later during our stay, we are told by a local that a delay of this length is barely worth mentioning, and that services running in the region of 20 hours late are not unusual in this part of the world...
Next day - and following a lie in, having gratefully accepted the offer of re-scheduling our booked 5.30 am tour for the next day - we set off to explore this most ancient of Indian cities on foot. Our day comprises a very pleasant walk in the sunshine along the waterfront, passing the many Ghats, most of them used by worshippers who have come to bathe in the waters of the Ganges (very much a don't-try-this -at-home thing, by the way) but some reserved for cremation ceremonies in which the bodies of the dead are burnt on wood pyres in full open view by the edge of the water. It's a sobering, and a moving sight - maybe in essence not so different to the custom of cremation at home, but here there is no discreet curtain, no polished polite veneer to hide the act away. Just death, solemn and simple, the end of one journey and the beginning - if you so believe - of another.
Come the evening we wander back the same way, the waterfront now much more crowded with people who - like us - are on their way to watch the nightly sunset ceremony, cue for much chanting, offerings and burning of incenses, a dazzle of light, smoke. dance and song. Walking back later we come upon more cremations taking place, these nearer to our hotel and perhaps - we assume - for some of the many homeless people with no family to bury them. The fires themselves initially look like simple bonfires, until, getting closer, you notice the single human limb poking out from the rising flames. Mortality brought right home, I'd say.
Next day is to all intents and purposes the very end of our trip - later we fly back to Delhi and from thence next day our international flight back to Heathrow. We start the day before dawn, rising at 5am to be taken by our amiable and knowledgable guide (whose tour guide claims to fame include Miriam Margoyles,Dame Maggie Smith and other cast members of the various Second / Third / However many Best Marigold Hotel thingys) to watch the ceremony to welcome in the day (companion to the ceremony from the night before, though - perhaps understandably given the hour - not so well attended). And then a real highlight, right at the end - travelling out on a small boat, just us, our guide and the boatman, to watch the sun rise out of the mist over the Ganges. A fitting end to a memorable trip, and a memorable way to usher in my (don't ask how many) birthday...pics at the end show view from the boat and us on board, also the point at which - to further spice things up - our guide Pappu buys a bag of snacks from a passing boatman (as you do), and proceeds to feed it to the seabirds which are soon flocking around and over the boat. Sian - not a big fan of the flappy feathery stuff - grins like a trooper throughout the show...
Twenty minutes or so after that train has gone, our train pulls in. It looks exactly the same. In vain we watch the cavalcade of rusting metal roll past, hoping against hope for sight of the smart, air-conditioned carriage with our name on it mysteriously sandwiched in amongst all the other old iron. But no. Our designated seats are in a carriage which is indeed one of the more luxurious ones - but only by virtue of having glass (through which you can barely see) across those tiny barred windows. Inside, its murk and gloom and as our eyes become gradually accustomed we realise we are in a sleeper - carriage divided into compartments each with four bunks, two up, two down. We have the two lower bunks in our compartment, in the bunk above, an unknown companion peacefully sleeps.
So far, so not so good, but as we settle in for pour scheduled 7 hour journey, some positives start to emerge. For a start, with a bit of creative use of the pillows and blanket (provided) you can make for yourself either a bed or a decent position from which to stretch out and read. Second, its quiet - surprisingly quiet, probably quieter than the more conventional service we travelled on before. Third, once the train has pulled out - a bit late, but not too bad - it trundles along at quite a decent clip, so by now we are beginning to have high hopes for the journey ahead.
Of course, we really should have known better.
One station and a scheduled 25 minutes short of our destination, the train slows, and then stops. Several times. One suspects that level crossings and/or sheep/ cows/ wedding parties on the line might have been to blame, but through the virtually opaque windows, it was hard to be certain. What was certain was that after a whole series of these stop / starts the whole plot came to what felt like a very dead halt, and then stayed halted, for a very long time. No announcements. No friendly advice from the guard (no guard). No civilisation in sight. No nothing. Finally, at around 9.15 in the evening, and an impressive near two hours late, the train finally creeps into Varanasi station. Later during our stay, we are told by a local that a delay of this length is barely worth mentioning, and that services running in the region of 20 hours late are not unusual in this part of the world...
Next day - and following a lie in, having gratefully accepted the offer of re-scheduling our booked 5.30 am tour for the next day - we set off to explore this most ancient of Indian cities on foot. Our day comprises a very pleasant walk in the sunshine along the waterfront, passing the many Ghats, most of them used by worshippers who have come to bathe in the waters of the Ganges (very much a don't-try-this -at-home thing, by the way) but some reserved for cremation ceremonies in which the bodies of the dead are burnt on wood pyres in full open view by the edge of the water. It's a sobering, and a moving sight - maybe in essence not so different to the custom of cremation at home, but here there is no discreet curtain, no polished polite veneer to hide the act away. Just death, solemn and simple, the end of one journey and the beginning - if you so believe - of another.
Come the evening we wander back the same way, the waterfront now much more crowded with people who - like us - are on their way to watch the nightly sunset ceremony, cue for much chanting, offerings and burning of incenses, a dazzle of light, smoke. dance and song. Walking back later we come upon more cremations taking place, these nearer to our hotel and perhaps - we assume - for some of the many homeless people with no family to bury them. The fires themselves initially look like simple bonfires, until, getting closer, you notice the single human limb poking out from the rising flames. Mortality brought right home, I'd say.
Next day is to all intents and purposes the very end of our trip - later we fly back to Delhi and from thence next day our international flight back to Heathrow. We start the day before dawn, rising at 5am to be taken by our amiable and knowledgable guide (whose tour guide claims to fame include Miriam Margoyles,Dame Maggie Smith and other cast members of the various Second / Third / However many Best Marigold Hotel thingys) to watch the ceremony to welcome in the day (companion to the ceremony from the night before, though - perhaps understandably given the hour - not so well attended). And then a real highlight, right at the end - travelling out on a small boat, just us, our guide and the boatman, to watch the sun rise out of the mist over the Ganges. A fitting end to a memorable trip, and a memorable way to usher in my (don't ask how many) birthday...pics at the end show view from the boat and us on board, also the point at which - to further spice things up - our guide Pappu buys a bag of snacks from a passing boatman (as you do), and proceeds to feed it to the seabirds which are soon flocking around and over the boat. Sian - not a big fan of the flappy feathery stuff - grins like a trooper throughout the show...
Comments
Post a Comment