A lot of you may know (after our televisual appearance) that we attended the Newcastle Theatre Royal auction last week. A jolly day was had, with free cup-cakes and bubbly. The initial excitable buzz wore off after a few lots, and prices dropped suitably enough for us to start raising our '541' bat.
And we did raise it, many times.
In the end we were the most active in the crowd, and nabbed ourselves numerous chairs, numerous light fittings and many a large velvet curtain! All to kit out the cinematic area in the Tea House.
So today we picked up all the kit from the now empty theatre royal -
And we couldn't resist putting some of the curtains up in our flat. And erecting a seat. Here they are-
Unfortunately we couldn't collect the light fittings as the organisers didn't think it all through - they needed the lights to be able to see.
So that's all exciting isn't it?
BIGLOVE
THE QUILLIAM CONTINGENT (with enviably opulent drapes)
It's hard to recall, tucked up in bed with jarmies on, cup of sencha cradled in hands for warmth, with a flipping gale blowing outside, what 45-50 degrees C feels like. But put it this way - It drains you, completely. And stresses you. Your brain refuses to process much information, other than 'fuck it's hot, fuck it's hot.' And you have to sit down in the shade a lot, drinking cold drinks. So things take longer than they normally would do.
We sweatily headed to breakfast at a recommended establishment. A textbook tourist jaunt, with pillows to sit on, Prem Joshua playing in the background, fans in your face and an extensive multi cuisine menu. The chaps running the place were hospitable, and they did well to supply us with our fuel for the morning. One quite amazing event occurred. I saw a female in the corner of the room, and much to my surprise it was someone i had met about 2 years earlier, in Budapest. We got on well, and stayed in contact for a bit after meeting in BP, but that died. But lo and behold, here she was. In India. Amazing. Jacy was her name-o. And probably still is - I'll ask her when i see her again, in a bus stop in Shanghai.
So, Varanasi. 'Tis a city of Ghats. Many a Ghat. SO MANY GHATS. Ghats here, Ghats there. GHATS GHATS GHATS GHATS.
So, what's a ghat? Confusingly enough, it can mean a few things. The first contact with ghats came when in South East India. Travelling the Eastern Ghats. And they were talking about using a ghat to get to another town. But then outside a temple, they were talking about ghats again, and pointing to some steps to the water. My brain didn't know what was going on, so it just shrugged and pretended it did.
In the first case it was just the name of a mountain range - the Eastern and Western Ghats. Secondly, a mountain pass can be called a ghat. And thirdly, a set of steps leading to a body of water is also called a ghat. The third option is what we're dealing with in Varanasi.
Many things happen on Ghats. Cleaning, clothes washing, praying, worshipping, boating, cremation, contemplating, music playing, cricketing, meditating, kiting, yoga-ing, chai drinking, pocket picking, post card selling, etc-ing. It's a hive of activity along the 100ish ghats, that cover 3-4 km along the Ganges in Varanasi. And quite spectacular it is too. Eye opening. Here are some ghat based larks -
As soon as you penetrate the warren of the old town, your bearings get well'n'truly lost. Well ours did. We ended up some 3 km away from where we were meant to be at one point, and some poor bicycle rickshaw took us all three back after much persuading. We tipped him heavily though, and i think he relished the challenge.
If we didn't end up lost whilst navigating the wonderfully chaotic back streets, we inevitably found ourselves at the Manikarnika Ghat. Even if we began our journey on the other side of town some portal would transport us there, and we would emerge into the blistering sun, squinting, confused.
The Manikarnika Ghat is the main cremation ghat. A constant stream of bodies are carried down the Ghat by loved ones. They are dropped onto previously haggled piles of wood, that have been calculated with weight and body fat in mind (we were informed that cremation is a complicated procedure, and knowing how much wood and oil is needed, and how to set up the wood and take other factors into account such as wind and heat of day etc takes generations of experience) before the eternal flame (that occasionally goes out) is walked 5 times round the body and the tinder grasses set alight before the added fragrant oils take over, and the body fat starts rendering, and the whole lot goes up in a whoomph. It takes roughly 300 kg of wood per pyre, and they cremate 100+ ex-people a day on the Manikarnika Ghat alone (there are other burning ghats). So as you can imagine, that is ALOT OF WOOD. It piles up around the ghat, where people peruse which they would like to use for their loved ones. The rich folk would use at least a small percentage of sandal wood or other expensive timber, whilst the others are left with what ever they can afford.
They do not allow the burning of children, pregnant ladies, lepers or people that have died from cobra bites. Instead they will tie a block of stone to them, and row out about 100 metres into the Ganges, and dump them over the side of the boat. That took our eye-spy dead person count up from 1 to 47 over the space of about 2 hours.
To take our minds back to a slightly less bizarre place, a very horny bull came stumbling down the ghat and his testosterone fuelled advances on an uninterested cow were duly noted, and a monkey started very successfully aggravating a dog. Then i slipped on a sloppy cow turd, nearly going arse over tit.
So as you can imagine, with all this death being dumped into the Ganges at Varanasi, and with the added pollution of millions upon millions of us dirty humans living/working along it, the river ain't that clean. To quote Wikipedia -
-Along the stretch of terraced bathing ghats in the holy city of Varanasi, the water of the Ganges is a brown soup of excrement and industrial effluents. The water there contains 60,000 faecal coliform bacteria per 100 ml, 120 times the official limit of 500 faecal coliforms/100ml that is not considered safe for bathing.
But everyone there bathes in, washes their clothes in and drinks from this holy waterway. There is some method in their madness - amongst the filth in the river, bacteriophages are carried. These miraculous bacteriophages parasitise deadly bacteria such as cholera and dysentery, leaving the water slightly less harmful. Still wouldn't catch us taking a glug though, no matter how holy it is.
Varanasi, or Banaras, is the Hindu capital of the world. Though it is sacred for Buddhists and Jains also. Consequently it is a city of temples and worship. Cows wander the labyrinthine alleyways, whilst monkeys play above you. It also likes its silk. So you will be constantly badgered until you buy a silk scarf or 23. Like all major Indian tourist hot spots, it is filthy and incredible. Quite a sight. Can you imagine bringing stories and sketches of somewhere like this back to Blighty back in them olden days?…? -
No wonder we wanted it for our own.
After wandering around a bit more, seeing all sorts of eye opening whotsits, we headed back for a siesta - Just bringing a slice of Mediterranean culture to India. Got up to date on the ICL. Before heading out again as the sun was setting.
At the Dashaswamedh Ghat, which is the main ghat in Banaras, there is a ceremony every evening. I would love to tell you what this consists of, apart from noise and fire, but our attentions were taken away by meeting a lovely girl called Moni. (pat filmed a bit though, so take from it what you will-)
She lives on the main ghat, without a home or father, and makes her living selling postcards for 7 rupees (10p).
She sat next to us, put her pile of postcards down and said-
'i saw you this morning, but you were walking soooo fast i couldn't keep up.'
as if she knew who we were and we knew who she was. And went on as if there wasn't any point in beating around the bush, we were friends, and that was that.
We talked for a long while, and met with her mother, with whom we had a disjointed natter.
At 10 years old (she thinks) her dream is to travel and to stay with everyone she knows around the world (she keeps a little book of phone numbers of all the tourists she has met). She can't afford regular schooling, so cannot read and write, but her intelligence is obvious. From her amazing language skills to her quick wittedness. Getting a passport will be nigh on impossible, and raising the money practically a pipe dream. But for some reason, you know that she will do it.
Everybody knew her on the ghat. So she received gifts of chai (which she wasn't that fond of) and other little nibbles. Seemed that people were looking out for each other (A trait that generally decreases as wealth increases).
Quite an inspirational thing she is, something that is rare to find in people. So when you do see it in someone, it makes quite the impact. We hope she is well.
After everything had died down on the Dashaswamedh Ghat, we dined next to a mental procession, headed hotelwards and fell asleep watching the cricket.
Up by 6 am. Said goodbye to the cheeky little peaks-
Straight to the astonishingly punctual jeep for the beautiful ride to Pelling, where one expects mountain views a plenty!
But it was v.v.v. cloudy when we got there. Not a problem - We were assured that at the crack of sparrow fart every morning, without exception, the clouds part to reveal mountain views a plenty! So there was no way we WOULDN'T see the mountains! Hurray!
- Not so. We ran into a person who had been there for 2 weeks, and there hadn't been a cloudless moment in all that time. Oh well. We embraced the fact that we would just be chilling out, sans mountain views, though a little bit of hope was carried with us at all times...
It was still morning after we had chosen and checked in to our digs for the night. So we had ourselves a little breakfast. Tom Omelette. Pat Paratha. Sam Pancake. All with some ever so tasty Chai Masala.
Let's talk about masala chai in some detail shall we?
Just like everything in India, it is region specific. Not only that, it is also vendor specific. So there will be a noticeable difference in taste between two corners on the same street. Masala, as most of you will know from the likes of Garam Masala, means spice mix. So chai masala is tea made with a spice mix. This ordinarily contains some/none/all of these - cloves, ginger, cardamom, black pepper, cinnamon, though there are other ingredients still. Bikaner, in Rajasthan in the West near the pakistan border, claims to be the home of Masala Chai. But i am sure that will be the case for many a proud city. Though whilst there, their vendors were only throwing in 2 freshly crushed cardamom pods and a little grated ginger per cup. A few vendors prefer the powdered mix option. Old biddies create their own powdered masala mixes, and flog them (we purchased many, for educational reasons.) A fatty buffalo milk is used, and a similar taste can be recreated here in Blighty using full fat milk, though condensed milk is sometimes used (So some books say. We have never witnessed it though.) They use a strong CTC tea (see previous blog post about CTC tea) which is ferociously boiled in the milk and sugar for a couple of minutes, and turns the mixture that beautiful glossy orangey brown colour, that if they could harness i would paint my whole house with. Then pass it all through a muslin cloth, then straight into tiny little glasses/disposable clay cups (the latter being the law in parts of India). It's a speedy process, and frantic, but there's usually a kid around to help the master.
It's a marvellous bit of culture. Men stand (or sit or crouch) for hours and hours sipping from their miniature glasses, business men quickly nip out to grab a sugary hit before heading back to graft, you are brought a glass by the wallah whilst talking to shop keepers, which just gets added to their slate. It's not a commitment, because the glass is so small, and it IS VERY sweet, but that matters not, for the same reason. The price ranges from 4 - 10 rupees (5 - 14p). Tea wasn't big amongst the masses in Inja until only 50-60 years ago after the Tea Association of India pushed tea breaks for workers in coal mines, cotton mills, factories and other industrial places. Tea stalls were set up at these locations as well as in towns, and small contractors were equipped with kettles and tea to sell at major railway junctions. Now it is a part of every day life around much of India. Amazing what a bit of slightly sinister product pushing by a major association can do...
Here in the UK, our idea of chai is of the chai lattes available in those CORPORATE COFFEE ESTABLISHMENTS THAT ARE TURNING OUR ONCE EXCITING CITY CENTRES INTO BLAND CHARACTERLESS CLONES. That is not chai. As they use those sweetened syrups, which are nice, but not used to make real chai. When we finally open the Quilliam Brothers Tea Hoose, please do pop in, and we will educate your taste buds. We will have various masala chai recipes, including some seasonal ones (christmas ones with essence of jolly beard, autumn ones with extract of brisk morning walks, summer ones with powdered knotted hanky and suntan lotion overzealousness, and spring time ones with juice of snow drop and talk of improving weather).
So after this breakfast in Pelling we went for a walk to a monastery. We asked a local and he pointed in a direction. We walked for ages. Then asked another local. He pointed in another direction. We walked for ages. Then we asked another local. And he said it was back the way we came. We walked for ages. Then asked another local who pointed somewhere completely different. We walked for ages. Until we were knackered. So we headed back. Turned out not one of the directions had been the right one. Anyone who spends some time in India will realise that you will never receive a 'no' in response to 'do you know where such and such a place is?' They will always give you an answer even if they haven't a clue. Frustrating, but quite endearing. This is what we did see -
A bush with legs -
Sam being a rugged adventurer and cooling himself in a brook-
After lunching, Pat slept, Sam had a wander around toon and I gnashed off to another monastery which was a pleasant 45 mins away.
There was a schooling session going on at the monastery. 30 odd mini buddhists were sitting, books in hand listening to master buddhist man. I expected them to be saintly beings. But a soon as the lesson was over, they piled into the courtyard and started throwing flying kicks at each other, and stealing each others sweets, tormenting me for photos and generally being naughty. Was good to see that you cant take the mischievousness out of kids. This is what i did see -
And a cat with a wing in its mouth -
The afternoon was spent lounging around, reading, drinking tea and playing poker at a nice cafe. Watched War Inc when returned to hotel. Bizarre movie.
Slept soundly with intermittent dreams of massive mountains. Woke at 5 for the promised views. Walked to viewing hill. Disappointment. This is what we did see -
Bus came at 7 and took us back to Jorethang, and then amazingly a jeep left straight to Darjo, with customary passenger vomit at the border and bouncy bounciness. We arrived way earlier than expected, so made the mega decision to make our way to Varanasi that afternoon.
Bus was to leave at 4. Jeep due to arrive at 4. Jeep got flat tyre. So called bus company. They said that we have to hurry. So we asked the jeep driver to hurry hurry. And indeed he did. Our knuckles were white and our pantaloons soiled on arrival. We ran to the bus, and got there for 4.30. Stressed and exhausted we sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. The bus left after 7.
Me and pat were buggering around with photographicals, whilst sam was on the daddy of all ket runs.
-The word 'ket' means sweets in Geordie (or lollies if you are Antipodean), but has taken on a somewhat sinister meaning since people have started taken ketamine recreationally. Mmmmm, Anaesthetic.-
Anyhoo, he somehow sourced some fruitella, which was pretty much the sole reason morale stayed at a reasonable level during the journey to Varanasi. Those of you who are not familiar with fruitella should get yourselves acquainted with the chewy cuboid.
Now then. This bus journey was interesting. Firstly we had been given the back seats which should hold 5 people. But were actually holding 8 or 9. One of these 8 or 9 peoples was completely wasted and kept screaming at people, then staring at them with the purest of hatred. Sometimes we were the object of this drunken emotion. And of course the bus was ridiculously bumpy. So you would find your derriere slowly slipping of the back seat if you dared to fall asleep. It was stinking hot. And stinking. And we got stuck in a 4 hour traffic jam outside Patna, where we were to change to a train. So it took some 16 hours. Not a pleasant place to be for 16 hours. But it was good craic nonetheless.
Check out the change of colour of Pats t shirt after being in a fumey indian traffic jam for four hours with the windows open -
This has not been fiddled with in the Photo Shop, or in a muddy puddle. This is seriously the filth from dust and exhausts. Mmmmm, clogged lungs.
The train station and surrounding area of Patna is fucking feral. It was so very very hot with flies and dead animals and phlegming and general disgustingness everywhere. It was also heartbreaking to see the naked kids playing in the filth and rubble. With nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Except one of the kids found a plastic bottle, and made a game of hitting his tiny sister over the head with it until she cried. Then he had something. But it wasn't a great something.
We went to a ticket counter and asked for the first possible train ticket to Varanasi. They said everything was full. ARGHHHH. So we asked if there was anything that could be done. He said go to counter 94. Finding counter 94 was quite the challenge. But find it we did. The man asked if we were foreign tourists. I said yes, indeed we were. He looked at his system. And said tourist quota was also full. He said
'wait here.'
We waited here. And he returned with 3 tickets.
He said
'There is always space if you look hard enough', and smiled.
I owe that man a present. My first born, for example. Our hearts couldn't have lifted more than they did when he said that. The thought of spending a night in Patna was not filling us with joy.
So a pleasant 2 hour journey was had to Varanasi. It was one of those gorgeous train rides where you really feel the uplifting wind in your face and the incredible freedom of travel in india. A nice change from suffocating stifling Patna.
Crossing the Ganges as the sun was beginning to set -
That is a very good example of what makes travelling so very addictive, as is wittered on about here
Here is the journey, just for those who want to know. You can zoom out n stuff to can get the full idea of where in the world we were n that yeah -
Arrival in Varanasi was chaotic. It was dark, and we got straight in the first rickshaw offering a reasonable price. Varanasi is heavily pedestrianised so rickshaws can only take you so far. You have to then walk 20 minutes to the centre. We were all fatigued by now after nearly 40 hours of continuous travel. So i had a sit down at the first hotel that said it was full while the glorious Pat and Sam went on a reconnaissance mission. 4 hotels later they found the one for us. i.e the one with space. It was our last hotel that we would be staying in, so we splurged on an air conditioned room (get us) with 3 beds in (well, 2 beds and a cot).
After dumping stuff we eagerly went to their much advertised roof top restaurant. We had low blood sugar. We were tired. And our bodies were aching. So, a nice curry would've been well received. BUT THERE WAS 'CLASSICAL MUSIC' PLAYING IN THE CORNER REALLY LOUDLY. This consisted of some tabla a harmonium and a man with bells on his feet who was singing and stamping. I love me a raga or two when played by wonderful musicians in a place suitable for the genre. Not in a tiny restaurant played by people who couldn't give a shit. The food was delicious though, especially when they packed up and left half way through.
Sleep was so wonderful. So very wonderful. Dreaming of the many delights that Varanasi has to offer. And it has MANY….
