Running in varanasi was impossible. The roads were too busy (at any time of the day and night) and the the paths were so uneven it would have been too dificult and unsafe to even attempt a run. Instead I went for a 5k walk

Negotiating with taxi drivers is an art. There are two problems:

1 – Indian taxi drivers rarely know where anything is.
2 – They want to rip you off as much as possible on the price.

Problem 1 is fair enough. Varanasi has thousands of streets and lanes and no one could possibly know them all. Also the name I might call it might not reflect the local name for a place. Even the name Varanasi is a misnomer as it’s local name is Banderas.

The best thing to do is to give them something famous near to where you want to go and then guide them from that. I use an offline downloaded map on my phone to get about as I didn’t want to pay a fortune for roaming mobile data.

Problem 2 is annoying. My normal gambit is to approach the taxi driver and ask for a price. They tell me an outrageous price. I counter with a much much lower offer. They argue and tell me why I’m wrong before they drop the price slightly. I’ll then offer a slightly higher offer which they’ll reject. I then walk away. As I walk away they shout a new price. I make my final offer. We agree and off we go. It’s a tiring and annoying process but it seemed to work until I got to Varanasi.

I tried it but as I walked away the taxi driver just let me go.

Darn I thought. That normally works!

Just as I was about to turn around another man came up and said he do it for 100R but it would be on his bike.

I said yes. Myself and Nic got on his bike and the man started pedaling but we didn’t go anywhere. The ride was on a slight incline and my weight was too much for him!

He started pushing instead. Thankfully after a few minutes it got flatter and he hopped on and managed to bike. Unfortunately he had no idea where we were going so after another few minutes he declared we were at the destination. We weren’t. It was still a couple of miles away.

He called over another man and they studied my map trying to work out where the destination was. After some to-ing and fro-ing and some questioning of others they worked out it was straight down the road he was currently on. I had tried to tell him that but he hadn’t believed me.

I felt sorry for him as he hauled me along. The road was extremely busy. I’d never drive it let alone cycle it.

Eventually we got to our stop. I gave him 100R but then pointed at Nic and said “no 100R each”

An Indian taxi/bike drivers scam work is never done.

If only people in the UK were so entrepreneurial.

Ease of running score – 1/10 (it might be possible but it would’t be fun)

Sights 9/10
– the Ghats are a fascinating place. Take it slow and enjoy the sights.

 

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“Do you need a yoga mat?” asked the yoga teacher.

“Yes thanks,” I replied.

The yoga teacher got one from his cupboard.

Before he handed it to me he uses the end of it it to move a dead mouse along the floor to a corner of the room.

He then hands me my yoga mouse mat ‘shovel’. India is simultaneously spiritual and practical.

The yoga teacher is a middle aged man in a leather jacket and scarf. He doesn’t remove the leather jacket until half way through the practice. The scarf lasts until near the end.

He has a nice manner and a gentle voice. “We will begin with 15 minutes of mediation. Lie down on your mat and concentrate on the silence”

The silence is swiftly broken by the crazy frog ringtone of the teachers mobile phone.

A minute later his phone goes ping then shortly after that it rings, then later it gives off a weird cosmic sound. By the end of the 15 minutes I’ve only managed to meditate about his ringtones.

Again it shows the simultaneous spiritual and practical side of India. Yes meditate but don’t miss out on any important messages.

We continue by doing some hip opening exercises. he says “Sit on the floor cross legged. Then rock you legs like they’re a butterfly’s wing. Fly from flower to flower, pretty butterfly.” My hips are very tight. My butterfly crashed.

He then says “Close your eyes and put your fingers on your ears then make a noise like a Bumblebee. Buzzzzzzzzz!” I follow his instructions. After a few buzzzzzzes I realize the flaw in the plan. Having my fingers in my ears and my eyes closed mean I can’t see or hear when to stop. I open one eye. Everyone else is watching me. I hope I wasn’t the only one doing the exercise!

He says we will finish off by chanting with “ohm” five times. He only does four. His mobile phone goes off and he has to answer it.

He ends by saying “Nothing is permanent.” I think to myself “Nothing is permanent unless its his phone being switched on.”

I’ve wanted to visit the temple of Kali since reading a novel about a man drawn to Kolkata to search for a poet but he becomes embroiled in the dark heart of the city. Its called Songs of Kali and has a lot of references to the temple. The city sounded wild and dangerous so I was intrigued to see it for myself!

The temple was only 9km from the hotel but, due to the terrible Kolkata traffic, this is a one hour 20 minutes cab ride.

As I walked towards the temple I could only see one sign. It said “This Way Inside” with an arrow quite clearly showing the way. I followed it and, unsurprisingly (see previous post about queuing) I had to join a large queue.

At this point a few Indians pointed out I had a bag and I won’t get in with one. I said it’s okay, I’ll put them into the official bag office.

After twenty minutes of queuing I got to the entrance. At this point some old Indian ladies spotted me and choose to skip the whole line and come in by my side. Assuming I’d be too ignorant a foreigner to complain.

This nearly started a riot as the Indians behind screamed abuse at the little old ladies.

You would think such a holy place would be immune to people skipping ahead or shouting abuse.

As soon as I got in, I walked to what I assumed was the bag office. It was the bag office. The back of it. I spotted a man and asked him to take the bag. He said no. Go to the front of the office. This meant I had to go back out! Nic said she’d wait so I wouldn’t need to join the line again.

I went out and, what a surprise, there was another queue. This time to put in bags. Also unsurprisingly a little old lady used me as cover to jump the queue so she could put her bag in.

“At last I can get in,” I thought. I turned to go back to the line but I spotted Nic. She was no longer waiting. She was now at the bag office. She forgot she had a bag. So we queued again!

This time a little old lady pushed her son ahead of me. Technically she didn’t skip the queue. He did it for her.

After dropping the second bag we returned and rejoined the original line. It moved quite quickly. Before we knew it we were inside the temple where ….can you guess what happened next? Yes – we had a queue but not just one. We had a choice of three queues. Each seemed to head to different internal parts of the temple.

We decided to not bother with them and walked around admiring the outside of the building instead before leaving to join a queue to get our bags back.

I think instead of calling the book Songs of Kali, it should have been called Queues of Kali.

The yoga instructor was a very tall youthful looking man of 61 years of age. His babyish features and height weren’t the most striking thing about his appearance. That was his dyed bright orange hair. Very similar in color to Iru Bru. I immediately nicknamed him Irn Guru.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first Indian yoga class. He seemed quite chilled out, I thought it might be very relaxed. I was wrong

He started off by getting us to raise our right arms above our heads before bringing them back down.

“One!” He barked.

“Repeat!” He hollered.

I put my right arm back up and then took it down.

“Two !” He shouted.

I repeated the action.

“Three!” He screamed.

This continued until he got to ten. I hoped it was over but he said “Now do the left arm”

One! Two! Etc

This militarist countdown continued for every pose except one of the later ones. He made me contract my stomach muscle whilst whooping out air from my mouth. It sounds quite easy but it’s actually quite hard. I looked forward to him reaching ten but he didn’t stop. He kept going pass twenty then thirty then forty before, thankfully, stopping at fifty.

He then shouted, “shivasna” and we all got a rest. It only lasted 30 seconds before he screamed “do it again!”

By this point I was tired, hot and sweaty. He must have noticed as he gave us all a two minutes meditation break. I mediated about how sore my stomach muscles were.

After the class I asked him what type of yoga it was. His reply: “easy yoga.”

If that was easy, I’d hate to see his hard class.

Open shop and wait for a foreigner to pass by. Engage them in conversation

Say “Hello”

You will probably be ignored. Don’t let this out you off.

Say “Hello, my friend”

You might get a look back. Press ahead with a question.

Ask “Where are you from?”

If they answer your onto a winner. Reel them in!

Say “I love <wherever you’re from>”

Tell them about a random friend/relative who’s been there.

Ask “How long you been in Kolkata?”

They are now susceptible to your charm. Time to make money.

State “You must come to my shop!”

Demand “I want you to see my shop!”

Say nicely “Not to buy. Just to see”

Add “It’ll make me so happy if you just see my shop”

Once they get in your shop lead them upstairs so it’s harder for them to get away. Offer them tea. They are more likely to buy if you keep them there for a while

I realised all this as I sat upstairs in a shop trying to work out how to leave! It was tricky as there were two men. One doing the selling and one confidently blocking the stairs. The one doing the selling wanted to sell us a very expensive statue of Ganesh the elephant god. Nic said she’d buy one but only if it was tiny and cheap.

He showed us a small wooden Ganesh. “A great piece. Perfect for the home. It’ll make you money so it’ll easily pay for itself – you can’t lose!” he claimed.

Then the top of Ganesh’s head fell off.

Quick as a flash, the man said, “that is a feature. You can use it to put an umbrella on him!”

“It’s broken!”

“No he’s now an umbrella holder. Very useful feature.”

“It’s broken. Show me another one.”

He gets another. The top doesn’t fall off.

I ask why this one doesn’t have the umbrella feature.

“It does. You just have to pull his head hard.”

“You mean break it?”

His friend says “yes”.

I admired the friend’s entrepreneurial spirit but both of them realized they’d been rumbled at that point!

The British ruled India for 200 years. The British love queuing so, unsurprisingly, do Indians. Queues started before I even arrived in the country. As the plane descended, just before it touched down, one man got up and got his luggage from the overhead locker.

He wanted to be first off the plane and first into the immigration queue.

I thought how slow can the queue be that you’d risk life and limb to avoid it.

I had an electronic visa which theoretically meant I should get through the queue quickly. Or at least that’s what I thought.

One of of the questions on the form asked me “Are you a tourist? Have you committed a war crime? Are you a criminal?”

I’m no sure how useful these questions are. Surely, if I can answer “yes” to any of those options, I’d also answer yes to “do you lie on forms to get into countries?”

The immigration queue has special needs line for for the elderly/disabled. This is a great idea except the immigration desk is set on a platform. To reach it they have to walk up two steps. Something which is particularly difficult for elderly and disabled people.

That is India in a nutshell. Logical and illogical combined.

It took over an hour to clear immigration despite there only being a handful of passengers but loads of immigration officers. The luggage hadn’t arrived so I joined the luggage queue. I was starting to see why the man on the plane got up early.

Nic’s luggage arrived quickly. “Result. Mine must be out soon too,” I thought. I was wrong. 30 minutes passed and my luggage still hadn’t arrived. Then the luggage conveyor belt stopped. I took this as a hint that my luggage might not have made it…

Thankfully after complaining to an airline employee my luggage was found. They must have turned the plane upside down and shook it to see if any luggage fell out.

That wasn’t the last of the queuing. We then had to wait in a very long queue for a prepaid taxi. By the time we left the airport we’d spent more time here than the time it took to fly from Dubai to Kolkata

Welcome to India…. join the queue.