Things to Do in Varanasi When You're Dead

1) Get burned in a funeral pyre
2) Get sunk in the Ganges attached to a big rock
3) Get sent down the Ganges in a banana tree

I am afraid my eloquence has deserted me. I cannot explain Varanasi. I will try to give a brief overview.

It is busy. I thought Kolkata was mental, but this place is proper crazy. Crossing the road is a virtual impossibility. There are so many cycle-rickshaws, auto-rickshaws and taxis that are literally bumper to bumper that there is simply no way through one lane of it, let alone three.

There are so many people selling things and services here too. The level of hassle is way above anything experienced so far. In the really touristy zones, there are people who will come up to shake your hand - not an uncommon experience when one comes across an Indian who wants to try out his knowledge of Western customs - and then say he's giving you an hand massage. And it's really hard not to proffer one's hand when approached thusly. In fact, if anyone has tried to be our friend in any way, we have run a mile. It is the one time I have been greatful for our high levels our Traveller's Paranoia - a disease insidious in onset but instantly recognisable by feelings of guilt, after one is needlessly suspiscious of and even rude to someone who is being friendly and helpful for no personal gain.

We went for a boat ride at about a quarter past five and saw the various ghats (set steps leading down to the river), of which there are 365 in Varanasi, including the five from which one must bathe to wash one's sins away, and the few burning ghats, where the dead are cremated - a certain way of ending the cycle of reincarnation and attaining Nirvana. We stopped off at one of these ghats and had the ritual explained to us, whilst a dead man was set alight by his first-born about two metres away from us.

Upon returning to the boat, the man who was rowing could be observed drinking a few handfuls of water from the river:

The internationally agreed safe level of coliform bacteria present in water to be considered safe for bathing is 500 per 100ml. The Ganges has 1.5 million per 100ml. People who want to bathe to cleanse their sins away should have a proper bath when they get home. The fact that the man was drinking this water defies belief.

An hour later, we returned to the main ghat whence we departed, where they began the ritual that occurs at sunset. I think it is called 'The Ritual of Cramming White People into Boats for Ridiculous Money'. Or something along those lines. We managed to get a boat, just the two of us and the two people taken to operate the craft, for Rs150 each, for one hour. I heard some (fat) tourists agreeing prices of Rs500 each in a boat of ten people. Haggling has become one of the great discoveries of this holiday, since I was never very good at it before and now rather enjoy it. If I can't get just one rickshaw-wallah in a crowd of them to agree reluctantly to a silly price at which he really should have balked, then it wasn't worth it. It's not that I don't realise the absurdity of the situation. Yesterday we took ten minutes to beat down one guy from 50 to 40 rupees. This is a difference of 20 cent. And where were we going? Well we had decided to treat ourselves to dinner in the Radisson. Not the cheapest meal we have enjoyed - certainly many tens of times more expensive than the Rs10 I insisted on doing rickshaw man out of (and ended up giving him in the end). But it is nice to think we are scamming them for once.

And this really is the city of the scam. Some rules for visiting Varanasi:

1) Do not trust anyone, they just want your money
2) Nobody wants to be your friend, they just want your money
3) Haggle like the bejaysus, they just want your money
4) If you can accept that you will be scammed a little while you are here, you will be happier for it.

We chose our hotel from the information given to us in the Tourist Information Office in the station, whose sole purpose is to ensure tourists don't get ripped off. We jumped in a taxi and arrived at our first choice, which was full. The Lonely Planet advises that one asks at reception, as the taxis have arrangements with individual hotels, so will happily say that the hotel of your choice is full, or burned down, or has just had its signs removed, upon arriving at his prefered hotel. They also claim that doormen will take a bribe from the taxi driver to say likewise, or be a plant and not the doormen at all. So, as I said, we checked at reception. Full. No problem - our second choice hotel was just around the corner. This had only the deluxe rooms available. Surprise, surprise. So we broke our rule of not spending more than Rs500 per night on a room (this one was Rs1100), but it was worth it, as the room really is very nice. But after coming down from the room after two minutes to buy some water, the taxi man was back and had Rs300 in his hand. We had only paid him Rs20 to drop us to the hotel (admittedly a bit scabby, but that's the fun, isn't it?), so he obviously took a commission for bringing us there, despite the fact that we were the ones who had requested it. I was going to tell the hotel receptionist, but I rathered the taxi driver had it than the hotel - scamming the scammer, as it were.

You know that myth about cows walking freely in the streets in India? There are lots of cows here. Lots of cows. There was a particuarly busy intersection I liked to call the Dead Cow Roundabout that was such a melee, but wasn't aided by the fact that there was a cow blissfully resting in the middle of it. There are lots of cows here.

And it may be because they're sacred, but you wouldn't know it from the way they're kicked and slapped. While I've been sitting here, there was a lot of commotion, followed by the unmistakeable sound of a human fist impacting on unsuspecting flesh. Fortunately it was bovine flesh, but the supposedly calmest of animals was, at that stage, anything but. And I was expecting the people to COW-tow to them!

(What? I'm not apologising for that. )

That's all the news for the moment. We go next to Delhi (14 hours by train - although they always tend to underestimate the time taken subsantially in our experience), instead of Agra as planned, since the Taj Mahal is doable as a day trip, and Agra sounds disgusting. Becky flies home on Thursday and then it's just me all on my lonesome.

A funeral procession just went past, presumably towards a burning ghat, with all its colour, shouting and banging of drums. This town is full on crazy.

Toby.