Parts 1 to 3
Phil turned up in Varanasi in the middle of the night, freezing his butt off, after having walked through the maze of laneways to our guesthouse, in the thick fog and the disagreeable brass monkey weather.
He bought a huge thick blanket on the way, which proved to be one of our most treasured possessions over the next couple of weeks.
We properly caught up in the morning, and all four of us, Phil, Frankie, Ajuna and I, strolled off to explore the fascinating city of Varanasi.
Frankie and Phil having a ghat chat
Strolling along the ghats is like stepping back about a thousand years. There's little evidence that we're in whatever century we're in.
Mourning ceremony (I think)
Heading into the laneways keeps you alert, there's things coming at you from all directions, you've really got keep your eyes peeled.
And it's all so bloody interesting.
True believers watching the Ram temple inauguration in Ayodhya, live on a big screen.
Lingams keeping a tree vulva company
Ajuna being all mosquettish
Half Shiva half Shakti. Best of both worlds.
Kali letting Shiva know who's boss
Frankie with fellow professionals
Morning tea
Another burning ghat, for poorer people
This brush looks like ones that the Jains use to sweep the ground in front of them so they don't accidentally kill or injure any living being as they walk. Jainsism is an extremely ancient religion, there's about 4.5m adherents in India. I'll chat about them at some point, no doubt.
Another ghat ritual
Hairy thieves
Same to you
Oh so squeezy
Dancing in the streets
Garuda
Kali and Durga looking vicious, as usual
Frankie buying a bamboo flute. Luckily it was in tune, Ajuna and I checked it.
Ram being all serious
Street concert celebrating the temple inauguration at Ayodhya
And the band
Rama flossing his teeth while Sita chats to a human
Spice wallah
Kids eat anything
Waiting for a chai
After the ritual aarti at the main ghat. Years ago the ceremonies were small and felt more spiritual, but these days they've become a bit of a tourist spectacle.
Takeaway trash
Ghat Wrenching
Bhang shops are legal in Varanasi, and, given that Frankie was with us, it was completely inevitable that we'd end up at one before too long.
In case you didn't know, bhang is a paste made from cannabis.
So we made it to a bhang lassi place one night, just before it closed up, we'd missed it the previous two nights because, you know, well .... you know how it is sometimes.
We were careful. There were three magic lassi options - medium, strong, or extra strong - we each chose medium because we're very responsible people, we lead balanced lives, and we only do things in moderation.
When I say "each," I need to clarify that only three of us were involved, as Phil declined to partake. Cannabis does weird things to him. This turned out to be just as well, as there's no way we would've made it anywhere safely without him.
The lassis were divine! Delicious! Banana and coconut. But we all noticed that they were rather dark in the green department, which gave us a hint of what may be in store for us.
And off we went into wild crazy Varanasi.
First stop, food. We went to a nice restaurant and ordered big.
Big big
It didn't take long for the bhang to kick in. And the kick wasn't just a little tap with a gentle foot. It was more like a Bruce Lee thunderclap to the brain. After half an hour any normal conversational comment made us react like this ...
You can imagine what happened when Phil tried to fit in by making faces like this.
It's one thing to be sitting down inside a restaurant completely overpowered by the transcendental powers of bhang. It's quite another to then get up and try to negotiate the crazy wild chaotic streets, laneways and ghats of Varanasi at night, dodging fast moving motorbikes, cars, rickshaws, bicycles, cows, monkeys, and swarming rivers of people, whilst trying to maintain some sense of decorum, and trying desperately to pretend that you're a normal person.
It was a major feat that we all managed to "walk" down busy streets, cross crazy intersections, and zig zag to a stall for serves of curd, which is good for digestion.
Then we wobbled our way to the Ganga, and watched part of the aarti ritual at the ghats, which was quite a challenge, given that we had to climb down the steep steps of the ghat through the crowd, at speed, trying to keep up with our minder Phil, who had no idea of the degree of difficulty of such manoeuvres for us high divers, and who was so far in front of us that it was impossible to contact him in any non-telepathic way.
Eventually we needed to go back to the guesthouse, for our own psychological safety. It all became a little too much.
The thing about digesting cannabis is that once it's in your system you can't really control its impact anymore, it just gets stronger and stronger, until it's done what it wants to do with you, and then you can begin to slowly reappear in human form.
Frankie wanted to have a dance party on the roof, but that idea lasted about five minutes, as only Phil made it up there, and waited and waited, and Frankie didn't show. Eventually Frankie went up, but Phil had long gone, and even Frankie turned out to be beyond music, which is really saying something, and he also had to retreat to the relative safety of his room.
So the medium bhang lassi, which we'd chosen because we were being all smart and responsible, was just way too bloody strong for the lot of us, and turned out to be a night killer, a complete knockout.
And not only that, but there was a cruel twist to the story.
The massive North Indian feast we'd had earlier in the evening turned out to be completely dodgy, and all of us were completely sick later in the night, in shifts.
Except Ajuna that is, who seems to have the constitution of an iron horse, and who managed to escape the technicolor yawn routines that the rest of us had to endure, one by one, for most of the night.
It wasn't pretty, I can tell you.
But I'll spare you the gory details.
And the whole stomach thing wasn't the bhang, because Phil also had to do the bucket routine for a few hours.
Yeah, our night was a massacre
The next day we were all still dead, and only Frankie and I managed to leave the guest house, in the afternoon, to buy plain idlis, papaya, and water, the only things that any of us could even consider ingesting.
Even Ajuna was feeling dodgy by then.
So, the moral of the story is, if having a bhang lassi in India is on your bucket list, beware!, because it could well turn out to involve a real bucket.
Make sure you order just one lassi, and share it with your friends. Sharing is caring. Go for the weakest option. Have a light meal beforehand, or not.
Your night could turn out to be the best fun ever.
Or it could all go papaya-shaped, and 24 hours of your life could go missing.
Hey .... that's exactly what happened to me last time I had a bhang lassi!
Shit.
I forgot.
Bye Bye Babies
And so it was time for Frankie and Ajuna to leave.
So sad.
We really had the most amazing time for the three weeks they were here in India, we did so many beautiful things together, and had so many adventures.
But lucky for me, Phil was staying a little longer.
Lazing on beautiful beaches, sucking on fresh coconuts, cruising the Keralan backwaters, spying on wild elephants, sipping steaming hot coffee and chai from clay cups, gutsing on delicious Indian sweets, swirling our banana leaf curries around with our fingers, dancing around to whatever music blurted out from Frankie's speaker, or from the street.
Watching human bodies burn, negotiating the craziness of Varanasi laneways, chatting with excited hordes of kids, posing for innumerable selfies, dodging cow shit, holes, cows, dogs, goats, beggars and piles of burning rubbish. Avoiding thieving monkeys, touts, fake gurus, people trying to put coloured paste on our heads (thilaka) and then trying to charge for it.
So many things, in such a short time.
I feel like a king, who's just acquired another massive hoard of new treasure.
And no cheeky monkey can ever nick any of it.
Yeah, times like what we've just had are priceless, and eternal.
Last Day In Banares
Varanasi has another name, Benares. The names are used interchangeably.
Phil and I had one more day there before we headed off on our own adventure, just the two of us.
I bet my hubby Frankie was jealous, I hope so.
First we headed to the ghats. It was warm-ish and sunny, for a change.
The dogs had the right idea.
So we joined them, and laid down on an old pallet, happily soaking up the delicious sun.
The view up there, from down here.
A fake sadhu eventually came up to Phil asking for money, in Hindi. Phil refused, in Hindi. The dude then asked Phil how his father was, and threatened to place a curse on his dad if he didn't hand over money.
How's that for ruthless rupee-hunting.
Many Indians are superstitious, and some are scared of curses, so guys like him can potentially make good money threatening them.
It's not gonna work on us though. Especially me, because my dad's completely immune to bad-health curses, having died years ago.
Long dark tunnel heading away from the ghats.
We discovered more great spots in the laneways. As you do.
Curdish man
We found this great little café, it was full to the brim of Westerners, which was quite a surprise, as we hadn't been to a place like that in the whole city before. They had delicious things like hot lemon honey ginger drinks, and cakes that actually looked edible.
Mhona Lisa-ji
And then the time came to leave the holy city, and off we went, jostling through the crowds to find a rickshaw, and then heading to the Benares railway station at night, for yet another overnight train journey.
Of course the train was late. Of course there was no indication whatsoever on which platform the train would arrive. Of course of course. It's India.
But I had an Indian app, Where Is My Train, which has actually worked reasonably well. It listed the arrival platform number, which ended up being correct, even though the woman at the actual Railway Information Booth at the station couldn't tell me the platform number.
Go bloody figure.
Phil pretending to be happy while we waited for our train, which may or may not be arriving on this platform.
But we made it on.
This time we had an aircon sleeper, as the other cheaper sleeper classes were booked out. It was the most comfy journey ever.
Phil generously shouted me some train journeys and hotel rooms for this part of our trip, as I recently helped him out.
What a guy he is.
And here he is, as happy as a Philibuster in a frustrated delayed Senate.
I didn't get a pillow, but I did have my delicious sleeping bag, which Frankie brought over for me. I'll need it when I'm riding and camping in super cold places over the next lifetime or so.
These kids were the cutest ever! They played so nicely with each other, it didn't matter that their longest and noisiest game happened between about 3am and dawn.
Khajuraho
I've always wanted to visit this place in India, a place famous for its incredible temple sculptures, which happen to be some of the most erotic ancient art ever fashioned.
But both Phil and I had absolutely no idea of what to expect from the place.
The incredible temples were built in the 800s and 900s by the Chandela dynasty, and are dedicated to both Jain and Hindu deities. From over 80 original temples, around 25 still survive, and they're listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, of course.
They're that good.
Khajuraho station
After checking in and grabbing some food, we headed off to explore the place. Khajuraho is remarkably small and chilled, given the fame of its temple sculptures. It was such a beautiful change from the crazy intensity of Varanasi.
Quiet village streets
Phil wearing his Afghani-style diarrhoea catchers, as some local girls debate what to paint next.
Whilst wandering around we somehow ended up at an amazing Jain temple, Bhagawan Parshwanath Digambar Mandir, parts of which were built over a thousand years ago. There was an art museum in the temple grounds.
Museum
Ancient busty bust
The covered interior courtyard of a more recent part of the temple
Jainism is an extremely old religion. It's been around in India for at least 2,500 years.
Like Buddhists, Jains don't believe in the existence of Gods as such, but in the existence of superior, mortal beings, which Jains call thirthankaras. A thirthankara is basically a supreme teacher of the dharma, a person who has managed to transcend the cycle of life, death and rebirth all on their own, and has forged a clear path for others to follow, so they can do the same.
An important tenet of Jainism is non-violence, and an important practice is to always ensure you're never doing harm to any living creature.
I wish.
For this reason devout Jains sweep the ground in front of them, to remove ants or other unsuspecting bugs and lifeforms, to make sure they don't squish them as they walk along.
It keeps the streets clean too.
Jains believe that living an austere life and "resorting to meditations" will purify the soul, and allow it to become free of attachments, aversions and delusions.
This returns the soul to its natural non-passionate state, and it's true attributes can then resurface, all of which are very handy things to have, like infinite knowledge, perception, bliss and prowess.
Not bad huh.
Incredible sculptures of various tirthankaras, I've forgotten their names and I know you don't care (unless you're Phil).
Some of the huge temple sculptures looked positively Pharoahic, if that's even a word.
The Digambara sect of Jainism, represented in this temple, believe that naked asceticism is the correct way to transcend the life-death cycle - their renunciation practices are carried out in their birthday suits.
And they're not even German or Dutch.
So, just get yer kit off, sit down and meditate, and don't swat any mozzies when they annoy ya. Eventually you'll get to heaven-on-earth.
By the way, notice the brushes they have in the pic, to save all those cute little bugs. They look rather Merkinesque to me, large size.
Later we happened upon a cricket game, and I had to partake, as my Max "Tangles" Walker bowling action hadn't been unleashed for awhile. I got a kid out first ball and was very proud of it. But I gotta admit it was actually a pretty ordinary ball, and the kid played a crap shot.
Then the lively rabble wanted to chat about everything, all at the same time. Luckily the oldest girl periodically shouted at them to "shut the fuck up!!" in Hindi, otherwise we wouldn't have gotten anywhere.
Same to you, green jumper. Don't you love the girl's folded arm too-cool-for -school pose.
The temples we discovered were amazing. Ancient treasures out in the middle of nowhere, with hardly anyone around.
A mini-taste of the eroticism to come. Note all the boob grabbing. Quite fitting really, given that this sort of thing still regularly happens in India. And I'm not talking about the consensual variety either, unfortunately.
Well, it's way worse than unfortunate. Sexual harassment and violence is a huge social issue in India, and many women are working really hard to get proper protection for women here, and to change entrenched sexist entitled male attitudes.
Late arvo chit chat
Old village houses, with wonky mud-tiled roofs
Perfect (and completely unexpected) spot for some modern art
Another big sunset. So nice to be out of the city smog and into the dusty rural haze instead. It's been awhile since I've seen a crystal clear horizon.
Extremely volumptuous, as Ajuna would say. And Tondi, for that matter. And definitely Frankie too, but he'd whisper it, and then slyly snigger.
Old and ancient
Sporting halos
Incredibly intricate carvings
Unusual dwarf Vishnu. That's actually not a joke. This is Vamana, the fifth incarnation of Vishnu, who was granted his one wish, which was that he could be the ruler of a kingdom as big of three of his own dwarf steps. And then, while no one was looking, he suddenly grew and grew, until his three steps encompassed the whole of existence and beyond.
Tricky Dicky.
Eventually it got dark and we got hungry. We pigged out on these snacks, aloo tikiya, which are basically delicious spiced potato patties. Each cost between nothing and hardly nothing.
Many homes and businesses have painted floor entrances, they look beautiful.
Clay production line
Don't get distracted when you walk around India. Always watch where you're going.
Michael Jackson chilling in his lounge room. Many many people live outdoors in India. They have no choice. And it's bloody cold around here at the moment. And unbearably hot in the summer.
The temples we visited today were all part of the World Heritage listed site.
Western Temples
The next day we visited the more grand and famous of the area's temples, those in the Western Temple region.
We decided to go in the forenoon.
More phallic symbolism than you can poke a dick at. PM Modi taking credit for pretty much everything, as usual.
The grounds are beautifully manicured and clean, which is now the case for many major tourist sites in the country. There were quite a few tourists there, and they were pretty much all Indian. We got sore jaws from all the selfies we were asked to pose for.
The temples, of course, were next level magnificent, and are world famous for their erotic sculptures and depictions of the Kama Sutra. But eroticism is the subject matter for only about 10% of all the sculptures, there's a huge array of other sculpture here, and the erotic ones aren't really positioned in particularly prominent places, just mingled in with all the rest.
There's literally tens of thousands of sculptures, each of them skilfully carved from stone or marble, each depicting deities, scenes from daily life, including many detailed depictions of sexual positions (you know, daily life), and countless historically real or mythical tales.
Incredible intricacy
Incredible intimacy
Girl band
Ganesha
Ouch
Ancient inscription in Sanskrit
Inner sanctum, with the Big Cheese, Shiva-ji
After all that hot action we needed to cool down with a lassi and some mild(ish) South Indian food.
To The Abode Of Krishna
Neither Phil nor I had ever visited Khajuraho, nor had we been to our next destination, Vrindavan, the place where the infant Prince Krishna escaped assassination by being switched at birth, resulting in some other poor kid getting the chop.
Yeah, Vrindavan is a major heartland of the Hare Krishna movement, and the whole place is packed to the thatched ceilings with devotees and pilgrims.
And monkeys.
It was cold, foggy, and really crazy in the super crowded laneways and temples.
Yeah, we were in for another episode of overwhelming intense India.
And, I have to admit, sometimes it can really get the better of ya❤️
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