Palace on the Steps: The Ganges River

PALACE ON THE STEPS

Varanasi, India

July 2015

In my usual uninformed mind, the city of Varanasi is very close to the airport of Varanasi.  I have no fact to support this claim, just a thought that it would be so convenient for me if this were true.  I had hopes of leaving the airport, hoping on a bus and finding my way to my hotel. But I couldn’t find a bus so I settled on a taxi. When the taxi driver told me it would take 80 minutes to get to my hotel, I became defensive and annoyed with him.  He was trying to rip me off, I just know it.  I sought out an airport staff member to give me correct information.  “Only way by taxi, Madame. Maybe one hour, one hour and a half.  You must take taxi. All prices are set.  You do not have to worry.”

So now I have to negotiate if I want A/C or not.  I do not want A/C because I want to keep the window open and take photos.  This response takes the man by surprise and he has to call for a different driver to accommodate my request.

We drive through one crowded small town after another.  The streets are jam-packed with cars, trucks, tut-tuts, cows, taxis, horse drawn carriages, bicycle taxis but mostly with people on foot who can no longer walk on the sidewalks because they are so damn crowded.

I am anxious to get out of this density of people and anticipate Varanasi to be just a bit less crowded.  But my delusions are shockingly slapped in the face when my driver stops the car and announces, “OK, here.  Your hotel here.”

I see no evidence of my hotel or any hotel for that matter.  I just see kiosks of junk.  And people tapping on the taxi, yelling at the driver to move on.  He becomes flusters.  “Here, Madame,” he says with a bit more force.  But I don’t see it and I don’t want to give up my taxi until I see where I am going.   With that, two young men open my door and announce, “Hello Madame, we will take you to your hotel.”  I begin to panic and wonder if I am now going to be taken by the driver and these two thugs.

“OK, OK, they take you.  Finished,” the driver hurriedly tells me. He is anxious to get out of this holding pattern.

I grab my backpack and leave with intrepidation.  What should I do?  I don’t hear any English being spoken on the street. I don’t see anyone who could offer my any guidance.  I am just left at the mercy of these two young men who are cheerfully encouraged me, “Come this way please. Don’t worry about the cow.  Walk around him. He will not hurt you, Can I carry your bag?”

I am not willing to surrender my bag to them because I don’t yet trust them. So I carried my pack which grew heavier with each step. As the two of them walked freely, I walked defensively, cautiously, watching out for huge piles of cow dung, cracked sidewalks, holes in the street, tree trunks, motorcycles zooming beside me and all other challenges of this small alleyways.

When they lead me down the second alleyway, which is deserted, I stop and call to them, “Hey, where are you taking me?”  I use a tone of annoyance as a means of defense.

“To the hotel, of course, Madame.” He says ever so calmly.  And then I see the sign painted on a wall Palace on the Steps Guesthouse.  And I calm down just a bit.