Varanashi, varanashi, varanashi I

Vaig anar a Varanasi (o Benares pels nostalgics) fa dues setmanes amb en Takaya, un amic japones gracies a qui estic aqui a Allahabad. Nomes son tres hores de trajecte per carretera, perfecte per una escapada de cap de setmana. Varem agafar un bus a l'estacio de Civil Lines i dues hores i mitja mes tard estavem negociant el preu de l'autorickshaw davant l'estacio de tren de Varanasi.

De sobte haviem canviat l'ambient tranquil i provincia d'Allahabad pel bullicios i asfixiant Varanasi. Asfixiant no nomes per la temperatura i la humitat, sino sobretot pel personal huma. Nomes baixar del bus ens varem topar amb una marabunta de rickshaw wallahs que ens oferien els seus serveis a dreta i esquerra. Despres al chowk (barri vell) vaig descobrir que aixo nomes era l'aperitiu. Caminant pels carrerons continuament ens abordaven venedors, captaires, xerraires, guies, massatgistes, barquers, sadhus, mistics... Tots ens intentaven vendre alguna cosa: travesies pel Ganges, massatges, visites per "nomes mirar" a la botiga de seda de turno, bindis, pintures, espelmes per llancar al ganga, postals plastificades (la ultima novetat en postals!!!), pulseres... de tot i mes.

Tot i aixo, l'ambient em va encantar. Varem trobar un hostalillo forca decent amb una terrassa fantastica. Des d'alla varem poder observar una altra cara de la ciutat, la vida als terrats. Mentres esperavem la posta de sol el cel es va anar omplint d'estels. No vaig aconseguir fer una foto que plasmes el moment. A baix, les veines petant la xerrada de balco en balco, els nens jugant a criket o fent volar els estels i les mones grimpant de barana a balco, reines i senyores d'aquesta part alta de la ciutat. I a dalt, mentrestant, la llum minvant entre puntets dansaires i bandades de coloms volant ordenadament a les ordres del domador. A vegades nomes cal canviar el punt de vista.

Si, un es posa forca mistic a Varanasi. pero tampoc es pot escapar de la realitat, i la realitat India conte una bona quantitat de vaques. I els carrerons del chowk tambe. Es com estar al barri gotic de Barcelona, amb mes bruticia i rumiants. L'endema, mentre passejavem unes vaques van decidir que volien fer una mica de exercici i es van posat a correr. Tothom s'anava apartant com podia, arrambant-se a les parets o amagant-se darrera les cantonades. Em va recordar als San Fermines.

Quantes cares te Varanasi?

La part alta al capvespre
The high place at dusk

09/07, Varanasi, India

La xafardera i el voyeur
The gossipy and the voyeur

09/07, Varanasi, India

I went to Varanasi (or Benares for the nostalgics) two weeks ago with Takaya, a japanese friend thanks to whom I am here in Allahabad. It's only three hours away from here, perfect for a weekend trip. We took a bus from Civil Lines bus station and two and a half hours later we were negotiating the price of the autorickshaw in front of Varanasi train station.

Suddenly we switched the quiet and still Allahabad for bustling and suffocating Varanasi. Suffocating not only because of the temperature and humidity, but also because of the people. Just a second after getting off from the bus we came across a crowd of rickshaw wallahs who kept offering us a ride non-stop. Later in the chowk I found out that was just the beginning. While walking its streets we were approached by beggars, salesmen, chatterboxes, boatmen, guides, masseurs, sadhus, mystics... All them were trying to sell something: boat trips in the Ganges, massages, "just looking" visits to their silk factory, bindis, paints, candles to be thrown in the river, plastic postcards (last novelty from a kind sadhu), bracelets... anything you want.

On the other hand, I loved the atmosphere. We found a small hostel pretty decent with a great terrace. From there we had the chance to see the other face of the city, life in the flat roofs. While we where waiting for the sun to set kites started to fill the sky. I couldn't take a picture capturing the moment. Below, neighbors chatting from one balcony to another, kids playing cricket or flying kites and monkeys leaping here and there. While above the light kept diminishing between dancing dots and flocks of pigeons guided by the tamer. Sometimes it's only about changing the point of view.

Yes, one can get pretty "cosmic" in Varanasi. But we cannot escape from reality, and indian real life is full of cows. And so do the chowk alleys. It's like being in Barcelona's barri gotic, with more filth and ruminants. The day after, while we were taking a walk some cows decided to do some exercise and started running. Everybody kept moving out of the way, moving closer to the walls or hiding in corners. It reminded me of the San Fermines.

How many faces does Varanasi have?

Dixit: "Please come to my uncle's silk factory. "Miru dake".... Are you japanese?"