India

Do You Sprangle?

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joe_02

Sprangle – (definition: “going in all directions“) That’s what I’m doing. No, this is not about my uncontrolled waistline, nor does it refer to my expansive ego. It’s about travel – travel in many directions, local and far – and in many modes, formal and informal. BTW – speaking of “all directions” that’s not a rug in this photo, just a lousy haircut.

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On Sep 14th, 2006 I’ll be off again on another pilgrimage from Jersey City, NJ USA to Manly Beach, NSW, Australia. In addition to the 4 weeks in Oz, I’ll finish up that trip with my usual sprangle (see what a great word it is?) with a few weeks in India

BTW – in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve tweaked the blogging code so the entries read in true chronological order (not reverse chrono as blogs usually do).  This is the way a travel journal should work.

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Destinations may be closer than they appear.

Next year’s Sprangle, around June 2007 or so, probably will be more civilized and with better food, to a more accessible destination, such as Tuscany or Spain. I’m looking for 5 or 6 simpatico travel companions of the same sensibilities and senior age range, both genders, to enjoy its simple pleasures. Maybe we’ll rent a villa for a month. Click above on “Contact Joe” if you are interested.

UPDATE – 2009 – Things happen. Here we are closer to three years later and I never made that trip to Tuscany. But that’s on now. Still looking for travel buddies.

UPDATE #2 – Well, I did it. Most of the month of September 2009 was spent in Tuscany. As of today (Sept 30, 2009), the new web page describing the trip (www.twoweeksintuscany.com) has only an introductory page. Over the next few weeks I will fill it in as a travel journal, together with photos.

UPDATE #3 – return to Australia – In January 2010 I got back to Australia despite the attempts of Virgin Australia to interfere (the scummy bastards). That visit has a small web site here

UPDATE #4 – Coming mid-August, 2010. a few days in a holiday house at the Jersey Shore with cousins I have not seen in about 60 years. This should be Interesting. There will be a web site, if I survive.

“So we sprangle on, boats against the current . . . ?
(with love, respect and thanks to FSF)

(corrupt version from last chapter The Great Gatsby)

ants . . .

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. . . in my pants. Sand in my shoes. Wander in my lust.

Manly Beach - 2006
Manly Beach - 2006

It’s been an entire year (August 2005) since I lived out of my suitcase and I’m getting horny for it’s intimate embrace.

Of course, thanks to the war criminals in the White House, our economy – and more specifically – the value of the US Dollar as international currency, has declined near to that of toilet paper. When you persist in an illegal war that costs billions per month – and hide its fiscal consequences by failing to either raise taxes or sell war bonds to pay for it, your currency suffers.

It’s a good thing I prefer to travel on the cheap. Other than air fares, not much of what I need during travel has greatly changed in price. Of course, what with the war crimes commited in our formerly-good-name by the Bush-Cheney administration, there’s much more hostility to Americans. One of my small ambitions as traveler is to give a face and voice in opposition to the terible things done in our good name.

So, I should go, right? Isn’t “should” a four-letter word with baggage?

Go? As in Samuel Beckett’s, “Waiting for Godot.”  ??

Estragon: I can’t go on like this.
Vladimir: That’s what you think.

So, I’ll go . . . on.

The Maze

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The free ride in a three-wheeled auto-rickshaw from the Varanasi train station to the Scindhia Hotel was far and away the wildest I’ve ever had in my 73 years of traveling the world. It was a real live version of the roller coaster that many know as “The Mouse.”

The driver was the most aggressive I’ve ever seen, passing on the outside of  curves at full speed against oncoming cars, trucks and rickshaws. At some places along the way, the opposing streams of traffic were divided by a low, narrow wall of concrete – which we ignored. At some intersections we crossed over and went against the oncoming stream – and then at the next, if traffic was lighter on “our side,” we went back where we belonged.

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The Scindhia Balconies Above the Ganges

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Over the course of my days in Varanasi I learned there are other places to stay along the river. Some of them will appear high up and in the background of photos taken during the Dawn on the Ganges below. But, as the photos here and in other posts demonstrate, none have the broad, open-air balconies that give virtually every Scindhia room these awesome vistas. Click on photos to expand them.

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9am - Ganges, looking south

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another watcher

For example, look at the range, down and across the Ganges. These are the views directly outside the door to my room.

The hotel layout offers one long, common balcony on each of the five levels. As you can see other  guests also think them an excellent vantage point.

The double-ended rowboats are used in the dawn and dusk rowing tours along the ghats. I’ve scheduled that tour for the morning. Strangely, the hotel books the 5:00am tour, but doesn’t offer a wakeup service. I’ll depend on the help of another guest who has an alarm clock (A German, of course; they and the English are the keeprs of apointments.)

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a good breakfast

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foot of the steps

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off to the right

At the moment, 9am on my first morning,  I’ve had a hot shower, clean, dry clothes and I’m revived. I’m late for breakfast in the common room. But first, a few more photos of this scene from another world . . .

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my neighbor

As I was taking my final shots of this first morning, a lovely young woman from the next room appeared on the shared balcony. She was taking her last look before checking out. She’s Mexican, obviously from a privileged family, on a six-month tour of the world. We chatted in Spanish.

Once again, I silently thanked my patient and persistent high-school Latin teachers who told me that someday I would be glad I had studied the key to most European languages. Decades later I found Spanish needed only just a slight adjustment in vocabulary.

Varanasi and the Ganges from a Balcony

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The wide balconies of the Scindhia are the very definition of what American southerners call “a catbird seat,” the perfect spot where one sits just high enough to be un-noticed from below and just enough to the side that you can see faces, not merely the tops of heads. Life on the path and plaza and nearby temples and schools flows as steadily as the river itself.

Directly below to the left, stairs lead down from the heights and continue right on into the river. Next to them is a patch of land that is literally covered in cow dung. When I say literally, I mean literally.

There is an unstructured dung pile that is constantly added to by collecting the dropping of some huge beasts that wander the plaza and nimbly clunk up and down the broad steps. Next to the pile there are rows and rows and rows of carefully shaped and hand-decorated cow-patties, laid out to dry. When dry enough to be sold as fuel, they are as hard as a rock and will burn like a lump of charcoal.

A double decked rowboat – something I have never known to exist – passes up river, powered by one man. A dozen or so men on the upper deck, unshaded from the blistering sun, are happily chanting and and clapping to  a complex beat.

On the far shore, a bleak flood plain stretches without shade or mercy for miles in each direction. The group you see in the photo remained there, uncovered to the fire of the day, from late morning until  shortly before sundown.

Click on a photo to enlarge.

Twilight Above the Ganges

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Last night at twilight, as I was standing on the balcony of my hotel room, high above the broad sweep of the Ganges River, temple bells were tolling and puffs of the late freshening breeze carried small gusts of distant chanting. (Now tell me, honestly, could there ever be a more promising start to a story than that?) 

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The Taj Mahal – Late Afternoon Album #1

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After a nap, a great hot shower, fresh clothes and an excellent sandwich in the garden of the amzingly cheap and cheerfully green garden of the Guest House, I climbed into the back of a three-wheeler and roared off to see the Taj Mahal before it closed at 6pm.  

The authorities have wisely banned motor vehicle traffic at a point some 200 or so yards short of the western gate to the grounds. This not only cuts down on the air pollution and motor noise, but it requires that tourists walk the narrow street lined with souvenier shops and food stands, and even a few guest houses whose rooftop patios promise special views above the wall.

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