7 things that made my first day in Varanasi a nightmare

 Sometimes, things don’t turn out as you plan. 

But what happens when nothing goes as you expect it?

I flew into Varanasi in the afternoon. When I got off the plane, my guesthouse driver was surprisingly there to greet me holding a white paper with my name written on it. I was proud. He was on time! That airport pickup fee I paid to my guesthouse felt worth it. Things were looking up.

My driver went to the car and loaded my bags in. He opened the door and my smile dropped…

1.  My pickup van was a run-down vehicle with dirty-looking removable seats, which were barely hanging on.

Didn’t look like it’d be a comfy ride or safe one. Gauging from the small van windows, the Indian heat would still have me sweating.

But then something happened. When he twist the keys in the ignition,…

2.  The van didn’t start.

For an hour, the driver and his buddies struggled to jump start the car .

How many Indian men does it take start to a car?

Apparently… five. One to steer the car and four friends to push it . After about 45 minutes of trying it this way, my driver realized he’d have to report the news to the guesthouse.

How long? I ask

Not long, was the reply.

An hour went by.

The airport parking lot was now empty. Only a few cars remained and there was no sign of the replacement car. My driver was chatting with his buddies under a tree.  So I went up to my driver and asked again- How long?

My driver called the guesthouse.  Answer: When they find another car. About an hour.

Weren’t they already looking for a car when my driver phoned in the first time? Weren’t there backup drivers somewhere?

Sitting in an empty parking lot with the driver and his male friends, felt uncomfortable. I was upset but I didn’t fully show it. It wasn’t hard to see I was at a disadvantage should anything happen.

Being a single female alone with strange men in a deserted  lot, you start imagining potential ways of self-defense for hypothetical scenarios.

Fortunately, the guys were okay. My driver brought over some chai.  It’s small compensation for this long wait, but I take it with a smile and sip it slowly. I share my cookies with them. There was nothing left to do, but watch some airport workers take a break and play a match of cricket in the parking lot. Cricket is the national sport in India. It’s as big as soccer is to Italy and baseball is to the US.

Finally, my new ride arrives. It’s a four wheel-drive truck! Seats strapped in the way they should be, no A.C. but I could roll my front seat window down.

3. When your ‘Shanti’ bubble bursts

I’m not sure what impression I had of Varanasi, but I guarantee you it was a romantic and highly idealized one. ‘Spiritual’, ‘Holy’, ‘Reverent’… full of ‘Shanti’ (aka peace) as they say. And Varanasi’s got it all, but my imagination held grandiose images of a riverside city, wafting in incense as men in white dhotis serenely chant mantras and bijans…  this was all erased by the noise, sooty air,  the traffic and… my coughing.

Tip for India: Never have expectations, least of all idealized ones.

When we finally got into Varanasi, all looked like a condensed polluted madhouse. The air was brown, buildings showcased dilapadated architecture and were connected by a mess of telephone wires, not to mention, the traffic on the road was the worse I’ve seen yet. Every vehicle, rickshaw and bicycle or two-legged, four-legged being was swerving in near death collision.

Method to the madness?

Honk.

4. Where’s my guesthouse?

Finally, the driver lets me off. The road into the ghat area is blocked off from vehicular traffic.

Wait. I’m confused?

The streets are all lined with shops and shoppers and the heat is brutal.

The driver tells me I will have to walk to the guesthouse. But that’s not what the guesthouse website says. He makes a phone call and in seconds,  a wiry boy emerges from the busy crowd of pedestrian shoppers. The boy hoists my backpack up and then weaves and dodges through the crowd as I run to keep up with him.

5.  …And where is my guesthouse?

After a fifteen minute sweat-walk through dusty, polluted streets, a maze of back alleys sitting behind riverside guesthouses and walkways painted with red beetel nut chew spatters, cow poop, trash and flies, I finally reached the Ganapati Guest House (read my review). It’s all about presentation and the poverty-stricken alleys leading up to it were hardly seductive

6. My stable with a ‘balcony?’

The front desk is unapologetic about the driving delay or the failed engine on my pickup car. They lack warmth or smiles. A boy takes me to my room, opens the door and hands me the keys. My new double bedroom with a “Ganges view” with a ‘shared balcony’. The balcony is in fact, shared with the entire floor and anyone who cares to walk onto it! There are no windows, one ceiling fan circulating… heat and it’s shitty humid air.

The uncordial hospitality, the walk to the guesthouse, the shabby pickup van, etc… My guesthouse feels like a dive, really…and now, this room. It feels like an aged wooden stable situated above the river. The bed sheets are not white. In fact, it looks like it’s been washed in a dirty river!  Frankly, it’s all been a bit of a culture shock. I’m inches close to calling in my Hyatt or Sheraton points and moving to somewhere else.

 I am literally drowning in my own sweat but this isn’t the worst part…

7.  I’m roommate with a family of bugs!

In 10 minutes, I discover I’ve two resident geckos the size of 5 inches long and 1 1/2 inches wide. They’re on my wall and over my bed.  Being from Hawaii, geckos “come” with the house…they’re light fixtures! BUT these “VARANASI Geckos” are GIGANTIC FAT and look lethal. I’m afraid they’re going to eat me alive as I sleep! And if worse can’t get worse-R,  the flourescent lights in my room attracts huge flying ants, termites and random bugs in large quantities. The word I’m reaching for is SWARM … we’re talking like “infestation quantities!!! “

It’s really freaking me out.

It’s 12AM, the last hotel light went out in my hotel.

All is dark.

I’m outside my room smoking cigs to kill time with my room light off . I’m seriously contemplating how weird it’d be if I brought my sleeping bag out and slept on the tables outside….

I go back in & attempt sleep.

In my silk liner, wrapped tight like a mummy, sweating profusely, I’m paranoid and afraid to reveal ANY skin to the air around me. The moisture on my skin might tempt the bugs and mosquitoes .

I pull my liner over my face.

Too friggin hot!

My hair is wrapped in my mosquito-sprayed bandana & every little “itch” grows bed bugs in my mind. This is torture.

I’m a bit overwhelmed with my situation. Nepal seemed so much slower and …cleaner.

Right now I’m not crazy about being alone. I want to whine. I want someone to share my misery with me or at least to laugh sarcastically with as to this situation. A traveler told me that it will take a couple of days for me to adjust to Varanasi and get the hang of it. He says the city is really FUN. Right now all I see is ‘Yuck’! I wondered what the difference was between a “Guest House” and “hotel” …this could probably be the quintessentially worst definition.

Sleeping with one eye open…

The next day, I changed rooms .

I complained about the bug shack of a room I had and upgraded to a palace with ahhhh AC. This cost a 100 Rupees more than my last room (a $2 USD difference). It was too much of a room for me, so I picked up a fellow traveler, Lee (from China) to split the cost of the room. Tonight I pay $10. No bugs.