Benares - As Old as Time Itself; and Before

At an internet-cafe I met a fellow USA'an, an Ohioan, Mike. Mike wore his beard like a grizzly, or how I imagine one would wear his, and made me jealous. We chatted and bid farewell, with assumption of later meeting, Bodhgaya is a small enough town.
Later in the day I met Dirk, a German who I shared an uncommon amount of similarities with. He and I spent the later part of the day talking about traveling (mostly how he has gone about it), working, and maybe even politics; wandering over the river to hut-shaped stacks of rice husks (does rice come in husks?) and a closer view of the mountain that contains the cave that the Buddha was to have spent 6 years meditating with but a grain of rice a day; and sitting under the Bodhi tree in the main temple. He has done his fair share of traveling, and told me of a couple organizations that he thought valuable: Wwoof - a third party connecting interested travelers and organic farms that need a hand; and Hospitality Club - an internet site that connects poor travelers (me) to people who want to host them for free (booya). Dirk showed me pictures of his bicycle trip through North Germany and Denmark, gorgeous areas - perfect in every facet for a bicycle trekker, and inspiring in every aspect for a potential. His photos showed that we both had weak-spots for sunset viewed through the green leaves of a idle tree, and the quietude only whispering and wailing grass can bring - though my experience of such has come much less than his. Dirk and I parted ways that night because he was taking a train to Delhi to get on a plane to New Zealand to trek around on his bike and then work at an organic farm. I envied him, but made sure to get his email address.
The next day in Bodgaya, my second, I woke up late, got a meal, got sick, and went to bed early (or tried). The third day held much more interesting events.
I again slept in - I feel that when ones body can focus solely on healing itself, rather than in addition to wandering around a foreign country, that body will do so in greater haste, thus allowing the experience in said country to be more fruitful, and taken in a better attitude. And who wants to throw up on a monk, really? Then again I met Mike in an internet cafe - he is a graphic designer who I am sure deals with much more frustration than the lay person in Indian internet. Again we got talking and as he was leaving from Gaya (the closest train station) to Varanasi the following morning, and I was through with Bodhgaya (despite failure to see all the temples and the 80 foot Buddha - that's what a bad banana does to ones stamina), I followed suit and purchased my Sleeper class train ticket online (online ticket purchase - a valuable lesson learned from said graphic designer). We decided to share an auto-rickshaw to Gaya at 4Am. Gaya is a stop on the way from Kolkata to Delhi, so none of the West-bound departure times are desirable. I had left my MasterCard in my hotel because each time I left the building the clerk would tell me that people were getting mugged or had their this and that "snatched" (which he said with proper eyebrow-raise and hand-motion), but I needed the cards magic numbers to pay for my train ticket. When I got to the lobby I found a Japanese fellow talking to the manager about a taxi to Gaya, and after inquiring when he was going to Gaya, and finding it was the same time as Mike and I, I suggested splitting the cost and sharing the rickshaw three ways. It worked out.
This morning at 4Am three of us were getting into the tuk tuk, sleepy eyed, even cold, but awake. The Doon Express was supposed to come into platform #1 but a train bearing quite a load of coal decided to take it's spot. It was an interesting experience when over a loud-speaker a Hindi voice spoke Hindi words to a Hindi crowd who jumped up and made fast for platform #2 with the three foreigners looking around somewhat bewildered, and somewhat amused. We followed the cue, followed the que, and boarded the Doon Express, each in our separate cars - due to separate purchases, from Platform #2.
Arriving in Varanasi (Benares) almost 2 hours late made time tight for lunch (at least together - Mike was heading on to Nepal for a 3-month meditation retreat) but we got omelets, untoasted toast (the electricity was out) and tea bag chai in the station cafeteria. I was sad to say 'goodbye' to Mike, he was a downright good person, but with KC (the name given to people who probably can't pronounce or remember the actual by our Japanese friend) I found a good hotel, booked our rooms, and got a delightfully cheap and hassle free rickshaw. Varanasi is known to be full of scams and unwavering rickshawers who try to take you to a "better" hotel where they can get commission. Our driver found a better way to get a large cut of money - he was honest and made it known. I cannot be absolutely positive that he didn't get a commission out of our hotel rooms but we had booked them in advance and they only cost 150Rs so I wasn't going to investigate or complain. We tipped him big and told him why. But I figure he knew what he was doing. The 5 flights of stairs I have to climb to my room are a bit much, but there is a rooftop restaurant that is open 24hours which this afternoon saw a perfect warm breeze and overlooks the river and ancient city, and the hotel offers free morning and evening boat rides. This is the first place I've been that I'm hit by the thought "I'm here, isn't it amazing I am here?"

I Took A Shower Today

My skin is much whiter and my hair smells like citrus.

Getting to and Being in Kolkata

I sat around on the train from Guwahati to Kolkata and tried not to smell myself. I've not valued water nor soap on my body the past week (two weeks?) and you can tell. You know those skin disease that make your skin different colors? I thought I had it because the dust has settled into the patches of my skin that don't sweat enough. But in long sleeves, you can't tell the difference. There was a man who looked like a turtle who sat near me. I had chai once or twice and a good chapatti with some sort of curry and a hot pepper which made the meal real good. I tried not to drink too much water to avoid the toilet. I also tried to hold my breath when the train started to slow into stations because you can smell the crap that they just dump through a hole in the train. At night someone turned a light on down the way which made me think it was morning each time I woke up and that made me wake up more, thinking we were close, which made me mad so I woke up more 'cause we were not close. But that made me glad to get to Kolkata at seven in the morning.
The problem with getting anywhere at seven is that the hotels have check out times that are at 10 or 12 and when you call around they tell you to call again at whatever their check-out time is. Even when they have vacancy anyways. Have to resort to the walk-in. Which is how I got a room at Hotel Marie.
Kolkata is nice because it has big wide streets so you can see the big tall buildings they made. Since it's India, everything is crowded anyways but at least it's not Delhi. The population is tremendous. I think tomorrow I'll visit the Bengali Buddhist Association and see if I can get a room so I can see how the Bengali Buddhists do their thing.

On the Road

Long bus and train rides are where it's at.
It feels like you are doing something because you are moving, you are commuting, you're getting "there" so you are free to think about anything you wish, you don't have to feel guilty saying "oh I shouldn't be just sitting here, I'm in India (or wherever you are) and I should 'go out' and 'experience the culture.'" No. You have been liberated from the feeling that your time could be used more valuably and are allowed to think anything - about the design of the seat covers, about the things you don't know about life, about your destination, about nothing. And watching the country pass by the window really eases you into thought process.
The sunlight beats a rhythm through the trees that line the road and can't they make these roads smoother? At least it's not as infuriating as that perfectly still chair that sits under you while you try and read something that all it makes you want to do is get up and do something else. Anyways I love when the sun plays through the green trees like that all golden and like a perfect set of eyes only one missing.
And when you get out of the city the wind pours in through the open windows as thick as meat and tastes like a full meal. You breathe deeply and slowly and look around the bus at everyone bored or sleeping and wish they knew where they lived. And the train is the same thing except less bumpy. Sometimes you catch air off the bumps in a bus.
And taking overnight trains anywhere is a good idea. For the price of a room you don't need one and you get somewhere else. Don't take the AC class - you can't taste the country air and the windows are an odd tint that changes the real colors outside. Nothing is wrong with the sleeper class (as they call it in India) just make sure no one can reach in through those barred open windows and snatch some necessary item out of your pack - but that's a fair trade for plastic windows whose crimes I've told you already.