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?"
