Travel Journal - Entry 4

Varanasi 2/10/08
Driving is an art. A team sport in which there can be any number of winners but all must keep their eye on the ball - and not hit anyone or anything. Two lanes are four, four are six. The horn is primarily an instrument of concern and polite warning when approaching from behind. The back of most vehicles have 'Honk O.K. Please' stretching from left to right across the bumper in colorful paint. A cacophony of these blaring horns pushing and elbowing their way into your psyche is the sound of a safe and happy roadway.

I have seen/heard a few horns sounded in anger, however. There have been a few birds too. Flipping. The taxi I took to the airport in Mumbai when I was flying to Delhi got backed into by a rather large and severe looking truck. With a thick black pipe for a bumper. My driver ended up getting me to my destination late. This incident contributed to that. Then he went to the wrong destination despite my clear English instructions. Ha ha. Then he tried to charge me double what the fare should have been. Lucky for me I checked his card, paid him and quit feeling sorry for him that he had been backed into by a pipe-bumpered truck. Inside the terminal I found my flight was late as well. Coffee time!

Out of all of the taxis i have been in, not one has a working speedometer. Not one.

16 pieces of laundry clean and folded, pocket repaired - Rp 150 (About $3).

I want to buy a carrot from the cart of the fresh vegetable seller below.

Sometimes I think I am too negative. I don't mean to be. It's easy to level out there however. Two sides to every story and I am not always right.

Deep talk with strangers. Over chai. I met a pleasant woman yesterday while enjoying some chai at the ghats. From the UK, married 8 years, she is spending 6 months in India. Starting with a stint in the south doing humanitarian work - an exchange program of some sort having to do with health care I believe. Our somewhat brief conversation moved to her relationship; her suspicions of her husband. Another woman. Maybe. Probably. Not the jealous rage kind of reaction but the talk about it kind. More interested in honest open communication that would enhance their relationship than in false hopes or not knowing.

He had joined her in India for a time at the beginning of her work here.

We had 'met' once before at the Varanasi train station. She was assisting some French tourist backpackers who had been drugged, robbed and lost a couple of days to unconsciousness. They had gotten a little too friendly with the natives. She speaks French, caught wind of their plight and was helping them book passage home.

We ran into one another one other time on the ghats and spoke briefly in passing. I hope their marriage works out. He would be the biggest loser if it does not.