Last night I had no earplugs and the fan, which was on to block out the other noises, made a stupid noise as it turned. I filled my ears with cottonwool which did vey little. So, thanks to the new app on my phone, I turned on some 'white noise' and put my earphone in over the makeshift cottonwool earplug. Needless to say it was a restless sleep.
We rose with the intention of merely riding the last 130km to Varanasi and staying there for the night. We figured that, considering we had somehow found ourselves in Allahabad during Kumbh Mela, the largest religious congregation on the planet which only happens in Allahabad every 12 years, we should probably check it out. As we rode out of town we found a bridge which led over the sacred Ganges River and caught a glimpse of what Allahabad had become. Thanks to the 70 million or so people the festival attracts, the banks of the Ganges had been turned into a city of canvas tents and palm fron huts. We were happy to be getting out of town once we saw just how polluted and loud the area was.
We stopped in a village to get some brekky. I found a place that packaged up some fried potato balls and some potato curry for us. As I went to leave though they offered me a taste test. They must have known what a sucker for sweets I am. I tried the coconutty, sugary treat and couldn't resist. It would go down well after eating only half a mandarin each since breakfast yesterday.
We found a closed petrol station and used their gutter as a breakfast bar before continuing on. We battled oncoming traffic for some time and were thankful to finally reach the National Highway where we were separated from the oncoming traffic by a central barrier. Mind you, that doesn't stop people driving the wrong way down the highway...especially the tractors.
We rode into Varanasi though the paved backstreets. And when I say paved I mean the road was once paved but is now a ripped up mess of gravel, pavers and mud. There was surprisingly little traffic as we rode in and we thought that maybe everybody was in Allahabad for Kumbh Mela and that Varanasi would be more peaceful than usual. We couldn't have been more wrong.
As we approached the ghats of the Ganges some hippy Westerners quickly informed us that Varanasi's hotels were mostly full. This was confirmed when every place we asked as was indeed full or overpriced or lacking a Western toilet. Varanasi was full of Indian tourists who were here awaiting the 10th of March, which is a particularly auspicious date for bathing in the holy river. In the meantime they were clogging the already crowded roads in cycle rickshaws, Tuk Tuks and on foot. The traffic was probably the worst we have encountered in terms of congestion. We headed into the suburbs in an attempt to escape the masses but they were everywhere. Eventually we couldn't take it anymore. We pulled over to consider our options and found ourselves outside Tandoor Villa, an expensive restaurant which sold meat. Sold. We unhooked our bags and traipsed into the air conditioned restaurant to sit, cool down and plan our next move.
As we discussed our plan we enjoyed a tender mutton rogan josh, a perfectly cooked veg biriyani served with raita (yoghurt) and some chapatti with an iced coffee to wash it down. We were refreshed but still not ready to tackle Varanasi's crazy traffic, especially at the risk of finding yet more accommodation that was booked out. We needed to get out. We checked a map, found a temple about 200km away and hoped there would be accommodation there. Lonely Planet confirmed this fact for us and we were convinced...Bodh Gaya it was!
We loaded up Big Red once again before riding around the city and out of town. Like this morning we crossed a bridge and caught glimpses of the Ganges. Water buffalo bathed happily and people went about their business on the endless steps leading down to the water. This was our version of sightseeing in Varanasi and gosh it was nicer than the alternatve. The road leading back to the National Highway was long and potholed but, with full bellies and the knowledge that we were leaving town, we were content.
It turns out that Bodh Gaya is further from Varanasi than we thought and, although the highway is a nice sealed road, when hundreds of trucks get stuck in a traffic jam, progress is slowed. The first jam we came to was made up of about twenty trucks taking up both lanes. Nobody was going anywhere. When the traffic moved ever so slightly and a gap big enough for us to squeeze through was created we hoped we would get to know what the problem had been. Instead, we passed a stopped truck leaking oil, two trucks so close they were touching, a truck with a flat tire and numerous trucks facing the wrong way on our side of the road. I guess we'll never know what the actual problem was.
Not much further down the road we came to yet another traffic jam. And if we thought the last one was bad...we hadn't seen anything yet. Literally hundreds of trucks were at a stand still across four lanes of traffic. We slowed to a snail's pace as we squeezed between the parked trucks with our bags brushing past their dirty tires.
After some prompting by the locals (none of which seemed bothered that they were stopped in the middle of the highway, on a bridge, with no hope of going anywhere anytime soon) we jumped the gutter and joined the pedestrians and other motorbikes on the footpath. It was a tight squeeze as we fought our way through.
Once off the bridge we followed some other motorbikes who looked like they knew something we didn't. We were wrong. They led us through a village and its market before we had to fight to get back onto the clogged main road again. The intersection at which we re entered the congestion hinted at what the problem may have been...there were about fifty trucks on the wrong side of the road, all trying to turn and, in the meantime, blocking the oncoming traffic. And, because everybody is so impatient here, nobody was letting anybody else go so it looked as though the traffic would be stuck there indefinitely.
We made it through the jam and were rewarded with clear roads free of traffic. Sadly though, our hold up meant dusk was quickly approaching and we were still a long way from our destination. We switched visors again, rugged up in our jackets and powered on into the night.
We rode into Bodh Gaya at about 7:30pm and checked out a hotel on the main road. As we did so a bus load of bald lady monks turned up and it was clear that this town was something different. We headed for the backstreet accommodation featured in the Lonely Planet and in doing so stumbled upon Laxmi International Hotel at the end of a quiet, dead-end road. After checking the fan didn't make stupid noises we agreed to stay for 1000 rupees. As we checked in the owners of the hotel hinted at perhaps purchasing Big Red. Could it be? We had found this place for a reason and would actually sell the bike with little hassle? While we went to grab some dinner we left the keys with the hotel manager so he could take Big Red for a test drive.
At Buddha Restaurant we enjoyed a very cheap, and delicious, meal of veg chowmein (loving the Tibetan influence in Bodh Gaya), a paneer butter masala and some chapatti.
Of course, when we returned, the hot water still wasn't hot as we had been told it would be. We waited and waited and waited before having luke warm showers and climbing into bed after yet another very long day.
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