2-1-09

Today was the day of separation; Mom and I left Varanasi at 3:00 and Patrick left for Chennai at 11:30 PM. But before we get into the painful part, I will tell a few funny sari anecdotes. In honor of the great, if depressing, day, I decided to wear my beautiful, silk, green and blue sari. I knew it was my third best sari (I wouldn’t travel in my best) but I was ecstatic when I walked out into the sunshine and what I had thought of as green turned into a beautiful greenish gold color. For the occasion, Mom lent me her dark blue belly shirt because I had no sari blouse of my own. It worked perfectly. Add earrings, a set of bangles, my lovely Indian sandles, and I felt like a rani. As I was gliding down the somewhat dirty, staircase, I saw another tourist coming up the stairs towards me. As I shifted my attention from putting one foot in front of the other to smiling benignly at this inferior, but undoubtedly nice, young woman, I slipped and fell down three of the stairs. My benign smile was replaced by an expression of dismay as I scrambled to catch myself, then dissolved entirely into laughter as I, the rumpled rani Eleanor, clambered back to my feet. I have no idea what that woman thought of me.
Despite my misadventure, I wanted to get a picture taken with me in all my finery. It went quite well except for one small detail. When I looked in the picture, my untanned belly was a completely different color than my face and arms. Using the camera, I checked and, sure enough, my pale skin of my stomach in the cold morning light was pure white. No color whatsoever. And upon seeing that picture all my hopes of looking Indian and fitting in disappeared.
Patrick and Dad came with us as we followed the porters back through the alleys of Varanasi. It was incredible how our departure was, on the surface, so similar to our frenzied arrival but because my attitude had changed, I was more or less comfortable. It’s amazing how accustomed I became to Varanasi in one short week.
As we loaded the taxi and climbed in, I tried desperately to memorize the faces of the father and brother I would not see for months. I will miss them desperately. It was especially difficult with Patrick; it felt as if we’d really gotten to know each other again after nearly six weeks of traveling together. I’ve always loved and respected Patrick, but now am forced to leave a friend as well as a brother. I’ve decided, though, that it is well worth having a friend for a brother even if it makes parting more painful.
The train was a mere three hours late and the seats were about as comfortable as our beds. Meaning as hard as a board and distinctly un-comfortable. We were in the Second Class Sleeper, which means there were two benches facing each other and a bed up above. The backs of the benches lift up to make beds as well. Six people are assigned to each cabin, which is fine if everyone agrees on sitting or sleeping. But if two people want to sleep and one doesn’t, the one is out of luck because the bench disappears to make beds. Mom and I found ourselves feeling sorry for Dad and Patrick because, while we felt sore after our 5½ hour ride, they would certainly be in pain after their 36 hour.
Besides us in the compartment were an Indian mother and daughter who didn’t talk to us, a young Japanese man, and an Austrian man who’s age I absolutely could not place. (This was rather disappointing because I enjoy trying to guess people’s ages. All I know for sure is that he’d been to India for the first time 20 years ago; before he said this, I would have put him at around 35, but that seems unlikely although not impossible. In twenty years, I will be 38, so I guess that’s close. Oh well, it’s not really important, just a pet peeve.) The Japanese man was also heading to Bodhgaya. He spent the better part of the train trip diligently studying English for his job. He practiced his conversation skills, which were quite good, with Mom and I for practice and also read a book an English guide to Japan. I thought this was very clever because, as he pointed out, he knew all about Japan, its history, and its monuments so he was able to deduce what was being said while still improving his reading speed and his vocabulary. Maybe I should try something similar, but I cannot think of any subject of which I am an expert. Certainly not US History. Maybe if I contained it to the years surrounding the American Revolution I would progress.
The Austrian fellow was heading to Calcutta. He’s been in India four times and gave us some useful advice about where to go and how to manipulate the system. Hampi was the place he told us to absolutely not miss. We’d already planned on going there but now think we’ll go for 3 days instead of two.
The train arrived around midnight. The poor driver from the hotel at first let us pass him by because he hadn’t been expecting women in traditional clothes, but realized his mistake before it was too late. I was exhausted at this point and was only mildly confused when the taxi slowed down and nearly stopped on a lonely stretch of road. My guard went slightly up, but just after I had decided that the hotel, located on the outskirts of town, had merely turned all of its lights off. Then the driver revived his stalling engine and I realized we had nearly broken down on a lonely stretch of road. I think/hope Mom was more aware than I was.