Great Ghats by boat

Thursday.  We wake at 5.20 which is a good thing as R's alarm has failed to perform at 5.15. No time for an inquest as we are due in the lobby at 5.45 for our sunrise boat ride on the Ganges. The night porter is sleeping in the lobby but rouses himself and points out our boatman who leads us down to the river. Inevitably two small urchins appear to sell floating candles so we buy one and let them fight over the proceeds of their enterprise. We make ourselves comfortable on board and our lad casts off and we head into the darkness. He tells us that his name is Guru, that he has been rowing for two years and that he attends school between 10 a.m and 4 p.m.

We head north in mid stream as it quickly gets light. No sign of the sun yet and the eastern horizon is quite murky. Guru is quite chatty and explains the main use of each ghat as we pass. There are various dawn ceremonies going on once again involving lots of bell ringing. Even at this early and chilly hour people are bathing in the Holy river. R even spots somebody using Ganges water to clean their teeth. If he survives that he will surely survive anything. Meanwhile we are congratulating ourselves on bringing our fleeces. As we progress the river becomes more crowded with boats full of pilgrims and other tourists.

Just short of the main cremation ghat we turn back upstream. The burners are doing brisk business,  even at this time of the morning. The sun burns through the gloom throwing a shaft of light across the surface of the river. Rowing against the current is harder work for Guru and his chat dries up. Boats heading south follow a route close in to the shore and there are some great photo ops as we pass sadhus, dhobi wallas, swimmers and wall graffiti. We get back to our start point at 7.30 and head straight for breakfast at the Aum cafe.

D opts for the Egg Free Omelette , which is sort of pancake made with chickpea flour and stuffed with vegetables.  It looked and tastes so good that he devours it before remembering to take a picture. R goes for curd and toast. This place is spot on for us. Back at the hotel we grab an hour's sleep before setting out to walk up to the old city. The plan is to visit the legendary Blue Lassi Cafe and then go to see the silk market in action. We find the cafe without difficulty and get a seat inside. R order's the Salty Masala only to be told 'Not available' so we both settle for banana flavour. These are delicious and we get change from a quid. There are downsides however. Every few minutes a group of chanting men trot down the alley with a brightly wrapped body on a litter as they head down to the burning ghat. While we wait for our drinks a coach party of Russians fill the place and are shouted at by a man who appears to be their leader.

We get lost searching for the area that we seek but a helpful man asks what we are looking for and when we show him the photo of the  'Silk Krap' sign he recognises it and leads us round a couple of corners to where we want to be. It is now 1 p.m. and most of the shops are still closed. When do they make any money? By a fluke we find a long straight alley that takes us down to close by the central crossing and we take a rickshaw back to base. The sun is high so we hide in the room with the fan on until it is deemed time to go kurta shopping for D.

LP recommends a place about a kilometre away so we head there but it is a disappointment. We do seem to be in a sort of garment district so we press on and see a place with the ubiquitous Raymond signs. Once D's pronunciation of kurta is deciphered we are in business and a full selection of traditional and modern appears. The requirement is for an everyday garment and pajama trousers are not needed as there is a drawer full of these at home. One such is selected from a choice of about twenty in the right size and tried on in front of an enthralled audience of about a dozen shop assistants. R was in charge of the camera at this point but forgot to use it. When it came to payment Yorkshireman D was overjoyed to be given a 10% discount on the marked price. It was only later that he wondered if he should have held out for more.

Our chosen evening entertainment was to walk along the ghats to Dashashwamedh to watch the big aarti. It was a bit like a Westlife gig with incense. Five good looking young men performing simple dance routines, ringing bells and waving flaming torches. We watched for a while and scarpered when the collection plate got near. 

For supper we went to a restaurant called Keshari, suposedly renowned for good food and surly service. The service and food turned out to be fine although we ordered a thali each which was far too much. After ours was served we noticed two couples on a nearby table ordering thalis to share. We splashed out on Limca in real glass bottles with straws - 13 pence each. The whole bill came to a few pence over a fiver for twice as much food as we could eat. After a sharp exchange of views with a pushy auto tout we took the first cycle rickshaw driver who approached us and sped home to the Palace on Ganges.

Frying Tonight!