Way Down Upon the Ganges River, 1987
Adventure memoir by Gene “Tarzan” Fischer
I just left on a steam train from Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India after visiting the Taj Mahal. The enormous ivory-white palace is magnificent and architecturally beautiful. An interesting fact to start this adventure—Taj Mahal is really a mausoleum.
I now head to Varanasi, a city located on the Ganges River where Hindu dead are taken to be burned or cleansed by the river. The 1500-mile river is considered sacred and spiritually pure, although one of the most polluted in the world.
Sitting on top of the train car, with fellow travelers, I hold tightly to my backpack. The views are incredible, and I feel back in a distant past. But most importantly, I feel safe, and I feel like I can breathe.
Earlier, I had learned the mistake of stepping into a train car on my way to the city of Jammu from New Deli. Once, you step in the train car, I found that you can not turn around and exit until you arrive at your destination, which in my case was five hours away. There were so many people crammed in after me that it was impossible to get out. To say the least it was claustrophobic, suffocating, and gruel. With my head crammed into someone’s arm pit, I could not move. Worse, after some time, people start to go to the bathroom in their pants. The odors and smells were horrendous. The floor was starting to get slippery, and you would be trampled to death if you fell down.
Trying to stay calm, I was able to slip my bandana over my eyes and nose to blindfold myself and started to mediate by focusing my thoughts on another world. When I finally arrived at my destination, I jumped out only to find that I was traveling in the free train car. Earlier, I had waited many hours to pay for a ticket that no one had paid for. It was a nightmare experience that I would never repeat. Hence, I would travel on top of the roof of the train car from that point on.
Arriving in Varanasi around sunset, we see the Ganges River speckled with the many bonfires going on around its banks. I am told that the fires burn 24/7 and never stop. The sky is dark, smokey, and filled with pollution. Moreover, I can see all types of critters on land and in the air scavenging the area for something to eat. Recently, there had been a flood on the river and water had now receded, leaving much decay (human flesh) on its banks. It is an incredible site to be seen that still gives me nightmares.
Grabbing my backpack, I head out to a local hotel to check in and get some water. I am very thirsty after the long hot journey. After checking in, I ask for some purified water from the hotel desk person. Bottled water was fairly new at this time, so you had to say purified water so people would know what you were asking for. The hotel person hands me a water bottle from an ice chest, and I start drinking it.
Feeling unsure for some reason, I ask again “Purified Water” and the hotel person says yes, so I take another giant gulp. Again, my gut feeling tells me to be certain. I ask again “Purified Water”?
This time, the hotel person gets upset with me and yells “Yes, this is Holy water from the Ganges River” …….
After a long pause—I think my heart stopped for a moment and my stomach hollowed out like I am on a roller coaster. I stare at him in disbelief with what I am sure was a look of terror. My brain is trying to process what just happened. When I come to, I leave in a state of shock searching for a pharmacy. I know that I am going to become extremely sick, and I needed to get some antibiotics, anti-worm, and parasite medications or whatever they have that might save my life. Cutting my trip short, I know that my best chance of human survival would be to get out of India and head to Nepal. I had already seen enough dead people. In Nepal, I would have a better chance of finding a doctor on a climbing expedition.
So, I jump on a bus for twelve hour trip to Nepal—on what would become the bus trip to hell. Two hours. into my journey, I feel my stomach starting to churn. Luckily, the bus driver pulls over for a rest stop. I relieve myself and pray that I will be okay. An hour into the ride, my stomach starts gurgling and after some time I ask the driver to stop for another break. He does grudgingly, after about an hour. I run into a filthy restroom and find a disgusting hole in the ground. There are no toilets. Luckily, I still have some TP, because no one has TP. TP during that time was your left hand and a cup of water.
Getting back on the bus, I start thinking that there is no way that I am going to make it. The trip already was rough on the body. The bus had no shocks, and the road was terrible with potholes galore. I am pretty sure we hit everyone. A few more hours go by, and I feel a violent urge to go again. This time, the bus driver did not want to stop. Frustrated with complete agony, I start becoming more assertive and plead with him to let him know that I was very sick, and I could no longer hold it.
He stops the bus in the middle of nowhere. I exited the bus with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. So, I squat behind the bus in the middle of the road. Suddenly, the bus jerks forward and starts moving. Still having violent diarrhea, I run after the bus with my pants halfway down. It is my worst nightmare. Pounding on the door, he stops and lets me back on. By a true miracle, I get back on with incredible stares from the passengers.
After more agony, I somehow make it to Nepal. After crossing the border, I find a small hotel in a village that had a young kid there who spoke English. I tell the kid that I am extremely sick and will become even more sick. I tell him that I would pay him if he could bring me water, food, medicine, and to periodically check on me.
A week later, I emerge from the hotel feeling better and am told that a doctor had come by and had given me some different medicine than what I had. Apparently, the medicine that I had was for animals and not fit for human consumption. I had been sold veterinary drugs. Thank goodness, I had not consumed much of it.
Feeling better, I start back on my journey and head out to the Chitwan National Park in search of rhinos and tigers. Later, I would go on a trek to the Annapurna Sanctuary in the Himalayas where I encounter even more adventures.
End
About the author:
Gene Fisher, known in Santa Cruz surf circles and Tahoe and Jackson Hole ski areas as “Tarzan” (for self-explanatory reasons), is a world traveler and adventurer. Fischer is the owner of Mobile Climb USA, an interactive entertainment team-building company (www.goclimbawall.com) and free-lances as an independent business development consultant.
He has also continued his passion for helping young people, reported a Carmel Pine Cone feature on Fischer. “He has coached kids in just about every sport, and has served as a Boy Scout leader and YMCA leader. ‘Life is good,’ he said. ‘Life is grand.'”
