Sunrise boat rides: a quiet etiquette

The dawn boat ride along the ghats is the single most photographed hour in Varanasi, and probably the single most misunderstood one. On any given morning between October and March there are three to four hundred boats on the water between five-thirty and seven, carrying somewhere between eight hundred and two thousand tourists. That is a lot of oars, a lot of shutter clicks, and a lot of people trying to have what a guidebook has told them is a spiritual experience while sitting three feet away from someone else trying to have exactly the same thing. It works, though it genuinely does and it works better when everyone on the water observes a small set of courtesies that our older boatmen have quietly maintained for a hundred years.

Start with the time. Be at the ghat by five-fifteen. The light begins to change at five-forty in winter and closer to five-twenty in summer, and the best half hour of the whole ride is over by six-fifteen. Our hosts will walk you down; the lanes are quiet at that hour but not empty, and the ghat you leave from matters a boat launched from Assi will drift north toward Dashashwamedh, and a boat launched from Dashashwamedh can go either way. Talk to your host the night before about which end you want to start from. Most first-timers should start from Assi; the southern approach gives you the whole ghat-line to move through slowly, and you finish near the aarti platforms rather than starting there.

Choose a rowboat, not a motorboat. This is the single most important choice you will make about the ride, and it is worth paying a little more for. A motorboat is faster and less physical effort for the boatman, and on a very cold morning it can feel like the sensible choice. It is not. The motor cuts through the stillness of the dawn ghat-line in a way you will regret the moment you hear the first temple bell against the sound of your own engine. A rowboat lets you hear the aarti bells at each ghat you pass, the slap of a dhobi's cloth on wet stone, the call of a river tern low over the water, and a specific and unrepeatable sound the wooden creak of two hundred oars pulling against the current in a rough, uncoordinated chorus.

Choose the boatman as much as the boat. A good boatman and most of ours are third or fourth generation, working boats their great-grandfathers built will let you drift when you ask, will hold position at a specific ghat if you want to watch something for a few minutes, and will not narrate unless you invite him to. A less experienced or more tourist-focused boatman will maintain a running commentary in memorised English, will point out the same three ghats every other boat is pointing out, and will fill the silence you came for with information you did not ask for. Our hosts book directly with rowers we know; if you arrive at the ghat and hire a boatman off the pier, you may still get an excellent one, but it is more of a lottery.

The single hard rule of the ride: do not photograph the cremation ghats. Manikarnika and Harishchandra are the two cremation ghats along the river, and both have been active continuously for more than a thousand years. Families come here in one of the most vulnerable hours of their lives, and to point a camera at them, even a phone, even from the middle of the river with a long lens, is a serious breach of local convention and in some cases a legally enforceable offence. Boatmen will actively steer wider around these ghats and will refuse to slow down if they see cameras coming out. Do not test this. Put the camera in the bag as you approach and keep it there until you are three or four ghats past.

Everything else the bathers at Dashashwamedh, the priests performing morning rituals at Kedar, the boys diving from the ledge at Panchganga, the buffaloes wading in at Assi is fair game, but ask with your eyes first. A quick lift of the camera and a small nod is usually enough; if the person turns away, put the camera down. If they smile, take the shot. If they say no verbally, respect it immediately. Some of the priests will politely ask for a small fee to be photographed; ten or twenty rupees is customary if you have posed them, and it is fine to pay it.

On sharing space with other boats: this is where the older etiquette matters most. When a small rowboat and a large tourist launch are approaching the same aarti platform, the launch will always give way. When two boats are watching the same ceremony, the second boat holds position behind the first, not alongside, so as not to block the view. When passing another boat carrying elderly pilgrims doing their morning prayer, drop your voice a whisper is enough and put down any lens with a visible shutter. These are unwritten rules and enforced entirely by expectation and mild social embarrassment; they still work because everyone still observes them, and they only continue to work as long as visitors observe them too.

On sound generally: keep it low. This is not a party boat, and even a moderately loud conversation carries much further over water than it does over land. On a still morning, a group of five tourists laughing at a normal volume in one boat can be clearly heard by every boat within a hundred metres. Speak in the kind of quiet you would use in an old library. Save the exclamations for after you have got back to the ghat. And, we mildly beg do not play music from a phone speaker. Not even softly. Not even a raga. It is not the moment.

Carry a shawl. The river is consistently ten degrees colder than the lanes, even in summer, and in winter it can be genuinely cold five to eight degrees Celsius before dawn, with a light wind on the water. A cotton or wool shawl over a sweater or jacket is the right idea. Wear closed shoes with grip on the boat platform steps, which are damp and can be slick. Bring a light hat if you burn easily; the sun comes up quickly and the reflection off the water is stronger than it looks.

On what to drink and eat: a small flask of hot chai is an entirely acceptable thing to bring on the boat, and our homes will pack one for you if you ask the night before. Do not bring alcohol; it is disrespectful to the ceremonial character of the hour and, depending on the year and the current state of state government policy, may be technically illegal on the river. Do not eat elaborate food on the boat; a small biscuit or a piece of fruit is fine, but the boat is a working craft and you should not treat it as a moving picnic table. Take any wrappers or peels back with you and dispose of them in the bag your host will give you.

On tipping: the boat fare is negotiated in advance, and prices should be discussed with your host, not at the pier. Standard fares run between five hundred and twelve hundred rupees for a private rowboat for an hour, depending on the boat, the boatman, and the season. On top of that, a tip of a hundred to two hundred rupees at the end of the ride is customary and appreciated the fare does not fully reflect the fact that he woke at four-thirty a.m. for you, rowed for an hour, and will do the same for four more boats before ten a.m. If he sang a raga at any point during the ride, and some of them will, a slightly larger tip is polite.

On the aarti-in-the-morning: unlike the famous evening aarti, the morning ceremonies at the ghats are small, local, and not choreographed for tourists. The largest of them Subah-e-Banaras at Assi happens around five-forty-five and involves classical music, yoga, and a formal but understated puja. It is worth watching from a boat moored twenty metres offshore. The smaller morning aartis at Kedar, Panchganga, and Manikarnika Ghat's platform (not the pyres, which is a different place entirely) are less formal, more personal, and honestly more moving.

For photographers: this is a golden-hour, wide-lens morning. A 24 to 70mm range covers ninety percent of what you will want to shoot. A long lens (85mm or beyond) is useful for the aarti detail but is heavy on a rocking boat. Set your ISO for the changing light you will probably start at 1600 or 3200 and be at 400 within twenty minutes. A polarising filter is worth it if you have one; it cuts the reflected glare off the water and makes the ghat facades appear in colour. And, again, no drones.

For a first-time ride, plan on ninety minutes total: fifteen minutes to walk down, sixty to seventy on the water, five to disembark and tip, and a further ten to walk back and settle into breakfast. Do not plan anything else for the morning; the ride is more emotionally substantial than most visitors expect, and giving yourself an hour of quiet with a chai afterwards is part of getting the value out of it.

The Ganga at five-forty a.m. is not a photograph. It is a room you have been invited into for an hour by people who have been keeping it for a thousand years. Come quietly. Leave gently. Ask before you look. Tip when you go. That is the whole etiquette, and it is entirely all of the etiquette there is.