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  • HOME
  • ABOUT
  • THE FAMILY ALBUM
  • ONCE UPON A TIME IN ROMANIA
    • ▸Bucharest, 1989: The days of Revolution
    • ▸I’ve also lived under communism
    • ▸Portraits of transition
    • ▸”Cabernet cu pepsi”
    • ▸Romania, 1990: Beyond the headlines
    • ▸“Mineriada” – My story
    • ▸Memorial of pain
  • WORK IN PROGRESS
    • ▸Barbershop
    • ▸Melancholic Identities
    • ▸Faces
    • ▸Fragmentary world
    • ▸Two
    • ▸Buddhist monks
    • ▸About windows and walls
    • ▸Mediterraneo
  • STORIES
    • ▸Alone, together
    • ▸Life and death in Varanasi
    • ▸Trans-Siberian – An experience of becoming
    • ▸Boxing in Havana
    • ▸Moving out of Escobar shadow
    • ▸One night at Htee Thein monastery
    • ▸Easter in Sicily – I misteri
    • ▸Easter in Sicily – La pasquetta
    • ▸Stalin’s Museum in Gori
    • ▸Havana: Between magic and decay
    • ▸Muay Thai for a day
    • ▸Cuban billboards
    • ▸Seeking a geisha
    • ▸Belfast’s murals: Behind and beyond
    • ▸Riding the Yangon’s ring train
    • ▸Bazar-Barakholka-Vernisazh
    • ▸An unexpected trip to Dhobi Ghat
    • ▸A different way to look at death
    • ▸Cannes under siege
    • ▸Inside the Guru’s kitchen
    • ▸Tibetan refugees
    • ▸The Golden Triangle: A Mecca of tribal diversity
    • ▸Bullfighting: Barbaric or art ?
    • ▸Crafts and traditions in Morroco
    • ▸Glastonbury with God
  • TRAVEL
    • Cuba
      • ▸The show must go on (part 1)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 2)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 3)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 4)
    • France
      • ▸Paris
      • ▸Paris. Again
    • Greece
      • ▸Mount Athos
      • ▸Postcards from Santorini
      • ▸Athens
      • ▸Mykonos – The picture-perfect Island
    • Germany
      • ▸Berlin
    • Vietnam
      • ▸Four days in Hanoi
      • ▸Cruising through the misty Halong Bay
    • India
      • ▸Portraits of Kashmir
      • ▸Rishikesh – Spiritual marketplace
      • ▸Life on the Sidewalk
    • Ireland
      • ▸The capital of pubs
      • ▸Ireland in ten days
    • Israel
      • ▸Israel in black & white
    • Colombia
      • ▸Colombia
      • ▸Paisas, coffee and much more
      • ▸Streets of Bogota – From Dystopia to Hope
      • ▸Life along the magical Magdalena River
      • ▸A non-touristy guide to Cartagena’s Caribbean paradise
    • Myanmar
      • ▸Min-ga-la-ba Myanmar
      • ▸Up and down on the hills of Shan State
    • Japan
      • ▸Tokyo
      • ▸Springtime in Kyoto
    • Portugal
      • ▸Life at the edge of Europe
    • Russian Federation
      • ▸The unexpected Moscow
      • ▸White Nights in St. Petersburg
    • Italy
      • ▸Rome
      • ▸Random Sicily
      • ▸Vedi Napoli e poi mori
      • ▸Venice
      • ▸Vanishing Venice
    • Morocco
      • ▸Sunset, camel rides and tea in Erg Chebi
      • ▸Medinas: Morocco’s hidden cities
      • ▸Morocco outskirts
      • ▸Djemaa El Fna encounters
      • ▸Surf and hippies
      • ▸The road of the One thousand kasbahs
      • ▸Amazigh – Berber – Free men
    • Georgia
      • ▸Postcards from Georgia
      • ▸The Many Faces of Tbilisi
    • Nepal
      • ▸Kathmandu Valley
    • Romania
      • ▸Romania to go
      • ▸Maramures
      • ▸Tara Motilor
    • Jordan
      • ▸Bedouin Trails
    • Turkey
      • ▸From Turkey with love
      • ▸Ballooning Cappadocia
      • ▸Where East meets West
      • ▸Street life, Istanbul-style
    • Mexico
      • ▸Finding Mexico City
    • Malaysia
      • ▸Transit KL
    • UK
      • ▸London
      • ▸Grab your kilt and bring your pipes
    • Sweden
      • ▸Stockholm
    • Spain
      • ▸Off-season Andalusia
    • Thailand
      • ▸Bangkok, year 2555
      • ▸Life in Pai
      • ▸Thailand
    • Laos
      • ▸Luang Prabang – The City of ultimate Zen
    • Poland
      • ▸Why I love Poland
    • Estonia, Latvia & Lithuania
      • ▸Neighbors, but not relatives
      • ▸Patarei – A little slice of Hell
    • Findland
      • ▸A sunny day in Helsinki
    • Denmark
      • ▸Copenhagen
  • SINGLES
  • CONTACT
  • MY BOOKS
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An unexpected trip to Dhobi Ghat

 

When passing over the Ambedkar Bridge in Agra in my road to the Taj, I saw some incredible scenes along the muddy Yamuna River and I decided to return there on the way back. These were the “Dhobi” people working hard using the Yamuna’s water to wash traditional Indian garments.

Dhobis are an occupational caste grouping known to work primarily as clothes-washers. They usually work from door-to-door collecting dirty linen from households and even from hotels or other institutions. After a day or two, they return the linen washed, sometimes starched and ironed. “Dhobi” people can be seen anytime of the day washing and hanging dirty clothes along a miscellaneous more or less makeshift laundry spaces in most cases located on the banks of rivers. Those places are named “dhobi ghats”.

The sky was smoggy otherwise a very common fact here. Sadly, I missed the fresh light of the morning, but still this was one impressive sight to see. In the first moments I watched from the railroad bridge and after I venture down into the “trenches”

Visiting this large open-air laundry was for me a genuine experience. Seeing the dhobies smashing and scrubbing clothes, the large fields of carpets and sheets put to dry, the kids playing in the dirty waters, the crowds of birds, dogs and cows among the laundry rummaging in the mud, makes me think once again how different is the world that we live in.

 

 

 

 

 

An unexpected trip to Dhobi Ghat

 

When passing over the Ambedkar Bridge in Agra in my road to the Taj, I saw some incredible scenes along the muddy Yamuna River and I decided to return there on the way back. These were the “Dhobi” people working hard using the Yamuna’s water to wash traditional Indian garments.

Dhobis are an occupational caste grouping known to work primarily as clothes-washers. They usually work from door-to-door collecting dirty linen from households and even from hotels or other institutions. After a day or two, they return the linen washed, sometimes starched and ironed. “Dhobi” people can be seen anytime of the day washing and hanging dirty clothes along a miscellaneous more or less makeshift laundry spaces in most cases located on the banks of rivers. Those places are named “dhobi ghats”.

The sky was smoggy otherwise a very common fact here. Sadly, I missed the fresh light of the morning, but still this was one impressive sight to see. In the first moments I watched from the railroad bridge and after I venture down into the “trenches”

Visiting this large open-air laundry was for me a genuine experience. Seeing the dhobies smashing and scrubbing clothes, the large fields of carpets and sheets put to dry, the kids playing in the dirty waters, the crowds of birds, dogs and cows among the laundry rummaging in the mud, makes me think once again how different is the world that we live in.

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