Varanasi

Okay (finally), here's my post on Varanasi. This was my next stop after Delhi...wow, about three weeks ago.

I can't say I've been anywhere in the world that is even remotely like it. One of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world, people have been living here for possibly longer than five thousand years. It lies on the west bank of the river, Ganges, and is one of India's holiest places as well as an important pilgrimage site. The Ganges is considered sacred, an incarnation of the goddess, Ganga. People come here to bathe in the river, which, according to Hindu belief, washes away their sins. It is also understood that dying here will ensure an end to reincarnation, the cycle of rebirth (in case you're wondering, this is considered a very good thing).

Life here is centered around the ghats, the large steps that lead down to the river. Most of them are for ritual bathing, but there are at least a couple of cremation ghats, as well.

During the day, the ghats are filled with tourists, pilgrims, yogis, locals, you name it. It's a very social place and because there are people here from all over India and the world, unbeatable for people watching. You can buy chai in an earthenware cup from a wandering chai guy:

Get a bite to eat:

Or wash those sins away. Now, I have to point out--I guess I don't really have to point it out, but I'm going to--that the Ganges here in Varanasi is incredibly polluted. From the Lonely Planet:

Every day about 60,000 people go down to the Varanasi ghats to take a holy dip along a 7km stretch of the river. Along this same area, 30 large sewers are continually discharging into the river...Samples from the river show the water has 1.5 million faecal coliform bacteria per 100ml of water. In water that is safe for bathing this figure should be less than 500!

Knowing this, I would cringe every time I would watch scenes like this:

Oh, and they drink it too.

But the most surreal thing about Varanasi is the burning ghat, where literally hundreds of bodies a day are cremated around the clock. Unlike our cremations, these (at least at this ghat) are done out in the open on wood pyres. There are usually around ten or so going at one time, on different platforms, at different heights. Where you're burned and what kind of wood is used (Sandalwood is most expensive) depends a number of things, including your caste and how much cash you have stashed away. Here's a photo of the largest burning ghat, Manikarnika, which just happened to be very close to my hotel (I could sometimes smell the smoke as I was drifting off to sleep...mmm). You can walk right up to the area where the bodies are burning, but this was about as close as I could get to take a photo without being culturally insensitive (and risk having my camera thrown in the river).

Coming from a culture where death is so often hidden away, I found it extremely fascinating to watch. As you might imagine, there's quite a ritual that goes along with the cremation, one that I never did figure out entirely (I also got conflicting accounts from various people, including Indians) but, with that disclaimer, this is what I remember: The bodies are wrapped in bright multi-colored cloth and placed on a bamboo stretcher that is carried by family members through the town to the ghat. They chant "Ram nam sach hai! Ram nam sach hai!"-- The name of God is truth! After dipping the body in the Ganges, the eldest son--whose head has been shaved except for one small tuft of hair--lights the fire. There are people whose job is to burn the bodies, members of a low caste. They watch over the cremation, which usually takes a few hours. Afterward the pelvic bone if it's a woman or the ribcage if it's a man are deposited into the Ganges--for some reason these bones don't burn completely. I didn't notice any weeping, or emotion of any kind, for that matter; but only men are allowed to attend because women can be "too emotional." It all seemed so efficient and matter-of-fact which only made the whole thing more surreal. The air is thick with smoke but, thankfully, only smells like a pleasant campfire. Most of the pyres just look like piles of burning wood, but on a few of them, the human form is easily recognizable. I didn't find it disgusting or repulsive, even when one of the attendants started moving a body around to get it burning better. It was just so intensely interesting (I don't know what that says about me). But that's one of the things I love about travel, you see things that are so out of your normal range of experience that, for me at least, my brain shuts down its continual commentary and I just get the unadulterated sensory experience. I love those moments.

The area around the burning ghat is busy with business of burning: head shaving, people weighing wood, the selling cloth and other burning paraphernalia. Have you ever been to the ruins of an ancient place and wished you could go back in time to see what it actually looked like when it was inhabited all those years ago? Along with the flaming bodies, I think that is what I found so intriguing about the burning ghat. The place and the ritual is ancient so there was a real sense of having gone back in time--minus all the signs for the Internet, of course.


As you move away from the river and into Varanasi, the old town is a maze of alleyways that, in most places, aren't more than ten feet wide. Walking these narrow lanes was one of my favorite ways to spend the day. They are filled with bicycles, motorcycles, people, and unattended animals of all kinds, from goats to huge water buffaloes. Those funeral processions were always going by, too--I was always afraid I was going to accidentally trip one of the stretcher bearers, sending somebody's recently passed relative tumbling down the street. There are temples and shops (silk is big here) and alley-side vendors selling everything from from food to incense to paan, a popular I-don't-know-what-to-call-it of various ingredients wrapped in a betel leaf. It is chewed, producing bright red saliva which is then spit out (usually to the place you're just about to step). Because of the narrowness and many stair cases most motor traffic (some motorcycles still speed through) is eliminated which made for a much more peaceful experience than most of what I've seen so far in India.

It was a wonderful blend of colors, smells, sounds and faces and I'd walk for hours at a time.

Fortunately, no matter how lost you get, you eventually end up back at the ghats where, hopefully, you've memorized a route back to your hotel.

One night while I was out strolling, a yogi approached me on one of the ghats and asked me to come check out his "studio" to see if I would like to study yoga with him. I was hesitant, but had been wanting to try out some yoga in its birthplace. He finally talked me into it--I think mostly because he just looked the part. His studio turned out to be his one room "apartment." I really didn't want to do a session that night but after some more cajoling I agreed to a two hour lesson of "real yoga," not that "exercise you get in States." We went up to the roof of his building where it was a beautiful, warm evening bathed in the setting sun's last rays. I was just tickled at the whole scene. The two of us sitting crossed legged on a big blanket, his grey beard, long beaded hair and robes. The session started off with the philosophy behind yoga and this came mostly in the form of a questions about what I thought yoga was, who I thought God is, what is concentration, what is meditation, and a number of other things. I tend to think a lot on these kinds of things and the meanings have become slippery to me, so my answers were filled with maybes and not-sures. This coupled with the fact that it took so long for me to make up my mind about doing the session in the first place was getting him slightly exasperated. To him, this was all a sign of how much training I needed. Your meditation is "primary school," he said. It was all said in a good-natured way and I took no offence. I remember at one point he asked me how my wife dealt with me and my indecisiveness. "I'm not married," I said. "Girlfriend?" "No, I don't have one of those either." He shook his head in a way that said, yup, no surprise there. We finally did get around to some meditation and yoga. It was nice, but really didn't impress me. We ended with a short walk around the town and a cup of chai. He tried to get me to commit to another session the next morning but I couldn't decide if I was up for it or not.

I also enjoyed my hotel, The Shanti Guesthouse. Physically, it is the worst place I've stayed so far. When I walked into the hotel, they were hosing the place down like a cell block. My room looked and smelled like a dank basement, barely lit by a single compact fluorescent bulb. The pink paint was peeling off the walls and the bed's mattress was about an inch thick, accompanied by a scratchy, wool blanket. Why would I love such a place? The $3.75 a night price tag didn't hurt, but the rooftop restaurant is what made this place. The food was just okay and the decor could use a makeover. In fact the only thing going for it is the great view. Here's the Ganges in the late afternoon:

Actually, what makes the restaurant (and the hotel) great is the social scene. I met so many fun and interesting people here. The place was very relaxed and laid back. Some days, a bunch of us would spend entire mornings drinking tea and swapping stories. Evenings were great for playing cards and drinking beer.

The hotel even had free boat rides on the Ganges in the morning and evenings. Here's a night shot of the ghats from the river:

For some reason I seem to end up hanging out with Europeans. I'm not intentionally avoiding Americans (and now that I think about it, I haven't met many Americans). It just seems to be working out that way. It's interesting how the cultural differences between us seem insignificant, almost invisible, in India. This is, of course, with the Europeans that speak English, which is most of them. In fact many of them speak a number of languages. I have to say I sometimes feel embarrassed that I only speak one and have also had horrible moments when I wonder if their English is better than mine--the non-native speakers that is.

Okay, one more story: One morning as I was on my way up to the restaurant at the hotel, I ran into a couple hastily making their way down the stairs, toast in hand. "I wouldn't go up there," they said, "there's a monkey on the loose." I, of course, immediately picked up the pace. I had been seeing monkeys around the restaurant since I arrived (sometimes they'd jump on the roof, mischievous little devils), but this was the first one that had come inside. As I reached the last flight of stairs, I could hear shouts and other sounds of commotion. There was a Dutch guy, Florin, that I knew, backing his way down the steps with a broom held out in front of him. He was visibly shaken and told me the same thing: monkey on the loose. "He's eating people's breakfast and drinking tea!" Now this I had to see. We made our way up the stairs, Florin still holding the broom out in front of him. As I got a view into the restaurant, I could see people cowering behind tables and the staff hiding behind the door to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a monkey sitting on one of the tables, looking aggressive and baring his teeth. When he caught our eyes, he launched himself towards us! We spun around and bolted down to the next floor. Looking over my shoulder I saw the monkey scurry past us and down the next flight of stairs. Worried he would come back, we frantically started trying all the doors on the floor, looking for a place to hide. He didn't, but what fun.

Just in case you're thinking, oh geez, it's just a little monkey, here's a picture to show you what we were up against. Okay, it's not the monkey (I took this at the "Monkey Temple" in Kathmandu). And, to be honest, I think this one was just yawning:

As you can probably tell, I loved Varanasi. Like Delhi, there were plenty of people with their eye on my wallet, but it also had a gentle, comforting quality about it, too. Many travelers I talked to agreed. And I spent an afternoon talking to someone who really did want to practice his English.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite photos from Varanasi, taken on the shore opposite the ghats. They're wrapping up a little picnic I think.