The Ganga

Varanasi is an incredible place. It is such a holy city, that if you die in Varanasi, you are released from the cycle of death and rebirth. It has changed and modernized over the years, and on the way down to our hotel near the river Ganges, we passed a McDonalds and a Dominos Pizza! The old city hasn't changed much in 1000 years, ancient buildings crowding the area above the ghats, the stone steps leading into the fetid waters of the mighty Ganga. People come from all over India to bathe, pray, and die here, with the cremation ghats running 24/7, fires constantly burning, lit from an eternal flame. The waters are able to wash away sins, and the ghats are always full of the faithful, swimming, washing, and doing laundry next to the herders bringing their buffalo herds to drinks and get scrubbed down.

We were very tired when we arrived, so hadn't had the patience to hunt down a good room. We crammed into a double bed reminiscent of Salleri's tight squeeze. It was a decent room, and the wifi in the lobby was nice and fast, but the traffic noise was terrible, being on the first road up from the river. The 2^nd morning was deafening, with load music pumped out of huge speakers drowning out the traffic. It was Mohammed's birthday, and the Muslims were celebrating.

We had been given a recommendation, from a Swiss couple staying at the monastery in Lumbini with us, for a hotel close by. We had looked at it online, but had been scared away by some terrible reviews, including a report of bedbugs, but it had a rooftop restaurant with fantastic views over one of the burning ghats, so we went there to eat lunch, and checked out the rooms for ourselves. We found a nice quiet room in the back corner that was clean and reasonable, and moved over. From high up on the roof, Varanasi can almost look tranquil, but once walking along the ghats, you are immersed in all the vibrant and visceral contrasts of India. Boatmen, beggars, priests and sadhus, postcard sellers and those who will offer you Anything? Fishermen casting nets by hand, rowing dories past boatloads of Indian tourists smiling and throwing flowers into the water. Cows and sheep and goats in coats, burning bodies, and a great cup of chai. It's one of those places that takes you by surprise, no matter how many times you've been. We found a wonderful bakery cafe that had a set western breakfast, with coffee, brown toast and jam, hash browns, and eggs. Such a treat, we went every morning, and even Su didn't complain about the repetition. The comfort of something familiar convinced us to indulge in some pizza from the Dominos at the shopping mall, and it was soooo worth it. It was like an hour long vacation from our trip. I was facing away from the windows, looking at Raven's greasy lips and glowing cheeks, the menu board teasing me with devilish delights. We split a large pizza, fluffy crust, loads of veggies, and cheese, glorious cheese. I could have been in Victoria, LA, New York, London, anywhere...It was a truly bizarre, but not unpleasant interlude to the sensory onslaught of Varanasi.

Su posted her account of the Golden Temple visit, but it doesn't quite impart the fervent religiousness of the experience. As in Nepal, religion here is a living, passionate affair, even more so for the Hindus. They LOVE the gods, and the Golden Temple is the most important temple in Varanasi and one of the very holiest temples in all of India. You'll never see a picture of it, because no cameras are allowed, no phones, cigarettes, lighters, knives, pens, or sharp objects. I was amazed we were allowed inside, as non-Hindus have always been banned. People will wait for hours and hours on special occasions, and as you get close to the sacred Shiva lingam, they start getting very animated, pushing closer, praying loudly. Making offerings brings good kharma, good fortune, a long and prosperous life. Since it has been proven that intention can change the outcome of events, even alter the physical properties of matter, I find their devotion powerful and captivating, even intoxicating.

When we first arrived, we must have had 'fresh meat' written all over us, and we were constantly bombarded with offers of boat rides, massage, postcards, hash and opium. On our 2^nd day, Su decided to count how many times we would be offered a boat ride on the way back from breakfast. I was surprised that it was only nine times. As the days passed, the offers became less frequent, and the first price offered became less and less. Only then did we decide to take a traditional dawn boat ride along the ghats, the golden light illuminating the faithful performing prayers, those in need of purification bathing, the spectacle of the cremations, all set to the rhythmic splash of the oars dipping into the Ganges. I kept my eyes open for the rare gangetic dolphin, but only saw a few fish jumping, which is surprising in it's own right, given the pollution and raw sewage pumped into the river non-stop.

Raven feeding a cow her scarf

One afternoon, we walked up to Manikarnika, the busiest burning ghat. After watching the funerals for a while, Raven and I, always on the look out for a cute cow to pet, spotted one munching on a pile of discarded marigold flowers. It had a litter of young puppies playing at it's feet, licking and nipping as it munched away. The marigolds were still on the string in a garland, and one of the puppies got it's leg caught, and was lifted off the ground as the cow lifted it's head, oblivious to the puppy dangling under it's chin! It managed to get free the next time the cow bent down for another bite, but Raven and I were laughing enough to draw attention away from the pyres. We were trying to coax one of the adorable puppies over for a snuggle, when one of the spectators grabbed it and passed it over. Raven always attracts attention while petting various creatures. The day before, we had stopped to pet a young calf in a narrow alleyway, but while bent over, Raven's scarf dangled enticingly in front of the mother. Sure enough, while we were distracted with the fuzzy little calf, the cow started chewing on the scarf! As Raven stood up, yanking the drool covered fabric from it's mouth, I caught the wide eyed stare of a boy frozen in place watching us. His face scrunched up, and he let out a loud 'Blaaaaagh' while sticking out his tongue. We laughed and laughed! Back near the burning ghat, as we wound our way through the maze of narrow, winding passageways, we came across a chai 'shop', and decided to rinse the taste of burning bodies away with some masala tea. These shops are everywhere, and usually serve deliciously spiced chai, each one with it's own special recipe. This one was especially good, sweet and tasty, with hints of ginger. As we sat on a narrow bench along the red brick wall, making conversation with the other patrons, a funeral procession made it's way towards us. The alleys in this part of the old city are usually no more than 10 feet wide, and there happened to be a motorcycle parked directly across from us, and a cow beside the bike. When the procession passed us, six men carrying the body on a bamboo ladder, we had to pull our cups of chai in tight, and turn our knees sideways to let them past. Raven's eyes were wide, not exactly a horrified look, just amazed with the constant contrasts, delicious tea and dead bodies, all as normal here as a trip to Beacon Hill for an ice cream. These kinds of experiences are just so far from our sphere of knowledge, they are completely surreal. From the quiet of suburban Langford, it's hard to imagine people living this way, but the experience makes you more accepting, more compassionate, gives you a different perspective on your own culture. Travel enriches your life, deepens your sense of kinship with others no matter how, or where they live. I am forever thankful to be able to do this with Su and Raven, and to be able to write about it for all who care to share the journey.

As incredible as Varanasi is, it gets tiring quickly, so after four days, we made the move out to Sarnath, where Buddha gave his first sermon after achieving enlightenment. It's only 10 kms from the Ganges, but is quiet and tranquil. We stayed at the Japanese monastery, where they have five dorm beds available by donation. It is staffed by Tibetan monks, and we were invited in for the morning and evening prayer. Very different from the Korean monastery, it involved drumming and chanting. There were two large, double sided drums mounted on stands, so one monk could beat on each end. The senior monk sat next to a solid wood block and a large cauldron. He chanted along to the beating drums, tapping the block of wood with a stick with a ball on the end of it, and also struck the cauldron, which rang out resonantly. We were given hand-held drums and sticks to beat, as the small crowd of Tibetan families were doing opposite us, on the other side of the monastery. It was wonderfully inclusive, and we soon found our timing, drumming along joyously, even if we didn't know the chants. Unfortunately, the smoke from the cremations had brought on a vicious cold, and I couldn't drag myself out of bed for the morning prayer at 6 AM. It was all I could do to drag my feet over to the stupa that marked the spot where Buddha had started to share his wisdom, after 6 years of fasting and meditation. Some of the ruins here date back to 230 BC, and the nearby museum kept the more fragile artifacts safe. Exhausted, I went straight back to bed.

The large stupa behind us is the exact place Buddha gave his first speech.
Some of these ruins date to 230 BC.

Before we left Varanasi, we'd booked another overnight train to Khujaraho, home to some of the most impressive temples is India, and the world. We'd planned to catch a train from Sarnath, an easy way to go directly to the train station in Varanasi, even if it would be slow and possibly crowded. We arrived early, as is always prudent with the trains here, even though we had hours before our train would depart from Varanasi Junction for the 12 hour trip. It's a good thing, because the 2:48 train from Sarnath didn't go to the Junction station, only Varanasi City station. No worries, we could still take an auto-rickshaw. The station manager told us to wait a second, then came back with three tickets, saying “OK. This other train goes to the Junction. Hurry. Hurry.” There was a train at the far platform, but we had to go up and over the tracks by the stairs and over-head walkway. We moved as quickly as possible with our excessive amount of baggage, but just as I reached the train, it started to pull away. Raven was right behind me, so I helped her up, and yelled at Su to Run! She looked up, horrified to see the train already moving, however slowly. She waddled quickly to the door, tossed her front mounted backpack in, got one foot on the steps as I kept pace along side, still on the platform. As soon as there was room for me to get a foot on, I grabbed the handrails and pulled myself up, pushing Su forward into the nearly empty train. Another first, jumping onto a moving train...I love India.