In India, Anything is Possible

In India, people we interact with often tell us "It is possible." Sometimes, "not possible." Other times: "In India, Anything is Possible."

Varanasi is a place of many possibilities. But before we go there, travelogue or otherwise, we must discuss something not serious at all. When I was younger, our folks took my family to Canada, to a Renaissance fair. My mom was always taking us exotic places, and she had always meant to take us to a Renaissance fair. Probably this is why my brother, sister, and I like to travel so much. It's all our mom's fault.

At this fair was an awesome sword swallower named Johnny something. I'm not sure if they had sword swallowers during the Renaissance, but that didn't matter. He was the funniest, most entertaining guy, we had ever seen. Turns out he was a comedian beforehand, so he said, but he took up all these swords and things because people stole his routines. It's harder to steal someone's routine if you've got to swallow a sword. Copping a line is one thing, but shoving a long, sharp object down your gullet -- a bit harder.

After swallowing a bunch of big, sharp swords, he put another one down the hatch, and started convulsing and screaming as if he were dying, and the sword cut open all his insides. The sword, naturally, was flexible. That's the kind of humor we had going on here.

Anyway, this guy had a great interlude in his routine. He explained than the river Ganges, in India, is historically central to life in India, both materially and spiritually. Hindus worship it as if it were a Goddess. Varanasi, which is on the Ganges, is perhaps the holiest site for Hindus in the world. No Hindu's life is complete without bathing in the Ganges once. And he showed the audience this small vessel, and told us it contained water from India, from this most sacred river, the river Ganges. He poured the water out, with an appropriate level of gravitas, until the vessel was empty -- not a drop left. At the next interlude he held up the same vessel, which he hadn't touched, and again showed it to us. "Water from India," he said, pouring it out all over again, "The River Ganges" -- down to the last drop. Stunningly, it had been refilled with water -- pure magic! Every 5 minutes he'd do it again, which was awesome -- where was all this holy water coming from? Water from India, the river Ganges. The mystical power of the river Ganges was forever inscribed in my consciousness.

So. Water from India, the river Ganges -- we're finally here -- Varanasi, the most holy Hindu place in the world. Varanasi also has a lot of history with travelers from the West, as it was a major site for pot smoking hippies to travel to in the 60's and 70's, and absorb lots of eastern religion, expand their minds -- that sort of thing. Why? What's so special? I can show and tell you a little bit.

Varanasi is also the most ruthless city in India, as far as I can tell, for harassing and exploiting tourists. We travelers are but sparks that leap from the ATMs into their pockets. All they must do is perform enough careful stagecraft, yell loud enough, harass us enough, or mislead us -- and all our money will be in their arms. The old city is a maze, and everybody wants to guide you to your guest house, or perhaps their guest house, where your rent will go up to pay for the tout who brought you there. That's how it works. All the signs for food and guest houses are painted on walls, since touts tore the old ones down. Guest houses have similar names to one another, to mislead people. I almost manage to game the guy who meets us on the platform -- the guy you never want to deal with -- we're in his car, having driven 20 feet, price fixed, destination set, shenanigans put aside, when he just stops, and flat out refuses to move. He simply can't leave his original pitch, having failed to game us. Ok, fine. We step out, realizing that our skills still need some more work before we can overturn ninjas on their backs. The next guy takes us, but tries to hand us off to two touts who will lead us to our place. I make the mistake of telling the driver where we're going, and he tells one of the touts. We manage to shake all of them, but one of them actually meets us at the guest house! The Chutzpah! We've learned our lesson. Drop at secure locations, and tell nobody where you're going.



We go by pedal powered bicycle rickshaw, from the train station to the old city, to help save the environment. With our bags, it's a bit of a squeeze.



Perhaps I should stop complaining. But, truthfully, it is a big hassle and frustration getting around, but the rewards are great. Like, Varanasi is great. This is what I love. The rewards for hard traveling. Magic like this. The ghats, the stairs across India which go down into rivers, go on for about 6km up and down the river in Varanasi.



The old city behind the Ghats is also mega-cool. It's a real bazaar, a twisty, knotted, collection of buildings, tunnels, shops, cows, and all the important elements of urban life. In a really confusing, fun, space. These things can take time to get used to. Like, it takes time to learn how to dodge all the animal poop in the street. And you have to do it at night, while having a conversation, and having your attention drawn by everything in sight, like shops, and passing motorcycles, people, and cows. One night the alley outside of our guest house was spattered by a diarrhetic cow, which was the first time we saw an Indian get frustrated by the poo. Our guest house owner, though, seemed more irritated by the business implications than anything else.



In general, poo is useful. Like, people collect it, make cakes, dry it, and then sell it. As fuel. And the cows eat the trash. This is fine, except now India is covered in plastic which cows can't digest so well, even with their many stomachs.



Lots of things happen here. Massages. Two, please. People bathing. Boat rides. Religious rituals and singing, music. Bodies are cremated on the burning ghats, no photography allowed. We meet some interesting folks, Indian and not.



People walk about, and some other people take a dip in the sacred river Ganges.



Above, a Buddhist looking monk meditating, and people doing laundry. You might get spiritually clean here, but the river is very very polluted, actually, mostly because of industry.



Some of what can go on at night here. Lovely rituals I don't understand, accompanied to really nice music. Some adults try to sell you drugs, not so pushy, while really pushy kids sell you tiny lotus candle things you set alight and put into the water.



An old city passage at night, photographed thanks to Yotam's awesome Guerillapod, one of the most fab pieces of technology since the camera obscura.



Varanasi, due to its international draw, has quite a lot of backpackers and tourists. We eat at I:bo, an awesome Japanese owned place, and have some really nice Japanese food. I:bo also has the cleanest squat toilet in all of Asia, Japan included. They do nice Thai and Italian food, too. Above, a stylish bakery with excellent cheeses and approximations of Croissants. A really cool vibe, too. We chat with some interesting Indians from Delhi. Lots of buildings here use the traditional architectural style of a central, open, courtyard extruded upwards, which is what you're looking across, above, and where the light is coming from.



Above, a picture up into the skylight of the bakery, and adjacent, our guest house, Ganga Fuji. Trying to attract Japanese, we think, with the name, and the pictures of Fuji-san when you enter. It seems to work -- Above Alex is talking to a Japanese traveler. Sagoy! It also has the central extruded courtyard, through which they run these colorful lights.

The burning ghats are one of the most striking aspects of Varanasi, where people are cremated. There's simply no explanation, and you must see it yourself.



In Hindu and Buddhist theology, you are reborn over and over again, coming back each life in a way that reflects how you performed in your last life. Perhaps as an animal. Perhaps achieving enlightenment and not coming back. People come here to die, actually, because they believe that if they die here, in Varanasi, they escape from the cycle of life and death. This is a very powerful idea, if one believes in such a cyclic universe. Escape from the cosmic cycle of life and death.

In the end, despite staying right in the hurlyburly center of the bazaar, we've grown comfortable, and could stay on another day. Perhaps became hippies and move here for a year, go up to Nepal, hang out. But we've got tickets to Agra, and it's time to move forward.