Varanasi

(PG)
My feelings about Varansi  are mixed.  I thought that it would be the river and the temples that would grip me most, but it has not been. I sent a message to the hotel  asking if the ghats were flooded and if the boats were going. They said “of course, everything is fine”. They lied. Not a huge surprise because common sense told me differently.  But I went down to the main Ghat anyway. I thought I would just walk, but I am a woman alone and every rickshaw walla saw me as a perfect target.

One very thin man named Jabeer followed me for clost to fifteen minutes, pointing things out and chatting about the city, so I finally said yes to his offer for a ride. We agreed upon a set price, 200 rps (about $3.60. He pushed me a little to do some shopping at a local place, but when I steadfastly refused, he said ok.

All in all, Jabeer took very good care of me and did exactly as he had agreed. I paid him 500 rps (about $9).

Now, I suppose it should really have cost about 50 rps (less than a dollar) to go from my hotel to the ghat, but I don’t care. That little ride was one of the most amazing, smelly, disgusting, intreiguging and sublime drives I’ve ever taken. I don’t think pictures or words can do Varanasi  justice.

Extremely tired and hungry, I climbed into bed at 7pm oblivious to all the honking and beeping going on outside. I knew this would be the rough part of India, and it is, but that is part of what I have come for. To remember what it means to be alive.

I also came to Varanasi to think about age and death. I did not find it watching the fires at the rivers edge. Instead I found it in a man that accompanied me on the plane who was coming home because his father was sick. He arrive home to find out the cause was stage- four cancer. He said he needed to get away for a bit and invited me to dinner. It was easier, I think to talk to a stranger over Old Monk rum about what it means when one generation gives away to another. About how one deals with death, with growning up, with children (he has two), with parents, with being the one responsible for it all. This is something that Luv has not yet understood, and is, in large part on of the real reasons our relationship didn’t work out.  He is not ready to face those things. He is afraid. Life doesn’t care if you are afraid or not, those things will find you, no matter where you are. 

River Ganges.

Boats at the ghats.

Taking a bicycle rickshaw through the streets of Varanasi.