Crazy Train

Landing safely in the railcar opening, I looked at Kelli and Ryan a bit shocked, definitely out of breath, but more so excitedly with a sigh of relief. We all began laughing optimistically as we realized we were in between two train cars with nothing more than a luggage compartment and the scraping sound of metal beneath us as the floor shifted back and forth with the motion of the train, exposing the railway’s planks of wood and steal below us. Concluding that this might not be the best place to stay, we all threw our backpacks into the vacant luggage compartment and began coming up with ideas for the next twelve hours on this crazy train.

On either side of us were windows, allowing us to peak into the two railcars we were between. Towards the front of the train was a dark room with the words first class written on the window and had a seated train guard sitting under a flickering light who checked the tickets of every person who entered. I found this out as I attempted to scope out the car for a possible unfilled seat to acquisition. Despite his drowsy appearance, he quickly rose to his feet at the sound of the door opening to his first class quarters and shouted, “Ticket!”, over the noise coming from the exposed middle compartment. This was it, I hadn’t been on the train more than ten minutes and I was already going to get caught and thrown off. I nervously broke eye contact and looked to my left. Light bulb! I quickly pointed to the restroom with a smile and said, “Bathroom”, with a meek shrug. With an Indian wiggle left to right of his head, he hesitantly opened the door for me with a tiresome smile. As I entered the restroom, for the first time I actually didn’t need to go despite my now barely lingering sickness that put me through hell. With my neck kinked to the side to fit appropriately in this less than first class bathroom, I realized that we could stow away in one of the dark sleeper class compartments and if we saw any ticket collectors, we could just run to the nearest restroom and wait till he passes.

After a minute or so, I felt it was safe to head back to Kelli and Ryan to share my new idea with them. As I exited the restroom, I regrettably made eye contact with a ticket collector who briefly paused from his apparent interrogation of Kelli and Ryan and gave me a, “Have I seen you before?” glance. Going back into the restroom would be a sure giveaway that I wasn’t supposed to be there and knowing I couldn’t go past the guard behind me, who was probably now wondering why I was paused looking into the other compartment, I decided I had to go forward. THINK, THINK, THINK I was screaming at myself, inside my head as I neared the inquiry. Again the ticket collector looked at me inquisitively. I didn’t know what to do so I let out a dramatically fabricated yawn and gave the guy a head nod as I “sleepily” staggered past him. With his back now towards me, I shook my head; palms turned upward at my shoulders as I mouthed to Kelli and Ryan, “I don’t know”, and proceeded into the next car.

A million thoughts raced through my head at what might happen to Kelli and Ryan as I felt my way through the dark cabin. Were they going to get kicked off the train? Were they going to jail? Were they going to get pushed out the railcar door like in so many of the Hollywood movies I had seen? They wouldn’t do that. Would they? I mean this is India but... Suddenly I heard the boisterous middle car door open. Without even looking behind me, knowing who it was, I jumped into a tenantless bed and shut the curtains. I quickly went to the side opposite the neatly folded bed covers and fluffy pillow and curled up in a ball, heart pounding, mind racing. I could hear unpromising footsteps advancing my way in the now muffled compartment as the door shut behind the long shadow coming towards my refugee harboring bed. I could hear the chiming metal rings of the curtains being gently opened as the ticket collector peered into random bed compartments. This was it I thought to myself as I could feel his presence now right at my bedside. As my curtain began to open, head in my thighs, I hugged my knees tight enough to do a cannon ball off of the Golden Gate Bridge. Please God don’t let him catch me. Please God don’t let him catch me. Please God don’t let him catch me I kept saying to myself as I continued to burry my head even deeper in my legs. After repeating the phrase almost ten times, I realized that he must have passed! After a quick glance at a dark, near completely empty bed and seeing the undisturbed bed covers and pillow must have done the trick!

Heart pounding, too nervous to even peak out of the curtains, I remained curled up in my little ball long after I heard the ticket collector exit the far side of the railcar. Unsure of where Kelli and Ryan were I again kept thinking of what was going to happen to them. I felt bad. Really bad. I should have stuck with them and gotten caught. They’d be alright though, right? I mean they’ve traveled all throughout South East Asia together. This should be just a small bump in a very long road for them. An hour must have gone by as I kept thinking of what I was going to do. The tight ball I was once in was now a nervous wreck of fidgeting, restless legs. No. I had to go out and try and find them. I had to make sure they were okay.

Mustering up enough courage I finally hopped out of my small fortress of safety and began heading towards the back of the train where I had presumed they had been escorted.  Paranoid, I tip toed down the railcar towards the light through the doorway, leading to the next railcar. I tried best I could to be as silent as possible as I opened the door and headed on to the next car. Again, another railcar just like the last; dark, not a sole coherent and another light at the end. This wasn’t so bad, I thought to myself as I continued my quest to find my friends. My assurance unfortunately was a bit premature as I came to the middle section between cars and peeked into the next railcar and saw the ticket collector. Slamming my body against the side of the middle section wall, I tried to make myself as thin as possible to try and not be noticed through the window, which actually wasn’t too hard being that I hadn’t been this thin since freshman year of high school. Possibly the single optimistic thought I’ve had about the awful sickness I’ve had here in India.

Reaching across from me, I grabbed the bathroom door and flung it open, blocking any view of who might be entering.  Hopping inside, I waited again in the stench filled bathroom, hoping that I would not get caught. I then heard the door open from the direction I was heading. A firm knock on the door followed by those, now hated, words, “Ticket!”.  I immediately looked around me and tried to think of what I was going to do. I had it! Every bathroom in India has a small bucket to fill up with water to wash your waste down the drain with. I immediately grabbed the bucket, already partially ful,l and began making vomiting noises and intentionally throwing the water down at the toilet to make splashing sounds. Again, a pounding on the door, followed by that heinous word again. I grumbled and groveled loudly and repeated my first action. “Hello? Helloooo?”. The good old cliché saying, “Third time’s a charm” must have done it because after that last act, I heard the ticket collector move on, open the next car, leaving me with the rest of the train to explore in hopes of finding Kelli and Ryan.

Railcar after rail car I inconspicuously crept through the countless number of Indian’s and other foreign travelers. The further back I went towards the rear of the train, the more substandard things began to look in appearance. There were no more ticket collectors, or any sort of train staff anywhere in sight as I entered the 3^rd class compartments, where hundreds of Indian’s were piled nearly on top of each other, overflowing onto the floors and standing in between rail cars. I guess I wasn’t the only stowaway on the train. With going through what seemed to be nearly twenty railcars, I had to have been close to the end. After annoying the past 3 railcars, bumping and running into the somnolent passengers, as what I thought to be the rear of the train jounced along, I decided it was probably a good idea to turn back now, before I pissed off anyone else.

As I neared the front of the train, dejected and disappointed at failing to find my friends, I returned again to the air conditioned, well maintained cars with their neatly folded bed covers and fluffy pillows. They must have gotten kicked off the train in the middle of nowhere, and here I was now in an air conditioned compartment with my own bed to myself. It must have been nearly 3am by this time as I exhaustedly climbed into bed and hid behind the curtains. I was pretty confident I wasn’t going to get caught at this point. The ticket collector was probably fast asleep in his quarters by now. With an authentic yawn this time, I quickly dozed off to the rocking of the train.

Coming to a jerking stop as we arrived at the Jodhpur station I was quickly awaken by a loud voice shouting through the railcar, “JODHPUR”. It must have been 6am now, for Jodhpur was the last main stop before our, I mean my, final destination to Jaisalmer. I excitedly jumped out of bed as I remembered talking with Kelli and Ryan about stopping in Jodhpur for a couple of days to check out some of the sights the city had to offer. Maybe I had somehow missed them during my parade up and down the train in the middle of the night and they were now getting off here to try and look for me!? Jumping off the train, I optimistically began looking around for my fellow travelers. I ran all around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to find them. There were too many people though. The train must have been stopped for five minutes, which is actually kind of long for a train stop, before I heard the sounding train horn boom through the station. Not making it back to my car in time, I jumped in one of the ones I had been through a few hours prior. Seeing some familiar faces, I could tell they weren’t exactly thrilled to see me as I made my way back towards the front of the train. The idea of getting off at Jodhpur was only a quick suggestion that I didn’t think we would actually do. Our destination was Jaisalmer. Either way, I had one more chance to find Kelli and Ryan in Jaisalmer, if for some reason they had been on the train all along and I just somehow missed them.

Looking out the railcar window, I watched the sunrise in the now completely transformed desert topography. Despite its beauty, I still couldn’t get Kelli and Ryan off my mind. There was nothing I could do at this point though. I would just have to get to Jaisalmer and send them an email. Eventually they would get it wherever they were and respond. The hours went by as I drifted in and out of consciousness in my little bed compartment until we finally pulled into Jaisalmer.

Grabbing my backpack, I exited the train with the rest of the heard and began halfheartedly looking for Kelli and Ryan. I think part of me knew the likelihood of them actually making it all the way here was pretty slim. Nonetheless, I waited until the masses of people grew thinner and thinner as the rickshaw driver’s swooped them up like hawks on a guinea pig farm. I must have looked pretty haggard and unapproachable because there seemed to be a lack of proposals coming my way from the hawks that usually claw at me to try and get me in their rickshaws. Doleful and dismayed, I now sat in the hot sun as if there was actually a chance Kelli and Ryan would all of the sudden hop of the now vacant train and say, “Here we are!”. I was sufficiently weak enough and hot enough to see a mirage such as this, but the idea was too farfetched even for a mirage to entertain the idea.

Sorry, I had my mind a bit occupied on this one and didnt' think to grab photos...

Jaipur

As we putted down the loud, chaotic road in our rickshaw, we no longer cared about the near collisions or almost hitting cows because of how desperately we needing a bed and bathroom as soon as possible. Our rickshaw driver was actually quite nice as he tried pointing out different land marks, and offered to stop at internet shops, like most travelers like to do, however I don’t think he noticed how emaciated his passengers were. Finally we came to a road with many guesthouses and at the sight of the first sign we saw, we all exclaimed “YES” at the same time. I don’t know if he was more shocked at our loud, unified response, or finally hearing yes from us after the countless amount of no’s we gave him, but he nearly ran over a dog and hit a motorcycle pulling into the long alleyway leading to the guesthouse. Making a few turns the scenery quickly changed from tall, crowded buildings to pleasant trees and bushes. Were we still in India, we all thought? Coming to a halt, we were greeted by the guesthouse staff. I’m pretty sure they could tell that we were pretty ill, because they quickly showed us a room with a nice bathroom and a large bed. Completely satisfied with our new home base and tranquil surroundings we, paid the rickshaw driver and began our recovery, or so we thought.

Waking up around sunset, I walked out to see a beautiful courtyard with trees and bushes and grass. I haven’t seen grass in a yard in a very long time, so this was actually quite a treat. This guesthouse really took care of its foliage. There were all types of exotic vines and flowers, with even small stone benches to sit and admire the peaceful surroundings. To top it all off they had a peacock promenading about the courtyard, curiously looking at me, then pecking the ground, then back up at me. What a great place I said aloud to myself as did a slow 360 degree turn. I couldn’t even hear the horns from the street! Something I have desired for so long now. With an ominous gurgle of my stomach, I was suddenly brought back to the reality of my sickness as I was forced to rush back to the bathroom where I would spend most of the night.

The next three days were spent in bed at this lovely guesthouse, we unfortunately were unable to muster the energy to get up and get outside to admire the beautiful courtyard, and when we did, it usually was for the sole purpose of seeking the sustenance of bread and bananas. One day as we were on a quest for nutrients, we saw a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Could it be? American food? We excitedly rushed up the 5 steps to the doorway and entered the air conditioned restaurant. Out of breath and pale, a concerned cashier asked us sincerely if we were okay. With smiles on our faces that we were going to have the closest thing to normal food for us, we shook our heads no and gave our orders. Confused, the cashier rang us up and we had chicken for the first time in a long time.

Despite our valiant efforts to keep our precious American food down, we failed. Over the course of a week I would lose nearly 15lbs and a couple inches off my waist.  I don’t have 15lbs to lose and I hardly have a waist as it is, so looking in the mirror as all of my clothes draped off of my body, belts getting new holes punched in them, and just about every rib showing, I hardly recognized myself. No wonder the people here are all so tiny. There are no nutrients in the food and they don’t eat meat! Something had to change. We needed something to stick to our stomachs instead of going right through us. I usually don’t write home showing of any signs of illness or being hurt because I don’t want to worry my mother more than I already have by traveling thousands of miles away from her reach, but in this time of desperation I needed any advice, help or solution to my problem. She said, “Keep eating those bananas, they should plug you right up and I’ll tell the family to start praying for you guys.”  Sure enough, the very next day I was able to keep everything I ate down. The day after, I began having more energy.  Kelli and Ryan were even doing better. So thank you to all of those who shot up prayers for us. We definitely needed them.

We decided that since we were feeling better, we would take this opportunity to move onto the next town, but before doing so, see what we could on our last day in Jaipur. We were able to get in a rickshaw and do a quick tour of the city. We were able to see one lake that was beautiful. There were sunken temples all throughout it, and large golden rolling hills in the distance. This small glimpse of Jaipur was definitely the highlight of a very low time for us here in India, but honestly we just chalked up Jaipur as our recovery city that we just unfortunately missed out on seeing.

We knew that there was a train leaving for Jaisalmer late at night, however upon our arrival we found out that it was fully booked. Not only was it fully booked, but there wasn’t another train with a single seat for the next three days due to the Camel Festival in Pushkar! We had to leave. We just had to. We had to leave our sickness behind in Jaipur and go onto better things in the next town. We were determined, but how were we going to get on that train? We tried offering more money for the seats. We tried buying tickets from people. We even tried bribing the ticket master! Nothing would work. It was almost time for the train to leave and we were running out of options.

Off in the distance we now heard the train’s horn echoing through the terminal, signaling its departure. We had to act fast. With all of us looking at each other in question, Ryan said, “Let’s just go. Let’s jump on the train and see what happens.” We all smiled at each other knowing that it was times like these that we lived for. This was all part of the adventure. The train began to slowly inch forward. “It’s now or never”, I said with an optimistic grin. As the train began to move faster we were now running for a door. We made sure Kelli was the first to get on. Safely aboard, she threw her bag down and reached out for Ryan as leaped on the moving train. With a 45lb bag on my back, I was straining every frail, sickness tormented muscle in my body to get on this train. With every last bit of energy I had, I hurtled my body towards the railcar opening…

The Taj Mahal

After our last bus experience to Varanasi, we figured this time we would take a sleeper train to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Such a better deal. We had full beds to sleep on as we traveled overnight to Agra. The trains were definitely the way to travel. No winding curves, bumps in the roads, or other objects to run into, at least that I knew of. Despite our peaceful travels we all woke up the next morning feeling a bit under the weather. We knew we only wanted to be in Agra for a day to see the Taj Mahal, so we booked our next ticket to Jaipur immediately so that there would be no hassles getting out of Agra. Being that we arrived at 6am, we had to wait in line for an hour for the ticket offices to open. This was fine with us; we had all day to see the Taj Mahal. What we didn’t realize is there really is no such thing as a line in India. You don’t wait courteously behind your neighbor, or offer the old lady with a limp a place in front of you. Instead, you try to box out the old ladies like Shaquille O’Neal at a playoff game because they are ruthless and will cut in front of you without even looking at you. We quickly realized this and used our luggage and our bodies as barriers to keep out the others as they were literally pushing, shoving and throwing their info slips and money at the ticket master. trying to get a ticket.

Tickets go quick in India, and the cliché saying, “You snooze, you lose” is definitely true at the ticket counters here. Luckily we locked down our ride to Jaipur and even though we left the train station feeling a bit violated, I can honestly say it wasn’t a completely bad experience. It sort of brought out my competitive side and became more of a challenge or game than anything else. Something I haven’t felt since playing Water Polo in Guam.

We ended up getting very lucky finding a rikshaw driver because he ended up being a very genuine guy. Something unheard of among rikshaw drivers. We told him we needed to use the internet, go to the ATM and then head over to the Taj Mahal. Any other rikshaw driver would have over priced the drive by double and would have probably taken us to all of his friend’s shops instead. Luckily though, our rikshaw driver was a good guy and told us that today was the only day of the year that if you go to the Taj Mahal before 10am, you get to get in free due to the Muslim holiday that allows people of all class and cast to afford visiting this glorious structure for a religious ceremony that takes place from 7am to 10am. Being that it was already 9:30am we told the driver to book it over to the Taj so we could take advantage of this free entry.

Normally there is $15.00 entrance fee for tourists, which may not seem like that much, but in India, that is a two week stay at a guesthouse or roughly a week’s worth of food or a train ticket nearly anywhere in India or enough money to buy even the coolest souvenirs. Basically we were ecstatic to be getting into the Taj Mahal for free. It is weird how our mindsets change from country to country. In India if someone is trying to sell you something they start by doubling the price and then working it down if the tourist is savy enough. If not, then they just doubled their profit. I have noticed in haggling with vendors that even though I can get the price down to way below half of what they are asking, that even those last couple hundred Rupes, which is really only a few bucks in all reality is still important. I am not sure if it is because I don’t want to get ripped off, or if it is a challenge to see how low I can actually get them to go, or maybe I’m just cheap. I’m not really sure, but from vegetables at the market to buying a scarf at a silk shop to getting ride from a rikshaw, the three of us might be the few travelers that actually pay close to what the locals are paying. Maybe.

Walking through the metal detector, through the archway leading into the courtyard before the Taj Mahal, we could see a heard of people exiting. We had made it just before 10am and the religious ceremony had apparently just let out when we were entering. Making our way from the courtyard, through yet another archways leading to where the massive area where the Taj Mahal sat was chaotic and quite dangerous to say the least. As hundreds and hundreds of Muslims tried to leave, they completely congested what was supposed to be both an entry way and exit. I thought the lines in the train station were bad, this was just plain barbaric as I could feel the force of a hundred people pushing me one way, while another hundred were apposing. Barely making it through, sweating, out of breath and mildly timorous from what had just occurred, I had been separated from Ryan and Kelli. I was actually worried about them getting through there, especially Kelli. Relieved to finally see them come through the intricate archway, we all looked at each other like, “what the hell just happened”.  The next day I would read in the news paper that 16 people were trampled to death at a similar religious gathering for the same Muslim holiday near the Agra River. 

Our minds quickly were distracted from what had just happened by the pure flawlessness of what lay before us. The Taj Mahal stuck out like the most beautiful finger among a hand full of sore thumbs. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It didn’t even look real! I’ve read about it in my history books, seen tons of pictures of it through my friends and through traveling, but now as it transcended before me, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was just so perfect, so picturesque, so awe-inspiring.  It was the most beautiful man-made structure I have ever seen with my own eyes. There was no comparison. This was it. The three of us just stood there, silent, in complete awe, and we were still a few hundred yards away from it. Eager to touch the thing to ensure its reality, we raced up to it clicking our cameras as fast as we could, stopping and posing for a few along the way, but as we came before it, we were able to comprehend just how mammoth this building was. Taking our shoes off as a sign of respect, we stepped foot on the solid marble floor and proceeded up to the solid, marble structure. Placing my palm on the shaded marble, it was cool to the touch on my skin. As I looked straight up, jaw ajar to the fullest, my mind now had to believe that what was before was in fact real, but it didn’t. After strolling through the inside of the building, snapping a few photos of the tombs that the king had built for his queen, Ryan and I began to analyze it. We walked around it several times, trying to find the slightest flaw or imperfection. There was none. It was perfectly symmetrical in every way. We finally sat parallel to it in complete and utter amazement.

We spoke about how such a beautiful building could stand among the poorest, rundown neighborhoods.  How so much time, money, man power, went into building such a colossal edifice, yet the poverty encompassing it was that of the most extreme. Puzzled we sat there, still in awe of the building. We finally came to the conclusion that this is India. Plain and simple. No excuse or logical explanation. Just that this is India (TII). Same justification as to why there are no lines, why people use the street as a bathroom, why nobody moves the cows in the street that cause car accidents and traffic jams. This is India. This phrase became a pretty common saying to us as we would go about our travels in India. It was just easier to chalk up the idiosyncrasies of this beautifully baffling land.

After experiencing the Taj Mahal, our slight sickness that we had in the morning was turning out to be nothing but slight. That delicious street food we had had the day before in Varanasi was taking a turn for the worst as we slowly began deteriorating. Getting back to the train station, we were going to wait in the station so that we wouldn’t miss our early morning train to Jaipur, but now as we couldn’t cease from running to the restroom every 20 minutes, we knew we need a room for the night.

Barely making it to a nearby guesthouse, we all felt flu type symptoms and extremely weak. Setting the alarm for 4am to catch our 5am train, we all tried falling asleep to the sounds of each other’s groans and grovels. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The train ride to Jaipur was painful to say the least. Not a fun experience as we sat coach, crammed into a small train car with nearly a hundred people. Arriving exhausted, sick and in terrible moods, we looked for the nearest rikshaw driver to take us to a nice quiet guesthouse that we could recover at. Piling in, luggage and all, we set off for what hopefully was a safe haven for recovery.

Varanasi

Last I left off, we were about to take a bus to Polkara. While sitting on top of the bus, Ryan said, “Hey, why don’t we just go to India today?” We all looked at each other with high eyebrows and agreed that it was a good idea. We had had our fun in Nepal, and Polkara was ten hours out of the way of our next destination, so, the next time the bus came to a halt, we hopped off and searched for a bus going south.  A few hours later we found ourselves at the border. After receiving a quick stamp from the Nepali side, we sauntered right on through the traffic congested archway leading to India without getting so much as a glance from the border patrol officer as he spit his chew and conversed with his buddies. Nothing like the border leading to and from Mexico in Southern California, that’s for sure. After barely being able to find “India’s customs and Immigration” table (literally a table with three men and stamps) we received all of the necessary documentation for our travels throughout India.

The next part of the story is quite similar to so many of my foreign bus rides that I have experienced. For some reason, every time I find a bus going somewhere for a third of the cost, I cannot resist booking the ticket, even though I know the bus ride is going to put me through hell. It cost four dollars to go from the Nepal/India border to Varanasi. We left at 6pm and arrived at 4am. Quite possibly the longest eight hours of my life. Squished against several other Indian’s and their luggage, I wasn’t able to watch the road due to the concerns I was having with my heart ceasing to pump blood to the rest of my body because every other minute I thought we were going to crash into a car, motorcycle, person etc. And if that wasn’t happening then I thought we were going to fly off a cliff, run off a bridge, or tip over on a sharp turn going excessive speeds. Tired beyond belief and a bit in shock that we made it to Varanasi in one piece, we picked a rikshaw driver, among many hooting and hollering, to take us to the nearest guesthouse for the night. The guy seemed pretty confident that we were going to be extremely happy with the guesthouse he was taking us to. We just needed a bed ASAP.

It was uncanny driving down the streets of Varanasi at 4am not because we had never been there before and were unfamiliar with our new surroundings, but because of how vacant it was. It was like seeing a big fluffy sheep that had gotten sheared naked. Just kind of awkward.  Any street in India is usually teaming with life; horns honking, people yelling, dogs barking, but now there was nothing but the putt –putt of the rikshaw as we motored down the road.

Heading down a dark alley, we grew a bit nervous. The rikshaw driver must have felt our tension because he reassuringly said “Only two more minutes”, for what seemed to be the fifth time.  All of the sudden the driver cut the engine’s power and we just began to coast in awkward silence until we finally came to a squeaky halt in front of what was apparently our guesthouse. “See, not far at all” the rikshaw driver said with half a chuckle. The place was completely dark, with probably not a soul awake, but too tired to even care, we grabbed our bags and waited as our driver rang what appeared to be a doorbell. A few minutes went by and with the anxious tapping of our driver’s foot being the only sound in the alleyway; he looked back at us with one eyebrow higher than the other, and a less than comforting smile and with a crack in his voice said, “He should be coming”. Finally we heard a faint solitary murmur making its way down the stairs. With a sigh of relief and a half hearted smile, the driver exclaimed “Ah, here he is”. The perturbed Guesthouse manager exchanged a few words in Hindi with our driver and then looked at us, as if just realizing we were there, and welcomed us in. After paying the driver, we proceeded up a flight of stairs to our room. Thank God we happened to be on the second floor. I don’t think we could have made it up another flight. Creaking the door open, we all layed our eyes on two full sized beds. The three of us without hesitating, dropped our bags, pushed the beds together and before the manager could say, “See you in the mor…” we were fast asleep.

Waking up at the crack of noon the next day, sore to the core, feeling as if I had just played in a water polo tournament from the bus ride, I made my way down the small cobblestone streets to the Varanasi River. It was actually only a few block away from where we were staying. I’m pretty sure our guesthouse manager, Raja, had mentioned that, but then again he could have said anything about the place and I would have believed it I was so tired.

Seeing the river for the first time had me at a loss for words. I didn’t know what to think of it, like so many things here in India. It was massive! Even during the current dry season it was still huge. I could see far off in the distance where the water level normally resides, probably five times larger than the already enormous river. Along the bank of the river were all sorts of temples, houses, shops, guesthouses. The river side was thriving! Tons of people walking about, people selling things, and oddly enough people bathing right there in front of me. The words that Kelli, Ryan and I used to describe the river weren’t beautiful, majestic or pretty, but instead holy, spiritual and sacred. The place just sent off vibes of spirituality. You could feel it as you stood in its presence.  What I soon found out is that this very river is one of the most sought after places to come and “clean” yourself of the bad things you have done in your life. People travel hundreds of miles to visit this river just to touch and bathe in its holy waters.

As the sun began to set, we decided to hire a boat driver to take us out on the river at night. As we slowly drifted downstream towards the more populated area, the feelings of holiness were somewhat intensified as we became slowly engulfed by a light fog. The lights on the shore now had an eerie blur to them, the candles that others placed in the river, representing blessings to their deceased loved ones, gave a mysterious tint to the water’s surface that was spectral and fantastic. We could see huge blazing infernos lit ashore through the light fog. We began taking pictures of it, thinking they were bonfires, but all of the sudden our boatman quickly said, “No photo.” Unsure why, we inquired with the boatman, however he didn’t speak English all that well, so we went on in our bewilderment down the river.  

Suddenly as the lights from the populated area grew brighter, we could see that there were multitudes of boats all around us, and we were all in route to the same location. We could hear music and see an assembly of people on the shore. There appeared to be five short tables, with younger men sitting on them, each with a shrine on it.  These men seemed to be the center of attention among hundreds of people both seated and standing, as there was loud music playing, with them singing to it. As they sang they began a spiritual ritual. Watching inquisitively from the water’s edge, we witnessed a magnificently detailed ceremony, acted out in unity by these five men. There was fire involved, flowers, smoke, bells ringing. It truly was quite the spectacle to witness. The spiritual ceremony was done to show respect to the gods and to those that have passed at the water’s edge.

This next part is a bit gory, so if you are at all squeamish you can skip to the next paragraph without missing too much… Many on their death beds come and die in the city of Varanasi so that their bodies can be burnt at the river’s edge, sending their ashes into this holy river. The “bon fires” that I saw from the river I found out were recently deceased people that were being burned. This aggrandizement is done 24 hours a day, seven days a week on the river’s shore. There is no shame in covering the bodies as they burn so the next day as I was walking along the river, I came to that same point where I had seen the “bonfire” and saw a number of bodies being burned, all in different stages of their inferno. The sight was horrific, but I had to respect the process and the cultural significance to these people. The day after I found out that the families that cannot afford this cremation resort to other methods of passing on their loved ones in this sacred river by weighing them down and dropping their bodies into the river to sink to the bottom.  I unfortunately witnessed what happens to these bodies when they are not weighed down properly. During the day, we took another boat to the other side of the river. In the distance I could see a large white log heading towards the boat. Sure enough the “white long” was a pale, bloated, deteriorating body that had come loose from its weights. Our boatman laughed as he saw the looks of terror on our faces. Open caskets are hard enough for me, but what I saw in the water and burning on the river side, will forever be stuck in my brain.  

Okay, getting back to the good stuff, we ended up doing a tour of the city, seeing all kinds of great things from the University of Varanasi, which is one of the nation’s greatest educational institutions, to Gandhi’s temple, which was remarkable with the intricate stonework replica of India that he solely created himself.  We saw all sorts of interesting Hindu temples, learned all about the large number of gods that the Hindu’s believe in, and really got a feel for what Indian culture was like. We got to see an actual silk factory hard at work, which was really quite fascinating how it all is made. We even got to experience some fantastically tasting local Indian food. So many creative dishes that all tasted so good! The Varanasi River is by far the greatest spectacle to see in Varanasi, but there is so much history, culture and amazing sights to see in this extremely old city.  

What an experience it has been in this first week here in India. So much has already been experienced, seen and done. I am hesitantly excited to see what else this beautiful country has in store for me. Next stop, Agra to see the Taj Mahal!