Mr. & Mrs. Vandebilt + kids

“Older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and it looks twice as old as all of them put together.” I can’t think of a more accurate description than what Mark Twain thought of Varanasi. While Kolkata felt like traveling back in time to the 50s or 60s with the antique taxis or buses and outdated buildings and clothes Varanasi felt like traveling back to a whole other world.

It was a whole new kind of chaos than anything else I’ve seen and there was something about seeing it close up that felt unsettling to me. Arriving at our hotel was an adventure in itself as any of the streets near the river are a small winding crowded maze. There are cows everywhere and where there are no cows there are goats and stray dogs. The garbage and dirt on the streets is a bit overwhelming at times.

We stayed at a guesthouse with a rooftop overlooking the Ganges. From afar the river is stunning with the colourul buildings rising from the banks. The river is the centre of Varanasi and everything happens here including death.

The river is frighteningly dirty. There is an unreal amount of trash floating at the edges. It is also the burial ground for infants and animals who are tied to stones and sunk. I’m fairly certain the river also collects the town’s sewage and any other run off. It is also the dumping ground for some large factories upstream. None of this seems to matter though to the thousands that journey here for bathing or ceremony.

To the Hindus the Ganga offers instant enlightenment upon death and cleansing during life. We took a sunrise boat ride down the river to watch the early morning rituals. As our oarman rowed us along the river we saw hundreds of people bathing, doing laundry, cremating bodies, washing dishes, dumping garbage, going for a swim, saying prayers or gathering some drinking water. Anything is possible in this river.

In Varanasi death is an everyday ritual. It is believed that if you die in this city you will be given instant enlightenment. People flock here during their final days and stay in the hospice houses on the river’s edge waiting for death. The cremation of the body takes place in open view on different platforms according to class. The bodies are shrouded in white, gold or red and covered with spices and powders. Using an eternal flame the fire is transferred using dried grass to the logs underneath the body.

There was something about the city that gave me a bit of the creeps. It’s hard to say whether it was the dark dirty alleys or the proximity of death. There’s something about the constant smell of fire that I just didn’t enjoy. It was fascinating to come and watch the activities on the river but it’s not something I’ll ever understand.