Varanasi: Straight to the Face

Saturday, May 31: Everyone has something different to say about Varanasi. They either love it or hate it. My current travel companion is a 35 year-old Hungarian financier turned truck driver named Endre, and he's ready to move on after day one. My first impression of Varanasi is that it is the rawest, most alive city I have ever visited. India throws everything it has right at you in this city - the quintessential sensory assault you expect out of this place. During a short walk along the ghats you are certain to catch a range of sounds, smells and colors you won't find anywhere else, and I can already tell that this will be one of my favorite stops of the trip.

The ghats are sections of stairs and walkways that line the banks of the Ganges, and Hindu people believe that their transgressions can be washed away with the water from this holy river. People do absolutely everything the human body requires on these ghats. Used primarily for washing and bathing purposes, you will find people regularly meditating, sleeping, playing, working, or simply passing the time. In fact as I write this from the riverside terrace of my guest house, I see numerous people bashing dirty clothes on wet rocks, one guy just finished soaping himself up, and a few kids are practicing their flips in the shallows. The ghats are almost empty at the moment due to the intense summer sun, but the mornings and evenings welcome endless activity from locals and visitors alike.

The most ironic contributor to this vibrant, full-of-life atmosphere is the burning ghats. This is where many devout Hindus go to be cremated, and it's located right in the middle of the commotion. Hindu people believe that being cremated here releases them from the cycle of reincarnations, allowing them to attain immortality. Rituals are performed and the deceased are burned on funeral pyres all day every day - it is considered a normal, matter-of-fact occurrence. It may be this close proximity to death that makes the contrast so apparent, serving as a constant reminder to enjoy life, affirm your faith, be with family and friends. Every night at sundown there is an extravagant prayer ceremony on the riverbank, where men in traditional dress recite chants, wave incense and light fires in front of huge crowds. While this genuine spiritual expression is omnipresent in Varanasi, there is just as much of the fake stuff. Old men with long grey beards and Hindu prayer beads around their neck claim to be Gurus, but are really just bums who've fried their brains and forgotten to bathe for the last few decades. Just another contradiction that makes this place so unique.

The hawkers and salesmen here are the most in your face of anywhere I've seen in India. It's not hard to lose your temper when seven small Indian men are chirping into your ear about a massage or a boat ride. In these moments, it is important not to take yourself too seriously. This happens to all foreigners here. Just suck it up and go for it, or repeat the words "no thank you" and keep walking.

Just as chaotic but in a more closed-in setting, Varanasi's old city is a labyrinthine mess of narrow streets and ancient alleyways. It is right behind the main ghats and a great place (or horrible place, depending on your outlook) to wander around and get lost. Civilization has carried on in these streets for time immemorial, and the dusty shops and markets are great for exploring. In one residential alleyway I discovered, some kids even let me hit a few balls in their cricket game. The great thing about the old city is that if you ever get in over your head, someone can always point you in the direction of the ghats.

Though Varanasi may appear dirty, smelly, hot and overcrowded, there's no denying the spiritual energy in this place. As one of the oldest continuously populated cities in the world, its deep-rooted character is revealed in worn down stones of temple walls and monkeys swinging from ledge to tangled power line in old city walkways. More and more often during this trip, I catch myself saying "well, I've never seen that before." Varanasi was no different, and a place that I will not soon forget.

Pictured below are various scenes from the ghats and the old city:

A Long, Strange Journey in Kashmir

Monday, May 26: Every trip to a new place has its memorable bits. Last week in the North Indian state of Jammu & Kashmir was no exception. The following is about one part that sticks out in my mind - a journey to the Himalayan town of Leh from Srinagar, also known as Indian Occupied Kashmir.

It's 3 in the morning and I am waiting outside of the houseboat that has been my home for the past three days. A jeep is on the way to scoop me up for a road trip to Leh, a town 430 kilometers down a mountain road just recently cleared of snow from a particularly strong winter. Dogs are howling in concert with the call to prayer from Kashmir's minarets as my jeep pulls up. I say goodbye to Gulam, my Kashmiri friend and guide who arranged the jeep, toss my backpack to the driver who's on the roof tying down the bags, and hop in. Our driver, Hussain, has awarded me the front seat with hopes of some nice baksheesh from the foreigner.

I am greeted by eight 20-something Indian guys who are also on their way to Leh for the first time. They've heard that there are good jobs in Leh. Unsatisfied with their current situation, they all packed a bag and took a gamble. Three minutes after we get on the road I start to hear some moaning from the back. Then some heaving. One of my new Indian friends has become violently ill, and it is intense. The noises coming out of this guy could only be conjured up in some 1930s quarantine room. I look over at Hussain, who has a slightly grossed-out, slightly amused expression on his face. He says, simply, "vomiting." I figured this would be a long trip, but at that point I had no idea what I was in for.

Two hours later. We're driving through a valley right at dawn when we approach a stand-still line of jeeps, all headed to Leh. After an hour we begin to move again, only to pull into a huge gravel parking lot where Hussain turns the car off. "Waiting." He says. The only other English speaker in the car is a Nepali-Indian named Dabalama. He tells me there's a road block ahead and that we must wait to see what happens. The lot gradually fills up, and hours pass by. All day we hear different stories about a landslide or snowfall, but the only sure thing is we are not leaving that parking lot. During the next thirteen hours of waiting, Hussain takes four naps and I wander around, making conversation with any other foreigners I can pick out. A small civilization forms among the growing mass of cars and trucks - people are building fires, cutting vegetables, selling goods car to car. By nightfall we discover that we will be able to leave at 4 am the next morning. Many people spend the night in their cars; I find a nearby guest house to get a few hours of sleep and give my fellow passengers a little more room.

We make tracks promptly at 4 am. Somehow Hussain has managed to sneak into the front of the line, so we are one of the first groups to get out of there. The initial hour or so was the most uneasy, slipping over a muddy road in the dark with a snow wall on one side and a drop off on the other. Our fearless driver maneuvers the jeep like a champion and we are out of the danger zone with no issues. The moonlit, snow-capped mountains surrounding us create an environment I have never seen before. Our sick Indian is still letting it rip in the back - we begin to wonder if he needs medical attention. 

Drowsy but invigorated, I keep Hussain company while he navigates the pass. It looks like we're on the moon as we climb above the treeline. By mid morning we make it to our halfway point of the journey - the small, dingy mountain town of Kargil. Sick Indian is involuntarily moaning and heaving at this point, so myself and four of his buddies lead him to the Kargil hospital. We can't find anyone to help us, and proceed to run around in circles following the arbitrary directions people give us. Ask an Indian for directions, and he/she will give you an answer regardless of whether they know or not. Finally, someone who appears to work there takes a look at our infirmed friend, prescribes some medicine and gives him a shot. We grab some chai and a samosa before getting back on the road.

Apart from the extreme increase in elevation and continuously stunning scenery, the next seven hours are relatively uneventful. The sick Indian is passed out from whatever was injected into his arm. Dabalama and I swap stories about our hometowns, and Hussain stops periodically so I can take pictures of white washed monasteries tucked into the mountainside. Buddhist prayer flags become increasingly ubiquitous, faded and frayed after years of exposure in this harsh climate. The Border Road Organization (BRO) keeps the mood light with their quirky road signs such as "I like you, but not so fast" and "Be careful, I'm curvaceous."

We make it to Leh that afternoon. I pay Hussain for providing safe transit, shake a few hands, and unceremoniously part ways with the people I'd been cooped up with for the past two days. Though a full twenty four hours later than planned, we arrived at our destination with nothing worse than a slight case of the altitooties. In this part of the world, time does not follow the same rules as it does in the States. You just have to get some tea and wait it out. 

At the moment I am on a bus to Agra, the sight of the Taj Mahal. I only have one week left in India before visiting relatives in Bangladesh. Then it's back to the land of plush couches and premium television. Thanks for reading this, underneath you will find pictures of the Kashmir adventure and a few other things I've seen along the way.



This is the gravel pit that developed its own micro-economy within twelve hours 


Hussain running a clinic on how to take a nap anywhere; Dabalama observing his technique 

The start of a long wait


Sunup through the Zoji La Pass - pictures do no good in communicating its magnificence 


The first of many checkpoints along the way. I think they just like playing with a foreign passport


Kargil - no real desire to visit that place ever again

Getting close to our destination, and their sick friend is finally asleep in the back. Solid travel companions - good luck guys

Gone Like the Swallows of Capistrano

Swaying with the top of my train car in the upper-level bunk bed, I'm finally moving down the tracks on my way to Delhi. Now that my fate is in the hands of the Indian railway system, I'll have a real chance to reflect on the last three months. Have a seat while I tell you about how a bunch of little kids changed my life. 

I intentionally approached this trip with no expectations. The last thing I wanted was a few pre-conceived opinions formed on the other side of the world, so the less I knew what I was getting myself into, the better. The only sure thing was that I would be working with born-HIV positive orphans, and that I have never done anything like this before.

My first visit to Manavya's orphanage was the morning after landing in India. Not entirely sure where I was, what language people were speaking, or how I come in to make a difference, more than a few questions came to mind. These concerns flew out the window when right as we walked up, the kids immediately grabbed both hands and pulled me into the classroom, showing off their drawings and the tunes they were learning on the keyboard. Within minutes they were calling me David dada (big brother David), a name that stuck with me until I left. If nothing else, I thought to myself, at least I will give them as much love and attention as I possibly can. Turns out that they need those things more than they need computer classes, internet, or any other tangible I could provide. These kids spend their entire childhood secluded from society - they could benefit from some interaction with a person from another part of the world. So after such a warm welcome, apprehension turned into excitement and I couldn't wait for another chance to be around them.

In the beginning, I thought it would be a daily emotional challenge being around children with such bleak hopes for the future. However, I quickly realized this would not be the case. First of all, they take ART (Anti-Retroviral Treatment) medicine every day, so they don't look or act differently from other children. I also got the feeling that either there was no time for sadness or they simply don't know to be sad, because each child was nothing but smiles and energy. Most days they would come outside to greet me as I rolled up on my scooter, then pull me inside so I could read to them. Sometimes from their English workbook, but I usually just read the newspaper out loud. More than anything, they wanted to hear some English. And when they weren't studying or taking care of daily chores and responsibilities, they were playing cricket, running around in the garden, or playing boardgames. Constantly moving and stimulating themselves, these kids were an impressively active bunch.

Three months sped by. Everyone stayed healthy and there were no complete disasters, so I will claim a successful experience. I am certain that I will take away more from this whole thing than all of the kids combined. But if one piece of knowledge sunk into one of their small Indian heads while I was there, then this was a huge triumph. I consider myself an optimistic person, but these folks demonstrated the power of a positive attitude. This has helped me realize that any problems I think I have... are not real problems. They wrote the book on how to play the cards that you are dealt, and I am very lucky to know them.

I got more satisfaction out of my first week here than I did a paying job for an entire year. But I will get another paying job, mom and dad. I promise. 

A few scenes from my last days at Manavya and my going away/birthday party:

Mustache pic with two of the best drivers out there

Dramatic shot with the newest addition of the Manavya family

This is Vaishali. She manages a mental disability with a great sense of humor, and she will destroy you with her thousand watt smile

Thak You Manavya. Close enough.

 Per tradition, everybody feeds you cake on your birthday then smears it on your face

Let's get these cake shots over with

Me with the movers and shakers of Manavya - Ujwala, Maya, and Sushma

My coworkers and good friends Vrushali and Ashwini

Whatchu lookin' at?? Go 'head, get on outta heah.


Me and my buddy Harshad at the top of a very rickety structure. Great view though. Glad we made it down from that thing Harshad

Archana and her kids

The lunch crew




Group shot with as many people as I could gather

Silly; wise

Thanks for having a look at this stuff with me. At the moment I am continuing my trip up the Indian subcontinent - I'll be sure to show you a few pictures along the way. Happy Mother's Day.

Caves for Days

One more weekend trip while living in Pune. It was either a three-day beach party in the tourist hippie town of Goa, or exploring some ancient Buddhist caves. Call me an old man, but I chose the caves. Behold Ajanta and Ellora, two separate UNESCO World Heritage sites where a series of caves were meticulously carved out of giant rock walls between 200 BC and 600 AD. Both places are outside of the city of Aurangabad in northern Maharashtra, a quick five hour bus ride from Pune. Ajanta is made up of about thirty different caves with various stages of Buddha's life immortalized on the walls and columns of each one. Though cut from the rock over two thousand years ago, they were not discovered by modern society until a party of British tiger hunters stumbled upon them in the early nineteenth century. At Ellora, the caves are more expansive and have Hindu and Jain influences as well. They are all beautifully intricate and unlike anything I have ever seen before.  My brother, the geologist, would have completely lost it.  I visited during the dry season, so the surroundings were dusty and earthen-colored. During the monsoon, however, these places become jungles of lush greenery and waterfalls. Made me realize that India should be seen at least twice - once during the dry season, and once during the monsoon. 

A beach party would have certainly been a nice time, but I can do that in Florida. I'm not sure I'll ever come across a place like this again. 

One leg of horseshoe-shaped Ajanta caves

This group of old Asian women could not get enough of the porters at Ajanta 

Paintings cover the walls and columns

That is Charles in there. He is from Belgium. I didn't know him when I took this picture, but we became friends later

Each cave at Ajanta features a statue of Buddha in a different pose

Cave guard upstairs at the main cave of Ellora.

I'll never understand how they cut this place out of one huge rock


From the top of Daulatabad fort. We went to see peacocks, but they are an elusive bird. The view must suffice

This was built to look like the Taj Mahal, but apparently doesn't hold a candle to the real thing. Still pretty nice though

Me and Charles sandwiched between our two new Indian friends

Monkeys stealing Cheetos. I see this happen every time a monkey gets near a tourist with snacks

As I finish this up, almost a full two weeks after my cave trip, I am relaxing at home during my last weekend in Pune. On Monday I get to celebrate my 27th birthday with everybody at Manavya, then it's off to Bombay where I embark on a journey to north India and Bangladesh. I will be sure to fill you in along the way. Per usual, I appreciate you coming to take a look. Enjoy your Cinco de Mayo!