Varanasi, India

Varanasi Street Scene

Everyone takes advantage of the tourists: entrance fees are doubled for tourists, cabs, tuk tuks, and rickshaw drivers charge whatever they feel I'm a sucker to pay, a slow wifi connection at a hotel can cost me $17 per night, beggars and little children on government dole to lazy to go to school or find work pull on my emotional strings, obsequious washroom, shoe rack, and hotel attendants line up to take their share, take a picture and I plop down another $5. No toilet paper in the restrooms. “Delhi belly?” Use your finger. That’s the Indian way, they say. On the streets total chaos: vehicles of every description, people, beggars, bodies (sleeping?), filth, mud, trash, manure, monkeys, and cows — people urinating — honk, honk, we’re coming through. This is crazy. No, it’s dangerous. Which side of the road are we driving on anyway? Somehow it’s worth it. I would come back. The Taj Mahal and the majestic forts, palaces, mausoleums, temples, and mosques of the “golden triangle” leave me in awe. Exotic curries, tandoori, rices, naan, and puri delight my palate. The mass and diversity of humanity bewitch me — Muslim women in black “niqabs” mingle easily with the Hindu crowds: women in colorful saris and religious markings, Sikhs in turbans, and ascetics in their golden robes. The mysteries of a 3800 year old religion impervious to imposing its beliefs on others — maybe a role model for the rest of the world?