Gangesian Tidings

Lonely Planet describes Varanasi: "The city of Shiva on the bank of the sacred Ganges is one of the holiest places in India. Hindu pilgrims come to bathe in the waters of the Ganges, a ritual which washes away all sins. The city, also known as Benares, is an auspicious place to die, since expiring here ensures release from the cycle of rebirths and an instant passport to heaven. It's a magical city where the most intimate rituals of life and death take place in public on the city's famous ghats (steps which lead down to the river) ... It has been a centre of learning and civilization for over 2,000 years, and claims to be one of the oldest living cities in the world."

Mark Twain describing Varanasi: "Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them together."

Kevin describing Varanasi: "Cool ... as in cool-moe-diddly-dee kinda cool." A skilled wordsmith I am not. Superlatives and unabashed hyperbole are certainly worthy descriptors but elude my tongue and pen. This is a wonderful, albeit unusual, place to spend Christmas. I'm uncertain how to explain how I spent my Christmas because it doesn't seem real to me. My room overlooks the Ganges and the guesthouse has a rooftop terrace that surveys life on the ghats: colorful women washing clothes, ceremonial cleansings, simple bathing, children playing cricket, Sadhu holy men smoking pot, and the fires of the funeral pyres glowing in the distance. During meals they give you a bamboo stick to chase away the ever-present thieving monkeys. The little simian marauders get insanely vicious while scrapping for some melon but didn't seem to favor my chocolate banana pancakes.

The trip down from Nepal was a brutal draconian torture. A miserable bus ride consisting of three changes and lasting 26 consecutive hours. The final leg was on a crowded local rickety beast with wooden seats, missing windows, and taken at night in forty degree weather. Some of my toes went completely numb and turned white. Upon arrival, I bought a glass of tea from a street vendor and held it between my feet like my dexterous monkey friends. This advanced technique for the treatment of hypothermic digits will undoubtably soon be published in the better medical journals.

The alleyways near the river mirror the Greek myth involving the minotaur and the labyrinth. Navigating the narrow corridors is a fun challenge (at least Theseus had a little help from Ariadne). While not faced with a minotaur, there are plenty of cows, water buffalo, and goats to contend with. Wandering about it seems as though you stumbled back in time a thousand years.
Incredibly fun.

Gerry brought me the perfect presents: a Santa cap and Johnny Mathis Christmas tapes! Last night (Christmas Eve) we wore the hats and found a neat little restaurant that played the tapes. The few, odd westerners flocked in like children to the Piper. One girl, an American Peace Corps volunteer working in Bangladesh, came up with tears in her eyes. She said that she didn't realize how much she missed home until she heard Johnny Mathis (echoing my thoughts exactly). I re-labeled a water bottle as LETTERS TO SANTA - NORTH POLE. At the end of the night we'd collected eleven letters, most written on napkins. The bottle was then heaved into the river for its voyage to the arctic hinterlands (my conscience paled at the polluting transgression until I remembered the other cargo carried by the current - charred corpses).

I finally absolved three decades of sin this morning by splashing around in the pristine waters of the Ganges (note: "At the Tulsi Ghat the fecal coliform count was measured at a staggering 250,000 times the World Health Organization safe permitted maximum" - I swam upstream). I was quickly joined in the water by dozens of children garbed in either funky sarongs or their birthday suits. I wore my lucky cut-off purple Viking pajamas. Good karma for the playoffs.

Varanasi could captivate one's attention for a long time. The university offers open courses on the Hindi-Urdu language, world religion, and philosophy. There are innumerable hospitals and schools craving assistance from volunteers. I'd like to teach art classes to children and coach athletics. I leave tomorrow morning on the fabled Indian railway system for the city of Khajurah but intend to pass this way again. I have many moons under which to absorb India.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas, Kevin