balancing extremes, winding down

I take back all of my complaints about my experience as an American tourist over the last few days. Sure, I'm still guilty about the hot showers, but thanks to today, I've come to see the merits of simple sightseeing. We got back to the hotel a few hours ago after spending a full day exploring the streets, alleyways, and ghats of Varanasi, a city whose festive disorder can penetrate the walls of even the most Western air-conditioned tour bus.

But allow me to start from the beginning.

My mom and I share similar thoughts on the homogeneity of the standard tourist experience, so last night, we vowed to do things differently today. For one, we agreed to break free from our tour guide. While I realized this meant I'd miss out on the facts, figures, and history of my surroundings, I know that there are other ways to learn about a place. So, when we met up with our driver this morning, we politely requested that we have the majority of the day to explore Varanasi alone. Surprisingly, they complied, and at around noon, my mom and I were dropped off in the heart of Varanasi's oldest, brightest, and most chaotic quarter. This is the area known as the Old City, and the name is literal. Varanasi is one of the oldest living towns in the world, and has served as a spiritual mecca for Hindus for more than a thousand years. It sits on the banks of the Ganges, with nine miles of ghats (steps) leading down to the murky water. The ghats are a community in and of themselves, with daily prayer, bathing, and cremations.

Yeah. Cremations. The sanctity of Varanasi appeals it to Hindus hoping to attain moksha, or escape from the cycle of reincarnation. They say if you die in Varanasi and are cremated on its steps, you reach moksha. Boom. Seems simple, right? Judging by the thousands of Indians that flock to Varanasi every day, it is.

So, we spent the afternoon walking through the narrow alleyways and along the ghats, taking in the scene before us. As night fell, we hired a boatsman and made our way onto the Ganges, from which the city of Varanasi was spread before us like a glowing, colorful birthday cake that happens to be nine miles long. From the water, we saw the burning ghats, where bodies swaddled in bright cloths were being kindled in wood and set ablaze. It was a heavy experience - the plaintive chanting of those praying on the steps echoed throughout the still night, and the smoke of the cremations seemed to glow in the lights of the city.

I guess my point is, I was wrong to bash the whole tourist experience. There is middle ground in this experience, which I learned today. There are countless options that lie on the gamut between the comforts of home, well, asceticism. My transition between these two extremes in the last week has left me a bit shell-shocked, but thanks to today, I think I'm getting better about it.

And just in time, really. Today was our last full day in India; tomorrow, we'll fly to Delhi, where we'll have a chance to spend a few hours in the city before flying to Paris. I'll post for the last time then, but I reckon this was my last chance to document the day-to-day experiences. Hope I didn't disappoint...