Varanasti Part II

We had to meet for our sunrise boat ride at 5:30 am. For some reason, I am easily impressed by anything I see at that time in the morning. If it's early morning and I'm up to take something in, my brain assumes it's going to be spectacular. So take that to mean I thought the sunrise boat ride on the Ganges was a thing of beauty. We sailed past bathing ghats and Brahmins doing prayer ceremonies and paused at the endlessly fascinating burning ghats.

Hindus burn their dead. Ideally they burn them here in Varanasi, the holiest city in India, where cremations take place around the clock. Shiva the destroyer is the official God of Varanasi and his offering is ash. Human ash. They build large pyres of acacia wood to lay the bodies on and start the fire from "the source." The source is a fire that is owned by its keeper and is kept going even through monsoon season. Funeral pyres must be lit by this and not by matches or lighters. Women are not allowed on the burning ghats because we are too emotional and death is a rational thing. I guess the only way a woman gets to see her husband's pyre is if her villagers force her on top of it.

Still, the sunrise was dramatic and Varanasi looked beautiful, and almost hygienic, in its light. That surprised me. From the land it doesn't seem particularly charming, but maybe that's coloured by our experiences so far. Well, that and the overwhelming garbage and dust. Holy hell, the air pollution here is horrendous. Forget Soylent Green, Varanasi air IS people!

We checked out Deer Park in Sarnath where the Buddha gave his first lesson after enlightenment and we got an abridged history of Buddhism. I enjoyed that even though I'm still suffering nausea and dehydration (no doubt from lack of being served liquids yesterday.) Tomorrow we're in Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened and I am really looking forward to that.

Then we returned to the hotel with half our group sick from heat, nausea, etc. I walked into my room to discover it smelled like someone had taken a huge dump in it. My bed was made, new towels were in my bathroom and, oh my, on top of my backpack someone had left a disgusting blackened wet cleaning rag, a damp hand towel and a live cockroach. There it was topping this filthy reeking arrangement like a multi-legged maraschino cherry on a sundae. I didn't even check to see if it was Aloysius; I marched that mess out to the reception desk tout suite. BL's eyes widened as I passed her with my nasty bundle.

"This was on my suitcase!" I presented to the men at reception.
"Oh, oh, where did you find this?"
"In my room. On my suitcase."
"So sorry, Madame. He must have forgotten it."

Of course, I forget my cockroach on other people's belongings all the time.