Varanasi

Varanasi is an ancient city on a river. The Ganga - Ganges, as we call it - the River of Life to many in India. Varanasi is built on the western shore of one of the only places where the river flows north, allowing pilgrims to enter the water facing the rising sun. It's said to be a sacred city completely focused on the river. Giant stairs - ghats - lead down to the water's edge and everyday hundreds of people wash, bath, pray or have their ashes sprinkled into the water.

I went out of curiosity - famous last words. I had heard stories, read the bit in the guide book that spelled out how filthy the Ganga actually is, but still I wanted to see it. The best way is to hire a boatman to row you out upon the water. My host mother told me what the hourly rate should be, so I went down to the river and - after the appropriate amount of bargaining - we set off.

I'm enjoying it. It's not Venice, but it's nice. People are swimming, bathing, washing clothes. Boys are playing catch on the ghats and water buffaloes are being lead down to drink. But then - I see something floating in the water up ahead. Must be a cow, I think - it is black and white. Upon closer inspection, however, I am sickened to find that black and white does not necessarily signify bovine.

Now, I'm not a squeamish person. Blood and guts really don't bother me that much. I have issues with large arachnids and things to do with eyeballs, but apart from that, I'm pretty straightforward. I'm one of those people that when getting an injection prefers to watch the needle go into my arm so I can adequately prepare myself for what's coming. But. When that slimy, nasty, long-dead body hit the side of the boat, the only thought running through my mind was Lord, Jesus, please don't let me throw up. Please don't let me throw up.

And, then, there was very little I wanted to do apart from getting off that boat, getting away from that river, and getting the heck out of town.