Varanasi to Delhi

Friday, November 21 Those of us who couldn't get enough of watching burning ghats decided to get up early in the morning to once more ride upon the Ganges in the small wooden boats as the sun began to rise. The scene in the morning lit by the arrival of dawn had a totally different feel than the night before. There were the bathers who seemed to be doing their puja as well as simply having an early morning swim. As we passed one platform there were men, cross legged, laughing with full throated cheer. We were told that laughing is considered to be another form of purifying one's soul and thus while it appeared as though they were having a good laugh, they were actually performing a deeply religious act. (Who knew). We rode in the opposite direction from our last evening's experience and floated past some of the sinking ghats. These have been sinking since the time that Daddy came to this same area, in fact they've been sinking since soon after they were built. It had a certain Venetian quality of sad disarray. Having passed the crematorium ghat, we disembarked and walked slowly through the waking Varanasi warren of back streets. Had we lost our guide, we would have been thoroughly lost since these narrow lanes, too small for anything other than cows and pedestrians twisted and turned as they paralleled the river below. We were snapping away at the sight of cattle; of huge heaping piles of sandalwood which is used on the pyres; young girls, spanking clean, coming out of seedy looking homes all dressed in uniform and ready for a day of learning; tourists like ourselves who had gotten up for this early morning ritual; and all manner of people collecting milk in small tin containers, having their early morning cups of tea while staring at the Americans; and just people doing the things people do when they are trying to get their mind and body engaged for the day ahead. Once back to our bus we went back to the hotel for some breakfast and to pack our bags before heading to the airport and our return flight to Delhi. At the airport there were the usual rounds of good-byes and promises to write and keep in contact. Emails were exchanged and suddenly we were no longer a group of twenty-four but rather a series of individuals and couples each anxious to get themselves to connecting flights or back to the Radisson Hotel, located near the airport, where they would await later flights that evening. Only a few of us will remain after the evening as everyone heads home to Thanksgiving and the lives we left behind. It was a great group, a cohesive group and who knows, we might just keep in contact after the flurry of picture exchanges and emails to which we are all committed. This was my second group tour and it proved as successful as the last. Pat and I will now continue to enjoy Delhi for a few more days as I continue to seek out the sites of Daddy's 1928 visit which were not part of our tour.