(…Continued) 

Fifteen long hours after leaving Delhi, between the dust clouds and Tata trucks she finally appeared… the oldest active city in the world, Varanasi. I sat up in the back, blinking my heavy, thirsty eyes at the sight of the holy city. There were cows everywhere. Painted and decorated Tata goods carriers lined the street as we maneuvered through swarms of incessantly honking motorcycles and auto rickshaws. 

Driving to Varanasi from Delhi

Varanasi, the holy city

We headed straight to the Ganges to seek out a hotel so we could finally sleep in peace. We catch a glimpse of magnificent ghats and the sparkling waters just as we realize we’re on the on-ramp to the bridge that leads to the funky town across the water. Traffic is thick and there is no turning back as we crawl along, slowly, sadly leaving Varanasi in the dust. We’re out-of-our-minds-tired at this point and so, as we reach the other side of the bridge, we decide to stop at the first food stand we can find along the rough and tumble road in this rough and tumble truck-stop town.

The choices are bleak. We stumble into the sketchiest looking restaurant I think I have ever seen and my stomach quivers in fear.

After we eat some brown chickpea mush, our energy plummets and out of sheer desperation, we end up booking an overpriced room at a monotonous, bare bones hotel… far from Varanasi. We sleep.

How anti climactic!