With the exception of Delhi, which is “the Rome” of Northern India where all roads or in this case rail lines lead, Varanasi is the Indian city that I’ve been back to most often. Ironic since it took me until my third trip to India to finally visit this most sacred Hindu city. For anyone who enjoys photography Varanasi is a spectacular canvas of decaying palaces, colorfully clad pilgrims, ancient rituals, and early morning light dancing across the waters of the Ganges. I never grow tired of a sunrise stroll along the ghats at Varanasi. Because it’s the pilgrims, the story of life, death, and the search for the divine that is the true attraction of Varanasi it is different every time, changing like a living being with time and season. In contrast to a place where stagnate set of bricks or stone no matter how exquisitely arranged is the attraction, such places I’m happy to see but these sights don’t draw me back in the same way the living city of Varanasi does. Before heading north to Nepal, I was drawn back yet again, and we stopped for a day in this city of life famous for death, long enough for any early morning boat ride on the Ganga and a stroll along its ghats.
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