So I know this post comes a few weeks past due, and it isn't actually part two of my mountain expedition, but I am going to leave you in suspense on that for a little longer. I have been in Benares for two weeks now trying to get back into the swing of things. When on Thursday I got really ill. I had a high fever, with massive amounts of diarrhea. I made around 50 or 60 trips to bathroom in a matter of 24 hours. Quite an unpleasant experience, but that was also coupled with vomiting and an inability to keep solids or liquids down my gullet. This was all highly unpleasant and filled with a tremendous amount of vulgarities and laying in bed wondering the real reason I can to this dreadful place (emphasis added by the author...ME!) I am typically a pretty optimistic person, not relying on the negativity to feed my ego, but hot damn did being that sick SUCK! Last night, after not having heard from me in two days, my program director and my hindi instructor, both came and paid me a visit. They brought me some water, juice, crackers, and bread. Everything I needed. They also brought the very human thing of company, which at times I feel should be interchangeable with comfort. My hindi instructor did as he always does and tried teaching me more hindi. While not attempting to help him, I greatly appreciated his efforts. They left last night (Friday) and allowed me to slowly stitch back together my stomach, esophagus, and anus (graphic I know, but I am giving an uncut look into my life, from my perspective, in India). This morning, I ate some more bread, and stretched my bones. After laying in bed with fever for nearly two days, my body ached and needed to be appealed to for some motion. Getting rolling and walking up to my roof (only one flight of stairs) I realised how truly drained I was. After a little nauseousness and tiredness up there I quickly retreated to my bed for a short four hour nap. Upon waking up I had the idea, and the motivation, to go for some soup. I went down to the local cafe, and hung out there, enjoying the salty vegetable noodle soup. It was really nice to keep down food for once.
Regaining some composure, an older gentleman sat down at the table next to me. It is a really fascinating thing how life throws people and ideas at you, just at the time you need them. This gentlemen was from Holland and he had been in India for 30 years. He attained his Ph.D. from Benares Hindu University, and has been writing books ever since. We had a short conversation regarding many things, but two things he said to me have made me look at being in India in a totally new light. Firstly he said, "I get the real reward of learning a language when I realize that I am now able to speak with 500 million more people than before." Doing the quick calculation in my head, I realized that in just the few months of hindi classes, I am able to speak, however rudimentarily, with 1/10th more people on the planet. Thats 10% MORE than before. I had not even thought about learning hindi in that way, Totally new Perspective! Secondly, Frances told me that there are three types of people that come to India; those that come here and love it; those that come here hate it and run away; and then the category I put myself into, those that come here and need to learn live with it. I know I can do it, not because at this moment of weakness I want to, but because I've left myself, intentionally, no other choice. I will keep moving, as I always do. In the direction I see fit.
Take care,
Craig

A night on the mountain... PART I

Last Saturday, My friend Eamon and I went out for a hike. We left our hotel in Mussoorie at 5AM and we were going to try and reach the mountain of Nag Tibba by early afternoon. After a short taxi ride down to the wayside village of Suakholi, we found a trail that had been described to us by a friend. This trail lead north down the back side of smaller mountain. The views on this expedition were simply spellbinding. Being able to see the true Himalayas off in the background resting high above the peaks of lower mountains, was simply amazing (someday soon I will be in the Himalayas, on an expedition to Everest's base camp). After two and a half hours of hiking down, past rice paddies and wheat field, we reached the Tathyur. We stopped and ate an early lunch of Hakka noodles and extra Hakka noodles and of course Chai, at a roadside cafe. After this tasty lunch we started making are way up towards the village of Dewals Sari. 

Not knowing much about where we were headed, we had a plan of making it back to Tathyur for a shared Jeep by three that afternoon. We had previously talked about staying a night up in the hills, but our program advisor said that we needed prior approval of where and how we were staying. Finding it difficult to contact a hotel up in the mountains and make reservations  this was almost impossible where were was going, because they don't have any hotels, almost impossible. My friend Eamon, if we found a place for me to stay, would head back to the hotel and cover for me for the night. 

On our way up this road, we saw many more rice paddies as well as remnants of landslides onto the road. Heavy machinery was clearing away the remnants of the slides flattening the road out. We reached a sort of fork in the road. The road should have continued straight, we tell this because we could see the road on the other side of this large rock field. The road had literally been washed away by water and boulders. Amazing site, but the way people were acting, it was almost as if this were a common occurrence.

Making our way through past the boulder field we continued to hike up, except, now we really were going up! The slope of the incline was growing and we were getting tired. Dewals Sari was supposed to be about 8km up the mountain. Nag Tibba peaked out at 4500 m or so. This would be the highest point I would have ever reached, outside of an airplane. Taking a short cut pointed out to us by some locals, we reached a small village situated on the side of a mountain. To the rear, the south view was stunning, being able to see the road stretch out before us, it was unbelievable how far we'd come in such a short time. To the east there was a large coniferous forest, with row after row of trees at least 100 ft tall leading up the face of another few peaks. To the west and north the mountain face climbed with more fields and eventually broke away to open rock, peaked by beautiful clear blue skies. Nag Tibba was tucked out of site a four hike around and up another valley, or so said the map, it didn't look like we were making Nag Tibba today.

At this point though, I really had to use the restroom. Those noodles from before were starting to catch up with me. We walked around this village for some time, looking for place where I could use the toilet. When we rounded a corner and walked into a small courtyard, I asked an elderly gentleman if there was a toilet I could use. He told me no, but what appeared to be his grandson, a kid my age, came down and showed me to their toilet. After using the facilities, I came out and was offered some tea and place to sit down. I could really use a break, I was a bit rusty, as I had not being hiking since last summer when Abi, Spencer, and I went out west to Yellowstone, the Grand Teton's, as well as the Badlands on an 'Adventure.'  ;-)  Eamon however, knew that he would have to head back shortly, and I wanted to make it up to a temple we had seen a little more up the valley. So I took tea while Eamon went up to the temple, and would meet back up shortly. 

Sitting and chatting with this family (the grandfather, mother, son, daughter, a female cousin, and a man they had hired for the day) ending up being great practice for my hindi. They found out the reason for my trip, and told me that it was a long way up (too long for what remaining sunlight we had). They also said that without a permit, I would be unable to stay in the government owned and run campground, which was located on other side of the river located in the forest.

Kaldeep, the young son, then offered and invitation to spend the night in their comfortable abode, as his guest. Their house, sitting above their grain/rice/etc shop, was beautifully crafted out of local wood and painted green and styled with many colors. Their doors were hand carved and richly decorated with different symbols. Eamon came back a few minutes later and said he was heading back down to catch a taxi back for our hotel.

After about another ten minutes of relaxing, the son, two young women, and worker all got up and said they were off to work. I was not about to stay at this house for free, so I told him I would help work with them, whatever they were doing, I would do. I am not one to take advantage of someone's hospitality, plus I didn't have a gift to share with them for my intrusion, so I figured work would be the best substitute. After much insistence on my part to help, he didn’t want me to help as I was a guest, he let me follow. 

With the recent rain this area received, much of the ground had been eroded away, and some of this ground was connected to the families wall. This was wall was where they tied their livestock for the night (A few cows, some goats, and two water buffalo). There was a foot crack in the ground where the wall was surely to fall further into the valley some date in the near future. 

The work we had set before us consisted of hauling rocks up from a creek bed and placing them in the yard for later concreting. The creek was located about a 4 minute walk down into the valley, and by hand picking out flatter rocks to and carrying them up the hill. The rocks ranging from 15-40 pounds were wet and difficult to grasp. The young women placed the stones on the heads (on top of a towel for padding) well we carried them on our shoulders or in our hands. I was typically carrying two at a time, while everyone else would carry one or two small ones. This was  especially grueling work, after a 15 km hike, that started at 5AM, and I couldn’t happier. 

Using this heavy labor to clear my mind and escape my own thoughts, I worked diligently and tirelessly for two hours. Every time I came up to the house to drop the load of stones I was carrying, the grandfather would call out for my to stop and come up for tea, but I only smiled and waved at him, and the look on his face made it all worth it. He would put his hands together with a knowing smile a make a blessing toward me. I accepted his grace, if not his requests for a halt to my labor, and continued working. 

Finally, completed with carrying rocks up the hill, we took another short break before starting a new task. The next task we had before us was to carry bags of sand up from a river down deeper in the valley. The hike to this river was about twenty minutes. We had to cross the river on a bridge, only to cross back to the far side further down river. After putting the small Indian man on my shoulders and walking across the river without a problem (being 5’2” or so he would have been washed away in waist deep water, knee deep by my standards), we found a pile of dark sand and small stones, to be used as concrete with the recently picked rocks. Filling burlap sacks with this heavy stone, we started working our way up switchbacks back toward the house. 

Initially, before we even made it a hundred yards, I accidently touched this stinging nettles sort of plant, and my hand immediately began to sting and become inflamed. The pain was not that overwhelming, but for my hand it was quite intense. :-) My new friend, Kaldeep, saw me go back and wash my hand in the river. He had a bit of a worried look on his face, as if just because my hand was thrashed I would give up on him and India and leave. 

After reassuring him that this was not the case, I showed him the plant that stung me. He understood, and seeing my hand, which was now beginning to show signs of inflammation, he took me to another plant, which I realized was a large sized Cannabis plant. He then began to take leaves from the plant and rubbed them into the rash that was starting to form. The relief was instantaneous. The stinging went away and the red welts the were forming stopped throbbing and slowly retreated. The hand still had a pins and needles kind of feel, but no where near as intense as before. An amazing local remedy apparently lost to the modern world. Nothing like rubbing a little pot on it to cure it. 

Carrying these bags of sand up the side of a hill was much more difficult then I would have assumed, but not because of the awkward burlap sack filled with 50 lbs of sand thrown over my shoulder. The difficulty lay in the size of the path. My shoe size is a size 12, my assumption that the average show size of a full grown Indian man is between sizes 8-9. This trail was about 6 inches wide and on one side was the gorge, a steep cliff face, while the other was a just as steep grassy slope covered in small bushes threatening to push you off the trail to a quick drop below filled with pain and almost certainly a shattered hip or leg. 

Taking one step at a time, I focused on my path, trying not to think about the precarious fall below me. My legs were finally exhausted from the days labor, and I could tell I was getting fatigued. We reached the farm without so much as a delay, and my friend insisted that I relax while they finished one more trip down to the river for another load of cement. I readily complied, and watched them disappear down the trail head, without even a complaint (or without being covered sweat). 

After catching my breathe, I watched as another elderly man came down another trial behind a line of about half a dozen goats. They kept moving in a placid manner taking their time, but appearing keenly aware of where the shepherd was with his stick, that I assumed is used to keep them moving. The older gentlemen continued about his work, tying each goat up to a peg in the yard, and feeding them some hay. 

Sitting and watching I saw the Billy Goat escape his peg and start making his way down toward the trail. The grandfather, from his perch on the porch, started yelling out to the other man to catch the goat. I, however, was already off my feet stalking the goat, snatching his leash and dragging him begrudgingly back towards his peg. After double checking that his knot would hold, I joined the grandfather up on the porch for some more tea. 

END OF PART I

India Uncensored...

Hey everyone,

I really appreciate you following my stories and my bull. If there is something that you would like me to elaborate on more, drop me a line or a comment and I'll see what I can do. The following is the email I sent out a while ago to keep everyone in the loop while I was in the hospital in Benares, and I thought I could 'store' it here for future use.
I hope this finds you well,
Craig Leon Koller
क्रैग लीआन कोल्लर

Hey everyone,

I just though I would send out an all encompassing email that covers my trip thus far. Let me tell you, it has been quite an adventure. Having arrived in New Delhi two weeks ago today, I was jet-lagged but positive. I was staying in a nice hotel, in a community known as the Defence Colony. Delhi, if I may say so, with out any filtering, is an absolute shit-hole. There are people living in the streets next to cattle, swine, and dogs. The living conditions are quite atrocious. Yet, right next to these people's ramshackle housing is a skyscraper for some multinational corporation, with security guards and Landrovers. The polarity here is very obvious. I walked to a Bahai Temple (very interesting faith, everyone should at least take a gander at their message) and in going there, you see that India's people have no care for their trash or their waste. The streets are littered with trash. They assume that it will be taken care of for them, but I do not know why they assume this, (maybe I should use that as a field research project). You ride in an auto-rickshaw, and you see men lined up on the side of the street pissing. That same auto-rickshaw stops at a light, (kind of rare in Indian traffic), and two young girls, maybe 6 or 7 years of age come up begging for money for food. I had to look away, as I saw the tattoo on their hand. This is no ordinary tattoo, but a brand. a brand used by their "boss" or street pimp to squeeze money from foreign tourists by using their pity. I cannot support a trade like that, even if it hurts my soul.
We stayed in New Delhi for 5 days, waiting for everyone to arrive and get over the jet-lag. We then arrived took an overnight train, quite an experience, to the city where I'd be staying for the next 8-9 months. The mysterious and spiritual "Benares." We arrive, greeted by my hindi Instructor who puts some style of Indian leis. The temperature was only about 94ºF, but the humidity was about the same. If you can imagine walking through water, then you have a general idea. Me, be the human-packhorse that I am, was carrying a few peoples bags, so that we didn't have to drop money on porters (they tend to be hard bargainers, and you never know if you'll get all of your stuff back). We stayed in a hotel for the next few days getting our home-stays organized, and also getting acquainted with our Program house. This program house has one room with AC in it, and we all pretty much just stayed in that room for the week, trying to stay hydrated and not get diarrhea from the food. We took a few tours through the city, seeing some of the infamous ghats and other market places. I've even found weekly cricket and soccer matches that I can play in (THANK GOD!!!) at the local college campus.
I found a "home-stay." It is in a house with an older Brahmin lady from Delhi. She has family that lives in the US and has been housing UW-Madison students for many years. Her mother is 101 years old and is living with us, in the house that she has her entire life, why change now? I live with a few other students from the program. I don't know why, but I've really pulled myself back from the Islamic studies aspect. Something about it didn't seem right once I arrived, I couldn't tell you what, but it was something spiritual, I feel. I have been recently pulled in many different directions regarding my field studies, and I don't know what to follow. I will just live here for a while, before I make any serious decisions.
On Tuesday night, this last week, I went to an Indian dance show. Quite an amazing experience. I had been feeling good up to this point and I was ready to start my Hindi instruction the next day, as well as a yoga course. After the dancing was done, a few of us sat down for dinner at a nice local restaurant. I needed some food that wasn't so spicy, so I ordered some basic noodles. After about halfway through the meal, my stomach started getting upset, and I had to excuse myself from the table. I went to the bathroom and proceeded to vomit up all that I had just eaten. When that food was up, I started puking up blood. This really scared me at first, but the nausea went away after a few minutes, and I got up and went back to the table. I told my friends what happened, a few said I should go to the doctor, and a few said that it should be okay, as long as I didn't keep throwing up. I did feel much better after sicking up, but I wasn't really up for finishing the meal, so I went home and went to bed. At this point in the trip every single student had been sick in one way shape or form.
The next day I got up and still felt a little queazy, but not too bad, so I went to my yoga instruction and felt much better. I had breakfast at the Program house and went to my class. I started feeling ill again, and after about two hours of class, I went a laid down in one the side rooms of the house. I slept for three hours. After this I got up and went down stairs to get some water. I sat down in the AC'd room and my stomach started feeling sick again. I went to the bathroom and sicked-up all of the porridge, with a lot of blood this time. This really startled me, and I told my professor to call a doctor. They called an auto-rickshaw instead....lmao. Throughout this, I still maintained my jolly spirit, even though I felt terrible (nothing can bring this guy down). I went to a local private hospital (at the the recommendation of my Professor), and had some tests done. They took some blood, only after I made sure they were using new needles, and said that the results would be ready by the evening. They tested me for malaria, they tested my liver for problems, the tested my white blood cells, and they tested me for Dengue Fever. I returned to the hospital later that evening, still feeling quite ill, but with high spirits, it had to be the Norwegian heritage, laughing in the face of danger and death. I had to wait for the doctor to arrive about an hour later... This is INDIA everything runs late! The doctor took a look through my results [which I took a look through earlier at the clerks desk. I saw that I was negative for Malaria and Dengue, but that some of my other numbers were outside of the normal boundaries.... Spending as much time in a doctor's office/hospital as I have you begin to be able to read tests/diagnostics and things]. The doctor then took my temperature (102ºF), for the first time, and told me that my Blood Platelets were low and that we wanted to admit me to the hospital. He told me that I most likely had some strain of Dengue fever and I had some hemorrhaging somewhere. He said I would need to be hospitalized for 3 days to be monitored. This was Wednesday evening.
I spent Thursday and Friday in the hospital reading some books, thanks to some friends from the program who brought them over for me. They were pumping me full of Electrolytes and Anti-Viral antibodies. I could tell that my fever had come down on Thursday, but I still felt relatively tired and week. The Doctor visited me later that night and said I could most likely get out of the hospital by Friday afternoon. This entire time, people from all over the hospital wing were coming in and out, poking their head in or just staring from the behind the curtains. They had to come and look at the foreigner in the Indian hospital. The hospital was quite clean, my India's standards, and the staff were as helpful as could be. (The first night for dinner they brought me Lays potato chips and orange cream cookies, only in India). All in all, I had quite a little adventure, and I got to checkout of the hospital Friday night without any major obstacles. The entire bill totaled about 12,000 rupees, which in USD is only about $300. If I were in a US hospital it would have most likely cost $12,000!!!! I told this to some of the patrons and staff in the hospital and they were flabbergasted (If you are interested in the price differentiation, look into the what is known as "Medical-Tourism" in India).
So here I sit in "Open Hand Cafe" run by a lady from South Africa, very sweet. They have western coffee, food, and wifi. This will be my little escape from India, for the next few months. I leave, a week from Monday for an old British Hill Station, known as Masoori. I will be up there for two weeks, and I don't know what kind of contact I'll have but it might be limited. I feel good, I have high spirits and am staying positive. Thank you for all of the well wishing and the love. Please feel free to email me anytime with questions or concerns, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.

Love always,
Craig
P.S. Feel free to pass this on...

Mussoorie, by photo...

Waiting for the van that didn't come...

The view from our patio

Going for a walk

Always looking for adventure

The bottomless pit of garbage and fecal matter, actually a clean view in most Indian standards.

More walking...

Some Manual Labor... About Time!!!!

For those of you who say I have no soul... I beg to differ... so does this picture!

Sunset in Landour-Mussoorie

Even Jesus is in India, and his view is amazing! :-)

I could definitely live here...

The hills and the rain!

The Next Chapter: Mussoorie

The 24-hour train ride progressed smoothly, with only minor delays here or there, but for India not so bad. We arrived in the city of Dehradun on Tuesday morning on schedule, but when we arrived it was discovered that the bus/van we had expected to pick us up was not to be found. Our program director went and found us a trio of taxis to haul us up the one and a half hour ride to Mussoorie. 

The pleasure of arriving in a city where the temperature was cool and damp cannot be over exaggerated here. Having spent three weeks on what one of my program mates termed as the “Hot Dusty Plains” of India, it was simply one of the most refreshing moments I have had in a long time. This city we came into appeared to be in a different India. With the large hills, or what we would call mountains in the US, surrounding us on the East and West, it was hard to imagine another I had seen in this country that was quite as beautiful. 

On the taxi ride up, I not only had to listen to one of my classmates calling out, “OH MY GOD, THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL,” over and over the entire car ride to no avail, but we had to pull the taxi over so that my Hindi professor could throw up out over his shoulder out the passenger side window (on the left in India). The sounds this 60 some odd year old heavyset Indian man made, should never be replicated... Ever! After the queasiness of the car ride, and the thoughts of strangling my classmate, I found myself in the city of Mussoorie. 

Quaintly located on the side of an hill range at the foot of the Himalayas, this city is by far the cleanliest place in India I’ve yet to encounter. Staying at the hotel Shiva Continental with a fantastic view of the valley, I have been able to travel the local bazaars and practice my Hindi with the local shopkeepers. In Mussoorie, as compared to Benares, the silence is almost deafening.  Shopkeepers are not yelling out to you hawking their wares. 

.... After a few more days in Mussoorie, I still enjoy it ever so much, but I have once again come down with Diarrhea and stomach cramps. Ugh... It is like India takes you one step closer to falling in love with her, and then she takes a huge shit on you.... I couldn’t come up with another way to state that, but it comes close to the truth. Hopefully I will soon start to get used to the food here and stop getting sick, because it really is not fun.

After feeling a little bit better this morning, Saturday the 18th, I finally decided to get my haircut. The young man that cut my hair must have been about 20. He did a fantastic job on the cut as well as the shave, and all of this was all under $2.50 USD. However, when I go to a western styled cafe later, called Cafe Coffee Day, I find that the seat I have chosen, above it, there is a leak in sealing... Kind of amusing. 

On Thursday my friends and I went for a walk. We got to see a lot of amazing things. On this walk we saw, for the first time, the magnitude of the area we are in (pictures to come soon!!! I promise). Absolutely amazing! We went to a look out and, even with moderate cloud cover, were able to see other hill tops that are at least 100 km away. I also saw some street puppies who were living underneath some plastic and wood, mother pooch no where in sight. A little bit up the road I helped this gentlemen cut some firewood. The first real physical labor I have been able to do here, and I hope I can find some more to do as well. I miss cutting wood, or building stuff, (like bookshelves that roommates don’t want) or shoveling my sidewalk. I will have to make a trip this year if I actually want to see snow... :’( 

The allure of physical labor in a nation that won’t let me change my own bed is quite overwhelming. In fact, I hate the idea of riding in a cycle rickshaw, but how else would that man make money? I hate having some other person do my laundry, but how else would she support her family with a disabled husband? These are things that I have only begun to cope with, and it will be an uphill struggle. 

Well, it has been raining for 24 hours now. Kind of dreary, and makes me want to curl up with a good book, so I think I will. Take care! Pictures to come later today.

~Craig L. Koller

A festival, new friends, and some mischief!

        Well, it has been a very fruitful few days. I feel as if I have finally come to enjoy India. This last weekend I met a pair of travelers from Germany. Their names are Simone and Sebastian, and they have been traveling their entire holiday (3-4 months long!!!). Well, we shopped along Deshdwamedha Ghat in Benares. We had plans to meet up with my friends a little later to watch a ceremony along the Ghat near my home, Assi Ghat. Having failed to connect with my friends, we decided to continue on to the ceremony with them. This ceremony is performed every night along a few of the ghats in the city. Everyone lines up as the young priest repeats a prayer, if I'm not mistaken, which thanks the Ganga for life or some such holy reason. Everyone was then handed flower pedals to put into the river and push them into its current. Following this ceremony, there was a little snack (like one piece of grain) provided for each person involved with the ceremony. However, being the type who does not want to further aggravate one’s stomach, I decided to pass on the communal offering. 

       After having partaken in my first Hindu ceremony, my new found friends and I went to a local restaurant that has phenomenal hindustani food. We sat and ate this dinner where the cost, in USD, was about $10, FOR ALL 3 OF US!!! After dinner we decided to have a few drinks... We went to this hole in the wall “British Wine Shop” and procured a few Indian Kingfisher beers about twice the size of us beers, and twice as potent. Having headed back to my place, sat back and chilled in my common room, we chatted for a few hours. When my friend/housemate Will, decided to join us we discovered that we had been locked IN our house... The not only locked the front door, with a padlock, from the inside, but they locked the main gate with a huge padlock. My new made friends found themselves as prisoners in my new humble abode. In this Indian style home their is a courtyard surrounded by the house. If you can try to imagine a square house with a hole in the middle for a small open garden area. After a few looks of concern between my guests, I broke it to them that we had a chance to be a bit rebellious. Typically throughout the house the windows are barred so that no one/nothing can get in. Feeling a bit oppressed with this, I had already found a way around this little hiccough. Being the resourceful young fellow that I am,   I paid close attention to my rooms windows when I picked it. The bathroom window’s gate ended up being broken and it was able to swing open. Opening along the side of the house my friends and I, feeling as if we were young teenagers escaping our parents’ tyrannical curfew limits, we booked out the window, climbed the wall and the landed safely in the Indian street at 1:30AM Monday morning. 

Early in the day I had heard of another festival/ceremony taking place in the city. This religious ritual involves the fertility rights of Hindu couples. When an Indian couple is having difficulties getting pregnant, they come to Benares and perform this ritual. The couple, coming to this certain well in Benares, about a quarter mile from the river, walk down the stairs into this 100 ft. deep well. They come down to the water and dunk themselves a few times, washing away their old life. They leave their old clothes and any belongings with which they were wearing behind, next to the well. 

This cleansing symbolizes the beginning of the new life they have just been birthed from. These couples not only sacrifice their material belongings, but their symbolical ones as well. Having started a new life, they discard their old wedding vows, thus having to be remarried at a later date. This must not be an easy decision to come to. One of my professors later told me that these couples are pressured by their family, especially by the woman’s mother, to bear children, and that they may have to caste off their old lives and perform this ritual. 

At the same time that this festival occurs, many women who have previously performed this ritual (successfully) return with the child they had born, and they bathe that child in the Ganges as well as back in the well, but only after shaving the young ones head completely bald. 

You may find yourself asking the question, Well Craig, why in the hell is this all so important to the story you were telling me? The answer to that lies in what we found in the streets when were were wandering them at 2 in the morning, the night before I leave for two weeks. We began to see that the streets were not dead as we had once expected, but after passing a police check point, that had never been there before, we began to see hundreds and hundreds of people lined along the street. Well, we decided to take a closer look, so we walked to the ghat, named Tulsi Ghat, where the woman bathe their new born child in the Ganges. This normally peaceful ghat, which has an occasional worshipper and a passing goat or two, was completely filled with people. We continued to wonder down the small alleyway, toward the Well we had seen earlier. A normally 3 minute walk took us about 10 minutes, as the alleyway was jam packed with people sleeping along it, awaiting their turn to bathe. When we finally reached the temple, we saw a few thousand people lined up ready to enter the well. Remember, it is 2AM on a Monday morning. We entered the temple to get a better view of what was going on, being sure not to do anything disrespectful, we got a front row view of the beginning of this wonderful ceremony. No more than 2 minutes after we got a view of the well, from within this Hindu temple, we heard bells ringing on the other side of the well. They opened the gates and people began to pour down the steps and dunk themselves into the water, performing all the above mentioned requirements. This was a simply mesmerizing experience. We were the only white (‘western’ what have you) people that I saw the entire night, so I felt extremely privileged to have a front row seat to this important festival.

After watching this for a while, we decided to was time to take our leave, and we headed to Simone and Sebastian’s hostel room. We went up on their roof and chatted about what had happened or about anything else that struck up in our minds. I sat on this tall building in Benares at 3AM, for the first time mesmerized, not disgusted. Intrigued not perturbed. Excited and ready to seek out new adventure in this wonderful city. 

Heading back to our apartment, after saying the goodbyes to my new friends and getting back into our house through those unconventional means, I began to pack for my trip to Mussoorie. The train left in less than 3 hours and I hadn’t even begun to pack yet. Moving at half speed, I got my stuff packed in an hour, and caught about an hour of shuteye before I forced myself up and went down to the hotel to meet for the taxi that would take me to the train station. Having had my first good adventure in Benares, let alone in India, I left on a 24 hour train ride for a new adventure: The foothills of the Himalayas. But that story is for another day.