From Agra, I took an overnight train to Varanasi, riding in a three-tier sleeper car. There was no air conditioning, and no glass in the windows—just open bars letting in the fierce Indian wind. At each station, boys selling tea would shout, “Chai! Chai! Chai!” Hot cups of chai cost around 10 yen (a few cents), and it was always a delight.
Arriving in Varanasi felt like stepping into a zoo. Cows, monkeys, dogs, goats—animals were everywhere. Cows, considered sacred, lay right in the middle of the road, and nobody dared complain.
In search of a cold lassi, I stumbled upon a shop that turned out to be a hidden gem. Later, I met a local man named Ravi, who spoke Japanese. Through his help, I secured a guesthouse with a perfect view of the Ganges River—for just about 1,000 yen. There, I also met two Japanese women travelers, and we spent hours sharing stories of our journeys.
One afternoon, while wandering through the city, I stepped into a silk shop and was offered chai. I accepted without hesitation. But when I returned to the guesthouse, a younger classmate from university scolded me harshly: “What if they drugged it?” Her serious tone reminded me of how thin the line is in India between kindness and danger.
This country keeps you on your toes.
Next up: Wandering Through India #4 — Death, Fire, and an Angry Ravi on the Ganges
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