Varanasi

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Varanasi was a very exciting place to be. The entire city is built along the banks of the Ganges river, which by Hindus is regarded as a river of salvation and healing. Hindu pilgrims come here from all over India to bathe in the water. It is believed that dying here releases you from the cycle of reincarnation. There was activity at all hours surrounding the river. At night we could hear groups chanting at the water's edge, and during the day people bathed and made offerings.

The river banks of the Ganges is full of temples and ghats. Ghats are the steps that lead down to the water, but to Hindus they represent the place where they can gain access to the holy river. The stone steps seemed to emerge from under the water and lead to buildings that looked aged and auspicious.

Our first morning there, we took a boat ride at sunrise along the river. The experience was amazing. It was peaceful to watch the sun brighten the buildings as well as be a spectator to the rituals going on along the ghats. Some devotees would simply pray sitting on a step; some would descend the steps and sort of bob in the water; some would swim; some came to dip their body and receive healing. We saw many puja offerings (a religious offering made with an oil candle, flowers and a floating vessel), drifting along the river; they were beautiful.

The holy Ganges river, like everything else in India, is a complete paradox. We cannot talk about the river's beauty without also mentioning that scientists have declared the water septic. Along the city's 7km stretch of river, there are 30 sewers that feed into it. According to our Lonely Planet travel book, "no dissolved oxygen exists in the water. Samples from the river show the water has 1.5 million faecal coliform bacteria per 100 mL of water. In water that is safe for bathing this figure should be less than 500!" Let's just say, fish was not on our menu during our visit to Varanasi.

At Least It Only Cost Me $2

Hannah and I returned from a two-week trip in the north of India about a week ago. Since we've been back, I've been sick and completely out of commission. At first I thought that it was minor fatigue given our many sleepless nights on trains and buses on our travels. It didn't seem to improve and our downstairs neighbor volunteered to take me to see a doctor. I was horrified. Not only am I absolutely afraid of going to doctors in the States, I couldn't imagine how the experience could unfold in India.

Suhas, our neighbor, phoned ahead and made sure that we would be seen right away. We shared a rickshaw and arrived to the doctor's office to find a full waiting room. Actually, the waiting room was more like a covered entrance to the building, with benches against the two walls. To pass the time, Suhas and I chatted about our trip up north (we'll save that for another entry). After about eight patients, I was allowed inside.

The doctor's office was no larger than my bedroom and I had never seen so many stacked papers in all my life. The decor was simple: dark woods, a desk here, a stool there, an examination table, and a haphazardly hung curtain. I sat on the stool and shared with the kind doctor my symptoms. After spelling out some ailments I'm sure he's heard a few times before, he asked me to go to the back of the room and lay on the examination table. I couldn't help but notice that as soon as I laid down, the doctor leaned his chair back, put his hands behind his head and started a conversation with my accompaniment, Suhas. Albeit, he is Suhas' family physician, but cut the chit chat man, let us not forget the task at hand. "How's life," the doctor questions Suhas.

After a few minutes of discussing things, the doctor decided it was time to regain his duties and slowly scuffled over to me. He lifted my shirt, pressed a few places on my belly, slapped his stethoscope around, and looked at my tongue. "You're dehydrated," he said. "That's it?" I thought, I've only been in here 30 seconds. I sat up, slipped my shoes back on and sat back on the stool at his desk. He told me I had an intestinal infection and scribbled some notes on a piece of paper. Sometimes his pen didn't even make it to the note pad, but he kept it writing. Before leaving, I paid the doctor 100 Rupees for the consultation. At least my visit only cost me a little over $2.

Later in the rickshaw back home, Suhas told me about a time when a doctor prescribed two pills for him to take for an ear infection. He was told to take one pill in the morning and the other in the evening. Suhas went to the Chemist (the Pharmacists in India are called Chemists) to pick up the prescription. He curiously read the ingredients of each medicine and it turned out they were the same exact pill, just two different brands! Its good to know even the locals get half-assed diagnoses.

Panjim

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Panjim is the capital city of Goa, the only state in India colonized by the Portuguese. For the most part, the city has maintained its European feel through the architecture, narrow streets, and brightly painted buildings.

One of the highlights was an eclectic, hillside temple. We walked through the empty complex, but our camera's battery ran out so we couldn't capture all of the temple's chaotic architecture, and features.

Goa

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For the first week of Hannah's mid-term break, we traveled down to the beach state of Goa. It's beautiful: warm water, whitish sand, and palm tree-lined beaches. We had a really relaxing time.

It wasn't all perfect, it is still India after all: stray dogs and cows on the beach, persistent hawkers, and the occasional foul odors. Even still, we plan on making Goa a regular get away spot, as many other Indians and Germans do.