23 ~ Leaving the bubble

January 4

By 8 a.m. the next day, I was already walking along the Ghats with my mate in hand, exploring the city the way I wanted: alone, opening my eyes and soul, connecting.

All my senses were eager to absorb knowledge, energies, and things I did not yet fully understand but deeply needed.

I had wrapped a scarf around my head like the locals to blend in a bit and experience the city from a more authentic perspective. Between that and my facial features, it seemed to work, as several people began speaking to me in hindi, which made me feel proud. Of course, I had to reply in English, but the magic had already happened.

My friend Ilo had a fever. She had been vomiting all night from the Palak Paneer and Malai Kofta we had eaten the night before at a local restaurant. Her cousin was even worse than she was. I was still standing strong, but little did I know, my turn was coming.

The guesthouse where we were staying was half a block from Assi Ghat and, therefore, from the river. The iconic Ghats along the Sacred Ganges River make Varanasi a unique place and give it the magic to be one of the most important sites in India. Everything happens there.

Those endless steps connect the city streets with the promenade along the Ganges. Each descent is lined with towering temples—some of the oldest in the world—that rise into the air, as if trying to touch the sky. In the opposite direction, the stairs reach the river, where pilgrims perform their spiritual baths, hang their white robes on the railings, and immerse themselves in the water seeking purification from Mother Ganga. Devotees come from all over India to perform their rituals, bathe in the sacred waters, paint their foreheads with the three horizontal lines in honor of Shiva, and participate in the famous Aartis on the riverbank.

All of this takes place at the Ghats. Every day, every minute, from dawn until nightfall. In natural light and by the glow of bonfires of all sizes. Monks, yogis, devotees, and entire families come to perform the cremation ceremonies for their deceased loved ones. Hindus and also Buddhists, within the thousands of temples—both enclosed and open-air—scattered along the banks of the Sacred Mother Ganga. Yes, Mother Ganga—that is the significance of this place.

Everything converges here, in every corner of the city. So you can imagine that the spiritual vibration of Varanasi is overwhelming, something difficult to put into words. There is an unparalleled mysticism in the air, and it can be felt. Not even the pollution of the Ganges—truly severe at this point—prevents it from remaining the most sacred place in all of India, nor does it stop believers from submerging themselves three times under the water to achieve complete divine purification.

I went down about thirty steps to where the cement ended, and the "little beach" began.

The air and the river were tinged with an orange twilight that reflected on the water, refracting rays in all directions as the sun rose like a giant ping-pong ball. I had never seen fireballs as large as the sun manifestations in India.

The sand stretched widely to the shore, which was crowded with small fishing boats of all colors and, consequently, seagulls hovering above. It could easily be mistaken for a beach, but it was not.

Everyone was performing their morning rituals: sweeping the dust off the sidewalk with their miniature brooms, setting up street stalls and preparing Chai, meditating, or simply sitting to contemplate the marvel unfolding before them. As simple and grand as that. So, I did the same—I sat down to observe.

The energy was one of the calmest and purest I had ever felt in my life.

Everything was bathed in sandy and soft pink hues, with a magic so unique that it is hard to describe. A kind of mystical glow filled the air, turning all that beauty into a pastel shade of what it actually was. Hours later, I would learn that it wasn’t just a "mystical glow"—it was also high levels of smog exceeding the limits for sustaining life—but "mystical glow" still sounded more romantic and enchanting.

If you have to die somewhere, what better place than here? A direct gateway to heaven, as the Hindus would say.

Varanasi is the oldest city in India and, although not widely known, one of the oldest in the world. Yes, even older than the pyramids of Egypt—though, fortunately, not as famous as those.

The temples lining the river are of indescribable beauty.

There is a romanticism so particular that I haven’t even seen it in the streets of Rome. Pink towers with circular balconies from time immemorial and intricately carved columns stretch along a riverbank that seems to never end. The Saris of the women—those beautiful, colorful tunics—drying in the wind from the balconies, the colonial touches everywhere, and the Indian music pouring from the loudspeakers into every corner make you feel as though you are truly inside a movie set in 600 B.C.

The cradle of Indian classical music, the city of sages, intellectuals, and scholars who began to teach Sanskrit and letters. One of the most important cultural, religious, and philosophical centers in India and the energetic origin of many things—the mathematical numeral system as we know it today and even the concept of zero.

The void and the infinite. It is no coincidence, nor a mere detail, nor any less symbolic than everything I mentioned before.

Call me a fanatic and forgive me if I bore you with so many facts, but I believe this place should be declared one of the wonders of the world.

Perhaps it would be if it weren't for the little issue of smog.

Still, how fortunate that it isn't. Varanasi still retains the simplicity of a local, authentic, and ancient place. In my view, it is one of the most genuine parts of India, attracting simple people who truly need to be there and marvel at it all.

Those with good karma, as the Indians would say, and many who are in the process of awakening.

Almost unintentionally, there I was.

I had arrived almost by accident... "accident." At this point in life, I only believe in causality, so I could only consider myself lucky.

It was the forbidden city, the one I had specifically crossed off the list.

The dangerous city, the city of burning fires, of Shiva energy, of death and transformation, of social harshness and poverty.

It gave me peace almost instantly.

A different kind of peace—one I hadn't found since arriving in India weeks before. A peace that neither the pure air of the Himalayas nor the green waters of the Ganges where it is still clean had given me.

The city of legends. A controversial place that does not go unnoticed, which made me begin to understand what life in India is and how it is lived.

The place that, without knowing it, made me start to fall in love with India.

Waking up early and walking along the Ghats with the morning sun had become my new meditation. I would descend to Assi Ghat at 5am when it was still dark. I witnessed the Aarti ceremony and watched young monks with their snake-shaped fire torches illuminate the sunrise amidst chants, mantras, and blessings. I did Yoga and Pranayama seated with the locals and meditated with two Indian gentlemen on a giant rock that they first swept clean and then respectfully carpeted to begin their rituals.

It was difficult for me to close my eyes to meditate when there was so much beauty in front of me.

Every morning, thousands of seagulls hovered over the boats in flocks, making immense circles in the air and drawing blotches in the sky in a way I had never seen before. It was as if they danced to the rhythm of the Indian music coming from the temple speakers.

Everything was perfect at that hour. There was no noise from honking horns, no crowds, nor the chaos of the city. Like a bubble within another bubble. Like the sensation of floating in a dream.

I believe that's one of the most precious things India gives you... Time. Something incredibly invaluable in the fast-paced era we live in.Time.

And most importantly, there are no monkeys here.