Varanasi. One of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. It gets it's name from the two rivers the run off the Ganga,Varuna and Asi, also the name of the first and last ghat.

I used to once think of India of a place you either love, or hate. But now I know that's not true.
I hate the unavoidable cow dung in the narrow alleys, I hate the occasional waft of raw sewage, I hate the poverty where bodies infuse the streets in large numbers.
But then I love the congruous sounds of the rigorous rituals that take place on the Ganga. I love the ancient buildings that sculpt this city, I love the strangeness of the place and the uncontrollable holy demeanour you feel when you walk up and down the ghats.
Never before has life and death been portrayed so openly than in the labyrinth cobbled lanes that are Varanasi. Bodies being paraded in the streets before the handing over ceremony to mother Ganga. The spiritual highs and the realistic lows of everyday life, and death.

We rowed at sun rise across the river, visited the little known Muslim quarter where they hand make silk. We strolled around Sarnath. Sacred ground where Buddha gave his first speech and got lost in the labyrinth streets.

Some people reading this will only want to see Varanasi vicariously through the eyes of Charlie and myself, it's simply an abuse of the senses as soon as you get here. Notably there are some things we don't like about the place, but how do you expect to enjoy the splendour and beauty of something if you haven't stepped in the cow dung that helped mould it.