"So you´ve been to Varanassi, I´d love to go there, what is it like?"
"Are you crazy, you want to go there? The streets are filthy, full of beggars, men selling trinkets to the tourists, thousands of tourists buying them, the buildings are falling down, the noise, cars, heat, cow shit everywhere and the smell is unbearable."
I looked down into my cup sadly.
"But it is one of the holiest places in India, the city of a thousand temples. I've always wanted to swim in the river."
"Go if you must", Johan said, "but take care when you are there, it is a dangerous place. Not the people, they are wonderful, they are the nicest in India, but beware of the food." Then he looked straight at me.
"And stay away from the river!"
I had heard many times that Varanassi was the dirtiest town in India, and I didn´t doubt it.
"When do you plan to go there?"
"Tomorrow, but I´m not sure now."
"Then you must take the train", he said. "The bus, forget it, it will take you all day. The train is even slower, but it´s a steam train, you´ll like it. The trains are awful, but you´ll be all right, you English like the tea they sell. Drink as much as you can because it will be very hot. But don´t sit next to the window, never, it´s the golden rule. They spit from the windows and it blows back through the next and it hits you in the face. If you sit by the window, keep your mouth shut."

I did go by train, and I had reserved my seat beside the aisle, perfectly placed to catch the chai sellers as they walked through the train. It tasted good as I sipped from a tiny clay pot, watching the shifting plains of Uttar Pradesh framed in the window. Sights that lasted for only a second burned an ever-lasting image into my mind. Men riding bicycles, people crammed into cars and others driving ox-carts to nowhere. Often, I saw buzzing rickshaws turned silent, by the peculiar habit of turning off their engines at every traffic light, though I doubted this saved them any petrol.
Cows mingled freely with the traffic, looking peacefully serene, no matter what their surroundings. I thought it must be the look of peace in their eyes that made them so revered and Holy to the Hindus. That, and the knowledge that if you were to kill one (it is said by the Gods), you will spend one year in Hell for every hair on its back. Uncomfortable with this thought, I wasn´t in the mood for steak.
 
Johan had been right about Varanassi. It was dirty, noisy, derelict and foul, but I loved it.
I had been there four days, exploring the back streets, buying the trinkets, seeing the sights and avoiding the food. But even after those four days, I still felt new to the town, losing myself in an endless maze of alleys and courtyards, glimpsing the history that lives in the present, discovering the paths not shown on any map.
Signs pointed me along streets, around corners, through shops and into confusion. When I turned another corner and saw the Monkey Temple for the third time, its beauty dissolved in my despair and I knew that I was lost. It was getting dark, and in the unlit alleys I couldn´t find the way back to my hostel. The dusky streets began to make me nervous and my pace quickened. I looked up to the horizon for any clue as to where I was, and kept wandering.

Through the gloom, faces appeared in doorways, watching me as I passed by, smiling, yet somehow sinister. I hurried on. Carefully avoiding cows asleep on the pavement, I searched for a place to take refuge, or for someone to ask the way. My heartbeat jumped at the sound of laughter behind me and I turned suddenly, holding my breath.
"Good evening Sir, how are you?" said a voice, in a warm, friendly tone.
"Fine, thank you, yes..." I said and quickly walked on. But with the twists and turns of the narrowing alleyways, I began to wonder if I would ever find my way out.
"WATCH OUT!" someone yelled and I spun around fearing a club, or a knife, but it was too late. I stepped backwards, but there was nothing I could do to save myself.
"Damn it!" I said as I looked down at my feet, seeing the danger.
"The cow shit is really getting deep over there!", he said with a laugh.
"HOLY SHIT !" I cried, and ironically, it was.  Cows, sacred or not, don´t care where they do it.