-I rise early this morning so as to meet Panday in the lobby for a ride to the Ganges and there take a boat out onto the water to see the ghats (steps) at dawn.
We agreed to meet at 5:30 and while I am here on time, he isn’t. When he arrives 15 minutes later (by my watch 5:45), he laughs and says that I am still on Nepal time- 15 minutes difference.
Who knew?
-In the still and warm darkness, we drive in his little white cab to the river Ganges. With much to think about and little to say, I simply allow Panday to transport me through one of the most ancient cities in our world, while I let the sweet centuries drip down on me like honey. I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else right now. I am all but certain that Alexander bathed in these waters long ago, though here I draw the line.

-When we parked and walked through the empty food stalls with sleeping bodies scattered here and there, and huddled groups of pilgrims waiting to enter the Hindu temples, I could only be thankful that I had contracted with Panday to show me the way. We turned a corner and there was the Ganges River, hazy and already covered with boats, a trip on the river at dawn being required of all pilgrimy-type tourists.
Panday told me not to pay 500 rupees; 200 were enough, no matter what the boatman says.
"I tell him that you are not tourist, but important government official". Assuming the part, I puffed out my chest just a little, like some gander with a point to prove.

-The boatman turned out to be a young kid and actually spoke English better than Panday.
At his insistence, I bought two little flower boats with candles in them (“for you, sir, and your wife, for long life and much happiness"). A really good deal, I thought, for 20 rupees.
He rowed upriver and pointed out all the temples and houses that had been built by the maharajahs of the past. They all wanted to come here to die because if you die and are cremated with the wood of the banyan tree and your ashes are thrown into Mother Ganga, well, I'm not sure exactly what happens then, but it's a REALLY GOOD THING.
During an especially heavy monsoon in 1978,
he told me, as hard as it is to believe, the river flooded over all the steps and almost up to street level, maybe 30 feet higher. While I’m in no position to believe or disbelieve the fact, I can imagine that a lot of water rushing through here couldn’t help but make this part of the city a cleaner place.








-We row back downriver, to the Ghat of Burning, the major place of cremation.
Piles a stacked logs (200 kilos of wood required to completely burn up an adult, at 10 rupees a kilo for the wood of the banyan tree- expensive, he says), are prepared for the nearly 400 cremations that occur every day, though not in the morning,
because it unnerves the tourists.


-I am going down to the river this afternoon with Panday, to witness the festivals and cremations- no pictures, though. In a way, it's a good thing that I have committed to meet Panday, otherwise it might be tempting to just hang out at the hotel and enjoy the silence. But hey, I've come this far...

-In another way, though, I find having a companion to be confining.
I move at my own pace, a pace that allows for ample time to think.
I firmly believe in slow thought.
I’m the kind of guy who thinks of the perfect, wittily incisive retort- fifteen minutes after the event.
This presents no real problem, usually.
I simply find myself chuckling at my response well after it’s appropriate.
People do wonder.
But when I’m traveling with a guide who insists on interpreting the sights, sounds, and experiences for me, many thought bubbles never get the chance to rise to the surface. They pop before I get a chance to write them down. And I rarely remember them later.
Left to myself as I move around in a country, I am a fan of serendipitous encounters.
In the past, I realize that I may have missed some big, fast, touristy things, but I have never had occasion to regret a single minute traveling in my own small, slow way.
I admit that I might just be the kind of person who would tend to pick away at the Gordian Knot, especially in a society that allows you many lifetimes.




-I go back to the hotel, but I can’t stay there.
I grab at the opportunity to wander alone.
Around midmorning, I set out on my own towards the Old Town.
All along the road, and even in the road, people with almost nothing lie on pieces of cloth - staring.
Not necessarily at me, in fact, hardly anyone seems to notice me. No one asks for anything, except for one tenacious woman with a limp baby to whom I give some money.
They just stared.
And thought.
But of what, I can't even imagine.
In America, a person begging doesn't seem like from a different millennium, but here, these people's thoughts might be 5000 years away.
When a water buffalo standing ten feet away, the timeless Mother Ganga, a dirty morsel of cauliflower, a scrap of cloth comprise the whole of the Universe, I can only wonder.
Look, here I am wondering why data roaming isn't working on my IPhone, like it did in Kathmandu, while some half-naked Indian saddhu tries to sort out the beginning of Time.