Each morning in Varanasi we'd step out of our hotel room and on to a balcony that overlooked the following:

In a crude way, this aspect of the city reminded me of Havana, Cuba. It's difficult not to feel that both contain sites that are 'Starbucks waiting to happen'. All along the Ganges, as along the Malecon, there is the sense that in a differently-ordered society, there's no way such quote-unquote 'prime real estate' would not be the province of the mega-corporation.

In the case of Cuba, the Burger Kings and the Starbuckses of this world are said to have already staked out the exact plots they want along the Malecon's sea frontage ... for now, they're just hanging on Castro's every breath.

In the case of the Ganges, who knows ... but right now, the sacred cows remain ruminantly in place.

(And, incidentally, those views are yours for the princely sum of $4.50 USD per night. In a great twist of fate, all Varanasi's fancy-pants hotels are in a boring part of town, whereas the backpacker dives take river frontage.)

As you meander along the waterfront, the buildings upon the ghats (great series of steps leading down to the Ganges) loom large and commanding.

The river itself is awash with activity. Everywhere you look there are makeshift pontoons and small boats and jutting concrete piers filled with washing that's been dipped, beaten and now flung out to dry.

The steep stone flagstones that lead up and away from the water in order to carry you into the warren of the old city are breathtaking in themselves. Even the simplest items start to look as though they've been placed with a curator's eye.

Such is the reverie that the Ganges lulls you into, every tree starts to look like something out of a Hindu epic (this one's filled with the paper kites that are flown by all day by small boys).

Taking photos of theritual cremations performed here is strictly prohibited, but this arresting image daubed onto a wall in the old city sums up the process in graphic style - the pious widow, the burning body, the holy rewards.

It's all almost enough to make you forget about the pervasive stench of piss and shit and cow dung that dogs your every move. Well, maybe not quite enough ... but enough to know that you're not in Starbucks anymore, Toto.