It’s hard to know how to unravel the complex city of Varanasi. There is so much energy here. But here’s what I’m going to try: Having discussed a single merchant–the seller of silk shawls–I’ll move to shops, and from there to streets, doorways and decorations, then the Nepali temple, buildings, and finally larger land views. Somewhere in there, if I don’t start getting too anxious to move on, there’s a nice little digression on animals.

So then, picture yourself on a narrow street. Two of you can walk side by side, but only if you’re pretty friendly. It is a pedestrian street, which is generally a nice feature, but in Varanasi, pedestrian also includes bicycles, motor bikes, and motor cycles, whose drivers are not going to let a mere few hundred walkers get in their way. There are also carts and occasionally animals. And so there is a chaos of sound, mostly horns blaring Watch out!, but also conversations, bells, and other unidentifiable noises. People too are pushing to get by. Or stopping so that you have to push to get by. It is intense. Your heart is pumping adrenalin; you don’t want to lose your group. Or–never mind the group–you are in constant fear of getting run over.

And here, on every side, are the most interesting tiny shops. What are these people doing? What are they selling? Often you can’t figure it out in just the second and a half you have before you will be surrounded by swarms of strangers and lost forever.

I hope these men are not preparing food, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

Okay, this is definitely food.

And so is this.

Here’s a bakery.

I’m pretty sure this is food–the man on the right is selling some kind of leaves wrapped around some kind of filling. I think.

More food!

Here’s the tea-wallah operating from a conveniently vacant doorstep.

I would have liked to stop and watch this metal-worker if I could have.

Metal products.

Near to my heart–a bookstore!

Barber shop and possibly also the local word-of-mouth news center.

Only in India! A storefront shop full of wedding parapharnalia. (Stacks of turbans in the foreground)

Not a motorcycle shop, but only a place where people have temporarily stored their deadly weapons.