The celebration of death in Varanasi

The engine noise is deafening, the smell of diesel unbearable. Again, I'm the only foreigner. When we fill the form for the police security check, before to leave, my country, Italy, stands out in the list of quotes that avoid repeating the first and only other country indicated: Bolivia. I’m surprised when a lady not far from me, the only one in the typical clothing, with the wide skirt, the long braid and the black bowler hat, looks at me, smiles kindly, begins to talk. She asks me if I’m traveling alone. She’s surprised of seeing me here, in the midst of them.
We arrive at the Straits of Tirquinia, we need to get off the bus to cross it. The vehicles are ferried on a barge, pedestrians continue on a fast boat, until the other side. The lady, however, is old, she stays on board, but cares about me, entrusting me to the lady with whom she’s traveling. We get on the other side. Time passes, but the bus doesn’t come. Something happened: while the bus was getting off from the barge, suddenly this one moved away from the ground, leaving the wheels trapped under, almost in the water. We find the woman outside, sitting on a rock, watching a group of men trying to lift the bus up using some trunks. She took a fright and can’t retain a few tears. It takes almost an hour to solve, but luckily the strong arms of these men, used to work with their bodies, are able to make it.
We begin to ascend upwards. Below me the lake, surrounded by towering snowy mountains and with light clouds hanging over us, is huge, beautiful, and is waiting for me in Copacabana. The lady is smiling again and offers me a glass of Pepsi. I feel privileged to what I'm experiencing. Having had the courage to drop everything to pursue my dream, to discover the world, the most distant from mine, by culture, religion, habits. And find, in this one, the warmth of home, of someone who loves you, who welcomes you with open heart, because see you simply as a fellow who may need his help. We cross a step, suddenly the view opens up in front of me. The lady says "Señorita, esa es Copacabana!". There, beneath us, is an expanse of colorful houses, surrounded by two high bright green hills, with the lake overlooking the front, shimmering from rays of the sun, so blue to be confused with the blue of the sky. We get there, get off the bus. The lady comes up to me, hugs me, kisses me, tells me to be careful and not to trust strangers, that she will pray for my own good. I'm speechless, my heart is moved.