Our group of first-time travellers to India met up on arrival at Delhi Airport and began our acquaintance with this land of contrasts on the bus ride right across the new city and the old to our hotel. First impressions were therefore dictated by what we could see from the curtained bus windows, and pretty much confirmed our expectations of a busy, bustling city where the old and the new sat in close proximity. This short visit to Delhi was a frantic round of ancient monuments, and an introduction to the Mughal cultural heritage which would be the focus of much of our tour.

On to our second destination, the ancient city of Varanasi, (or Benares as the linguistically challenged colonial Brits called it), the name derived from the confluence here of two tributaries of the Ganges, the Varuna and Asi rivers. We were repeatedly told it was the oldest city in the world to have been in uninterrupted habitation and we would be seeing it at close quarters for what would be a much more "in-your-face" experience. Our tour guide Vikram had suggested that we might like to go down to the river to see the evening rituals, and so we proceeded in convoy by cycle-rickshaw, all eleven couples perched up on these swaying contraptions propelled by the valiant rickshaw-wallahs, for the most part rather more diminutive in build than the heftier Europeans they were carrying. And it seemed to be a matter of pride not to lose one's place in the convoy as our fearless drivers wove their way through the throng of traffic, stirring up clouds of dust which filled eyes and noses.

The ride took a good half hour, with the streets gradually getting narrower, the crowds on foot denser and cows just everywhere. One's senses are assaulted by the intensity of the noise, aromas of spices and incense and the colourful displays of merchandise in front of the little open-air shops. It was nearly dark when we got down to the river front, and there before us was Mother Ganges, Ma Ganga, as the sun was beginning to set. This is one of the holiest sites in India, sacred especially to the worship of Shiva from whose locks the river is said to flow.

The evening rituals are the ceremonies of light and fire which "put Ma Ganga to bed". We climbed down the steps of the ghat in the growing darkness to where the little wooden boats were waiting for pilgrims and sightseers. When we were all aboard, the steersman poled off , nudging his way through the mass of boats, moving almost imperceptibly at first, then we were out on the water and becoming aware of the hundreds of little bobbing lights drifting with the flow of the river. Our guide had brought for us a basketful of little dishes containing marigolds around a votive candle which we lit and sent on their way downstream bearing our wishes with them!

Up on shore, the loudspeakers blared out music and then the Brahmin priests in their rust-coloured robes took up their chant, the conches were sounded and the bells clanged. Torches twirled and the smoke whirled. Our boat had moored out on the river opposite the ceremonial ghat, so we sat a while drinking in the atmosphere. When the sun was fully set, the ceremonies came to a climax of fervour and it was all over.

The following morning we were up before daybreak to go back down to see sunrise on the river, the time when devout Hindus come to take a "holy dip", immersing themselves in the none-too-clean (to western eyes) waters at the foot of the bathing ghats. Ladies bobbed up and down in full attire but many of the men had stripped right off to perform their ritual ablution. The steps down to the ghats are lined with Hindu holy men, the sadhus, fully daubed with saffron colour, sitting cross-legged with their bowls in front of them. We went out again in a little traditional wooden boat, along past the dhobi-ghats where washermen scrub and slap the garments in the river and lay them out to dry on the steps. The skyline reveals many ancient buildings, sitting high above the water which often rises almost up to them in the flood season. Many are the ashrams of holy men and their disciples.

Turning into the river as the sun made its appearance, casting its first ray across the surface, we headed northward again to see the burning ghat, Manikarnika, where several cremations were in progress. Huge mounds of wood lie waiting for the many bodies brought here for the last ritual. This goes on day and night at this most auspicious of places as it is the desire of many devout Hindus to end their journey here, with their ashes scattered onto the waters. Understandably, photography at this point is strictly forbidden.

Varanasi is sacred not only to the Hindus, as Jains, Sikhs and Muslims have all built temples here. But it has special significance for Buddhists because Sarnath, just outside the city proper, is the place where the Buddha preached his first sermon in 530 BC explaining his enlightenment and principles to a small group of disciples. Now the Deer Park houses a temple whose interior has frescos depicting the life of Buddha and the area is decked out with coloured prayer-flags. There is also a museum and extensive archeological site where many of the ancient relics and stupas are to be found. There were many white-robed pilgrims mostly from Sri Lanka sitting in groups under the trees of the park or meditating among the ancient stones. A great sense of peace and tranquillity pervades the place and we wandered quietly around taking in the spiritual atmosphere.

As we left to rejoin our bus, we were besieged, as we were coming to expect, by swarms of trinket hawkers. And we still had many more places to visit before the end of our trip. What would stand out as a truly Indian experience? I think Varanasi would be difficult to surpass, offering an authentic view of a centuries-old tradition, not at all prettified for tourists, continuing in the midst of and despite the thrusting demands of this vibrant developing economy.

Isabel thanks Brian Clayton for the photograph of the ceremony of fire.