A Day in the Life

Settling in finally. My class, consisting of me and three American students, meets for two hours - five days a week. The students are all from different states & and schools... but share a remarkable sense of adventure. Class convenes at a different time everyday (as early as 9am, as late as 2pm). For the past two days, we've held class at a table for four in Cuppa, a locally owned coffee shop about five minutes from campus.

Anyway, my typical weekday begins at 5am (yes, by choice). First a cup of instant coffee. Then maybe I'll read the chapter and case assigned for that day's class (with perhaps a second cup of Nescafe). And it appears that I am the ONLY person on campus awake at 7am.

By 7:15am, the main cafeteria opens, and I'm off for real coffee and a dosa (pictured below). A dosa is an over-sized pancake, accompanied by two small metal cups of as-yet-unknown spices -- one red and spicy, the other white and semi-sweet. No silverware. It's to be eaten with the right hand. The dosa is 15 Indian rupees, and the coffee is 6. With the current exchange rate of 42 rupees to 1 US dollar -- that's a hot breakfast, served at my table, for 50 cents. Oh... and I almost forgot to mentioned the existence of a wifi signal in the cafeteria. Life is good.

On most every weekday, I'm invited to attend or participate in some campus gathering or seminar. This matters to me... providing an opportunity to interact with other adults and enjoy in-depth exchanges about everything from culture to cricket (the sport that inspires the greatest passion among locals).

By late afternoon or early evening, I leave campus to wander the neighborhood for an hour or two. Sometimes I return with a few grocery items (my kitchen facilities allow me to refrigerate or add boiling water...  as there is no oven, cooktop, or microwave). I have rediscovered the joys of ramen and sliced cheese (made from goat milk only, given the sacred nature of cows here).

By 9pm, I'm ready to crash. There's a TV in my humble on-campus apartment, but I've yet to find anything in English except CSI reruns and Belator mixed martial arts fighting. So I thank good for (and Liz, and Amazon) for my Kindle, and read myself to sweaty sleep.

Residency Permit & Dive Bar

The day before classes begin. The CU folks load 18 of us into 6 auto-rickshaw (capacity, 3 each) and send us across town for an all-day process of getting a residency permit. This makes the passport & visa process look like a day spent fishing. This desk. That form. The line over there. I'm now six hours into the process, with another hour to go.

So I duck into a neighborhood bar for a bottle of Kingfisher. This bar reminds me of the one in Star Wars. I MAY be the first foreigner to ever set foot in here. But despite the stares I'm getting, the beer's cold and I'm not standing in line.

What’s it like?

Who am I, after 36 hours in Bangalore, to answer that question? Better that I answer a more specific question: what are your initial impressions?

Let's start with general impressions of India. It's crowded, hot, noisy, confusing, dirty, and nothing is easily accomplished. Yet it's not without charm. People are generally pleasant and helpful, and all but the poor and uneducated speak English.

I planned to make my next paragraph about Bangalore, but given that (except for a tedious, middle-of-the-night connection in Bombay) Bangalore is the only part of India I've experienced. I'll skip ahead to Christ University. It's a pretty cool campus, right in a busy part of town. Yet despite its decidedly urban surroundings, it's remarkably tranquil. CU's personality is more like that of a commuter-oriented state school (a la Youngstown State) than of a residential "go off to college" institution. The only folks who live on campus are the Catholic priests (who run the place), international visitors (like myself) and a select few female students who inhabit the single dorm on campus. Buildings are locked up from 6pm until 8am the next morning. It's pretty much all business. Enroll for an education. Period.

Now, about the USAC program at CU. There are about twenty of us here now for the first of two summer sessions, and we came together for the first time today for orientation. Most are from the USA. I am the only person in our group older than 40. Our Resident Director (the adult from the host school who coordinates USAC visits) is Jacob Johns. He seems like a genuinely good guy who does this for all the right reasons. He loves his country and his culture, and gets great joy in helping others understand both. He's assisted by Ms. Florence, an Indian female (about my age) who seems to play, quite capably, the "mother" role.

Today, we did the requisite, predictable orientation stuff in the morning. Then we boarded a public bus bound for the center of town and had an awesome Indian lunch. I loved the food, but will cherish the bus trip memories even more. Imagine eighteen jet-lagged 19-22 year-olds, many of whom had never traveled internationally before, boarding a crowded public bus as it careened through the most intense traffic I've ever seen. Their eyes (and mine) all seemed to say, "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore." Jacob and Florence could have arranged a private University bus, but I'm glad they didn't.

 

Planes, trains and...

I pledge, from this day forward, NEVER to be impatient with those unfamiliar with air travel. I am now aboard a high-speed train between Rotterdam and Brussels. And I was clueless about how to navigate through this brilliant system... and the signs and announcements in Dutch weren't much help.
To those who use the European rail system often, I'm sure it all makes perfect sense. But today it was  me getting in the way of the commuting natives. I was the dumbass asking all the questions.
So when I find myself encountering Granny as she boards for the Orlando-bound flight (with three toddlers and a soft pretzel), I will remember today, and I shall be patient, helpful and kind.
I am to meet Greg tonight in the lobby of the Renaissance Brussels. Thanks to PriceLine, I will escape the sometimes hostile hostel setting of the past two nights.
For more than two decades, quick thoughts of Greg are inspired by music of the 70s. Greg Allman's "Midnight Rider" never fails to make me smile. But I should probably get Greg's blessing before sharing that particular tale in the past tense.

Four-handled Beer Mugs

I've not done right by Brussels. My time here (less than 24 hours) was spent either walking to & from the hotel and the train station, relaxing/sleeping in my room, and visiting with Greg for too little time (and too many Belgian beers).

This city seems worthy of understanding... or at least an effort to understand it at the level of cautious tourist. Forgive me, Brussels, but I'm off to next leg of the mis-adventure.

I'm waiting on Track 5 in Brussels Centraal station. Bound for Amsterdam. Tomorrow at this time, I'll be in flight to Bombay (now Mumbai, but Bombay sounds cooler).

Time with Greg exceeded my expectations. We've taken very different routes to the same destinations -- happiness and success.

Which brings me to four-handled beer mugs. About an hour into our conversation, the waiter brought the next round in unique mugs which, together, resembled an octopus. As the waiter walked away, I asked, "what the fuck is this?". 

From those words on, we became our authentic selves. I think we were both pleased to learn what the other has accomplished, and values we have settled on.

God speed, Midnight Rider.

The misadventure begins...

"

I woke this morning in Utrecht, a smallish city about 25 minutes from Amsterdam. It's Thursday morning, and I left the USA Tuesday evening. Yet I feel as though I just arrived.

I used to be skeptical when I heard others talk of jet lag - assuming it was an affliction created and described to make sure people knew how worldly one was. I know differently now. Yesterday was a blurred mosaic of sights, smells, sounds and promises.

One such promise was to begin a blog, and keep it current so the memories of this misadventure could be shared with others and archived for yours truly.

For those who've spent less than a  nanosecond with me recently, perhaps I should describe the misadventure. I'm on my way to Christ University in Bangalore, India to teach a 5-week summer class. This is my first experience as a visiting professor, and the first time I'll set foot in Asia.

I opted for a 5-day layover in Europe in route to India, and this is day two.

Why Utrecht? I chose to recover from jet lag (ain't I global?) here because it's pretty close to Amsterdam Schipol International Airport (into which I arrived, and from which I will depart) - and because it's not Amsterdam. I love the city, but have been there before - and sought a more relaxing, authentic experience.

In Utrecht, I'm hanging my hat (literally and figuratively) at the Hostel Strowis for $18 Euros per night (about $26 in US dollars). The price and the hostel's central location are the good news. The bad news is that I share a bathroom with about 20 half-my-age euro-backpackers and a bedroom with four of them. But so far, I really don't mind. The only real inconvenience is storing my stuff in a locker two narrow, steep flights of stairs from my multi-bunk bedded room.

Today, I have no plans. It's noon here (6am in Ohio), and I just had a quick IM exchange with my person. I miss her -- and doubt that I deserve such a supportive partner. Perhaps that'll be the topic of a future blog update.

Speaking of future blogs. It's hard not to ramble on about what I plan to do in the coming days and weeks. So I'll conclude with a quick recap of what's to come. Tomorrow, I take the train to Belgium to dust off old memories with Greg (a best friend from my college days) for the first time in 20+ years. And on Sunday, I depart Europe for India.

Allow me to close with a quote from John Barrymore. 

"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams."