On the Other Side of the Fence

 

I walk up to the door of my hotel and all the lights are turned off. Freak out number 2. All I can think to myself  is "oh dear god,  my hotel closed down between the time I made the reservation and my showing up now." Again, not the best feeling for something like this to happen in the middle of the night in a new place.  Needless  to say, there was a particular 4 letter word spewing out of my mouth continuously.  I pound on the door, and suddenly someone appears from the darkness. THANK GOD!!!!! He checks me into a room and provides me a key.   These keys, by the way, look like your stereotypical old fashion key. The one's that fit into a key hole that you can actually look through--Something I had never seen before.

 

The room is basic, and small. The shower in the bathroom is by no mean separated from the rest of the bathroom, as in no curtain or door or anything, and there is nothing you step onto or into. There is a drain in the corner of the bathroom, and unless there is some way of showering I am ignorant of, the whole bathroom gets nice soaked. However, the room  is clean and they even provide toilet paper, toiletries, and a towel. Other than the building  being tucked away behind some buildings, it is actually located in a nice part of the city and is close to the bar scene. 

 

After getting situated, I lied down to catch a few hours of sleep, but this did not work out very well. Ideas of "OH NO, WHAT DID I DO!!! WHY AM I HERE!!," took over my thoughts. I wanted to leave and go back home right away. After about an hour of not sleeping, I noticed it was getting light out. So I showered up and went down stairs to get the wifi code and prepare for the day. 

 

There is a giant park in Bangalore called Cubbon Park. It was reminiscent of Central Park in New York. You can stroll around in there for hours. This was my first stop. It is a massive park, with streets webbing throughout. This became a bit confusing, as each time I came to a major street, I thought I had found the end of the park, only to realize as approached the street, that there was more on the other side of the road. 

 

There is one very striking thing about the park....there are dogs everywhere. Literally packs of dogs roam the park, all of them strays.  As a dog owner and lover, it took all my might not to pet them. At first the sight of dogs made me smile, but quickly the realization that this is serious problem took over. 

 

A couple of the sights I saw around the park were the Attara Kacheri, which is home  to the High Court, the State Central Library, and the Vinhana Soudha, all remnants of British rule. The High Court building, while indeed a building and not a monument, looks similar to the Lincoln Monument in DC, each with a pointed, triangular top and giant pillars lining the front, an obvious difference in appearance is that the High Court is painted a deep, earthy red. Similarly, the State Central Library is also painted this clay-earth red with the same pointed triangular top, however, being smaller and lacking the pillars,  it has a more modest feel about it. The Vinhana Soudha, is another government complex, and has two massive buildings. Each built of white stone, embroidered with gold, all sides lined with columns, and the corners of the buildings topped with garlic-like shaped domes. They are truly majestic.

 

With the worst of my anxieties alleviated, but still having sporadic feelings of loneliness, I smiled and gave a quick greeting to everyone I pass by in Cubbon Park, starting rough conversations with anyone who seems to have an interest in why this lone white boy is here.  It is funny, as I walked by people, I could see they were perplexed about my presence, but with a simply smile, everyone returned the grin. 

 

I greeted one young man, who then seemed to be following me, and not particularly inconspicuously. Eventually, I asked him his name, he just looked at me and smiled. I asked if he spoke english, which he seemed to get the gist of and shock his head no. This continued for a bit, my asking questions, and his mostly having no clue in the world what I was saying, until suddenly he just kind of wandered away, still smiling. Next I walked past a slightly older gentlemen who was sitting on  a bench and motioned for me to come sit with him. His english was much better, although he only spoke "Indian English" which, at times, is so different from British or American English that we could not understand each other. For example, people kept saying, "You have a good name," which eventually I figured out is actually a question and not a statement, and what they are asking is what my name is. As I sat with the older gentleman, telling him about my trip, lo and behold, the first young man who I attempted speaking to walks by, but this time with a friend. I greet him again, and not long after they passed by they turned around and his friend simply asks if I am coming with.  I ask where are you going, and he replies that he has a motorcycle. Again, I ask, but where are you going? He says MG road, which is relatively close to my hotel. I thought for a second about joining him, but I had other places on my list of things to see that day and I still didn't have a good idea about what his plans were or if he had any,  not to mention the way people drive in India is absolutely crazy. Thus I wished them all well and continued on my way. 

 

Having been a little anxious, I didn't have much of an appetite, but eventually I figured I should eat something. I decided to stop at a couple of street vendors. The first one i stopped at was just a guy selling juice in these little glass bottles with plastic caps that pop on and off. I was about to walk off with it when I noticed that everyone else at the little stand just stood there drinking their juice, returning the bottle, and then paying the man. I realized that these bottles are used over and over again, but hey, if other people are drinking it, then it probably won't kill me. So I stood there, drank my mango juice, thanked the man, and was on my way. 

 

Next I stopped at a fruit  stand, which you see everywhere in Bangaluru. These guys stand there just chopping up various fruits and serving them in styrofoam bowls with honey drizzled on top and a healthy dose of a mixture of salt and pepper dusted over everything. Surprisingly, the addition of salt and pepper is really good--the salt brings out the sweetness of the fruit, and the pepper adds a nice sharp contrast or kick to the whole mix. While they didn't reuse the bowls, again, the convention seems to be that people come up, get their snack, eat it right there by the stand, and then pay and leave. 

 

Now that I had been nourished, I continued on ward to go see the City Market, where one can find streets filled with produce vendors, flower stands, copper wares, dyes, and more street food. Also in that area I planned to visit Bangalore Fort, Tipu Sultan's Palace, and Venkataraman Temple. However, navigating Bangaluru is no easy task. The road tend to meander around without any unifying structure. The roads also do not have street signs. Their are signs at many of the "circles" where several roads collide, which point in what direction each road is, but with few roads cutting straight across these intersections, it can be very difficult to tell which of the 5 arrows is more so pointing to the street you are looking for. Thus, after a while of wandering up streets only to realize I was not on the correct on, I started walking back to my hotel. 

 

I got back, and now that I was feeling more comfortable in this new place, I laid down and passed out for several hours. 

 

I woke up a little before 9 pm and was starving. Luckily, my hotel is in an area with a lot of restaurants and bars. I made my way to one of the more busier streets and walked into a place called Guzzlers Inn. All the bars are very western in decor and style, and usually playing western music even. So walking in to Guzzlers made me feel right at home. I sat down at a table and ordered some beer and tandoori chicken. As I sat there, an westerner came over and asked if I was English, I could tell by his accent that he was from the UK. I told him I was from the States. We chatted a bit about what it's like being a westerner in India and he invited me over to his groups table. I, of course, obliged. I could not be more excited to run into some westerners who I could relate to and  easily communicate with. It was certainly a god-send. 

 

I told them what I was doing in Bangaluru and about my plans to backpack around. I learned that all 4 westerners, 3 of which were from the States too, lived and worked there, some on internships, others actually moved to Bangaluru after college to work. When the bar closed up a tad before 1 am, we picked up a case of beer and headed back to someone's apartment to continue the party.  I could not have been luckier to run into some people who made me feel like home on my first night in a radically different place, because Toto, I am definitely not in Kansas anymore.