Bangalore, Day 1
First day in Bangalore, India after 24 hours of air travel. Yikes! So far, my plan to avoid jet lag is working, which means I've been crazy tired at some points and am now too. Yet I should sleep well tonight and start fresh tomorrow--that's the goal.
I am currently sitting in my giant bed in a nice hotel. I'm sure there are fancier ones, but it is also nicer than your typical Hampton or La Quinta. The bedside plugs are international and fit every kind of plug you may have, which is very convenient. The electricity only works when you have inserted your key card in a special slot by the front door; this means that energy is conserved when you leave (because you surely will take it with you).
I now have rupees in my possession. I have bagged up my two complimentary items for laundry tomorrow. I have had brunch by the pool, a buffet whose extent is similar to that of Trudy's Sunday brunch, except all the food was Indian. One of the servers took pity on my travel-mate and I and explained everything.
We went out with K & S, from the local officel, after lunch. First to tour the Bangalore palace--summer palace for the maharaja. It doesn't seem to still be used often, though the maharaja still exists. It was fun because K & S had never even been! I don't have any pictures at present, because you had to purchase a separate ticket to take pictures--one per device. So K bought one for her phone, and I'll share the pics later.
In truth, I don't have many pictures at all and am too tired to upload them into this post. It is hard to merge into a culture while stopping to take pictures of every interesting thing, especially when interesting things are normal to your hosts, or the people themselves are interesting. When I first enter a culture, I love to immerse myself at first so that I can try to see it from the viewpoint of those who live and work there daily.
And while I may be acquiring that view from K & S's perspective, there are so many perspectives that I know I have missed. The people of Bangalore are incredibly diverse, though my white skin and brown hair still stand out. The women dress in saris, kurtas, dresses, and jeans. It is a dizzying mix of old and new fashion and standards. So odd to see so many saris for casual wear, since saris are typically formal when you see them in the US. I have not decided yet if I will purchase one; everything is cheaper here, so it is very tempting.
Though it is more pronounced here, I am struck again by what it means to be an American in a foreign country. It is hard to explain in words, the subtle deference I receive, the expectation of the extent of my wallet.
There is higher security in India than in the states. Our hotel has a metal detector, and the car is checked whenever we enter; our bags go through the xray scanner. We went to a mall with a metal detector. There are high walls around schools, government buildings, our hotel, and other places. I told my travel-mate that they reminded me of World War Z, the feeling of living in a compound. She said it is common, and we considered that this might be a remnant of times when there was a sharper divide between upper and lower class...that is, when the British ran India.
English is everywhere. Most of the signage is in English, or both English and Kannada. There are definitely people who don't speak English, but it is easy to find someone who does. Indians speak English to other Indians, most likely because Kannada is not the only other Indian language.
Even the modern city of Bangalore is blanketed in religious imagery. Religion is everywhere, and it is not hard to recognize the post-Christian culture of the United States. The Hindu gods are painted and sculpted; clothes are bought in anticipation of their holidays; cities have patron gods or goddesses. Cows (sacred to Hinduism) roam the streets with the same--if not more--sense of belonging as the stray dogs and occasional goat. My colleagues here talk openly about their religion, something we would never do with them in Texas. I do not know if they share it because they feel it is their culture (more than their belief), or if they are simply unashamed of the gods and goddesses they worship. It is a question I do not know how to ask.
To be fair, the US has its share of religious imagery. We just prefer the Greek and Roman mythos to that of Shiva and Krishna. It is odd when you think of it that way.
Something often mentioned about Bangalore is the traffic. I expected to be more terrified, but I find it simply fascinating. Of course, an American driver would not be able to handle it, but Bangalorian drivers are far more cognizant of their surroundings. The honking is not nonsensical, it is used to inform other vehicles of your location and intentions, the length and number almost some sort of innate code that communicates in front, beside, and behind. Lane markings mean nothing, speed limits seem to be nonexistent, and jaywalking is the norm. One must simply take risks and hope for the best...which works out surprisingly well when everyone is paying as much attention as they are.
Bangalore feels surprisingly normal to me. Of course, there are strange things--the stray dogs, the child begging, the bargaining, the high walls--but it does not feel like I am on the other side of the world. The chaos and poverty elicits memories of Jamaica. I feel that I could be in Mexico, and being here is a surprisingly easy life to slip into. I have not felt afraid; it is easy to be confidant. I do not feel as though I am halfway around the world.
I am going to get ready for bed now. Tomorrow is work!
I am currently sitting in my giant bed in a nice hotel. I'm sure there are fancier ones, but it is also nicer than your typical Hampton or La Quinta. The bedside plugs are international and fit every kind of plug you may have, which is very convenient. The electricity only works when you have inserted your key card in a special slot by the front door; this means that energy is conserved when you leave (because you surely will take it with you).
I now have rupees in my possession. I have bagged up my two complimentary items for laundry tomorrow. I have had brunch by the pool, a buffet whose extent is similar to that of Trudy's Sunday brunch, except all the food was Indian. One of the servers took pity on my travel-mate and I and explained everything.
We went out with K & S, from the local officel, after lunch. First to tour the Bangalore palace--summer palace for the maharaja. It doesn't seem to still be used often, though the maharaja still exists. It was fun because K & S had never even been! I don't have any pictures at present, because you had to purchase a separate ticket to take pictures--one per device. So K bought one for her phone, and I'll share the pics later.
In truth, I don't have many pictures at all and am too tired to upload them into this post. It is hard to merge into a culture while stopping to take pictures of every interesting thing, especially when interesting things are normal to your hosts, or the people themselves are interesting. When I first enter a culture, I love to immerse myself at first so that I can try to see it from the viewpoint of those who live and work there daily.
And while I may be acquiring that view from K & S's perspective, there are so many perspectives that I know I have missed. The people of Bangalore are incredibly diverse, though my white skin and brown hair still stand out. The women dress in saris, kurtas, dresses, and jeans. It is a dizzying mix of old and new fashion and standards. So odd to see so many saris for casual wear, since saris are typically formal when you see them in the US. I have not decided yet if I will purchase one; everything is cheaper here, so it is very tempting.
Though it is more pronounced here, I am struck again by what it means to be an American in a foreign country. It is hard to explain in words, the subtle deference I receive, the expectation of the extent of my wallet.
There is higher security in India than in the states. Our hotel has a metal detector, and the car is checked whenever we enter; our bags go through the xray scanner. We went to a mall with a metal detector. There are high walls around schools, government buildings, our hotel, and other places. I told my travel-mate that they reminded me of World War Z, the feeling of living in a compound. She said it is common, and we considered that this might be a remnant of times when there was a sharper divide between upper and lower class...that is, when the British ran India.
English is everywhere. Most of the signage is in English, or both English and Kannada. There are definitely people who don't speak English, but it is easy to find someone who does. Indians speak English to other Indians, most likely because Kannada is not the only other Indian language.
Even the modern city of Bangalore is blanketed in religious imagery. Religion is everywhere, and it is not hard to recognize the post-Christian culture of the United States. The Hindu gods are painted and sculpted; clothes are bought in anticipation of their holidays; cities have patron gods or goddesses. Cows (sacred to Hinduism) roam the streets with the same--if not more--sense of belonging as the stray dogs and occasional goat. My colleagues here talk openly about their religion, something we would never do with them in Texas. I do not know if they share it because they feel it is their culture (more than their belief), or if they are simply unashamed of the gods and goddesses they worship. It is a question I do not know how to ask.
To be fair, the US has its share of religious imagery. We just prefer the Greek and Roman mythos to that of Shiva and Krishna. It is odd when you think of it that way.
Something often mentioned about Bangalore is the traffic. I expected to be more terrified, but I find it simply fascinating. Of course, an American driver would not be able to handle it, but Bangalorian drivers are far more cognizant of their surroundings. The honking is not nonsensical, it is used to inform other vehicles of your location and intentions, the length and number almost some sort of innate code that communicates in front, beside, and behind. Lane markings mean nothing, speed limits seem to be nonexistent, and jaywalking is the norm. One must simply take risks and hope for the best...which works out surprisingly well when everyone is paying as much attention as they are.
Bangalore feels surprisingly normal to me. Of course, there are strange things--the stray dogs, the child begging, the bargaining, the high walls--but it does not feel like I am on the other side of the world. The chaos and poverty elicits memories of Jamaica. I feel that I could be in Mexico, and being here is a surprisingly easy life to slip into. I have not felt afraid; it is easy to be confidant. I do not feel as though I am halfway around the world.
I am going to get ready for bed now. Tomorrow is work!
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