If I haven't' mentioned it already, my colleagues and I are living in the lap of luxury here, so to speak. Although the students are staying in a dorm/hostel in which the air conditioning putters, Mrs. Williamson, Mrs. Meier, and I are staying in a guest house about 1/4 of a mile from campus. We can easily walk to and from the school and often do, but when it rains - or "monsoons" if that is a verb - and when it is dark, a driver always appears to chauffeur us back and forth. Each of our bedrooms have individually controlled air conditioners and hot water. Each morning a very sweet cook knocks on the door and asks if we want coffee, tea, toast, or an omelet. A twenty-four hour guard is always smiling, and opening doors for us. Will we be able to come home and wash our own dishes? This is not helping my already bad habits in that area.
Last night the monsoons really appeared. The wind howled around the corners of the house in a way I have never heard before. The heavy rain made it in through unsealed windows in this gorgeous granite bungalow. The middle of the house is semi-open, semi-enclosed so when I stepped out of my room at 2 am to see what was going on, the cool powerful winds blew through the iron bars and surrounded me. Since our electricity had gone out, it was much cooler in the windswept hallway than in my bedroom. This morning, those who normally cook and guard were busy with floor squeegees on the ground floor.
On an entirely different note, my mind has been frequently occupied by trying to understand the plight of the Indian dog. Surprise. Although I have seen one or two dogs that belong to and live with a human family, the vast majority of canines here seem to live the life of what we call a stray. Of course, so do many goats, cows, and water buffalo, but my concern always returns to the pooches. As it appears, however, stray dogs here are not as stray as their American counterparts. Everyone here is caring for them, feeding them, watering them. Most of them seem traffic-wise,
but I know a few get hit now and then, and I suspect those who feed and water are not necessarily rushing them to the veterinarian. I have yet to see a veterinarian office on any of my rides around town. Oh well. They are all very sweet little pups, and I haven't met a single aggressive dog, even though they are all quite large.
If I haven't' mentioned it already, my colleagues and I are living in the lap of luxury here, so to speak. Although the students are staying in a dorm/hostel in which the air conditioning putters, Mrs. Williamson, Mrs. Meier, and I are staying in a guest house about 1/4 of a mile from campus. We can easily walk to and from the school and often do, but when it rains - or "monsoons" if that is a verb - and when it is dark, a driver always appears to chauffeur us back and forth. Each of our bedrooms have individually controlled air conditioners and hot water. Each morning a very sweet cook knocks on the door and asks if we want coffee, tea, toast, or an omelet. A twenty-four hour guard is always smiling, and opening doors for us. Will we be able to come home and wash our own dishes? This is not helping my already bad habits in that area.
Last night the monsoons really appeared. The wind howled around the corners of the house in a way I have never heard before. The heavy rain made it in through unsealed windows in this gorgeous granite bungalow. The middle of the house is semi-open, semi-enclosed so when I stepped out of my room at 2 am to see what was going on, the cool powerful winds blew through the iron bars and surrounded me. Since our electricity had gone out, it was much cooler in the windswept hallway than in my bedroom. This morning, those who normally cook and guard were busy with floor squeegees on the ground floor. 
On an entirely different note, my mind has been frequently occupied by trying to understand the plight of the Indian dog. Surprise. Although I have seen one or two dogs that belong to and live with a human family, the vast majority of canines here seem to live the life of what we call a stray. Of course, so do many goats, cows, and water buffalo, but my concern always returns to the pooches. As it appears, however, stray dogs here are not as stray as their American counterparts. Everyone here is caring for them, feeding them, watering them. Most of them seem traffic-wise, 
but I know a few get hit now and then, and I suspect those who feed and water are not necessarily rushing them to the veterinarian. I have yet to see a veterinarian office on any of my rides around town. Oh well. They are all very sweet little pups, and I haven't met a single aggressive dog, even though they are all quite large.
i love your perspective. squeegies and puppies and servants.... i love your experience there!
ReplyDeleteI've really enjoyed reading this, and look forward to hearing about it in person :)
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