I think I made a massive mistake. I could have abandoned the idea of a euro trip in the favor of attending my sister’s marriage.
I am bored of everything that Europe has to offer. Call it indifference towards anything that is vintage, picturesque or grand; call it indifference towards the excitement of the city centers, the air of the narrow cobbled streets, old buildings, museums (I have been to none, though). Whatever. No matter how grand or nice or picturesque a place is, you can't keep enjoying it forever. I can't. I have been to Rotterdam, the city with perhaps the most striking architecture in the Netherlands, I have been to the Hague and the famous beach, the grand buildings, I have seen the most picturesque sceneries on this planet, Swiss Alps and the famous lakes, the crazily expensive Zurich, the quiet Interlaken and the bubbling Lucerne, I have seen perhaps the best example of Gothic architecture, the Kolner Cathedral and the best mix of past and the modern in city of the eau de cologne, Koln. I have climbed to the top of Europe, and witnessed the snowfall in the Alps. I have seen the unbelievably high price tags, be it food items or anything, and i have eaten burgers for 1 euro as well. I have walked with the rough Germans, the suave French, the chic Italians, the cheerful Dutch and the omnipresent Chinks and Bhartiyas. I have been labeled a Sri Lankan myself, thanks to some of my friends. I have had the first taste of beer as well, and the first experience of a football match in the Swiss bar. I have rubbed shoulders cheering for the Dutch Oranje, and rubbed the dishes trying to have a clean container for my food. I have...what not.
I am late. Five days.
I wonder why I never talk of work on this blog. I have come to this sex capital for gaining a global exposure…and the fortune that is, I am here in the university, doing nothing but justifying the theory that a European internship is nothing more than a free euro trip. I have the advantage of poor communicators as the project partners, and that gives me the required amount of space to express my involvement to the supervisor. All I do is guzzle cups and cups of hot chocolate, use the free, fast internet, pretend to be working the entire time, some smooth talking and bingo…you have 700 Euros in your pocket every month. The only aberration is that I have barely received 300, and the second month comes to a close. The disadvantage is that you have a topper as your co-researcher, and a very sincere, but overly expressive and unnecessarily (ir)responsible friend as the roommate. The apartment is completely Asian, and the head tenant is pissed off with the fact that we have not paid the rent for the month of June when we promised to do so in the first week. The secretaries in the university, who are supposed to help us get out payments are on leave half of the days and when they are present they, in their loose blouses and tight trousers, forget they are supposed to work and not just banter around foolishly. Not to mention that they more often than not forget their age. The couple of Indians who we met here are all jerks…no, let’s elevate them to being douche-bags. The city shuts down 6pm sharp everyday and I cannot even roam around in the market place. I had to buy those ugly shoes that day, partly because of the relatively cheaper tag that it was carrying. Someone told me I should get a girl here. Phew!!!
The weather is getting uglier with every progressing hour. The temperatures are touching 27 and the humidity is rising. Unbearable. But I have to write about the trip to Switzerland. The horn was blown on Thursday, which normally should have been a Friday evening. Thursday it was when we went out to the Centrum, in hope of seeing some good shops in the market place and some attractive faces as well. But again, and this time I myself am tired of writing this time and again, due to the fellow researchers, we only managed to reach the market at around 7:45. The market closes 8:30. All we can pull of is a decent Canon camera for Manoj, a pair of FILA shoes for me and nothing for Mudit. I was looking for some cheap music player but could not find one. Then we had a massive debate about middle class mentality, two on one debate with absurd points being raised, (I was fighting alone) like Wagon R being a status symbol and the debaters forgetting the points I was fighting for. The debate started with the statement that the middle class does not have food to eat and they are wasting money on branded items. I contested on this ground, the absurdity of having no money to eat and forgetting this very fact. The others very howling on points that no body dies of hunger. Yeah I know this is unimaginative and I am being a bit selfish in writing this. Only after three days was I to realize that my own family has let me down in this debate. Anyhow, then began another boring cooking session, and the usual adoration of self made things, when they actually are not. The chapattis were bad, the subzi that we had, the aaloo-shimla mirch one was sweet (and they told it is actually sweet) and the dal (this was real tasty) with some rice was the only nice thing. Mudit got some cranberry juice, and I reminded him of the Departed scene. That was it for Thursday.
Friday morning started at 11:00, and I could get only seven hours of free internet. Once again, when we had to leave early, they delayed, and with the assists of the Dutch drivers, dressed in the best of formals, and particularly aware of the value of flying time, to an extent that they were running ahead of the schedule, we missed the train. The wait was painful. It was getting colder, we were shivering, and to add to the bitterness of the environment, there was a German who made mockery of the fact that I do not know Dutch or German. We arrived at the German station at 10:00 and had to wait till 1:30 in the morning. The wait was not pleasant either, when I was carrying the heavy bag, the wind was cold, and the conductors did not know English. We were invited to an orgy, which after politely declining, we readily accepted only to know that it had not yet begun. Damn.
Saturday began with the smartass Indian, from IIT R, and his smartass talking, some glimpses of the Koln cathedral, a foolish conductor, a chilly Frankfurt airport, the bustling Basel station and then the Sri Lankans (read, the friends, and other Indians). We exchanged some euros for some francs (swiss) and set off for Lucerne. The journey gave us some good time, and time for some sandwiches. Switzerland has Indians littered everywhere. Sorry. Asians would be better. Or even better would be saying that more than 90% of the tourists there are from the subcontinent and the Indi-Chinese region. Anyhow, the trip was a nice one, to Mt. Titlis. It was raining at the foot of the hill, and there was the snowstorm on the top. Enjoyable. That’s it. Then came Lucerne. Nothing of a city, but still very lively. Vintage buildings, casions, restaurants, the nice lake and the attractive crowd. And mind you all of this comes with a price tag. The boat trip would have seemed very gay, unless we took some supper in the restaurant on the cruise. But again, everything comes with a price tag. We got down at the next stop, went into a kebap shop and got some kebabs. Nice food, they served. I envy those who went to Lauterbrunnen, for they saw Rivendell. For us, we went to Zurich, on the chic street, outside the bar made some noise, went back to the hostel and slept.
Sunday: Woke up, dropped some bricks, and bingo we were on the station for free. Missed the train we were supposed to catch, and reached Interlaken only half an hour later. On the station I realized that I was being thought of as a Sri Lankan. The old lady, who watched the group eat like gluttons, kept on laughing. At the station, when I waved to her, she came up to me and asked if I was from Sri Lanka. Man, I was blown off. I do not think you find people of such fair skin complexions in Sri Lanks. On revealing my nationality, she did a very brisk Namaste. That was more acceptable, from the nice, cheerful woman. After roaming around for nothing, in the vicinity of the station, we traversed the golden pass route and I personally was extremely bored of sightseeing. Back to Lucerne. Back to Zürich. There in that street, we see three strip clubs, and the people, the Nepalese and the Sri Lankan go crazy. Manoj and I take a more conscientious stand. The timings were from 20:00, and the Sri Lankan had to go back to Deutschland. Back to the station. Got some burgers and chips, for him. There, while waiting for the train, a group of girls, young, I would prefer calling them children, comes to us and the first thing they say to one of us is: I love you. Wow. But children. Shit. Anyhow, the one they were talking to started his sentences. And became the object of mockery. I was eating some bread, and they were constantly looking at me. No, the first thing they asked was our age. Cool. I thought one of us was going to get laid. And then out of the blue comes Fuck you. Fuck you child, don’t you dare swear. They get a boy, hardly 14, and tell him to be the boyfriend who does not like them talking to us. And boom…are you from Sri Lanka?? By then I knew who was the Sri Lankan. Manoj quietly whispered, “They like you I guess”. I was dumbstruck at their behavior. They were sober and they were talking like insane. Namaste soon followed. And then, a hasty farewell. Phew!!! Tough day. We went back and staring at the bar and the strip clubs on the either side of the road, I decided to go for a beer in the bar than seeing the ladies strip. Swiss people are not football crazy and half the customers ordered coke. I felt like a fool. I had ordered a Carlsberg. After the boring 45 minutes, we went back to the station, and took a pee in every possible train we could. Shouting AUSGANG any random moment and laughing, making fun of the Nepalese, till the point that he declared that we were under the influence of alcohol, we started the trip to Koln.
Monday: the Nepalese plays Nothing Else (Metallica)…and a German comes and asks him to send the song over the Bluetooth. He cannot. I ask if she wants some Indian songs. She runs away. He is pissed off, searches the whole train to find her and sends her the shitty Zombie (cranberries) instead. We wake up to find Koln asleep. Nothing on the streets. No toilets. Somehow, the clock strikes 9:00 and we enter the Cathedral, the most remarkable gothic architecture I think I will ever see, climb to the top of it, 100m, climb down and roam around in the street. I feel like a stupid not having bought the eau de cologne. Germany is the cheapest European country, because you get subway sandwich for 2.5 euros and a McD for 1 euro. We then went to Bonn, alighted the train, changed the platforms, and boarded the train back to Koln. There, changed platforms and boarded the train to Amsterdam. The Indians in the train, on their vacation from the US, had a stopover in Dusseldorf, and they suggested us to see the BMW factory. They forgot that donning Giorgio Armani or Prada alone does not grant you the wisdom. We started laughing and did not stop until Utrecht.
It feels nice to be back at home. It felt nice. Everything is relaxed again. The typical Dutch air is so soothing. The week was unusually exhausting. We had skipped Monday, assuming that the project supervisor would take it easy. Instead he summons us into his office and behind the Gucci specs, talks about faith, trust, childishness, immaturity and what not. Yeah, he tells us who we are and reminds us our financial position. That marks the beginning of some epiphany that renders my roomie numb and dumb. He goes to bed at 21:00. Then comes the major threat, the event of the week. I am doing the dishes, when a sleepy land lady comes to me and demands the rent for the month of June. Crazy. I try to explain things and she refuses to understand. I try to talk clever but she very bluntly states the option of throwing us out of the house if we do not pay the rent. I talk to the secretary, who is more concerned about showing off her cleavage than doing her administrative duties and behind the Bvlgari shades, she says everything is done. Amazing precision.
Swiss rightly deserves to be called Chhota Bharat, and thanks to the huge Indian community there, I never felt like I was not in Bihar (on the railway platform for that matter. They were sitting on the floor, with their sheets spread and enjoying the picnic). Tomorrow is another new task. Brussels awaits the Sri Lankan horde. Come whoever may, the Flemish or the Walloons, the battlefield of Waterloo is fresh and ready as ever.
