Posted on by jartrob

Come Saturday Morning…

A picture, then a thousand (or so) words:

The modern and the primeval. A brave CNG (Compressed Natural Gas) taxi beneath the brave trees that remain. Down the road from the Asian University for Women.

In the Muslim world, Friday and Saturday make up the weekend. Here at AUW, I teach from Sunday through Thursday. A slight shift, but one that has thrown me off in some small ways. I’m at the tail end of the weekend (see title) and my friends and family in the States are just starting theirs. How can this be? Let’s see:

Yesterday, I startled my mom by FaceTiming her at 6:45am Pacific Time. I thought it had to be early evening in California, even though I had just finished my dinner of vegetarian pizza with chili sauce at Beans ‘n’ Cream, an unappetizingly named but delicious local restaurant. She wondered if I was okay; the jury’s out.

Beans ‘n’ Cream ‘n’ Crocs ‘n’ Me.

Then: Last Thursday I told my students to have a good weekend and that I’d see them on Monday. They cheered until one woman betrayed her classmates and said, “But don’t we start again on Sunday?” (“Judas!”).

No one likes a snitch. On the wall outside a local school where copyright infringement is not on the curriculum. (Am I reading this right?)

And: I thought I’d amble home last night from a movie and, in doing so, stepped into the most visceral definition of a throng imaginable. Chok Bazar was packed with thousands of people, all socializing and shopping after the Friday evening prayers. I got lost–and more than a bit panicked–amid the crammed tea stalls and cycle rickshaws and sputtering florescent tubes and the ceaseless honking horns that sound like hell-bent, furious geese on a mission to derail every single train of thought. I finally hailed a three-wheel taxi and found I was four minutes from my apartment. Oh, well.

On the way home. I wonder what this shop is peddling.

Time, time, time. Studies have shown that the abrupt changes brought about by Daylight Saving Time cause drivers to misjudge braking distances; without being aware of it, we adjust our depth perception based on lengths of shadows and subtle shifts in ambient light. When we leap ahead an hour, all that subconscious information gets mangled. We crash. And now my weekend’s a whole day earlier.

Perhaps I’m trying to over-compensate for my confusion with aggressive pedantry.

Don’t women observe Daylight Saving Time? And serve in Congress?

I also make it sound as if I casually slipped into a movie theater last night and caught a film. This is untrue. I haven’t figured out how to spend my free time here–right now the power is off and I’m sitting in my boxers, typing while trying to keep my sweaty arms from touching my sweaty sides (InstantMessage me for photos) (kidding, Mom)–so I’ve leapt at any opportunity to do anything. A colleague from last summer invited me to a Jean-Luc Godard screening-and-lecture at the Chittagong Alliance Française. I made the fifteen minute walk through Chok Bazar and, miraculously, found the building. The speaker earned enthusiastic bursts of applause along with some good laughs; he switched back and forth effortlessly between French and Bangla. I only caught the words “New Wave” and “film” because, well, they were in English, but I didn’t care. It felt good to be around people in a somewhat familiar setting. I dozed off during the double feature, giving my (sweaty) body over to the mosquitoes who were drawn to the French New Wave.

I saw this…

…at this. Didn’t know a single moviegoer, but I was so grateful for their company I kept nodding at them as if we were long-lost chums. I guess we are social creatures.

As I left the Alliance Française (whose hashtag is the unfortunate af), I took my life in my hands, fastening myself to more experienced Bangladeshis who scrummed me across the street in one cohesive unit. Once on the other side, I let out a sigh of relief, took a deep victory breath, and was immediately pummeled from above by a hard, oblong object. Paranoia took hold. I thought, “Who’s throwing rocks at me? Or potatoes? What did I do this time?” My face flushed with anger (“What the hell??”). As I reached around to rub my throbbing shoulder (it really hurt) I saw a security guard run out into traffic and retrieve the thing. “A mango!” he said, pointing to the tree above and then holding it up for me to inspect.

Jackfruit grows here in Bangladesh as well. In fact, it’s the national fruit. If one of these had fallen from on high I’m not sure I’d be typing here today.

Had this happened in a Jean-Luc Godard film my reaction would have been blasé and provocatively arbitrary. I’d have whipped out a pistol, shot the mango, grabbed the security guard by the hand, and then run laughing (why?) into the night. The soundtrack would have swelled as if to say, “We will now toy with your expectations, little fool.” The security guard would not solve my problems–nor I, his–but we would not care. We know time is passing; that is all.

We are birds, trapped by the sky. (I love this mural.)

Time is passing, if a bit slowly. Am trying to set up some improv workshops and connect with people from last year; my hope is that I’ll get busy enough to stop thinking so much about home. To counter this, I’ve been getting out of bed at 5:15 every morning to take a long walk. Chittagong is quiet and cooler at this hour (it’s still hot af)(je suis désolé). The simple act of walking gets me out of my head (although yesterday the song “It’s a Jolly Holiday with Mary” from Mary Poppins wormed its way into my mind) and I can feel myself actually being here. In Bangladesh.

Bert and Mary, if they were French.

It’s the improv maxim: Get into your body; get out of your head. I’ve been having my Intro Psych class do physical activities at the midpoint of our 75 minute class to give them a break from the sitting and note-taking. Last Thursday we all hummed together and then let out our voices to find a musical chord. It may not have been pitch-perfect, but we spent the second half of the class in a much better mood. Today (it’s finally Sunday) we talked about ambidexterity and then shook out our dominant and non-dominant hands to the count of 10. At least it gets them laughing. Doing this also gives them an emotional experience upon which they can attach this (sort of) dry material. “The neural impulse will always be connected to the day Professor Robinson made us shake like chickens.”

Here are some photos from my walks. Again, Bangladesh is a beautiful, complex country. I wish my photographic eye could genuinely capture it for you:

Road leading up to the haunting War Cemetery.

Cheerful soccer players outside the AUW at 5:45 in the morning.

Obliging proprietors of one of the billions of tiny shops in Chittagong.

Weary cat outside a Kali temple near the AUW.

Inside the Kali temple. The cat did Kali’s work for her the previous evening (see crow, taking credit).

Another neighborhood cat, acting all innocent. I miss Omelet and Eisenhower.

It’s all been said before.

Handsome Bangladeshi.

Um…

Glorious.

And now, some WONDERFUL, hopeful advertising. I have to emphasize this: My Bangla is non-existent except for a few words. If I ever become more adept, I hope I infuse their language with as much optimism as the Bangla people have done with English. Snark would be unseemly here, so I offer these photos with all the good humor they brought me:

My melancholy will have a mint lemonade, unless you have a side of homesickness to go.

I wish there were a comma. Duh.

So what’s the rush?

Wicked Bean!

So, we drink it?

At last. An advertiser who dares to speak the quiet part out loud.

There are no mistakes.

Just got back from lunch in the cafeteria. I sat with a Bangladeshi journalist and a Chinese philosopher. I left humbled. There is so much about this country that I can’t see on the surface. Of course.

That’s all. Please send a comment; I’d like to hear from you, my friends.

(I’m a sucker for this stuff):

Come Saturday morning, just I and my friend

We’ll travel for miles in our Saturday smiles

And then we’ll move on

But we will remember long after Saturday’s gone

Dory Previn/Fred Karlin

38 Replies to “Come Saturday Morning…”

  1. Another fun post! You do find delightful visuals!!
    I hope that the jury is now in and you’re feeling fine.
    What are the “glorious” orange things hanging in a row? Skirts??

  3. Thanks for the insights and the chuckles, Jim. And your courage for immersing yourself in such a disorienting, foreign world for our reading pleasure (and your students’ edification and entertainment).

  4. Darling James Arthur,
    Stunning photography and brilliant observations as usual. Please explain the scrumming. Sounds hideous. Miss you and please come home soon. Yours, Michelle Loretta

    1. Michelle Loretta…You know my deep love of sport and how I enjoy a good rugby scrum as much as the next fellow. To cross the street I have to latch onto the nearest group and run with them, as if we were a scrum. It’s terrifying. Go Vikes! Love, James Arthur

  5. Hi James! It’s Sunday here, hence I am lazing about, reading your post. I am “feeling” your street crossing with the throng and then getting lost in the market. It panics me. I’m also contemplating the entropy that is so visible in a city with X million people. That existential reality makes life seem so much more transient. And you have chosen to live there for 8 weeks! I guess it’s a little like taking on Mt. Ventoux on my bike? It’s an achievement to survive it? Do you think the effort it takes to just live makes the people kinder, nicer, better? Or the opposite? I miss you. I’m sure the cats miss you too. -m

    1. These are good question, Martha. I do know people here have been extraordinarily warm towards me. It could be that I’m the only foreigner for miles, but I don’t see much of the hostility that’s infected our country (and, again, I don’t know what anyone is saying, so…). You’re brave to bike that far and that incline. Miss you, too. Please give the cats my love if you see them. Am surprisingly homesick, from time to time…

  7. Enjoyed reading this on my lazy Sunday morning. Gotta love the French (af). I too have slept through many a new wave film (sorry?). Thank you for sharing and for working your somatic skills so far from home. You represent us so honestly and honorably.
    Be well and safe and happy. Time will fly.!

    1. Thanks, Julie. The early morning walks have made a HUGE difference. Chittagong can be beautiful and (almost) serene. I appreciate your comments!

  8. Reading about your homesickness brought me right back to the most miserable two weeks of my life: Girl Scout Camp up in Idyllwild. I cried for two weeks, mostly at bedtime, while Connie Grigsby and Jean Wood seemed happy to be sleeping out under the canvas covers over our sleeping bags. There were mosquitoes and dust and our striped camp tee shirts and filthy white Keds tennis shoes. I just wanted to be home with my Mom so I could watch her iron and sew and smoke all while “Days of our Lives” served as background noise. Who needed arts and crafts in the July heat and dust of Southern California mountains when you could go next door to the Ford’s backyard swimming pool?

    My final cure was to go home, but maybe being 50 years older than I was then will make it easier to find solace. Or maybe you could figure out how to find “Days of our Lives” streaming re-runs in Bangladesh?

    Thanks for your powerful writing that can elicit such memories and visceral feelings. And at least you don’t have to sleep under a canvas sleeping bag cover. Hugs to you my friend. And keep writing of course. 😘

    1. Hi Melinda! I remember sitting in your living room watching “Days of Our Lives” with your mom! I loved those afternoons. She was so welcoming and interested in all of us. I refused to go to camp when I was a kid for the very reasons you mentioned (although I sensed my error when Eddie, Patty, and Bobby were gone and I was alone with Mom and Dad. There was no hiding from their scrutiny). I’m enjoying my students and (get this) actually went to a Catholic church and watched the beginning of the 6:00am mass this morning. Desperate measures. (I exaggerate for mild effect). Thank you, thank you for the comments. Hello to your sisters and much love to you–Jimmy

      1. Jimmy!! Loving the play-by-play and almost feeling as if I’m there with you. Gorgeous photos & your marvelously witty (as ever) narration are a joy. More of same, please. Enjoyed the message on the shop proprietor’s yellow tee shirt. Have fun & hope the homesickness abates. It surely will.
        Big hugs & much love,
        Addie XOXO

        1. Thanks, Addie! I’ve been walking like a fiend and enjoying teaching a lot. There is hope. Love you!

  9. Hi Jim, I LOVE your blogs. They make me laugh and they especially make me want to travel. But it’s enough I realize to let you travel and share your adventures and wonderful insights with us. Keep them coming. We miss you.

    1. My friend Chris of NPR forwarded this to me because I lived about halfway to Cox’s Bazaar from Chittagong way back in 1979. Brings back memories of being adrift in a fascinating but challenging place. Hard at times but you will cherish your time!

      1. Thanks, Bill! I’m slowly finding my feet (this is my fourth time in Bangladesh…it’s taking a bit longer, for some reason). I took the bus to Cox’s Bazaar last summer. Harrowing ride; beautiful scenery. Walked along the beach at the end of the day. Incredible. What were you doing there? Must have been fascinating. Please tell Chris hello for me. He’s a good guy. And thanks for reaching out! Jim

    2. Thanks, Fran! I went on a LONG walk with Dennis on FaceTime this morning. He’s a patient person. Love to you and Tom.

  10. Hi Jim

    El sent me your blog. All sounds very
    Interesting. But sense your loneliness
    Not sure how long you will be there.
    Love
    Sue

    1. Hi Sue! I’ll be here until July 12. And, insanely, I’m giving a presentation in Anaheim at the end of July. I’ll be staying at Mom’s; maybe we can meet up again for a meal. Tell Ellen hi and much love to you–Jimmy

  11. This morning I had a crow storm me and hit me on the back of the head as Scout and I were walking by, peacefully minding our own business. Being hit on or near the head when not expecting it is VERY alarming. Hope you find fulfilling ways to fill your time soon, and thank you for the pictures!

    1. Dang crow. Worse than getting egged on crutches. A pleasure to see you (and Scout) on the way here!

  13. Jim, thank you for serving us your feelings through these beautiful arrangements of words. What a gift! I always look forward to reading (eating?) these meditations. My daughter was recently away from home for two nights and before she left, we talked about the invisible threads that would connect her back home. You’ve got many of those, amidst this audience, and we’re all tugging on the hyrax’s right back, even if you can’t feel it.

    1. Thank you, Keren! I’ve missed hanging out with you and trying to solve–or, at least, understand–the world’s problems. And I do feel the tugs from home (and appreciate them very much). Teaching has been really gratifying; you’d love these students. Lunch, perhaps, when I return?

  15. That is one of THE saddest songs to me….
    I’m thinking of you, and thinking of all the times I’ve been in the situations you’ve been in. I always think of myself as an introvert, until I’ a stranger in a land about which I know little. Then suddenly, I, too, am having embarrassingly long conversations with the man who handed me my tea.
    Just for the record, you can be inept and embarrassed in your own (sort of) land also. I just made two grave errors in a pub in Bangor, Maine, in the middle of the day, one of them involving carrying a beer on the wrong side of a length of plastic chain (separating Drink Here from God Forbid You Drink Here). I was humiliated in my own language.

    1. Lisa! Language betrays. Things are looking up; I still stare at everyone who passes until they acknowledge me. Shirley Freud would have a field day. Give my best to Maine! Thanks for the comments, too!

  16. Bangladesh will always inspire the strangest mix of homesickness and a particular kind of fear — that sort of fear you feel when you see a happy dog running down the onramp to a freeway, for instance. You have captured that PERFECTLY — far better than I ever did.

    1. The dog/freeway image is perfect. I found a park–a large open space, at least–on my morning walk and nearly cried with joy. Much to talk about when I return. Going to Dhaka for the weekend. Hope all is well…thank you for the comment!

  17. I love your posts so much, Jim. I’m glad you’re back there, and so admire your adventurous spirit. Also picking up some teaching tips from you! Looking forward to the next one xoxo.

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