Saturday, November 23, 2013

Two Moons

The day done, I return home to my studio apartment. As I pour myself a glass of red to quench my winter thirst, I look up to the skies outside my window to find two full moons floating outside; one true and one illusory, fashioned by the optics of my double glazing.


I've just received a signed copy of Ray's book of short stories titled Two Moons and I'm pleased with the coincidence. 

Ray Jarvis, almost single-handedly responsible for setting up Australia's robotics community guided my fledgling efforts in the field during the five years of my PhD. He once told me that if he hadn't become an engineer researching and building intelligent machines, he would have been a writer.

Ray wrote prolifically in the last 18 months of his life, even as the mesothelioma in his lungs drained the life force out of him. The seeds for the disease, fibres of blue asbestos, had found their way into his lungs more than 50 years ago, in the now abandoned mining town of Wittenoom in far north Western Australia. There they remained, until Christmas 2012, when diving into a friend's pool overlooking Hyde Park in Sydney's CBD, he found himself short of breath and was diagnosed with the disease shortly thereafter.

As a young electrical engineering student, Ray found himself in Wittenoom in 1960, looking for a summer of adventure and hoping to earn a bit of money. He worked hard under the unforgiving desert sun, fixing power lines and surveying the surrounding land with theodolites to work out the most efficient way of levelling it. At the end of his stint in the desert, he found himself tanned and buffed and rich enough to afford a girlfriend.

Ray, in the prime of youth, Wittenoom, 1960
(courtesy http://www.rayjarvisbooks.com/wittenoom/)
This town, with its surrounding spinifex country-side, vast open spaces and raw beauty, camaraderie between immigrant workers and the one pub where parched miners came to share a drink, lends its name to two of the stories in his book, one written before his diagnosis, and the second, book-ending the first (in the words of his daughter and editor Julia Gentil), written shortly before his death.

Two moons, the title of the book and one of its short stories, is about a solo traveller in the desert who sets out on a mission, a walk across the alien, red soil of the outback in search for an elusive something, something that flickers briefly in the vision of a dream. This nebulous quest is revealed to him in its entirety only when exhausted, water supply depleted and miles away from rescue, but trusting in his will and intuition, he finds it, a beacon of reflected moonlight in the lightly rippling waters of a rock pool.

Moonrise over Lake Mungo

The story resonates strongly within me, as many moons ago, I had embarked on a similar journey, a solo adventure through the lake beds of Mungo, a series of interconnecting lakes in outback New South Wales, once full, but dry for the past 18,000 years. Recent heartbreak had led me on a quest, a quest for something that I was not entirely sure of, through this graveyard of Australian pre-history, Mungo man and woman excavated here being the oldest specimens of homo sapiens found on the continent. The protagonist's nocturnal walks across the desert in Two Moons reminds me of my own midnight rambles across the moon-drenched landscape of Mungo, hoping to be consumed by my achingly beautiful surroundings.

Lunette bathed in moonlight

Ray courageously refused all treatment for his mesothelioma, preferring to spend what little time he had with family and friends. He believed that he should be able to do what countless other men and women (including the inhabitants of a wetter, pre-historic Mungo) had done before him. I spent a day with him, his lovely wife Irene and two dogs this July, just a few days before I got news of my acceptance as a post-doc at KU Leuven. We repaired the conical roof of his eccentric octogonal outhouse, beautifully designed and built by him in the backyard of his beachside, Mt. Martha home. It was exciting work: the calculations of quadrant angles, the cutting of transparent, plastic sheeting, its hoisting all the way up to the roof some 12 metres above the floor with the help of a giant ladder positioned at the centre of the outhouse and Ray seated below, whispering instructions. I will treasure that day with Ray for the rest of my life. 

Tonight, as I turn the pages of his book, I miss him and wish I could've spent a few more afternoons building things with him. I hope that I can live my life with the same intellectual vigour, work ethic and kindness that he had and then, when my time comes, slip away quietly with the same grace and courage that he displayed. 

Two Moons is available from
http://www.rayjarvisbooks.com/the-book/






Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Grocery Prices Compared: Leuven vs Melbourne

Grocery prices in Belgium compared with Australia. Click on the image to enlarge.
Prices for a routine grocery shop of mine, at the local supermarket chains in Leuven (Delhaize and Spar) compared to similar items in a Melbourne supermarket (Coles online catalog). Even though brands compared are different, I've chosen products I consider to be of a similar quality and not under the specials section. To be statistically more accurate, I should have compared prices over a longer period and taken the mean and deviations thereof for each price. Nonetheless, this gives an idea of how prices compare between Australia and Belgium. Bread, chocolate and wine (yippee!) are cheaper here, while poultry, soup and fruits (mandarins) are more expensive. 

Monday, November 11, 2013

Horses for Courses and Scandinavian Furniture for my Apartment


My apartment is now a home. A nice, cozy living area, and a sleek, minimalist desk means I can spend these long, cold and wet Leuven evenings with a little more comfort. Thanks to IKEA. The convenience of Swedish consumerism means that I can furnish a new apartment in a new country in 2 days flat, 1 day spent at IKEA itself, and 1 day spent assembling the stuff.



IKEA has been selling mass-produced, beautifully designed furniture (and other items for home-improvement) at relatively cheap prices at its stores around the world since the 1950s. It specializes in "flat-pack", dis-assembled furniture made from MDF or medium-density-fibre, a wood-like product that is engineered from wood-residuals and is lighter than ordinary wood, making it easier to transport. Transferring the labour required to put it together to the consumer reduces its cost and also gives them a sense of achievement. And every time I put together a piece of IKEA furniture, I get exactly this, together with an appreciation for design, carpentry, space-saving packaging and clear, diagrammatic instructions that are easy to follow regardless of whether you speak Swedish or Swahili. My only hope is that no horses were harmed in the making of this furniture*.



* "Horsemeat found in Ikea meatballs in Czech Republic"     http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IKEA#cite_note-106

Monday, November 4, 2013

14 Paces And 37 Kilos

Another move, another country. Barely three years after I moved into my previous apartment, a move that at the time seemed permanent given that I had bought the place, I find myself moving into another one. 



The diagonal bisecting Naamsesteenweg 294 measures 14 paces between the cooking range and the toilet bowl. An existence defined by 14 paces, supported by 37 kilos of my baggage allowance into Belgium. Amongst those 37 kilos, the 2 items dearest to me, apart from my passport, are my laptop and a smart-phone, my twin portals into the world outside my apartment window. A mattress, a toilet, an electric cook-top and a radiator for heating, built into the apartment, complete my support structure. Everything else is superfluous fluff. Pared down to its bare necessities, the things required to support a life are really simple. 

During my time in the middle-east last year, I saw those other expats from the sub-continent, construction workers, whose passports had been confiscated by their employers, make do with far less. I know this meagre collection is going to bloat like the way my 23 kilos, as a 19 year old student, in the year 2000 grew to the mountain of stuff I had accumulated at the end of my 14 years in Australia. Like that 3D printer I'm going to ship from Melbourne with all the little bits and pieces it is going to build. And the things that go into making an apartment a home. A desk, sofa, carpets. What do these things, these accoutrements that one accumulates, add to a life? Perhaps nothing more than a sense of comfort. Customizing a bare apartment in a foreign country to one's minutest needs, just to be reminded of home. 

And then, the time will come to move on again and re-create my life elsewhere. I just wish it could be atomized, transmitted into the ether and re-assembled on command, wherever my itinerant soul next wishes to be.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Pimp My Ride, Leuven-style

Leuven is a university town, and bikes are everywhere. Bikes outnumber cars, buses and people. And they have right of way. This means that as a motorist, if a cyclist stops in front of you and decides to check on her tyre-pressure in the middle of the road, you have to stop and wait patiently till she finishes. There is none of the often violent confrontation between cyclists and motorists that one gets to see in Melbourne. No tapping of windows, hurling of abuse or raising of indignant middle fingers and certainly no Shane-Warne style bike-benders. Cyclists, helmet-less and sans-lycra ride their 1950s-style upright bikes majestically and gracefully through bike lanes, and through the centre of the road where there are none.


To get into the spirit of being a Leuven-ite (or is it Leuven-er or Leuven-ian?), I've decided to make cycling my primary means of transport. Central Leuven is circumscribed by a ring road of diameter 2 km and my home and work are not too far from the ring, which makes cycling the perfect mode of transport for me.



So there is this place called Velo that will rent you a bike for a deposit and a monthly fee and I make my way there. Velo, according to the website is a place that "offers training, work experience and employment to diverse groups  in society that have difficulties to access the job market. Velo does this through bike mobility projects ( for individuals, organizations and companies ). Qualitative guidance, mostly to ensure a flow to the regular economy, is therefore coupled to an ecological, social and responsible work ethic."

It is literally an assembly line of re-cycled bikes that offers employment to people who cannot otherwise get work and bikes to people who want a means of getting around cheaply.


I put in my deposit of 70 Euro and my first month's fee of 30 Euro, and select my bike, a purple lady's-style upright bike with a dynamo powering the front headlight and rear tail-light. I prefer the slanted cross-bar because it makes getting on the bike an easier proposition with my crooked back and inflexible hamstrings, and besides it isn't a fashion faux-pass like it would be in Melbourne. I've seen plenty of well-dressed and completely eligible Belgian men ride around Leuven without a hint of a horizontal cross-bar. Tring-tring!


Friday, October 25, 2013

Belgian Bureaucracy


I'm waiting at the Stadskantoor, the City Hall, a new-ish, glass-fronted building next to the train station in Leuven. EU and Belgian flags flutter in the afternoon breeze over a shiny metal sculpture called the "Hand of Prometheus" that reaches, palm outstretched, for the skies. As a foreigner, I've got to register here within 8 days of arrival, as soon as I get a permanent address, which thankfully, I've just secured; a 1-bedroom apartment not too far from work. I've got my ticket and am waiting for my number to be called out, an experience I've had quite a bit lately, what with changing countries and all. Quite a few counters seem to be empty as  other aliens from around the planet trying to make a life in Belgium wait their turn patiently. Where on the efficiency scale is Belgian bureaucracy going to lie? Slow and infuriating, with malfeasance and the almost compulsory greasing of palms at every level like in India, or is it going to be more like the well-oiled system in Australia, with super-friendly staff and little to no waiting times.


Ads for events at the Stadskantoor flash by on the display screen, interspersed with the flashing of ticket numbers accompanied by a 2-tone bell. "De Staadsoorpan" says one, which looks like a concert announcement, with a picture of a musician and some musical notes. I make a mental note of the event. Live classical music  could go some way towards livening up these increasingly long evenings of the fast approaching winter.
I strike up a conversation with the person sitting next to me, and it turns out he's about to complete a PhD at Leuven, and he's here to arrange his departure documentation. And, he's from Bangalore. I think it's fitting that one (erstwhile) Bangalorean begins his stay in this obscure part of Europe as another ends it. 


When my number finally flashes on screen, I've been waiting for three quarters of an hour. The girl at the counter is friendly, but I realize it's going to take a further 2 visits, with a police visit to my home to confirm my address in between to complete all registration formalities and be issued with a Belgian residence card. If I had to make a judgement based on this one experience with bureaucracy here, I would place it near the Australian end of the scale, maybe a few notches below it.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Leuven Bus Routes Deconstructed

The link to bus routes from the KU Leuven site (http://www.kuleuven.be/transportation/pdf/bus_bike_map2010.pdf) gives you this sphagetti-mass of bus routes.


I've extracted from it some routes of interest to me (based on my current destinations), but these criss-cross the city in a north-south and east-west fashion, and connect the main train station to the university (Arenberg campus) and might be useful to other new newbies to the bus system here.

Leuven Bus Routes (map source: Google Maps)

Clicking on a bus stop on Google Maps also gives you a list of bus numbers routing through that stop.
The Leuven bus website, for more timetables: LIJN.
A word of advice: buying a lot of 10 tickets at the train station is 1 euro cheaper per ticket than buying it on the bus.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Cheap French Wine

It rained all day in Leuven. But the local supermarket, with its bonanza of French wines more than made up for it.
My French wine, purchased for 3 Euros (4.2 AUD) turns out to be reasonable. At this price, I would be drinking cat-piss in Melbourne.

Laundry Trouble

Why does operating a washing machine at the local laundry have to be so godamn difficult? Instructions are posted in every language ever invented, except in English. And to top that, the washing machines don't accept coins. No-siree. They accept tokens that you exchange for your coins at another machine, tucked away in the corner. But hey, I've got free WiFi while I wait for my clothes and I won't complain too much!


Arrival

I have arrived in Leuven, Belgium. It's 9 am in the morning, and I have just slept for the last 15 hours.
The sound of church bells, in fact a single bell suspended outside the belfry (in an unusual configuration) of the 13th century St. Jacob's church next door, has woken me from the depths of jet-lag-induced slumber.

I'm staying at the St. Jacob Bed and Breakfast till such time as I find permanent digs.