I woke up the next day to the sunlight streaming through the windows; the wispy thin curtains not withholding much. Little did I know then about the blinds outside the window (and it took me a good one week to figure that out). I tossed on the bed, taking a moment to register where I was. I could see my suitcases lying half open across the room. Just the thought of unpacking seemed exhausting. I got up and went over to the window to see the view. There was a school right opposite, one of those old buildings with a clock tower and attic. I could see some kids on the street making their way to the school. I opened the window and felt the chilly breeze on my face (and another month by the time I learnt to keep the windows half open, in the typical German style). I closed it to get back to the warmth of my heater.

I rummaged through my bags for my toothbrush and unpacked some essentials for the time being. I clicked some pictures​ of the house and started to get ready for my first day at work. I looked at myself in the mirror and could still spot some fatigue on my face. The weather had changed by then. It looked cloudy and windy. I could see kids coming out to play in the school, zipped in winter jackets and caps. I made a mental note of the documents to carry along and packed it into my bag. I locked my apartment and made my way downstairs.

It started to drizzle and I had no umbrella. I was trying to recollect the way to the bus stop, as told by my landlord the previous night. I wondered how different everything looked in daylight. But I was convinced I was in the right direction. I stopped by a signal. It seemed like I had been walking for a longtime and I was beginning to get doubtful about the way. I stopped a lady passing by, for directions to the bus stop. She did not know any English and went past with a shrug of her head in apology. I then asked a young man and he was new too and unfortunately couldn't be of help.

I already felt lost and helpless. I had no phone connection, so no Google maps to come to my rescue (although the one time I used it I got lost and reverted to asking passersby for directions). I held back my emotions, squinted against the now fatter raindrops and looked around. I could see the sign board, ‘Apotheke’, meaning a medical store, across the signal. I crossed when the pedestrian symbol glowed in green. It felt like a luxury to cross roads in peace! I entered and approached the elderly man wearing a white coat. To my relief, he followed English and gave me clear instructions, getting out of the shop to show me the exact road and turns to take to the bus station.

I followed his direction to a T and was so glad to see the central bus terminus just as he had described. But soon another confusion began. The bus terminal had four bays with many partitions each and all I knew was the bus number to take to the university. I spotted only one person around the entire terminal, a lady sitting, and went to her for some information. She managed to communicate through actions and broken English. I went to a bay and gestured to her if I was in the right one.She gave me a thumbs up. A sigh of relief indeed! The bus came within a few minutes while I was still trying to interpret the automatic display boards. I bought my ticket and found a window seat. Names of places and streets never heard before, new faces at every stop, sometimes co-passengers would take a second look at me, the foreigner that I now was.

It was all too overwhelming in the beginning!

For about two days I was in a daze, not really getting hold of anything happening around me. But soon, after a weekend of much needed rest I began to mark my presence all over the apartment like an animal in a new territory. I unpacked my stuff; clothes into the wardrobe, that quirky coffee mug from Chumbak on the kitchen counter, a cute stuffed elephant doll and a wooden carved pen dating back to my trip to Ooty on the study desk, some photographs and magnets to place on the fridge. It felt so good to have a whole apartment to myself; the liberty to decorate it my way, to always find things wherever they were last kept and to just be me at the end of a long day.

So I slowly started getting accustomed to things. I did not feel the necessity of a clock, thanks to the chimes of the bell from the clock tower. I downloaded the local bus service app which helped me discover a bus stop closer to my apartment.I found a great shopping companion in Google translate (And that one time when I had no internet in my phone, I ended up buying cake base paper for place-mats!). I shopped for carpets and table linen, fancy cushions and what not! The apartment slowly transformed into a place I could call home.

It’s now been a little over five months. I am no longer the anxious newbie registering at the city office. I can afford to get lost in my thoughts whilst my feet take me back home. I am not so conscious running through the side lane to catch the bus in the mornings. I bury myself in books sitting by window seats, knowing exactly when to look across to catch a glimpse of the river and those tall church spires. It’s been a multitude of experiences, processes of learning and unlearning. And if the last grocery shopping was any indication, I have finally mastered the German tradition of checking out of billing counters in a jiffy (never would I forget that exasperated glare from the lady at the desk, the first time I shopped at a supermarket here)! I still end up buying one thing for the other or with the wrong ice-cream flavour, owing to my insufficient knowledge of Deutsch. But I have come a long way indeed in the past few months; so much, that I’ve already become a slave to the routine and abandoned my writing! But here’s to hoping this quaint town continues to inspire the words out of me and those seemingly everyday anecdotes keep making their way here.