chapter 10

Fond du LacThe next day was special. Arpitha, the raison d’etre we were in the U.S., was arriving from Syracuse. ‘By 2.30, ’ Amar told us. He could barely conceal his excitement, as he left for work early. ‘I’ll pick her up from the airport.’I fixed a breakfast of bread and eggs with some coffee. Standard breakfast this was turning out to be. The only mind-blowing decisions I had to make were whether to have the eggs boiled or scrambled or go for an omelette. Two eggs each or one? What stressed me out further was if I should go for plain butter or peanut butter. How about toasted bread? Should I halve the sandwiches and ‘triangularise’ them, for aesthetic effect? Should I make Bombay toast in Neenah?My tummy was still not up to the mark and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it; I had had only the harmless bread and scrambled eggs today. With another lawn mower, this time manually operated, humming rhythmically in the background, VK and I settled down to read until lunch time. A tomato sandwich topped with pink pill for me, I told myself, while VK went for a jam and jelly sandwich. He seemed not to have learnt his lesson from the octopus; he was now going for jelly.Arpitha arrived. Exclamations of joy, gurgling laughter and excited exchange of news followed, after which we quietened down to watch a couple of movies while she napped. We had fallen out of the habit of watching movies and it felt like a totally new experience. Both movies, The Imitation Game, based on the mathematician, Alan Turing, and the Julia Roberts thriller Secret of the Eyes, were absorbing, though I kept taking unscheduled bathroom breaks. Was tomato also a no-no for me? The pink pill hadn’t begun working its magic yet.The day, as it turned out, was for movies. Amar wanted us to get a taste of the cinema theatre experience in the U.S. and took us, that evening, to see the newly released horror movie, A Quiet Place, playing at one of the many theatres that comprised Marcus Hollywood Cinema outside Neenah. There were very few in the audience, the screen was huge, the seats were plush, and from the comfort of the chairs, every character on screen, human and monster, looked gigantic—the U.S. emphasis on size is all-encompassing.The movie revolves around the premise that no sound makes sound sense. Make even the slightest noise and you go kaput. Monsters that are hyper sensitive to sound will jump out of nowhere and kill you. So, we froze in our seats and watched the Abbott family, the only family left behind in post-apocalyptic New York—the rest of the world can eat cake—speak in sign language. Easy, for the daughter is hearing impaired. The family is pitted against the thin, badly put-together aliens with an appreciable dislike for noise. If only a little of that rubbed off on our country.Sudden noises made us jump, the silences freaked us out, a nail protruding from a wooden step made us shiver in anticipation … the experience was nerve-wracking.Shrugging the monster off, and getting our eyes adjusted to people who were the size of people, we went to a supermarket, Woodman’s, on the way back. This one was more gigantic than the Walmart store we had visited, if that were possible.It was raining when we left Woodman’s and it rained all the way home. In fact, rain was our constant companion during the days we spent abroad. It was almost as if we had brought the Kerala rain with us. Except for the occasional respite, it stuck loyally around till we returned.It’s very difficult to resist the simple allure of rural Neenah, a small Midwest town. Coming from India, where bustling crowds, unmanageable traffic, polluted air and blaring loud speakers can dampen your enjoyment of any outing, I found the quiet tranquillity of Neenah, its abundant natural beauty and bracing air attractive and soothing to the senses. I’d have been happy to spend the rest of my visit going for long walks in the neighbourhood.But Amar hadn’t invited us to the U.S. just to have me go mooning around a 3-mile radius of his apartment. He and Arpitha were determined to give us the time of our lives and with so many wonderful places waiting to be visited and so few days, they had to make judicious choices. Amar was well aware of our love for literature, the great outdoors, places of rugged natural beauty and water bodies, and knowing only too well VK’s weakness for museums, which Amar shared, A&A came up with a carefully selected itinerary.In the ten days we had in Neenah before we left for Syracuse, we managed visits to Appleton, Fond du Lac and Green Bay, cities close to Neenah, and went on enriching trips to Madison, Milwaukee and Door County. We visited lakes, beaches, libraries, unique museums, prominent buildings and botanical gardens, trekked in a State Park, walked along rivers …Does it sound like we were rushing like crazy from one place to the other, more intent on being there, doing that, than actually enjoying the experience? Not at all. That, to me, was the beauty and the triumph of our trip. Everything was leisurely—we’d plan to leave at 9 a.m. and set out only at 10.30—except when we ran hell for leather to beat the rain or catch a train. Every outing was spaced out, following the simple principle of dropping a building here or a park there; yet we ended up enjoying and absorbing so much. It helped that evenings were unbelievably long.Though breakfast remained the mandatory eggs, bread and coffee, Arpitha’s entry into our lives brought some variety to the lunch. She made rice, dal and a delicious vegetable dish that must have played a role in settling our temperamental stomachs. We visited Fond du Lac the evening after she reached. From that point, Arpitha became our constant companion, resourceful guide, technology wizard, online booking specialist and our ‘go to’ person when Amar wasn’t around.Lake Winnebago at Fond du Lac was a forty-minute drive from Neenah. Fond du Lac, a city in Wisconsin, owes its name to its location. ‘Fond du Lac’ is French for ‘bottom of the lake’ and since it is obviously not an underwater city, let’s accept the more dignified translation—‘the farthest end of the lake’. The lake in question is Lake Winnebago, Winnebago being the name the native American tribe living there had been given by its neighbours. It meant ‘people of the stinking water’, not a very flattering appellation. But the French retained it, having exhausted their inventiveness with ‘Fond du Lac’.Amar parked near the lighthouse, and we walked about Lakeside Park, with its welcoming pathways, bridges and a petting zoo. A petting zoo, they said, but we saw just one representative, a deer, that leapt away before we could take our hands out of our pockets. A covered bridge was a huge attraction, especially when it drizzled. And most importantly, there was no sign or a whiff of geese poo. In fact, there were no geese at all. No geese, no poo; as simple as that.Fond du Lac Light at Lakeside Park is more than just a lighthouse that helps mariners sail safe. Built at Lakeside Park during the time of the Great Depression, the iconic lighthouse stands as a beacon of hope for the people of the city. By 1965, it had fallen into disrepair—the floors had to be strengthened or changed, the top deck and the railings had to be replaced, but it remained the same lighthouse when it was restored. It reminded me of a story I had heard of a man boasting about a dagger that had been in his family for generations. ‘The blade has been replaced many times, and the handle had to be changed too, but it is the same dagger.’We have gone up higher lighthouses in Kerala—the Anjengo lighthouse in Varkala, that we often visit, is 130 feet high—but the octagonal shape of the Fond du Lac Light with its flagstone foundation base made the 56-foot structure very attractive. We stomped up the spiral wooden staircase to the observation deck to get a hair- and mind-blowing view of the lake and the lush surroundings. If we wanted a better view, there was a huge telescope to look through.Clattering down, we walked along the lake and saw, just like we had at Lutz, a lot of dead fish. VK’s fascination with them came right back. Instead of the standard, ‘Hi, how are you?’, VK’s opening gambit became, ‘Hi, could you tell me why there are so many dead fish here?’ He asked a man at the lighthouse. The man turned a deadpan face to him. But VK isn’t one to give up so easily. He asked a Black man who was fishing in the gurgling waters and the guy drawled, ‘Man, I’m new to this place.’ VK then found a father and son duo fishing and asked them too—the father, rather. This man shook his head, looking baffled. Later we heard him shout out the question to a policeman in a boat. VK looked pleased; at least he had got people thinking, even if it was about dead fish.Our longish walk ended when it began to drizzle again. We quickened our pace; our stroll turned into a gallop. I began to sprint when I sighted the car, not realising it was somebody else’s. But the others caught up with me before I could be caught trying to break into a strange vehicle, and we reached Amar’s without getting too drenched, though getting even a little wet can be very uncomfortable in cold weather.We drove a long distance to dinner at an Indian restaurant, The India Bhavan, where we met two endearing waiters, Singh and Godwin. Amar privately called them Sing and Dance. The duo appeared very familiar with Amar; clearly, he frequented the place for his favourite dosas. That’s what we all had before returning home in pouring rain.