Every time I arrive in a new country I am overtaken by the feeling that my life is unreal, or perhaps the better term is surreal. After living in Japan in an apartment not much bigger than a shoebox, in an apartment in Mantova, Italy adjacent to both the train station and the busy "Street of Trucks" (also above a pizza joint where I would be awakened at least one night per week by the smashing of plates, hurled at each other by the highly vocal and emotional husband and wife team who owned the place), in a haunted medieval Dutch castle with peacocks and geese shrieking and honking half the night, in a renaissance era complex of villas overlooking the Florentine skyline, in a campus that resembled a giant yellow spaceship that was nestled in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan, and now in a high-rise apartment building in the metropolis of Jakarta, home to 30 million residents, I feel as though I haven't been living a life as much as I have been inhabiting a peculiar dream. An...
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