A king lives here.

This time last year I was rushing to get my fellowship application for Belgium written, polished, and sent off. I was freaked out, confident I wouldn’t get it, fearful I would get it and have to go, nostalgic for long days on the couch watching The Wire. Well, I’ve been here in the Kingdom of Belgium for a month and a half already and it’s feeling like a home. I know how to get around without asking for directions or asking others. (In fact I’ve given directions a few times: in English, bad French, and once through lots of pointing). I know where things are. I have “my” places where I get a beer, a coffee, fresh bread, etc.

A friend recently asked if I had become “non-plussed” with living in Europe yet. The honest answer is, yes. After a while you become part of where you live and the humdrum of life takes over from the excitement of being some place new. That said, there are still things that make me stop and remember that I’m not where I’m from; that I’m in a different country. Something that I come back to is the fact that Belgium is a kingdom.

Now, “they” say that Americans are fascinated with royalty since, well, we don’t have one. (The Kennedys aside.) But it’s true, I’m fascinated by the fact that the head of state here is a king, a man who took office only because he was related to the previous occupant.

Now, the Belgian king isn’t like, say, the British monarch with all that pomp and ceremony and history. He has no crown or other outward symbols of royalty, but he does have a huge palace that, when I walk by it, reminds me that the king works there. (He lives in the suburbs.) He is, though, a seemingly unifying force in a country deeply divided by language.

In fact, walking around the government quarter you see the complex nature of the Belgian government. The national government has its seat in the Palace of the Nation across Parc Bruxelles that separates it from the Royal Palace. Then, next to it is the Parliament of the French Speaking Community that governs the cultural aspects of the Francophone part of Belgium. A little ways away is the Flemish Parliament that combines the government of the Flemish Community (the cultural aspect) and the Flemish Region (the economic aspect). The Region of Walloonia has a parliament separate from the community. When you talk about a federal system, Belgium puts the United States to shame!

Now, I probably could have written the dissertation I’m writing without being here or even if I came for just a little while to lock myself in the archive, but it’s walking around and, when I can, talking to people that really helps me understand the nature of this young and divided country. For instance, I learned that Ypres – the living memorial to World War I – is center of Flemish nationalism. I had no idea and I probably could have read it in a book, but it was more interesting hearing it from a Francophone Belgian.

I can also get out and see where the things I’m studying happened. For instance, the former headquarters of the CRB are located on Rue des Colonies (a road named in honor of the Congo). It’s now the offices of a Russian airline. The old headquarters of the Belgian National Committee are just around the corner, now long gone and, in its place, is an ugly modern building that houses Fortis Bank. And the German administration was located down the road from both in the heart of the Royal Quarter in what is now the Constitutional Court of the Belgium.

It’s an interesting feeling to walk around from each address to the next thinking that, well, nearly 100 years ago the people I’m studying were walking the same streets. (They probably weren’t eating a piping hot waffle while doing it, but hey I do have to separate myself some how from my subjects.)

Anyway, the point here is, though I was freaking out a year ago, the choice to apply and the support from family, friends, and my committee has helped put me here and has given me a unique perspective with which to write my dissertation…and, oh year, an excuse to live abroad. Here’s hoping I earn it.