...The End

Well, it seems that it's been a long, long time since I last posted here. As with so many things in life my regular blog posting well, wasn't. That's okay, though. I think I've shared a good deal on here of my trip and life in Belgium and now that I'm back in the U.S. I can share the stories with my friends and family face-to-face and I have to say, being able to see and be with my friends in family is wonderful.

My remaining time in Belgium was fine, but by late March and then April I was ready to come back home. The trip was a success: I did get a good deal of research done for my dissertation, was able to narrow my topic and focus what I wanted to write about, and I got to experience living overseas for an extended period of time. Of course, I wish somethings went differently, but that's the past and now it's time to look forward and take the experiences -- good and bad, but mostly good -- that I had an put them to work for me in my professional and personal life.

Being away made me realize just how much I need my friends and family. It's lonely being away, especially when the work you do is a lonely task like research. Now that I'm back the challenge is to find the proper work/life balance. I hope that by being in Brooklyn I can more easily do that. I'll be able to see Carly each day and have day-to-day routine with her. As my friends have spread out around the country and as I am now a friend who's left the nest of CT I hope to focus my work energy better so I can then take trips to see friends in CT, PA, VA, and elsewhere. I'm also going to get to reconnect with some college friends who are here in New York. And, of course, my family on LI, NJ, and PA are now closer. I also hope to catch up with family from FL and CA -- if we can coordinate our schedules!

Now that I'm back and have had some time to settle in, I do miss my Belgian life and think I now appreciate it even more. I miss the pace of life. Even though I was in a big city, things moved a bit slower. Not so, here in Brooklyn. The food, of course, was always awesome and I had my little routine. Of course, now I get to set a new one and, I hope, incorporate aspects of what I did overseas into what I do here -- taking Sundays as a day of real rest, for instance.

Once I got back I was thrown into wonderful celebrations: a childhood friend got married on LI, a good friend from grad school got married in NOLA, and a good friend from college got married in TN. After exploring Europe, I got to come home and explore the South for a bit with Carly and friends in NOLA, Carly's family and some friends in ATL on a stop over, and then in TN. It was tiring, but fun to see part of my own country I don't see much right after being away. I'm simply used to the NYC area and I love it, but being in Europe and then hanging in the South made me realize for the first time that I really don't need to live in New York or even the north east. A different setting and pace of life is something that I'd be happy to try out now as I move forward with my career and with my relationship with Carly and our friends and family.

I'd like to think my trip helped me grow a lot or, at least, a bit. I could have worked harder over there, I could have "let things from back home go" more, I could have, I could have, I could have....but I can't dwell on those things. From where I sit in my new home in Brooklyn, surrounded by my books and papers, old and new knic-knacks, and new goals set in my mind, life is good and I know now more than before that life is hard work, but that there are a lot of moments and experiences in it that make the work worth it. If nothing else, I gained perspective on a lot of things from the fact that I love research, but I love teaching and working with students more because I missed it so much; that I like my time alone and to myself, but I'm a social creature who enjoys the company of others; that if your kind and patient, others will be kind and patient with you even if you're an outsider, an "other."

I lived my life in the Low Countries and I survived and made a home for myself there and now it's time to do the same here. If one thing is for sure, I can do whatever I set out to do and I have wonderful friends and family who can and do support me.

So, I'll end this emotive post and blog with a thank you to all who have read it and who listened to my ups and downs. I'm back home now and ready to live my life to the fullest. I'll miss the beer, the fries, the waffles, and the stoemp, the people I met there -- thanks SC and EC and JK among others -- but now it's time to take what I've learned about the past and about myself and work hard to move forward with my life here. Times are good and I'll back to Belgium, I'm sure.

43 days...

AHHHH. So, I have 43 days left on this trip and I'm in freakout mode. It's the good kind. The kind that forces you to work. I'll admit I was very leisurely with my research since I had so much time, but now I know I don't have much left so it's time to really, really focus and with things sorted out for my teaching and living situation for next year, a better sense of what the focus and structure -- Chapter wise -- of my dissertation is I can really put my efforts back into my work.

Of course, I'm so ready to be back home with friends and family, to spend quality time with Carly -- not just Skype time -- and be able to look at books and records I've collected back in the US.

Now I just have to pin point better what I need to look at in the archive and then zero in on that stuff. It's not hard and now my French is much better so I can get through things a lot easier. I just hope I've "done enough" 'cause I don't know when I'll get back here.

Now I just have to think of this not as the end of an 8 month trip, but a 6 week research trip. That'll focus the mind.

Carnaval in Binche, Belgium

Okay, so sometimes I like to wait a while before I post. Not this time because what I'm going to share here was an adventure and the hassle was worth it for what I saw in Binche, Belgium to celebrate Mardi Gras.

So, since the 14th century, the small Walloon town of Binche has had a unique Carnaval celebration. In 2003 it was named a "Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity" by UNESCO. Not known for much else, Binche does Carnaval right and takes it very seriously. Starting at 4am or so, the Gilles -- about 1,000 or so men and boys -- begin to rouse their fellow Gilles and the town by marching around, banging drums, waving straw, ringing bells, and stomping their wooden shoes. They also start drinking around 6am.

In the morning there is a parade from the train station to the center of town -- the City Hall -- where all the Gilles wear their costume and masks that represent the sameness of everyone before God. (This is in part a religious and harvest celebration.) Once they reach the center of the city they take off their masks and mill around until 3:30pm.

At 3:30pm the parade begins. The Gilles put on these huge ostrich feather plumed hats, carry baskets full of blood oranges, and throw them into -- and at-- the crowd. The older kids, of course, throw them really hard, so many stores and homes put metal grates over their windows to protect the glass. The oranges represent wealth (gold) and are signs of good luck and prosperity for the coming spring. You *never* throw an orange back. The Gilles get testy. (And, they are carrying bundles of straw with which the could, if they wanted to channel "Black Pete" from St. Nicholas' Day, beat a person with.)

The Gilles I talked to (see picture above) told me that he'd been doing this for 40 years. He was going to do it for 10 more years so he could "retire" after 50 years and get the chance to participate as a Gilles in Carnaval with his son and grandson. The tradition is passed down on the male side of families. As for the traditions: they stomp their wooden shoes to "break winter." They wave the straw and ring the bells to tell winter to "go home" and to let the new and warm spring come in. And then the drums began to sound and he was off....

The parade lasts a long while and lots and lots of oranges are thrown and handed out. Belgians come with bags and fill them to the brim! I got a bunch myself, both on the fly and also handed to me. At one point I must have zoned out -- it's all a little overwhelming and the travel to Binche (as I'll explain in a moment) was difficult -- and was just staring at the whole thing when I realized that a young Gilles, maybe 8 or 9, was standing in front of me with an orange, saying take it. After I took it and said "merci" he just smiled and walked off to throw the rest of his oranges. Just really sweet. (Juxtaposed with the obnoxious gentleman to my right who kept yelling at people to move so he could take pictures and gather oranges from any and every Gilles he could nab.)

The festival goes on into the night with fireworks, but I and my Iranian friend (more on that in a second) had to leave around 6pm because of train issues....

So, getting there. Sadly, on Monday, there was a terrible train accident just outside of Brussels that has killed at least 18 and injured around 90 people. Train service has been really messed up all over Belgium and in France, the Netherlands, and even in Germany and England. Brussels is a major transportation hub. So, I knew today would be a little difficult.....

I got to Midi Station and got my ticket. Didn't see the train I needed posted so I asked and was told to take a train headed to the town of Charleroi and change trains in a town called Luttre. Okay, can do.

Well, I get to Luttre with a whole bunch of other people bound for Binche, including a very nice Iranian woman who speaks only Farsi and a little bit of English. At Luttre we all depart and wait. Then we're told, to get back on the Charleroi train, but not really told why. Just that we *should.* So I get on the train and happen across this Iranian woman. We'll call her MN who is having a hell of a time asking people what's going on. I manage to explain what the deal is and we end up sitting together and embark on a travel journey to Binche.

Once we get to Charleroi -- an old coal mining and metalworks town that is not on the upswing -- we are told that there are no trains -- none at all -- going to Binche or any town connecting to Binche. We have to take a bus. Fine. So MN and I and people dressed in face paint and balloon animal hats head toward the info booth for buses where they have....one person working. Yes, this is Europe. Yes this is the Latin part of Belgium. In the small info booth we hear English, French, Dutch, Farsi, Italian, Spanish, and many other languages and finally get our tram and bus ticket.

We board Tram 89 and head for the destination Andalouse. MN and I sit down and are facing this nice older couple. Hearing me speak English, the husband starts to give us the skinny on the tram ride. "It's going to take a half hour on the tram. Then we get on the bus. But all of this is worth one hour in Binche." It's obvious he and his wife have done this trip before. Now MN is zoned out, so I keep going with the conversation, especially since the husband was very proud to tell me that he learned his English 60 years ago in Lancashire and Birmingham, England. I decided to not tell him that I'm actually an American. (I'm often mistaken as being from England since I speak English and they associate English with England. I'm also told -- a lot, actually -- that I don't "look American" i.e. I'm not, um, overweight and I don't wear "American-style" clothes. Whatever that means....)

So, we take our 30 minute tram ride through the coal mountains -- literally -- of Charleroi and get off our tram and head for the bus. This ride is the least eventful of the trip and we make it to the outskirts of the center of Binche, are told "last stop" and head out, walking towards the festivity in the center of town.

The trip back was less eventful, since we now knew what we were doing, but still tiring. I was very glad ot have MN to talk to and wander around with. Between the two of us we managed to navigate the insane system the Belgian mass transit system had in this area of the country to get us to our destination.

It was also just interesting to meet someone from Iran. I know a couple of other people from Iran, but to run into someone from there in Belgium!? That's not something I wasn't expecting.

All in all, it was a wonderful experience and one that I'll remember for ever. It was worth the crazy transportation problems. Of course, I wish I could have shared with with friends or family from back home, but they'll just have to deal with a slideshow and me talking "about the time I was in Binche for Carnaval."

Less than three months to go! Argh!

(Top: Reverse of a 1939 Belgian Bank Note that shows a lace maker and the Cloth Hall and Town Hall of the town of Ypres that was destroyed in World War I. An interesting example of historical memory, in this case, dealing with World War I.)

(Middle: Front of a 1939 Belgian Bank Note that shows the profiles of King Albert I and his wife, Queen Elizabeth. Albert was known as the "Soldier King" and Elizabeth as the "Nurse Queen" during the war for their actions on the front lines during the war.)

(Bottom: The view from my seat at Café Maison du Peuple. This is Parvis St. Gilles. The church there was built in the 1860s. The café is in the old "People's House" that held meetings of the Belgian Worker's Party during the 19th and early 20th centuries.)

Well, I've been away from the blog for a bit for two reasons: I got sick and I got my butt in gear with work. First, being sick sucks and anyone who knows me knows I'm not a good patient. I was ill when I left the US and kept it in check while traveling with my friend, Paul. It came back toward the of his stay, though. I took a couple of days to fight it off, but then I made the mistake of getting a quick bite to eat at one of the dozens of Greek places near Grand Place and, well, food poisoning! Needless to say, having the bathroom three flights of stairs away doesn't exactly help matters....so I got caught up on TV shows. Then I got depressed.

Yes depressed because, I was sick and alone. Not fun. Depressed because I wasn't working and *only* had three months left so, of course, the solution is not get back to work, but mope and mope I did until about 1 February when, all of a sudden, I just felt better. Seriously.

I had a great and encouraging e-mail from an old professor friend; a great conversation with a friend from back home about what my project really is "all about;" and, of course, the patient encouragement of my girlfriend. All of that combined with just looking at my project differently meant that I came up with, well, a much stronger and engaging and focused thesis question about humanitarianism using my Belgian relief organization as a "case study." I also was able to lay out my chapters better and all of a sudden, poof! Not as hard, or crazy, or daunting as I thought it was and it was back to the archive, but this time to the library.

Honestly, sometimes the task of looking through unsorted documents in nameless, numbered files is tough. Libraries are a little more organized. So, I decided to go to the archive's library and search through their databases and lo-and-behold I found good stuff. Reports, diaries, old books from the 1910s and 1920s on topics I needed to investigate. I sat and read and took pictures.

I was back on track and still feel great about the project and am putting in full days. I'm even writing a bit now, aside from the usual grant application. It feels good to be back at it. I even changed my commute. Now I walk down a side street, through a park, to the back of the Petite Sablon and by the practice rooms of the Royal Conservatory. In the mornings its usually so quiet and the musicians are coming in. But when I leave for lunch, and return from my daily Skype call with Carly, and then when I go home at the end of the day I can hear the students practicing and it is, well, just wonderful. (It also helps that there is a Waffle Truck posted on this route that I now frequent on my way home.)

I'm also trying to spend less time just sitting at home, in my apartment. I try to get out after work a few times and read or work at Café Maison du Peuple, a short walk from my place. They have good beer, cheap food, wi-fi, and a nice active atmosphere. (See picture above.)

Yes, I still have less than three months, but I feel I can make the most of it work wise and still have some fun. Tonight it's off to an all night animated film festival with a friend. Then, on Tuesday, for Mardi Gras it's of to the town of Binche in Walloonia for what is supposed to be the most traditional and interesting Carnaval in Belgium. I've been warned to watch out for flying oranges.

So, yeah, just feeling better all around and figured I'd share. More on the films and Carnaval later in the week. And I'm also going to try to collection artifacts and such of my trip. I want to be that professor who has those cool old things on the walls of his office and say, "yeah, I got that thing when I was in such and such a place....) (See pictures of Belgian Bank Notes above.)

In Bruges...it's in Belgium (and so am I)

So, I went to Bruges and it is well, as the movie says, a "f-ing fairy tale." Bruges was the center (or a center) of Paul's trip to the Low Countries and he went up there a day before I did so I could get some work in at the archive. Of course, when I went up it rained and rained and rained. But, the town is still beautiful.

We climbed the bell tower that stands in the center of town and had a pretty nice view. Bruges was a cloth town and a very important one at that, so the town is awash in beautiful old guild halls and houses that sit on the canals. There is a certain "fake" quality to the place. Once the residents realized that they were never going to have the same wealth in trade, the decided to preserve the town as much as they could.

Paul and I ventured to the oldest cafe in Bruges. Since 1515 someone has been serving beer at this little bar that is off the beaten track. (Thanks Lonely Planet.) According to local legend, as told by my Lonely Planet, the painter Rubens did a dine and dash out this cafe when he ordered his brew and then painted a coin on the table. There was no trace of the coin.

After our beer and some food we made our way to a replica Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Built in the 15 century by a rich family it is a, well, weird church. In side is this morbid altarpiece that is covered with sculpted skulls, ladders, bones, tools. Just weird. According, again to our guidebooks, the church contains a "replica of Christ's tomb, complete with imitation corpse." Now, I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting, but I wasn't expecting what we found.

Paul and I began the "hunt for Jesus." We went up stairs and to the chapel behind the altar, no luck, until I found a little -- like 3 foot high -- opening in the wall and looked in. "Found it!" I reported to Paul and we entered the "replica tomb." Now, I'm not sure, but I don't think Jesus was buried in what looked to me to be a 1970s tiled room that could be found in the gym of my middle school. But, well, that's what this "replica" looked like. The replica body, too, was more or less just "off." We found this all together very funny. Good thing there wasn't anyone else in the church so we left before the lightening came down to strike us dead.

On a more somber and serious note, we did get to see the precious blood that is housed in the Basilica of the Holy Blood in Bruges. Brought back from the Holy Land during the Crusades, the blood is in a vial that is in a clear glass canister and, from time to time, put on display. It is housed in a double naved church. The lower nave is a bare Romanesque church with little decoration. The uppernave is more more impressive and gilt. Now, all relics are to be taken with a grain of salt since it's hard to test their validity, but the beauty in which it is displayed and kept and venerated is hard to dispute and, the Catholic I am, I followed the crowed and touched the canister that it is kept in, monitored by a stern looking nun dressed in a resplendent robe.

Walked around some more, took in the museum, and had a few drinks and some food. The walk back to the train station was in the rain, but we did manage to see the town after dark and it is a beautiful "night town." The buildings are light up well and the canals are so still that the reflections -- even in the rain -- are amazing. It's a place to go back and explore more on a better day.

Return to the Blog

Well, now that the holidays are over I can update the blog a bit more. (Yeah, I know, you were all so worried!) I don’t know if anyone is still reading this, but I’ll try to keep these updates short, so scroll down to see the older posts (trip home, Christmas).

Travels with Paul (Amsterdam and Utrecht)

Well, my friend Paul is visiting from the US so we’ve been doing some travel. Here is what we’ve done so far and some comments:

Amsterdam (Saturday/Sunday 9/10 January)

It wasn’t what I expected it to be. I thought it would be a larger and grander, but it wasn’t. The Dam – their central square – is actually pretty small and unimpressive. That said, seeing Anne Frank’s House, wandering the lovely canals, visiting the Royal Museum, and taking the Heineken Brewery Tour made the trip very worthwhile.

Paul, a master European traveler, found a great hostel with a great location and after a little mishap meeting up (Amsterdam doesn’t have arrival information at the train station) we set out to explore the city.

It was snowing and, from what we could tell, it always snows in Amsterdam. Despite the cold we made our way through the city and took a canal tour – very romantic. It took about an hour and we saw the narrowest house in Amsterdam – not much wider than the door itself – and the furniture hooks on the gables of the houses – narrow stairs preclude taking sofas and the like inside when moving, so they use hooks to bring things through the windows – and houseboats that people live on year-round. A good choice to see a lot of the city and do some icebreaking in our little canal boat.

We visited Ann Frank’s House, which was very powerful and moving. The secret annex – where she and her family lived during WWII before they were “discovered” – is devoid of furniture and it’s a little haunting. There are quotes by Frank, from her diary, all over the house and pictures of how the rooms had looked. Just thinking about being cramped in these small rooms with others and not being able to go outside, being quiet every day, was very affecting.

(There is no good transition from Ann Frank's House to anything else...so forgive the abrupt shift.)

After taking that tour and in need of some time to decompress we stopped for some food and a drink before wandering some more and, yes, we eventually visited the Red Light District. It is a disconcerting place, but Paul and I did not play “how much for that hooker in the window.” Nor did we stop at any coffee shops for some pot or hash. Just not our style.

The next day we visited the Royal Museum and saw some amazing Rembrandts and Vermeer. They had another exhibit that depicted the power and glory of the Dutch in the 15^th and 16^th centuries. I always forget how powerful the Dutch were at that time and it was interesting to see it all laid out before me.

Utrecht

Our time in Amsterdam was up and we moved on toward Brussels and stopped in a town called Utrecht. It used to be a seat of Catholic power, but after the Reformation the cathedral was ransacked. The faces of statues of saints are clearly smashed off and the niches where others are supposed to be are empty. Most interesting is that the church now only consists of the choir (where the altar is) and the transepts. The long nave that connected it with its beautiful gothic bell tower collapsed in a storm in the mid-1600s and was never rebuilt.

As Paul and I wandered around the church a man approached us and in German and English said if we had any questions we should ask him. “No,” we said,” just looking” as we made our way toward the altar area. “Oh, if you want to go up and look around the altar you can.” Now, Paul and I are Catholic and in Catholic churches you don’t do that, so we were a little taken aback. “Oh,” we said. “We didn’t know you could do that. We’re Catholic.” The kindly older man grew a little sterner and said “Well, we’re Protestant here so you can go behind the altar.” We did and checked out the tomb of a famous resident.

After lunch we climbed the 465 steps of the bell tower. For some reason when I travel with Paul I climb a lot of stairs. The view from the top was very pretty, though the snow and fog prevented a clear view over the Dutch countryside. Since there were only four of us on the tour, we got to see where the bells (the carillon) are housed the ropes that are used to make them ring on special occasions. (No, we couldn’t ring them, but Paul did play a nice little tune (When the Saints go Marching In) on a toy carillon in the tower’s museum.

After climbing down we got on the train and headed to Brussels….I gave Paul the usual tour and this weekend we’re of to Bruges and Tournai. More to come!

Christmas in the USA

It was nice to be back in the US for the holidays. I really do love living here, I like the culture and am enjoying my work, but I miss my friends, family, and girlfriend a great deal. The 18 days I spent back home went fast, in part because I was traveling so much while in the US. A few days in NY and then NJ for Christmas with Carly, my uncle, brother, and cousins. Then down to Atlanta for Christmas with Carly’s family. We had a great time and it was nice to see the sun! (It was cold there, but at least the sun was out for more than an hour or two.)

Now Belgium has fantastic cuisine, but it was great to have US food again: pizza, a deli breakfast sandwich and, down in Atlanta, Chic-fil-A.

The trip back to NYC on New Year’s Eve, however, was a bit of a hassle. Our flight was cancelled, but Carly is a master traveler and got us on a flight that got us into Newark not too later than we were supposed to be…but we still cancelled on our NYE plans: I got sick. Of course I did! So, if Mark and/or Erin are reading this: again so sorry for missing!

All in all it was a nice trip back, but a whirlwind. I got to see a lot of family and friends, but not nearly everyone so, if you’re reading this and I didn’t touch base with you when I was back. Sorry!

American Airlines Sucks, but my fellow travelers were really nice

So, I flew back to the US on 21 December and wasn’t expecting a big deal. But it was. See, England and Belgium have been having a lot of weather and snow. The weekend before I left for the US Brussels got a few inches of snow. I was happily sitting in my usual morning café and watched a number of cars just slide down the road. It seems that the Belgian drivers don’t really get what to do when it snows, even though it snows a bit each year. You just kinda push through, but don’t shovel or plow. (Not that they really can. It’s hard to plow or shovel cobblestones.) Makes for wet and cold feet, but the beer helps.

Anyway, I got to the airport about 2.5 hours early and, since I wasn’t checking a bag, was just going to use the kiosk, get my boarding pass, and chill with my book. No dice. So, I went to the counter to check in. Again, nope…back of the line…of about 900 people. See flights were cancelled left and right AND the Eurostar (the high-speed train) to London was shut down because of weather. And, of course, I was flying to the US so we all had to go through like 50 layers of security.

Now to vent I call my poor girlfriend – it’s like 5am or something in the US when I do this – for no other reason to vent. And I just wait, but thankfully I met two really nice travelers: Damian (a Belgian) and Amy (a Brit). We’re all three on the same flight to London (Damian is on it to go to Boston where he’s studying and Amy is on it to go home, she was stranded because of the Eurostar problem).

We had a lovely time chatting about the insanity of travel, our thoughts on our own countries, on each others’, Christmas traditions in each country, and the like. It was just a pleasant time. Thankfully our flight was delayed to let all the passangers get through security and passport control, then we waited an hour at the gate to get a new flight plan and then got in the air.

The rest of the trip was fine-ish and I was just happy to get home and see Carly and not lug around a suitcase.

Winter Wonders

Waiting for archival materials is part of the job. You rush to get through folders and boxes, only to wait while new folders and boxes are retrieved from the depths of the archive. So, it’s a good opportunity – when you don’t want to work – to write up other things. With no internet in the archive, here’s my post on the coming of Christmas in Brussels.

Back home it seems that all at once, the Christmas season is in full bloom. You wake up one day and, BAM, stores, malls, streets, everything is decked out for Christmas. Here, the season unfolds slowly, though we’re now in full swing, especially because St. Nicholas Day is this Sunday.

If you haven’t read or listened to David Sedaris’ “Six to Eight Black Men” about the Christmas tradition in the Netherlands, it’s worth a listen for two reasons: First, it’s funny as hell and, second, it’s the celebration that is most common in Belgium. I’ll be brief. St. Nicholas, the former bishop of Turkey, lives in Spain during the off season with his helpers, Zwart Piet (Black Pete). Around the middle of November, St. Nicholas takes a boat from Spain to the port cities of the low countries, docks, gets on his white horse, and tours the country, getting the scoop on the good boys and girls in the country.

The children put out their shoes and, in the mornings, usually find a small sweet. On the night of 5 December Saint Nicholas and Black Pete (former slaves, chimney sweeps, friends, who really knows at this point) visit each house and leave gifts for the Children by their shoes.

Christmas day itself is not a gift giving holiday (though with commercialization and the primacy of American Christmas themed Coke bottles in stores, many are giving gifts on Christmas day) but one for visiting family. In the Francophone part of the country, Christmas Eve is the big holiday. (The above story about Saint Nicholas is a Dutch tradition, but also the most popular tradition in Belgium. This place is so culturally complicated, it’s pretty amazing.)

Anyway, that’s the tradition, but lets talk about the atmosphere. Grand Place, in the center of Brussels, becomes a mix of the old and the new. A tree it set up with blue and white lights (that seems to be the color scheme for tree lights). A crèche is also put up on Grand Place. (It was also called “the hut for the baby Jesus” by a woman I overheard while having a drink one evening.) The City Hall – a beautiful gothic building – is decked out in lights, but not our traditional Christmas lights, but in a display that flashes, and strobes, and the like, all timed to music piped in to the courtyard. Electrobel (the Belgian electric company) sponsers this display and it’s pretty cool, though I don’t know why the music has to be techno-versions and DJ mixes of Christmas music….

The old guild halls and, now, café’s on Grand Place are in the spirit, too.

Beyond Grand Place, as you make you way to the Bourse (the stock exchange) and Saint Catherine you come across a big Christmas market with about 240 or 250 stalls selling goods from around Belgium and the world. There’s food and hot wine and cider. About 2.5 million people come to visit the Christmas Market and, evidently, lots of Brits are drawn to it.

Each year, the Market has a featured “guest” and this year it is Mongolia. There is a small section with maybe a dozen “yurts” selling Mogolian goods and foods. I think I’ll stay away from the fermented horse milk, but that’s just me…..

Beyond that is the bulk of the Market, complete with an ice rink and a huge ferris wheel.

When I was out on opening night, there was also an outdoor studio broadcasting “LIVE.” I was pelted with fake snow (soap bubbles) as the hosts wandered from place to place in the outdoor studio talking with various people. (I assume they were venders who got a prime spot on the TV show.) Pretty cool, I’d have to say.

Closer to where I live, the Sablon is decked out with lights and the shops – always cute and classic – look better than ever.

It’s fun to think that I’ll have two Christmases. One here in Europe and then I’ll be back in time to enjoy Christmas in the States….It really is a wonderful time of year.

As for pictures, once I have a reliable internet connection, I'll post some...until then, words will have to do.

Turkey à la Belge

Being an ex-pat on a holiday isn’t the easiest of things. Being and ex-pat on a holiday that is traditionally “your own” and not celebrated in your host country is, well, a little strange. In the run up to Thanksgiving there were no pictures of turkeys or pilgrims or cornucopias in the windows of shops. No news reports from the AAA advising people to take public transportation instead of driving. And no supermarket promotions: “Buy 100 Euros of groceries and get a free turkey!” In fact, there were no huge displays of turkeys in supermarkets at all. Turkeys don’t arrive in full force until Christmas here.

So, my original intent was to seek out Starbucks at the airport and chow down at McDonald’s to get my required does of American and, indeed, consumerism. Thankfully, my friend SC, who’s spent time in the US, was having a Thanksgiving dinner for some of his family and friends. “An excuse to party,” he said. So, I was able to have a Thanksgiving Day dinner and it was wonderful. Of course, as with any Thanksgiving, a few bumps along the way.

First was, what to eat. Like I said above, turkeys aren’t easy to find. So, it was decided that we’d have a full chicken since a bird was necessary and you can carve a chicken. Then, SC said his sister knew someone at one of the US military bases near Brussels (it’s the headquarters of NATO)….but, as with most things American, all the birds there were literally too big to fit into SC’s oven. So, it was back to chicken. In the end, though, SC was able to get a turkey that would fit from a poultry store earlier in the week. It was a “real” bird that the butcher killed, de-plucked, and dressed for our Thursday feast.

It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a transportation problem of some sort…since SC and his other guests had to work on Thursday (and, in theory, I should have, too, but I had cornbread to make) Thanksgiving was to begin around 7:00/7:30. Now SC lives south of me, near the university so I had to either take the bus or the tram. I chose the tram because it’s closer to pick up from my apartment and, well, I just like the trams better.

Evidently there was an accident on the other track and this resulted in my tram stopping at the end of Avenue Louise before it makes the turn to head towards where SC lives. No announcement about the problem or what to do. Everyone just got off and dispersed. Now, I knew where I was and I could have walked to SC’s, but it would have been a hike and the weather was being very Belgian – rain, no rain, lots of rain, light rain, no rain, wind. After a helpful call from SC’s brother I made my way to a major intersection – Place Flagey – and got on the bus from there and made it with time to spare before dinner was to begin.

Along with the traditional fixin’s, we had the traditional box o’wine, and SC’s sister and brother even tried to stream some American Football to watch. Evidently a lot of others in Belgium were doing the same, so we could only see one play, but it was enough. (It was the Cowboys and Raiders, so I really didn’t care about the game.)

I did some explaining about what Thanksgiving is. SC, his sister, and brother have spent time in the US, but the others at the table hadn’t. The most fun I had explaining the holiday was actually to my landlords.

Before brining my cornbread contribution to Thanksgiving dinner I made a test batch the weekend before. Now, the recipe makes about 12 muffins, so I decided to share some with my landlords – a nice Dutch-Belgian family. A few days later I ran into them and they said the loved the cornbread, but still didn’t know what Thanksgiving was. I started with the pilgrims and Indians, then with Lincoln and the Civil War, and finally when I said, “well, it’s basically based on a harvest festival” then they got it, said some stuff in Dutch and nodded. So, cultural ideas were exchanged. (They’ve helped share the Saint Nicholas story and the Christmas-time traditions.)

The Christmas season is in full swing here and that will be the focus of my next post….needless to say David Sedaris has prepared me for the tradition here and I’m even playing my part as one of the “Black Petes” by hiding some of the family's gifts ahead of 6 December when gifts are exchanged.

11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918

Today, 11 November, marks the 91^st anniversary of the cessation of battle on the western front during World War I. The armistice between the combatants took effect at the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month. In the US we know today as Veterans Day. In the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth Nations it’s Remembrance Day. In Belgium it’s still know as Armistice Day.

I attended the ceremony in Brussels and it was similar to those that we find in the US: pomp and ceremony, lots of flags, a marching band, veterans, flowers, etc. The walk from my flat to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier (la tombe de le soldat inconnu) was eerily quiet. Rue Royale was blocked off and as I crossed the street I was almost mowed down by the motorcade of the NATO delegation. (NATO’s headquarters are just outside Brussels. I really need to get over there and check it out.)

The site of the ceremony was lightly attended when I arrived around 10:30, but soon grew. Parents were there with their kids. One father was trying to explain the concept of the Unknown Soldier to his son.

Nationalism is a finicky thing in Belgium. The über-federal nature of the country has certainly diluted whatever nationalism was here starting back in 1830 when Belgium broke away form the Kingdom of the Netherlands. But, here, there were Belgian flags waving just like we’d see back in the US. (Though, the people weren’t carrying any flags, except for one guy who was all decked out in red, walking sticks, a backpack with apocalyptic slogans on it, and a big white beard. He could have been mistaken for a hugely patriotic and apocalyptic Santa, but St. Nick is expected to dock in Brussels until next Wednesday. Needless to say, the Belgian police had an eye on this guy.)

The band played and veterans marched and the king arrived. I’m still fascinated by the concept of the king and was very glad to see him in person. King Albert II’s motorcade came through and he walked by the reviewing stand, saluted, and shook hands with members of the military and the veterans in attendance. Yes, there were shouts of “Vive le Roi.” (Long Live the King) Some snickers went through the crowed at this, but King Albert was applauded as we made his way around. He laid his wreath and saluted and then walked to his car and he was off.

Then there was a parade of Belgian officials to the tomb to lay wreaths of flowers: the prime minister, defense minister, chief of the army, etc. The ceremony ended with the playing of the Ode to Joy from Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony, the anthem, as it were, of post-WW II Europe and then the national anthem of Belgium.

For someone who studies World War I, this was a particularly interesting ceremony to attend since, unlike the US, Belgium had Allied and German troops on its soil before, during, and after the Armistice was signed in 1918. It was also interesting to stand there and hear cannons sound off as the ceremony went on. Many of the members of the Commission for Relief in Belgium lived in towns close to the front and wrote in their diaries or in letters home that they could hear the sound of cannons in the distance. Now, to some extent, I know what that sounded like. I’ll admit, I did tear-up – especially during the playing of the Ode to Joy. Historians are not dispassionate observers of the past, we certainly do a good deal of creation as we examine documents and other sources and then write up what we’ve found and thought about. Attending this event certainly brought me a little closer to the fact that while the men I’m studying were writing memos about how much corn flour should be sent from Rotterdam to Brussels and then to Namur or why such-and-such a town commune wasn’t listen to the good advice of the American delegate, thousands of young men were dying a few miles to the west and that soon some of the men who were writing these memos would go on to serve once the US entered the actual fighting in April 1917.

It’s back to the archive tomorrow….

Carly's Visit

This is, I’m sad to say, probably going to be a long post so bear with me. [Then again, it could always be a lot longer....]

Two months into my research trip in Brussels, Carly came for a visit. She flew in on Halloween and left the following Sunday, so we had a week to explore Brussels and do a bit of travel. It was great having her here, showing her “my city,” and bringing another part of my life – my relationship – with me to Brussels. I love my work and I’m focused on it, but it was nice to take a break and just enjoy my new home with some one dear to me, rather than on my own.

Brussels
Of course, since I live in Brussels, we had to do the usual sights: Grand Place, the Royal Palace, the little boy peeing, waffles, fries, and the like. The weather was eh, so we made the most of the sun that we could. Carly was a trooper on the first day. After a short nap, she was ready to explore the city. We had a beer on Grand Place – something I’ll never tire of – and took in the usual sights. One evening we found our way to a great little restaurant near where Audrey Hepburn was born. It’s called Les Brassins and it’s one of those places you’d never find unless you already knew about it. (Thank you New York Times’ 36-hours in Brussels.)

Les Brassins is an unassuming little restaurant that serves good, traditional, Low Country food at a good price. Carly had a beef stew that’s made with dark brown beer and I had stoemp, a dish of mashed potatoes mixed with a vegetable (artichokes this time) served with a fat sausage and think slice of bacon on top. Fantastic. It was also a cold and rainy night so it was the perfect meal.

We also did some chocolate shopping. When Carly arrived I got her some chocolate from Wittamer, one of the two chocolate shops accredited to the Royal Court of Belgium. This stuff was delicious. So, of course, we went back for more. Wittamer is right on the Grand Sablon, my favorite place in Brussels and we spent some time exploring the church there (we attended a beautiful Gregorian Chant mass her first Sunday here) and the park that is opposite the church.

I also gave her my research tour: stopping by where the Germans had their administration during World War I, where the Belgian relief group had their offices, and where the Americans had theirs. I’m not sure how interesting she found that part – most of these places are either gone or transformed into Russian airline offices – but I indulged the tour guides prerogative to point out the inane as well as the Grand….

Grand Place was a constant in the trip. We got fries, of course, and they were up to par. (The second trip to Frites Land wasn’t as good. When the fries are good there, they are good. When they aren’t they aren’t.)

One evening we had dinner at Aux Armes de Bruxelles, an almost 90-year-old establishment on Rue des Bouchers right off Grand Place. We had a nice three-course meal. Among the great dishes, I had a traditional starter plate: endive, wrapped in ham, and baked with cheese and cream. It was, well, delicious. Thankfully, the main course was the famed mussels and fries, which is a bit lighter than many of the other items on the menu.

We ended up having an after dinner drink at Le Roi d’Espagne. An old world café in an old guildhall on Grand Place. Two things of note: the dried and inflated pig bladders that hang from the ceiling and, in the men’s room, pictures of women peering down toward the urinals. What’s with this country and the act of peeing?!

Paris
By high-speed train it’s a 1 and 22 minutes to Paris. We took the high-speed train but, for whatever reason, we had terrible luck with the train. Going there we were delayed 20 minutes for no reason. On the way back they put us on the wrong track so we had to double back to Paris to get things going right. Aside from that Paris….

For Carly’s birthday we went to Paris and walked and walked and walked. It was a rainy day, but we stayed dryish. We went up the Eiffel Tower, visited Notre Dame, and walked along the Seine. The highlight, though, was the Musée Jacquemart André (thanks LW and NR). This place is a little off the beaten track, but well worth it. We had tea and cake in a most beautiful tea room adorned with tapestries depicting the life of Achilles. The museum itself was the home of a 2nd French Empire “upper middle class” couple who instead of having kids, collected art from around the world and held lavish parties. The audio guide was wonderful and gave nice insight into how the favored lived during the time of Napoleon III.

We found a nice little café for dinner and enjoyed being warm for a bit and having some nice French wine. We actually got a cab to get us back to the station and then headed for Brussels.

I really liked Paris, but it has the familiar “big city” feel and we spent a lot of time traveling between places in the city. Next time I go – and I hope there is a next time – I’d like to take one district and really focus on it and explore it.

Antwerp
We decided on Antwerp for our final out of Brussels day trip. Antwerp has an old world feel that is different than Brussels. Only about 500,000 people it’s smaller, too, but has one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world. Of course, having a number of P. P. Rubens on display doesn’t hurt. The magnificent “Descent from the Cross” stands to the right of the main alter and is captivating. It’s one thing to see a painting like this in a museum, but to see it in the church it was designed for and displayed as it is designed to, is just incredible.

It’s a triptych altarpiece for the Arquebusiers whose patron saint is St. Christopher (whose name means “cross bearer.”) Since this is during the counter-Reformation, the main scene could not be of St. Christopher – as the Arquebusiers (early riflemen) wanted – so Rubens creates a triptych that gives his patrons multiple cross bearers as Christ is taken from the cross after his death. It’s simply amazing to see it in person and to see it in the grand and light cathedral.

On the lighter side, there is also a building in Antwerp, for the butcher’s guild, that is designed to look like a rasher of bacon. There are red and white strips of stone that turn it into a bacon building. Well done, Antwerp.

Back in Brussels
All in all I think it was a wonderful trip. Carly surely has more to say and these are just some of the things we saw in Brussels, Antwerp, and Paris. Her visit has really made this trip real since I have now been able to share this place with someone from back home. It’s not the same describing it in an e-mail, or over the phone, or in this blog. I’m glad that she’ll now be able to picture when I say I was at Sablon or on Grand Place or at the supermarket.

Now it’s six weeks until I come home for Christmas. I will, however, get to be here for Belgian Christmas. St. Nicholas and his helpers arrive by boat on 18 November….see David Sedaris for more.

Corn Maïs

Okay, so the title of this post is a bad, bad pun. “Maïs” in French means “corn” or, as the Brits would say, “maize,” and is pronounced roughly the same way. So, why the pun?

Well, first off I’m missing fall back in the States and corn-mazes are a big-time fun fall thing to do, though I haven’t done one since me and a certain expert hiker friend of mine and I got lost in a small one while looking for pumpkins for the first annual UConn History House Halloween Party. He knows who he is….

The fall has always been my favorite time of year and one of the few things I really liked about living in CT (and my forty or so minute commute to campus) was the beautiful change of the leaves. It’s just not the same here. I’m waiting, though, for the Christmas season to kick in, that I know will be a lot of fun and just plain beautiful.

The second reason is that in my research I keep coming across mentions of corn and maïs in the documents I’m reading. Most of the time it’s all about how much is imported and distributed. The interesting thing, though, is that corn was not a staple human food in Europe at the time of World War I. At least not in Belgium. Corn was what was fed to animals. People didn’t eat it. The harvests at the time, however, were pretty bad and wheat – to make bread – was not plentiful and the US had – as it usually does – an excess of corn and Americans, especially those in the South, have had a long history of eating corn. So, where does that leave the Belgians?

Well, a big question I’m wrestling with is what happens when humanitarians and locals interact and this corn issue is important. I’ve now discovered some evidence to help with this: Belgian humanitarian leaders saying that American CRB delegates will help “instruct” the Belgian people in the use of corn and corn flower. I’ve also uncovered some recipes that were transmitted to the Belgian Comité National.

Of course, you don’t discover this stuff until you’ve read or skimmed over many, many, many pages of French (or English) talking about things that you just don’t find important, but when things like this pop up it makes for a good day in the archive and justification for missing my friends, my family, my girlfriend, and fall back in New England.

Afraid to get my hair cut....

As my friend PS (yes, ladies, he’s single, smart, and sexy; a real catch) said to me in an e-mail a while back, you soon get a little “non-plussed” with living in Europe. It simply becomes home. Beyond that, though, you start to remember that you need to find new places to do your usual routine. For instance, getting your haircut. Simply, put, I’m a little afraid of going to a place to have it cut. As far as I can tell there aren’t many corner semi-racists, misogynistic barbers near where I live. Most are salons and that’s fine, but I realized how could I convey what I wanted without looking like a total fool to a guy or gal with scissors. So, I’ve made a semi-executive decision to let it grown long and see what happens. (Of course, long for me is still short for most everyone else.) If and when I get the courage I’ll try to go for a really cool euro-style haircut…or not.

Anyway, it’s been a while since I updated, but I’ll make this short. Not much new or interesting has happened. I’ve been biding my time and saving money for when Carly comes to visit on Saturday. We’ll tour Brussels and go to Paris for a day. We may hit Antwerp and/or Bruges. Maybe Ypres. I can’t wait to have Carly here. I keep busy with work and such, am doing fun reading, and my internet has been behaving so I can still kill countless hours there and I did get my care package of DVDs so I can turn the brain off now and again, but it still gets a little lonely so it’ll be nice to have Carly’s company!

I’ve finished with one collection in the archive and have moved on to the big one I’m here to look at: the papers of the Comité National. It’s a newly processed collection and not yet in the online call database so my first attempt to order some documents was a little complicated, but I think it’s been figured out. I’ll see what happens this afternoon.

I did have a great moment on Saturday when I figured out what I can do with some of the stuff I’ve found. See, I came across this great 18 page copy of the minutes from a July 1915 meeting of the American relief delegates. It was full of good stuff, good quotes, and the like, but I didn’t know what larger purpose it had. So I did some – dare I say – research and found that this meeting took place after my man Hoover laid the smack down on the Belgians about his Commission’s role. This delegate’s meeting was to discuss the results of the Hoover Francqui (the Belgian chairman of the Comité National) and demonstrates some interesting things about how the CRB worked, the role of the delegates, their ideas of the Belgians, the CN and the like. It was a good moment and place to start doing some writing.

So, progress is being made, albeit slowly, but that’s the nature of the game. That said, next week – when Carly is here – will be a welcome diversion from my usual day-to-day living and existential crises over haircuts.

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.

Seriously, Ikea decorated the State Archive of Belgium

I don’t have much of an ass, so sitting on molded hard plastic chairs for hours at a time isn’t fun. Sadly, that’s what I have to do in the archive. At least the Hoover had soft chairs, even if it was like being in kindergarten from time to time….

In between all this fun, I’ve been getting some good work in at the State Archives. I love living 15 minutes from work. It’s a quick commute in the morning. I come home for lunch and Skype with Carly for a half hour or so and then head back for the afternoon. I do miss listening to NPR on the way to work, though. Last Fall, when I was teaching US II, my students would ask about the economic meltdown and I’d happily recount what I learned the morning on NPR. (Yes, I’m a socialist, fascist, communist, death paneler, MSNBC watching, Obama voting, (now) expatriate.)

Anyway, the work has been slow going. Whoever indexed the Commission for Relief in Belgium files (starting in 1927 and finished in 2000) could had done better than just listing, “various correspondence” and the like in the index. So, I have to leaf through each file and folder because occasionally I will find a gem of a document.

Like today, I was going through another folder (I’ve moved on from only discussions about corn imports) and came across a few serial letters about the Belgian National Committee wanting to get permission from the German government to set up libraries in the Flemish and Walloon regions of Belgium. They were denied as the libraries were not directly related to aid and food relief. Since part of my dissertation is looking at what is “normal” before and during a war in terms of humanitarian relief, this was fascinating to me. Was this an extravagance? The Belgians said, no. In times of idleness and unemployment, libraries are a place for people to do go busy themselves. This was a concern of both the US, the Belgians, and the Germans. Especially the Germans. They would deport people for idleness….but the libraries, at least as far as I know so far, were a no go.

Now, this does not a dissertation make, but it’s interesting color and shows the breath of work the Belgian National Committee undertook. The Belgians wrote to the US minister, Brand Whitlock, for assistance, too!

The core of my project is the experience of the Americans who worked here, but I’m finding more and more that their world was not just “their” world, but a world that incorporated a lot of off beat things to make life livable (not just sustainable) for the Belgian people and that’s a deeper question I hope to explore in this project: what world does a humanitarian mission create and what are the power relationships created? I don’t know yet. Ask me in a year or so.

Anyway for my dissertation committee (if you’re reading this): the work goes slowly, but steadily.

Oh, yeah, I live in Belgium

On the way home from the archive today I had a moment that has been fleeting recently: “Oh yea,” I thought, “I live in Belgium.” It seems that after a month and a week that I’ve become a bit acculturated to my life here. I feel less like I need to be “doing something” each day. (Don’t get me wrong, though, I do plan on taking advantage of life here, but the need to have a planned activity is less and less.)

I’m trying to read more…for fun, that is. My usual fare is news on the intertubes, books for work, and non-fiction “fun” reading. But, my internet is somewhat limited now and with no TV, the thought of reading only for work and non-fiction isn’t always appealing. Thankfully Carly has placed into my mind books that she thinks I’d like and, so far, she’s been right. There are two big English language bookstores in Brussels, but a store near me has a good English language selection and so far I’ve made my way through Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (see more below) and Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth. I loved Pillars in part because I’ve fallen in love with the church of Our Lady of the Sablon. (See post below for picture.)

For those who don’t know, Pillars takes place in 12 century England and is set amidst the political and religious turmoil of “The Anarchy” in England. The central plot is the building of a cathedral in a small town. Birth, death, rape, war, building, love, humor, and sex – lots of sex – takes place and, well, it’s just a fun world to get caught up in. The descriptions of how a gothic cathedral could be built are vivid and I walk by one each day! It really made me look at the work of the church in a different way. Anyway, it’s a good read – even at over 1,000 pages.

As for R & G Are Dead, it’s one of my favorite plays. It’s absurdist – like Waiting for Godot, but takes Hamlet’s two “friends” as it’s central characters and tells us the story of them off stage during Hamlet and their thoughts and questions and, occasionally, answers. I reread it because I decided to see a production of the play here, in Brussels this past Tuesday. It was well done, very well done. I understood parts of it, but know it pretty well that it didn’t matter. It was actually a lot of fun to be immersed in French….

….which makes socializing a bit difficulty, but I like the challenge. To that end, I went out with my Belgian friend, SC, on Wednesday to see Up. It was spur of the moment and, I think, that has a lot to do with me feeling a bit more “at home.” I wasn’t planning on anything, it just happened. I met him and a couple of his friends who spoke mainly French. I got some of the conversation and they spoke a little English.

Up was great and it was nice to be out doing something “regular.” We got out tickets and then got food at Hecktor Chicken, the Belgian version of KFC. Again, not fast, but tasty. And, of course, they served beer and all the appropriate glasses.

All this fun is good, but the archive awaits.

A cool White Night....

This past weekend was Nuit Blanche in Brussels. Translated as "white night" or "all-nighter," Nuit Blanche is a late-night "reclamation" of urban space with music, art, dancing, clubbing, movies, etc. Most museums were open late and for free. A lot of other European cities have their own versions and, well, it's pretty neat.

I hit the town late with my flatmate, AS and his girlfriend and a couple of her friends from back home. AS is Pakistani and his girlfriend is Romanian. It's a mini United Nations here.

Anyway, we didn't have much of an agenda. Our attempt to meet up with some others failed, so we headed over to the Bourse (the old Stock Exchange) and encountered a group playing the drums and a guy playing a kazoo.

We wandered a bit, trying to find more events. Oddly enough, there was nothing going on Grand Place so we headed for another square, Albertine and there we found a small art exhibit and a lot of young Belgians hanging out drinking. (It seems that open container laws don't exist her.)

We wandered some more and happened upon a girl with a huge puppet spider "spinning" its web across a street and "attacking" passers-by.

Now, I was told I needed to go to a European techno-club. Well, I now have -- sort of. There is a big "gallerie" (or shopping arcade) called Ravenstein and there was a huge (and loud) techno dance party going on. We didn't join in, but we just hung around and watched and listened to the heavy bass beat do its thing and move the people on the floor to flail arms and make out. We left about about 15 minutes. I got my hearing back about 30 minutes later.

Then it was the the Royal Park and there was another dance party going on, so it was over to the Royal Palace (not much there) and then to BelVUE....

Now BelVUE is pretty cool. It's an old hotel right next to the Royal Palace. It's been turned into a museum of the history of Belgium. I spent about 2 hours in it earlier in the day on Saturday.

There is a restaurant on the ground floor and for Nuit Blanche it was turned into a ballroom dancing floor with a bunch of couples dancing to music.

We left there and continued to wander a bit and by this time it was late, around 1am and we decided to call it a night. One the way back I again stopped at Quick for a bite to eat and, of course, there was a problem with the order. There always is....and I got home around 1:30 and into bed around 2:30 or so.

All in all an enjoyable evening out with a nice and interesting group of people. Now it's back to the archive where I hope things pick up a bit. It's been slow going with boring records of corn imports and the like....

A trip to the countryside

Brussels is nice. Really, it is. And, yes, I’m a city boy. Well, as much as a suburban Long Islander can be a city boy. Nonetheless, I like cities. Big cities, though, are, well, big and most have a similar feel. Brussels is, as I’ve said before on this blog, the “Capital of Europe.” It is host to the European Commission and the executive Council. Who knows, if the Irish pass the Lisbon Treaty today Tony Blair may soon be taking up residence in Brussels as President of the European Union….Anyway, because of that it has an international feel which is great, but I’m here to study Belgium to some extent and you can only do so much of that in it’s capital.

I don’t know many people here, but when I arrived I was put up by a former Belgian BAEF fellow, SC. SC and his girlfriend and sister have a place in the university section of town and they were very kind, took me out for lunch and dinner, and helped me get settled before I found my place in Saint-Gilles.

Last weekend was the Fête du Communauté française de Belgique (Festival of the French Community of Belgium) with all sorts of things going on around the French-speaking part of Brussels and Belgium itself. A day or two before the start of the festival, I wandered through Grand Place to see a huge stage set up and a sound check going on for some Belgian pop star. It was an interesting mix of old and new.

It was around then that I got an invite from SC’s sister to join her and her family in their hometown about 30 minutes by train outside of the City for a dance performance called “Décrocher la Lune” (to take down the moon). Heeding my mantra of, “yes, I’ll go!” I took her up on the offer and planed for, well, I didn’t know what to plan for. I had no idea what this was. Evidently the same guy who put together the stage show for Celine Dion in Vegas was responsible for this. Having never seen that Vegas show (or any Vegas show for that matter) I was happily ignorant of the spectacle that was going to unfold on the small square in La Louvière, the small town where the performance was to take place.

I met EC at Gare Nord (North Station) and took the train south into Brabant Walloon. “So, you went to Ypres last weekend,” she said. “Yup,” I replied. “You know that’s a center of Flemish extremism, of separatism.” “No!” I said. I had no idea. The divisions in this country are interesting and I’m fascinated by who thinks what and so on. EC likes her country as one, as do most Belgians when it comes down to it, but there are centers of extremism, especially in Flanders where the economy is booming. The fact that Ypres is a center of it is interesting since that was the place where the Allies took a stand in World War I to stop the Germans to save a unified and free Belgium. (Something for the blog, I thought!)

Anyway, the trip was nice and the countryside was beautiful. We arrived at the station and went with her father to their house, a nice place literally in the country. We drove down a one lane road after we left the town passing fields of wheat, corn, potatoes, and a golf course….the Scots got here, too!

Lunch was very nice – it was nice to have a home cooked meal, though I’m trying my best to cook as much as I can at my place – and then EC, her mom and I headed out for an impromptu tour of the area. I didn’t see this coming. (Oh, and the festival started at 9pm and we all wouldn’t be back ‘till late, I was to stay over. Of course, I had no change of clothes….oh well, when in Belgium….)

First we went to the church in Nivelles. A Romanesque church that, well, um, the US destroyed during World War II. It seems we didn’t have smart bombs then either and missed the target destroying the church, La Collégiale Sainte-Gertrude. In what I’m sure Glen Beck would have thought was a terrible waste of our tax dollars, the US offered to rebuild the church after the war.

Now, the kindness of those I’ve met here has been phenomenal and the tour of the church we took was no exception. EC’s mom hired a very nice docent to give us the tour. Of course, it was in French. Thankfully our kindly tour guide spoke very slowly and, of course, a bit more loudly than necessary (it’s a universal thing, it seems). I got about 1/3 of what she said about the church, 1/3 from the various hand gestures, pointing, and the like, and 1/3 from EC and her mom translating bits and pieces here and there.

Sainte-Gertrude was (is?) a pilgrimage church and there is one part of one pillar that acts as a “portal” where if you step through it, you will go to heaven. I did it. I fit through. I’m going to heaven. No problem. What was really cool was that the stone around this portal was so worn down all the pilgrims who had passed through it over the years. Pretty cool.

After the church we drove by the Battle of Waterloo site. It’s a big field with a man-made hill at one point with a cast-iron lion (the Dutch lion) at the top facing toward France as warning…sadly, the next enemy came from the other direction. Twice. (EC’s mom told me that every so often they have reenactments and people dress up as Dutch, French, Prussian, British soldiers and such. She said, "often people ask, “Where are the Americans….” Um, we weren’t always meddling in the affairs of Europe….)

Then we visited the ruins of an abbey. We got there late and only had about 20 minutes, but it was beautiful and peaceful. There was a bride and groom having their pictures taken in the nave of the old church, left half standing after a local businessman had sold, brick by brick, the stone buildings of the abbey for the building of new houses. This all happened after the French Revolution. Nonetheless, the place was hauntingly beautiful.

This is a long post, so I end this one here because the next bit of fun was the festival and, oh year, watching WWF wresting dubbed in French….