Amsterdam

Yesterday, Gennie and I planned a day trip to Amsterdam. We left at 5:30 in the morning and took a three hour train ride up to Amsterdam so we could spend the entire day enjoying the city. As soon as we arrived we went to the tourist information center and purchased a map that took us on a four hour, self-guided walking tour of Amsterdam- explanations of everything we were seeing included! Because of the sunny weather, it was the perfect way to see this city for someone on a budget.

I guess I didn't have many expectations for the Netherlands before going and so was completely taken off guard by its beauty. The train ride through the countryside was lovely as the sun rose over the foggy fields. Once there, hundreds of bikes lined every canal. Small children, still to young to walk, were strapped to the front and backs of bikes as parents flew in and around traffic on the cobblestone streets, ringing their bells to make their presence known. At one point when Gennie and I were looking around, obviously lost, a woman stopped her bike and asked us if she could help us find where we wanted to go. Later, like conspicuous tourists, we held our map up as we searched for a particular street name. We were quickly approached by a nice man who directed us to the right place. Pictures do not do this city justice!

We bought lunch at a little shop tucked away on a street and ate our warm mozzarella, tomato, pesto, and onion grilled paninis with our feet dangling off an idyllic canal. We passed through the main square, saw a big memorial statue of the famous Dutch artist Rembrandt, got to see the Homosexual Memorial, and saw countless churches and sculptures that give Amsterdam its character.

The finale to our day was the Anne Frank Museum. We toured her house and saw where she and seven others hid from the Nazis in World War II. It was incredibly humbling to be able to walk where people lived their lives in hiding for almost two years in constant fear of of what the Nazis would do to them. Anne wrote in her diary that sometimes they would peak outside their window and see the Germans loading up Jews while they sat silently for hours in their concealed and crowded haven.

This girl, in the midst of intense hatred and oppression, had the compassion to write "I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart."

This experience was challenging, yet an uplifting way to end a spectacular day.

Exhausted, Gennie and I boarded our train home. We snacked on fruit and smoothies as we rested our sore feet... laughing and remembering our delightfully unforgettable day. We arrived back in Brussels around midnight and crawled into our inviting beds as quickly as possible.

What a blessing to have a place to come home to!

The Market

I awkwardly attempt to calculate what 2.50 euro/kg means as I frantically pull out my middle school math skills. Somehow, my shopping experiences are extremely humbling adventures as I realize that I have to relearn everything I know to coexist with the locals.

Each Wednesday afternoon a vibrant market is held in the Chatelaine Square, right off of Avenue Louise in Brussels. Vendors set out luscious produce and delicacies that they have been preparing for the past week.

Despite it being a health inspector's nightmare, this market is one of the most authentic experiences in the city. Little old men gather as they do their weekly shopping to buy their favorite cuts of meat from the butcher while their wives pick out fresh fruits and vegetables. Mothers and children make their rounds, picking out special treats and gorgeous breads from the bakeries.

Even though the unspoken rules and expectations that exist in other cultures can be overwhelming at times, it is quite refreshing to witness the lovely display of community and camaraderie... not to mention, how the exquisite arrangements of oranges, reds, greens, and yellows brighten the day.

Carless Sunday

Yesterday was Carless Sunday in Brussels. I began hearing announcements about this special day about two weeks ago and it immediately piqued my interest. If this meant what it sounded like, I wanted to know how a big city was going to pull this off.

Carless Sunday is exactly what it sounds like. Several times a year Belgium issues out a decree saying that a particular day is to remain carless. Everyone is required to use public transport, walk, or bike wherever they want or need to go.

With the exception of police, emergency vehicles, and a few taxis, it seemed that everyone cooperated in this day to reduce fuel consumption and reflect on a world with fewer cars. Bikers by the dozens flooded the streets. Free public transportation was available to all. It was like a miniature utopia. For one day the streets were dramatically more peaceful and inviting to the pedestrian... not to mention much safer.

The typical European driver is in a league of his own. Cars the size of small sofas recklessly weave in and out of alleys, entirely unaware of the innocent bystanders. Ironically, it is extremely difficult to get a driver's license in Belgium. It costs thousands of euros to even get into classes, insurance is ridiculously expensive, and it is a requirement to be over 18 years old to get a license. Buying a vehicle is the cheapest part of the whole process.

Although, maybe these ridiculous expenses are an incredibly round-about way to go back to why I began writing this blog entry in the first place. The stringent process of attaining a driver's license may be to reduce the amount of cars on the road.

I don't know... just a theory!

Political Climate

After living in Belgium for almost 3 weeks now, I have a little better understanding of Belgian Politics. The country is bordered by the Netherlands, Germany, Luxembourg, and France. Brussels, the capital of Belgium, houses the head of the European Commission as well as NATO headquarters and is also considered to be "the capital of Europe."

Because of Belgium's central location, it has a variety of cultures that have influenced its identity over the past centuries.

Recently, Belgium has experienced upheaval and some significant drama among the different ethnic regions. The northern part of Belgium is a Dutch-speaking region called Flanders. To the south lies Wallonia where everyone speaks French and finally in the eastern part of Belgium is a very small area where German is the predominant language.

Belgium got its Germanic influences when in AD 300 Attila the Hun invaded Germany, forcing some Germanic tribes into the eastern-most part of Belgium. Belgium was then invaded by Germans a century later giving current day Belgium its Germanic roots. In the late 18th century Napolean's army took control of Belgium, but after Napolean's final defeat at Waterloo, Belgium came under Dutch rule. Finally, in 1831 the Belgian people gained their independence from the Netherlands and established a constitutional monarchy.

I had no idea before I got here how divided this small country was. Gennie warned me from the beginning that whenever I go outside of Brussels into the Dutch speaking areas it is like a slap in the face to speak French. Instead, I was given the advice to speak in English.

Unfortunately, this rivalry does not merely affect what language a foreigner should use during an occasional outing. Instead, Belgium's entire political system has been afflicted by the long-felt tension amongst the different regions that make up the country.

In a nutshell: Dutch speakers vs. French speakers.

Currently, King Albert II is head of state. Yves Leterme is the Prime Minister, however, there have been huge disagreements between the French and Dutch speakers about who gets more autonomy and power. This feud has led to a lack of leadership, no Prime Minister, and ultimately the collapse of the government for over nine months before Yves Leterme was sworn into office. These disagreements have caused utter chaos in Belgian politics and still continue to threaten the security of their government.

Gennie, laughing as she explained the current state of affairs in Belgium's political realm, said "England would undoubtedly freak out if there were no Prime Minister. The British people literally would not know what to do. Belgians just don't care. They were absolutely content without any structure."

Why not Mix Sightseeing with Business?

I woke up this morning with one goal - to get a visa. It seems simple, however, the rules, regulations, and loopholes that a government can create are altogether overwhelming.

There is something called the Schengen agreement. This set of laws was created as a way to control borders throughout Europe. Almost all European countries participate in the Schengen agreement; the United Kingdom, Ireland, and Switzerland are just several countries among the handful that do not.

As a citizen of the United States, I can travel throughout the Schengen countries without a visa for up to 90 days within a sixth month period. After my 90 days have passed, I am illegal in most of Europe. Clearly, this morning's endeavor was of great importance.

My first stop was the Belgian embassy: Rue de la Loi 61-63. How hard could it be? After I got off of the metro I looked at the long road that was clearly marked Rue de la Loi. This was a good sign. My next hurdle was finding building 61-63. You would think that an address would be in chronological order down the street. After asking two people where I might find this address, without success, I finally asked a businessman if he might possibly know what direction I should go. This delightful man took me under his wing and brought me to an official looking building with flags and banners hanging everywhere. He told me he was from Greece and that it was essential to visit his country while in Europe. Unfortunately, when he found out that I was in search of visa information he apologetically told me that this in fact was not the right building and that I must walk to the end of Rue de la Loi to where another Belgian government building was located. We said our goodbyes and off we went in our different directions.

I quickly located the correct building. After talking to a nice Belgian woman, she scribbled some street names and numbers on a small piece of paper and said that I must go to this address to inquire about visas.

Two metro stops later I found myself at Gare Central. I went up to the information desk and asked in French where I might find this address. In a slur of French the old man behind the counter explained my next set of instructions. All I caught was "Bus 71, two stops and there it will be."

Okay. By now I am feeling like I am on a wild goose chase. I have been searching for the Belgian consulate for 2 hours now. If I hadn't been reinforced with kindness throughout my journey I may have given up long ago. On I persevered.

At this point I think, I might as well enjoy the scenery on this self-guided tour of Brussels. So I jumped on Bus 71 and in two stops I found myself staring at the Royal Family's Palace. This is a picturesque detour. I decide to walk around the Royal Gardens and enjoy the beauty of the day. Then a serendipitous sign catches my eye. Brussels Information Center. This is like music to my ears. Thankfully, a nice girl pulls out a map and highlights the exact route I am to take. Within several minutes I am on the right street. I walk faster with anticipation.

I then go into a big building, Belgian flags flying proudly in the cool breeze. Two women direct me to a telephone and I chat to someone about my hopes of getting a visa.

After a long morning of searching throughout the streets of Belgium to inquire about a visa, my hopes are shattered as I am told that there is absolutely no way to get a visa unless I am in my home country. I have to apply in the United States and if I am lucky, there may be a small chance that I can get a visa to stay longer than the alloted 90 days.

While out and about in Brussels I managed to take several pictures. They are in order of my adventure, beginning with the back of the palace, a sculpture in the Palace gardens, the front of the palace, and finally the Belgain Consulate.

Generalizations

It is human nature to categorize, generalize, and put others and themselves into groups. I think that this is one of the greatest downfalls of human nature, yet we are all guilty of it. History has shown that horrific things can happen when we take a group of people and say "you're different."

One German girl told me last night, "America. I grew up loving America. But for the last eight years or so, not so much." Blunt and a bit hurtful, but I understand where she is coming from. She had nothing against me, but 'America' in general was what she didn't like. She was also the one who said that she "didn't like the English, even if they have good accents. They aren't very nice and have bad food." So I guess you can't take everything someone says to heart.

A Danish girl I met was shocked when she asked if I had studied any other languages besides English and I told her that I have studied French and Spanish. She said that she was under the impression that Americans never studied any other language because they thought that English was good enough.

On the other hand, my impression of many Europeans that I have met is that they drink and smoke... a lot. Then I remind myself that you can't generalize a whole country, let alone an entire continent. Isn't that what I would want others to remember when they find out that I am an American?

The last thing that I would ever want to do is knowingly group an entire people into one category. For the past two weeks I have been asked "are American high schools like American Pie or High School Musical (because clearly they are one or the other)?" or "are all American girls cheerleaders?" It is so funny what kinds of assumptions we make based off of media and a single encounter. It's like asking someone from England, "do all British people drink tea?"

What I have decided is that a Saudi Arabian, Belgian, South African, Korean, American, and Englishman can all sit down together and share in the delight of a good cup of tea. Ultimately, it doesn't matter what nation a person comes from because each person is unique despite what worldly label, attribute, or identity we may give them.

Obama or McCain?

Before I left, I was talking with my sister-in-law, Cori, and we were wondering if many Europeans were closely following the upcoming elections. Within the first day I flew into London the answer to our question was quite apparent.

People-watching is my forte. Wherever I go boredom never entices me, as I am usually enjoying the oddities, behaviors, and differences in those around me. I try to make this a subtle endeavor because it is a rare person who accepts staring with open arms.

As I rode down the tube in London after I landed in Heathrow, I did my usual glance around to see if there was anything particularly amusing to witness. Surprisingly, the thing that stood out the most was the handful of people reading articles about the political happenings of the U.S. This immediately intrigued me. First of all, I needed to report back to Cori. Secondly, how important are the elections to the rest of the world?

After being here for two weeks, I have begun to realize the extent to which people are interested in American politics. Not only are Obama and McCain on almost every newspaper, but I can't even begin to tell you how many people have asked me "Obama or McCain?"

When I was meeting several of Gennie's school friends for the first time, the Obama or McCain question was one of the first things that I was asked. Another friend quickly hit the curious asker and with a proper British accent told her that in America "it was quite rude to ask such a personal question."

Regardless of anyone's feelings on the November elections, I am very surprised on how adamantly everyone who has spoken to me about American politics feels about the candidates. Without a doubt, Obama is the fan favorite.

L'Abbey de la Cambre

As I mentioned before, there is a stunning Abbey directly across the street from our apartment. It is beautifully situated in the middle of the city as a little oasis amongst all of the cars, people, and noise. Church bells ring upon the hour as people go about their day-to-day activities. The Abbey was originally built in the 13th century as a Cistercian sanctuary where Catholic monks lived. It was later rebuilt in the 18th century after many of the buildings were destroyed by various wars. The Abbey is now a visual arts college.

Another wonderful aspect of living in Ixelles (the district in which my apartment lies) is the Belgian version of Greenlake that sits down the street from me. There are two lakes right next to the Abbey that are surrounded by a small dirt path for those who want to take a leisurely stroll with their dog or even a quick run when they are feeling particularly motivated. Trees line the water and men and women sprawl out on the green grass that surrounds the lakes.

Yesterday, with Percy in one hand and my book in the other, I set out to do some reading on the grass next to the Abbey. For the past several days the weather has been magnificent and I have enjoyed the sun streaming into my window, waking me in the most radiant and ideal way.

The Beauty of Living in Another Country

For some reason, the shower in our apartment has not been working very well. Instead of taking a leisurely hot shower to wake me up in the morning I have had to suffer through the painful experience of frigid water hitting my entire body. Not one ounce of remotely warm water has come out of this shower head, despite the fact that we get hot water in every other faucet in the apartment.

Needless to say, it was essential for us to call a repair man. Gennie began school yesterday, so unfortunately she was not going to be here during the time the repair man would make his visit. When we made the appointment on the phone, the company assured us that they would send someone who was fluent in English (because I would be the only one here).

It didn't take long after the repair man buzzed to get into the apartment that I realized he didn't speak a lick of English. Perfect. So began the fiasco of fixing our shower. As he came into the door he rattled off a long sentence in French. My initial reaction was shear panic. However, I knew that now was not a time to be meek. I pulled out all of the high school French that I remembered. Surprisingly, we communicated the entire time in French and thankfully we were quite successful.

Now, not only do we have a wonderful hot shower awaiting us in the morning, but my confidence in French has been bolstered.

C'est la vie!

These past several days have flown by!

On Monday and Tuesday Gennie and I ran all over town to get our apartment ready for the new school year that is quickly approaching. Brussels is decadently mapped out with superior public transport... the envy of every environmentally-friendly American. Buses, underground metros, and trams cover the city so that every nook and cranny can be explored by travelers and citizens alike. Gennie, a native of Brussels for years, promises me that within days I will be fluent in this seemingly overwhelming system of transportation.

Last night Gennie spent over an hour mapping out every bus number, underground, and tram that I may need during my time in Brussels (color coded stickers and artistic drawings included). My dreams of not taking anymore tests after finishing my nursing boards quickly faded as I realized that at any time Gennie will be quizzing me on what tram number I need to get home from le Grand Place or Artsloi!

On Monday, in the midst of buying new school clothes, tram passes, and phone cards, we found the time to stop at a cafe for a delicious Belgian lunch. Small, rod iron tables and chairs line almost every cobblestone abbey so that a short, mid-day lunch break can be taken by the deserving customer. Whether with friends or completely solo, people here find the time in the middle of the day to stop whatever they are doing and sit to enjoy a glass of wine and sandwich before finishing their day of work. Gennie and I enjoyed delicious mushroom, cheese, and tomato paninis as we watched the waves of people shopping and strolling about le Rue Neuve.

At home, people are astounded when I enlighten them that I grew up in a house built in 1917. Old buildings are hard to come by, preserved and even turned into museums in some cases. I am surprised by the nonchalant attitudes with which many people here pass by an exceptional piece of history that must have a fascinating story behind it.