Mad Poker Skills

Last night I worked at an espresso bar in Brussels called akaZOE. I have been volunteering there every week because it is run by YWAM, a local non-profit Christian organization. I have fun making a variety of coffee drinks, milkshakes, and other tasty beverages while different musicians and bands play live music on stage.

Yesterday we were pretty busy at one point. It is always fun to work when it is chaotic and there is a lot to do. I was working with a girl from Belgium named Helena and some of her friends came for the evening to hang out and play poker. I'm not being modest when I say that I am horrible at poker... but nevertheless I gave it my best effort. I wish that I could say I made my family and friends proud with my impressive poker skills, but sadly that is not one of my gifts.

I will say though that it is quite difficult to learn a card game in French and, on top of that, to attempt and play it with skill. I can't even begin to explain how many times I had no idea what was being said, while simultaneously nodding and smiling like I was following the conversation entirely. At this point, I can say with confidence that I have mastered the art of pretending that I know what's going on.

The Fair is in Town!

The weather is getting colder here and everyone is bundling up in scarves, coats, and gloves in hopes of staying warm.

Right now Tervuren is having their twice-yearly fair in the square. A little carnival is set up for a week so that all of the children can enjoy pony rides, cotton candy, sparkling lights, and all of the other delights that a fair offers. Music from the carnival fills the streets.

I love how all of the children flock to such an event. Joy is not only universal but it is contagious.

A Funny Story

I am at a little espresso bar one night and I get to talking to this 20 year old Canadian guy who has been traveling around the world for about a year now. He is telling me all about his adventures to Australia, New Zealand, Asia, and throughout Europe.

We have been talking for a good 20 to 25 minutes and he asks me some questions about what I am doing in Brussels. His next phrase was the kicker. With a tilted head of encouragment he proceeded to tell me that I was doing a great job speaking English to him and that I sounded really natural.

I paused. This isn't a rare situation for me to encounter. His automatic assumption upon introduction was that someone with the name Brigitta cannot possibly be a native speaker of English. With names like Jorgen, Peder, Torsten, and Einer in the family it is a fairly typical response that I think we have gotten used to. However, this was the first time that someone still thought that English wasn't my native tongue even after chatting away for 20 minutes.

My reply was a simple "thank you. It is my native language so I hope that I speak it well." It gave Gennie and me some significant laughs later that evening when I told her the whole story.

Tervuren

Tervuren is a beautiful little town in the Flemish countryside. Gennie and I moved here at the beginning of October because it is a lot closer to her school. Every Friday morning there is a market in the square and the town is filled with the noise and hubbub of people doing their weekly shopping. Almost everything is closed on Sundays and Mondays.

Probably my favorite part of Tervuren is the park. It truly feels like I'm walking in a different time. there is a long line of lakes surrounded by forest. Each morning I try and take Percy for a walk or run around the lakes. Rain or shine there is a group of devoted old men from the village sitting together with fishing poles in hand. Of all the times I have gone past them only once have I seen someone actually catch anything. It ended up being a five minute fiasco of slowly and gently pulling the fish out of the water and finally capturing it into the net. The man looked at his friends for congratulations and proceeded to throw the large fish back into the water. Maybe this particular fish wasn't good for eating, or maybe catch and release fishing is his tactic. Either way, I liked that he threw the fish back in.

London!

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London was a perfect break from Belgium. Not only did I get to spend time with a friend from home, but I spent time with Gennie's family, and got to freely speak English! What more can you ask for?

I traveled to London on Friday night and had a delicious salmon dinner awaiting me. Gennie spent the weekend visiting her dad in France so Friday night Suzie, Stephen, Max, and I crammed onto the couch in their home in Islington and watched an authentic British late night show (something like the equivalent of Jay Leno).

The weather was sunny and clear on Saturday morning and the four of us went for a nice run at the local park. We enjoyed a lazy morning together before Suzie dropped me off for a visit with Megan, a childhood friend studying in London. The two of us had a fun day walking around Hyde Park, exploring the city, and attempting to buy day-of tickets to Les Misérables (unfortunately without success). Everyone was out in the beautiful sunny weather and we became mesmerized by a group of roller skaters who were dancing to music. We then met Megan's friend from Ireland and we had a delicious meal at a local Indian restaurant.

I should probably note here that throughout Saturday I gradually lost my voice... entirely. I initially blamed it on London's horrific pollution, but then a sore throat hit Monday night dismissing that theory. Needless to say, Sunday morning I woke up with my communication severely compromised. Normally, the inability to speak may have been a slight challenge- but not altogether debilitating. However, on this particular Sunday I had plans of participating in my first English brunch with Gennie's family. Gennie's immediate family would have been one thing, but the entire clan of five cousins and an aunt and uncle were included. Fortunately, the family was gracious and we did the best we could to communicate with my awkward hand gestures and unpleasant whispers.

Monday morning out of pure necessity I took a jaunt to the local pharmacy. After attempting to ask for cough drops the lady behind the counter said with wide eyes, "oh no, you need this."She held up a small red box with the word VOCALZONE written in bold white letters. Whatever this disgusting little throat lozenger was, it worked. It dissolved in the back of my throat for a good 20 minutes as I followed the directions to inhale deeply throughout the process. Thankfully, I had a hoarse voice by the end of the therapy, and I was ready to jump on the tube and spend one more day with Megan exploring London.

We had a great time wandering throughout the British Museum. We saw the Rosetta Stone and other famous sculptures and pieces of artwork. We then went to the British Library where we saw an incredible exhibit that included the Magna Carta, some of Shakespeare's and Jane Austin's original writings, the piece of paper that the lyrics to Yesterday was scribbled on by Paul McCartney himself, and many other presevered documents for the public to admire. By then it was time for me to say goodbye to London and hop on the 2 hour train to go back to Belgium. It was a wonderful weekend!

Crazy Moving Weekend!

The calm before the storm.

Thursday Night:

Stephen, Suzie, and Max have just gotten in on the evening train from London and we all sit down for a nice relaxing sphagetti dinner. Wonderful food, good conversation, and discussion about moving logistics. Plans of how the five of us are going to accomplish moving everything from the large apartment in Brussels to our new little apartment in Tervuren (25 minutes outside the city). It sounded simple enough.

Friday:

Early start as we organize years of possessions into four piles:

1) Garbage

2) Charity

3) New apartment

4) Going back to London

We have an enourmous rented truck for hauling. Sheer chaos ensues as we confront tendencies of reminiscing, hoarding, and fatigue. We push on into the afternoon and Stephen and Max take the first gigantic load of clothes, furniture, and books to Le Petit Rien- literal translation = The Little Nothing (the local second-hand store). It is now late afternoon and we take a much-needed lunch break at the little pasta restaurant downstairs. We then begin filling the truck for the second time full of items going to the new apartment that Gennie and I are moving into.

Our new place is cute, charming, and just the perfect size for the two of us... but the steep, narrow, stereotypical European staircase up to the fourth floor is not the ideal setting for making dozens of trips with heavy furniture up and down on moving day.

Before long we are all sweating as we squeeze by one another in the miniscule stairwell. Hours later the five of us sit, exhausted at the local Italian restaurant in Tervuren. We are already preparing for the chaos that is awaiting us on Saturday morning.

Saturday:

A bit of a slower start, but before long we are cleaning the attic in the old apartment in Brussels that is crammed full with years of odds and ends. Long story short- and extremely physically-demanding experience. Lunch. Tea with landlords (a delightful couple who live below us and run their Osteopathic Practice on the bottom floor). We finish the day with organizing and unpacking the new apartment before we grab dinner and fall into bed.

Sunday:

Stephen, Suzie, and Max go back to London and moving weekend has officially come to an end. All in all our time was filled with laughter, sweat, several breakdowns, and many unforgettably memorable stories.