And something to see.

There is a movie out on limited release now called In Bruges, and (obviously) it's set in Bruges! Read the description and reviews here, and let us know if you go see it.

Something to read…

Here is a nice article about the beguinage in Leuven, a university town very close to Brussels. There is also a beguinage in Bruges.

Making the Best of Things

Okay, so this will come as no surprise to most of you: I can sometimes be a bit particular when it comes to, well, nearly everything. I like my salad greens dark, my bathrooms tidy, and my detergents fragrance free. If you ever sense grumpy vibes from me, it's probably because one of these many things has not been the way I like it.

But studying in a funny new country is teaching me to be flexible, and not in the yoga way (although I could really go for some of that). Let me give a few examples.

1. Coffee
Despite my honest belief in buying local, minimizing waste, and supporting small business, I can't pretend that I don't love Starbuck's. I really do. There's just nothing like a grande soy cappuccino that I can cradle in my hands and nurse slowly until my whole being is warm and caffeinated and delightful.

There isn't a Starbuck's in Brussels. There also isn't an MJ's, a Cocoa Perk, or an Off The Ground. When you order a cappuccino here, you receive one of two things: either a Starbuck's-style drink that has gone through a Willy Wonka television transmission shrinking machine, or the WORST: a shot of espresso with a mountain of whipped cream from a can.

I don't always hate whipped cream. I think it has its use (pumpkin pie). But whipped cream in place of frothed milk in a cappuccino has a name and that's cheating. Or tromperie in French. The Belgians try to make up for this failure by accompanying every coffee with some delectable little thing: a bit of dark chocolate, a speculoos, or some other cookie. That's nice, but it doesn't cut it.

Instead, I've found a much better solution. Nearly every place that sells coffee also has these beautiful little creations called pains au chocolat. They are sort of croissant material, but rectangular and more buttery. Bits of dark chocolate float amongst layers of pastry like little pockets of paradise.

So, here's what you do: order a pain au chocolat and a plain coffee. This won't actually be a coffee, but instead an espresso. It will be tiny, so to make it last, alternate sips of coffee with bites (they can be gigantic and uncivilized; it's understandable) of heaven-in-a-baked-good.

You won't miss Starbuck's at all.



Note: You can practice being Belgian in the U.S., if you'd like. Pains au chocolat are sold at the occasional bakery, and you'll find one soon enough if you keep your eyes peeled. (Gross expression.) If you're near Hershey, go to Hershey Breads 'n' Cheese (holla!). If you're in a major city (NYC, Washington, LA, some others), you can be really authentic about it: head to Le Pain Quotidien, which is a Belgian chain with the best ones I've found so far. Theirs are slightly bigger and denser and feel like a real indulgence.


2. Living with things that squeak
Two Mondays ago was my flatmate's birthday, and a bunch of the girls from our program came over for cake and drinks. After two glasses of wine, I needed a bathroom break. I stepped into my cozy salle de bains (which is really quite charming with its classic porcelain tub and medicine cabinet and pedestal sink), locked the door, and turned around. There was a mouse.

The girl in the bathroom was not the brave Allie who used to catch toads and worms while her mud pies baked, who protected wild baby bunnies from a ravenous Phantom, who played with praying mantises until one day she got pinched and learned better, or who discovered the hard way her allergy to Madagascar hissing cockroaches. The girl in the bathroom was instead the Allie who has developed an annoying germ phobia, who buys her own rugs at Ikea and does not intend them to be a depository for droppings of any sort, and who certainly cannot react calmly to une souris in a room designed to promote hygiene.

So I panicked. I fumbled with the door handle until I got it unlocked. I ran out to the kitchen, climbed up my roommate like Tigerlily avoiding Dr. Rill, and pointed silently and frantically to the bathroom.

"What is it? A spider?"
I shook my head and let out a pathetic and whiny "mouwwwwse." The girls squealed and backed away from me, like maybe I'd unknowingly brought the thing out in one of my pockets or maybe hidden in my hair.

Except for Bonnie. I hadn't really met her before that night, but she quickly became my hero. She calmly requested a pot and a glass, which I rushed to fetch for her. After just a few courageous seconds in the bathroom, she emerged successful.

With the mouse now contained, we gathered around to examine it. It seemed so much smaller now that it was in our control. What I had first viewed as a twitchy, four-legged vessel for the Plague was now just a tiny, scared, grey-brown furball… and it was sort of cute.

That mouse lives outside now, I guess. But this building is old and full of cracks and nooks that are certainly home to others. Sometimes at night that thought makes me uncomfortable— remember that story we heard in England about sleeping people who choked when mice fell from the thatched roof into their gaping mouths? For the most part, though, I've warmed up to the little creatures. In my mind they are not the Mice, but the Borrowers, and I imagine their world composed of my lost paperclips, rubber bands, and buttons. They just better stay out of my speculoos…



3. Changing Plans
Last Friday, I went to bed absolutely elated. I had just been accepted to an internship program in Washington, DC for the summer, which I wanted more than anything. But also, I had excellent plans for the next day: a tour of the finest chocolate shops in Brussels. I was hoping to photograph (and eat) the most intriguing candies and then post it all on here.

Maybe my body was overloaded with pains au chocolat and just couldn't stand the idea of more sweets. Or maybe I ate some bad asparagus. But early Saturday morning, I woke up sick. (The keep-the-trashcan-by-the-bed kind of sick. It would have been Bathroom Floor Disease, but I'm still funny about lingering too long on the rug where the mouse was.)

I called Ceej and canceled the tour. I just about cried on the phone— not because it is such a HUGE BUMMER to be away from one's mama while sick, but because it was a rare warm and sunny Saturday in Brussels, and I knew I wouldn't be going out.

I closed the blind to my skylight and settled into my bed for what would be thirty hours of feverish sleeping. A little while later, I got a text from Ceej. "Going to run errands for a few hours, then I'll stop by. Let me know if you need anything."

I asked him for apple juice and lemon Perrier. After an hour and a half, I was dehydrated but too tired to get up for a drink. Wondering what errands could be so important as to leave me shriveling up like a raisin, I grouchily called Ceej to check his status.

He showed up soon after with my juice and lemon Perrier, which he had searched for in three grocery stores. But he also had a bouquet of white roses (from his new florist friends) and a bag full of treats from Pierre Marcolini, the ritziest chocolate shop in town and Gino's favorite.

It took a few days until my body wanted to try any of the chocolate, but it was worth the wait. And so it is with many things in Brussels: I often have to change around how I go about things. But in the end, it's really pretty nice.

Stood Up

Allie and I got stood up for the same date. Well it wasn't exactly a date. See, our program has a thing where us English speakers can meet up with Francophone students at a bar called Monk to try practice French. Monk is right around the corner from where I live, and the first drink was on the program (big incentive). Allie and I got there on time(ish) and, seeing no Francophones, I decided to do some last minute grocery shopping before closing time. I figured the French-speaking students would show up fashionably late.

Unfortunately, after I rushed back Allie told me that we were stood up. The night was far from disappointing, though. Gino stopped by because I had left him a note saying where I was. He and I talked to my French teacher (who is hosting 3 students at her place). Then the program director felt bad about what happened, so he bought everyone a second round of drinks. Gino and I had wine and sat at the the bar.

He told me about the 5 hour business lunch he had earlier that day. The lunch was too much food, so would I mind eating out for the fourth time this week?

At dinner, I had my first experience with stoemp. Stoemp is pureed or mashed potatoes with celery or other root veggies (sometimes with cream, bacon, and/or sausage). My stoemp came with sausage and was so good that I burned my tongue--I couldn't wait for it to cool down to eat it.

By the way, Gino and I are going to see Stomp, the percussion show where they dance and bang on all sorts of things. Gino pronounces Stomp just like you pronounce stoemp. It confused me for a little while why we would go to Antwerp to eat stoemp when we could get it in Brussels. Once I saw the tickets, it made a lot more sense.

In case you were wondering, I've been logging what food we eat for each dinner. A few things from the list:

Ray (as in sting ray)
Rabbit/rabbit liver
Foie gras
10 types of cheese


Bye for now. Am I beating Allie for most posts? I hope so.

How to Throw a Dinner Party

This is how my day usually goes:

wake up early (8:00 or before most days) so I can get to work at FEDMA on time
pack a lunch (assuming there is time)
take the metro to work at FEDMA or to go to classes
eat lunch
more class/work
get home around 6 pm
Gino gets home between 6-7 pm
eat dinner for 3 hours (not joking)
be exhausted
fall asleep thinking about what I have to do before I can go to sleep

FEDMA stands for Federation of European direct and interactive marketing. There are lots of things that FEDMA does, but it mainly lobbies the EU on direct marketing issues (junk mail, e-mail, spam, telemarketing, etc. FEDMA also informs member companies including American Express, Citigroup, Reader's Digest, Newsweek, etc. about important legal issues for doing business in the EU. There are a lot of FEDMA position papers on things like data protection and consumer protection laws.

The 8 person (including me) company office is in a huge house on a street with some embassies and other companies. I think we kicked a soccer ball into the Chinese embassy's garden last week. My co-workers are young and come from Norway, Germany, Netherlands, UK, and of course one from Belgium. English is the language of the office, but you'll occasionally here some French, Dutch, German, and Norwegian.

I work Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays for a total of 15 hours or so a week. So far I have been redesigning the membership directory, which is pretty sad looking right now. At the end of February I'm going to the EU Parliament to sit in on some committee meetings to report on anything that will impact our members. It should be pretty interesting to see how things are done in the EU. If I were an actual employee (not an intern) I think my favorite part of the job would be the cocktail events and the business lunches at tasty restaurants.

So that's all I have to report about FEDMA. Feel free to ask questions.

After I get back from work and class, I usually get an hour to unwind while Gino cooks dinner. The long dinners are great, but they mean that I'm not really getting much accomplished in the apartment in terms of schoolwork, etc. But it's also hard to complain when I get to help throw dinner parties like the one we had last Monday night.

Jill, Jean-Pierre, and Marc were our guests. Jean-Pierre and Marc are a couple who own a flower/interiordesign/curtain shop in our neighborhood. Jill is a South Korean who was adopted by a Belgian family. She lives above Jean-Pierre and Marc and works in television.

Languages:
Jean-Pierre: French, Dutch, English
Jill: French, Dutch, English, German
Marc: French

Luckily Marc doesn't speak English, so that they couldn't use English the whole dinner. I got to hear and learn a lot of French when anecdotes were translated for Marc or me.

The conversation was fun, especially when I tried to explain that Swarthmore is a dry town. Jean-Pierre had trouble understanding the concept of a place where alcohol isn't sold. I think I heard him say "crazy" three times when he translated for Marc: "So there is this crazy town where he goes to school where you can't buy wine or beer or anything. Not even in their crazy restaurants. Isn't that crazy?"

I want to start visiting their shop regularly. Who wouldn't want to hang out with fun people and learn French in a place that smells like fresh flowers every day?

There is a lot more I could say about the dinner and the guests, but I'm short on time. Just wanted to write something for the people pestering me to post.

By the way, I might post more if we get more comments. Come on people!


All I have to say about Bruge and Binche is that they were fun. And I ate confetti by accident.

Joyeux Carnaval!

(View this album at your own pace and a larger size here.)

First Visit to Bruges!

Here are a few photos from our first trip to Bruges, the most visited (and probably most beautiful) city in Belgium. We were traveling with our art history class, and the day's schedule was jam packed (packed like jam?). The only chance I had to snap any pictures was from atop the Belfry, after climbing 366 tiny, dizzyingly winding stairs. Ceej didn't quite make it up, and I only did out of determination to get the photos. The hour turned as I reached the top, and the noise of the bells in combination with a little problem I have with heights tried its hardest to give me a baby panic attack. I got over that, only to find a chain-link fence lining the windows from which I'd hoped to get my pictures.

Longfellow had a better experience here, judging by his poem "The Belfry of Bruges." I'll explain whatever history in it that I know…

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.

Built originally around 1240, the tower was destroyed in three separate fires: one in 1280, one (from a lightning strike!) in 1493, and another in 1741.

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes,

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;

All the Foresters of Flanders,—mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer,
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre.

Flanders is the Dutch-speaking, northern half of Belgium. But I don't know who any of those guys are, sorry.

I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies;
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease.

Bruges prospered as a medieval trade city, especially because of the wool cloth that was made in Flanders and sold in the hall attached to the belfry.

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;

Maximillian was someone important. Mary was too, but she fell off a horse and died.

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold,
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;

The Battle of the Golden Spurs took place on 11 July, 1302 in Bruges. Flemish infantry defeated a bunch of French knights and then took their spurs as trophies. (But the French took them back two years later.) 11 July is now celebrated as "Flemish Day" by Dutch-speaking Belgians.

Saw the light at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest.

You know how Pennsylvania has lots of deer? Belgium has dragons.

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat;

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,
"I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!"

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.

Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.

Bruges was almost unreal in its charm. The whole city center is preserved as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which I think means that they aren't allowed to build anything new and ugly there. The water running through the town allows for plenty of picturesque bridges and an almost Venetian feel.

It was still fairly wintry this past Saturday, and none of the trees or perennials were blooming. But Lucy and I are visiting in mid-March, when I hope to see an even more beautiful Bruges.

Here are a few fabulous panoramas, courtesy of Wikipedia. Click to enlarge:






On another note, Dr. Evil comes from Bruges, as revealed in Austin Powers in Goldmember.