Classes and Culture Shock.

[I know that I promised to tell you about the most special thing in my neighborhood. But I've decided to save that for later.]

Today was the start of our second week of classes at Vesalius College. For me, this meant 1.5 hours of Introduction to Economics followed by three hours of American Politics and Government, with an espresso and a peanut butter and honey sandwich in between.

I really detest Econ. It's just one of those things that my brain doesn't do. Instead, my syllabus is covered in drawings of flowers, penguins, and unicorns, and when I'm not embellishing those, I study my classmates. About a third of them are American, while the rest come from various European countries. Most are majoring in business, economics, communications, or international relations, and their English is excellent.

You can always find the European students in a classroom. Good things to look for are graph paper notebooks, cigarettes, nicely coordinated outfits, and a lack of pores. I think I will befriend one of those girls just to steal her skin regimen.

That is all there is to say about Econ. I get to drop it in a few weeks, when I pick up a literature class at the Université Libre de Bruxelles— the French-speaking school here. Because Vesalius is an American style university, it follows a semester and exam schedule similar to what I'm used to back home. But the ULB is European style, so the semester runs from the start of February through the first week of May, with final exams not taking place until June. They like to see how much students remember after a three-week study period, I think.

My American Politics and Government class is wonderful. I have lots of things to say about it, so many that it will be a different post.

During our orientation here, they devoted a large chunk of time to discussing "culture shock." They told us that culture shock will happen to each of us in different amounts and at different times, and that it involves hitting an emotional low point, which we eventually overcome. I mostly ignored that part of orientation. I was probably thinking about lunch— either, "When is lunch? I'm hungry" or "Man, that lunch was awful. I'm still hungry."

I suppose, though, that what I am feeling right now could be called culture shock. I am not miserable, and most of the time, I am thrilled to be here. But adjusting to Vesalius classes, strange notebooks and hole punches, a new definition of the word "cappuccino," lukewarm baths, and the value of the USD versus the euro is difficult. I am constantly frustrated by communicating in French, which has always been challenging for me. And I miss my dogs.

Studying abroad is the best way to learn an appreciation for another country and a new group of people. But culture shock, the little week or two of grumpiness we feel somewhere during that experience, is the best way to learn an appreciation for home and the people there.

Since I haven't given you any pictures yet…

This site has a nice little slideshow of pictures from Brussels.

Cozying In.

Well there are obviously a thousand million things to tell you about since the last post. We've moved into our apartments, explored our neighborhoods, and started classes. So I guess this note will go somewhat in that order.

I live in a mainly residential area about 10 Metro minutes from our campus. My house has many stories. I'm not really sure how many there are, but if you just keep climbing stairs until you can't anymore, you get to my apartment. I have more roommates than I expected, and their nationalities were a surprise as well. There is one German girl, one Italian girl, two Spanish girls, and then the three of us. Yes, boys, they are single.

Our kitchen is a sort of patchwork of all of our tastes. We each have a few shelves of our own, and you can pick out the American ones easily. They contain peanut butter and, in general, many more things. I'm still learning the European style of buying ingredients the day you intend to use them.

In fact, I'm still learning lots of things about grocery shopping in Belgium. Even more than at home, I spend most of my time in the produce section. There are all kinds of new fruits and vegetables to try, or just to try to figure out. For some reason, all the sweet potatoes come only Calle-sized. Cucumbers are arm-sized, regular potatoes are tiny, and squashes are nowhere to be found.

There is a small gourmet shop near my apartment, with the prettiest veggies you've ever seen, plus plenty of tasty cheeses, nice olive oils, and fresh quiches. It is a much more traditional type of place. When I walk in, the old man who owns it comes out from behind the counter and gathers together whatever I ask him for. He doesn't know it yet, but I think we will be best friends forever.

The selection of green edibles isn't the only reason why this area is perfect for me. There are also four parks within about a half mile of my house, and they are all perfect for running. They are also good for dog watching. Belgians love their chiens, which are most often tiny and fluffy, and they take them everywhere. Even right past the "no dogs" sign at the entrance to the mall.

Hmm. It should come as no surprise to you that I am up too late and have class early in the morning. So I'll stop now, with a promise that tomorrow I will tell you about the real gem of my neighborhood and what it's like to take classes at Vesalius. And undoubtedly, I'll have something more to say about food.

Such as: I could really go for a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup right now. The choco-PB combination doesn't exist here :-(