Leiden and Delft

We also went to the smaller tows of Leiden and Delft, outside of Den Haag.

Leiden is a small but attractive university town that straddles the Rhine as it meanders through Holland. The river is split into a "Y" in town, with the center of town coinciding with the convergence. The University of Ledien is very old, having been established in 1575 by William I of Orange. It has been home to a number of famous Dutch artists and scientists both ancient and contemporarty. Rembrandt was born and went to school here (note his surname: van Rijn "of the Rhine"), painter Jan Steen was born here, as was Willebrord Snellius, of "Snells Law" fame- another important optics theorem you owe thanks to for everything from binoculars to fiber optic technology. Newton made great advances in optics, but the Dutch pretty much owned the field for a century leading up to him. Also, the "Leyden Jar" was invented here, shocking! (That last sentence was a double entendre. The Leyden jar was essentially the first capacitor, it stored electric charge. Hey- if Judi posts, you get wit and language. If I post you get physics, deal with it).

I also never knew until stumbling across several plaques that this is where the second Mayflower pilgrims lived before setting sail for the Americas (though they did make a a "pit stop" in England to use the bathroom on the way). There are some exiled puritans buried here who never made the second Mayflower trip, including many children, and several English language puritan churches were run here for quite some time. Several American organizations keep the graves, plaques, and American historical sites maintained. Pictures to follow, as usual.

Delft is famous for its characteristic porcelain appropriately named "Delftware". When you think of "fine China" you may think of painted blue porcelain dishes, possibly with windmills and flowers on it. That is Delftware. This is also a very nice town, and it is obvious that its main trade and claim to fame are its ceramics. The Royal ceramicists also work here, and we bought a piece from there. We wandered the town, meandered through the shops, had a great lunch, and at the end of the day we headed home.

Den Haag

This last weekend Judi and I had a rental car, so we took advantage of that and spent a few days in central Netherlands. First we spent some time in Den Haag (the Hague), which is the hoofdstaad of the Netherlands, I believe. In the Netherlands the capital is Amsterdam, but the government is based in Den Haag. This is of course where the international war crimes tribunal is located, among other famous international institutions.

We walked around town quite a bit, and it is a very attractive place with old churches and houses, and modern museums and shopping. We walked past many embassies under shady lanes. I wanted to park our car in the Swiss Ambassadors parking spot, where a sign reads “Parking for Swiss Ambassador Only” and snap a photo, but Judi barred me from causing an international incident. We passed the Escher museum, the big central fountain, and went inside the Oude Kerk (Old Church). It is a nice church, and I received an unexpected surprise when we ambled unexpectedly to the final resting place of Christiaan Huygens. He’s a “big name” in physics, especially optics, as well as astronomy, music, mathematics, and philosophy. He was surely one of the Netherlands greatest prodigies.

We also toured the Mauritshuis, permanent and temporary home of many of the finest pieces from the Dutch masters. Rembrandt, Jan Steen, Vermeer, and many more are well represented. Two of the most famous paintings in the building, which I shall paste below, are Rembrandts “The Anatomy Lesson”, and Vermeer’s “Girl with Pearl Earring”. In all of our tours of the museums of Northern Europe, I have developed a particular fondness for Vermeer and Jan Steen, and wonder why they don’t receive more attention.

There is a story related to Judi in this. The observer in the painting in the center, looking forward, is an ancestor of Judi's. I'll have her edit the post so she can explain it.

Later in the day we went to de Pier which means... the Pier. This pier is a sort of “double decker” pier, with glass walls creating an envelope between the two levels, so visitors can walk on top or stay sheltered inside in bad weather. Out at the ends of the pier are a cafe (poffertjes!), a multi-story restaurant, and an arcade. We had a dinner of mussels and frites, and as it turned out our server was an American born, Dutch raised sort of dual-citizen who hops back and forth between the U.S. and the Netherlands. I had to ask him where he was from, because his English was very, well, American. We walked some on the beach, caught the sunset, and even watched a red fox skate along the sands into some beach dunes that seem to be set aside as a reserve. It is a very gorgeous city.

Science and Rugby

We made on last trip into Paris this last weekend. It was actually to complete a school project, which required a visit to an informal science institution (ISI), so I planned a trip there with one of my classmates who happens to be another expatriate living in Paris. The Paris science museum is massive. It is a large three story complex, with a submarine and geodesic IMAX dome as separate structures on the grounds. It is easily the largest science center I have ever visited. There were exhibits on genetics, orchids, automobiles, energy, light, the space sciences- you name it. Two large children’s centers within the building alone were rather large. My classmate Elizabeth and I were able to get our research completed. Judi met up with us later after she did some shopping at the huge mall at the south end of Paris.

The other significant even of this trip, after our dinner in the Latin Quarter, was the rugby grudge match between France and England in the semi-finals. We were actually unaware that this rugby game was to take place in Paris, but on Saturday evening there was no question that the air was crackling with energy. Blue, white, and red face paint abounded, as did capes of the colors of France and banners of France and the team. We tried to get into a British pub to meet up with Elizabeth, but every pub was already packed and there were three times as many people in the streets as there were indoors. The streets themselves turned into a rowdy party zone. Large monitors broadcasting the game were swarmed by thousands. In most places when French icons came on the screen the crowd cheered, and when England came on the crowd jeered. The exception were the few English pubs that displayed the colors of England openly (all of the pubs were actually very clearly labeled by either a French or English false façade). I noticed the Irish pubs threw their lot in with France.

We soaked in the energy for a little while, chatted with some Brits on the street who couldn’t get in anywhere either, and eventually made our way back to the hotel where we watched the game in the hotel. I was downstairs during the latter half of the game, where a mob of South Africans, Aussies, Kiwis, and two other San Diegans were watching the game. (By sheer coincidence there were two San Diegans, separately, staying in the hotel and watching the game. We were the only Americans there). An Australian narrated and let me in on what the heck was going on. All but the one Briton in the room were cheering for the French, because they believed the English team to be thoroughly arrogant, plus well- you know how it is with former British colonies. The French narrowly lost, much to the dismay of all of the French people and team former-British-colony. It was an energetic night.

Wrapping it up in Italy

Our last few days in Italy included a thorough visit to the Uffizi Galleries, the most important museum in the country. It houses works from the "greats" of the Renaissance, including Leonardo, Raphael, Botticelli, Michaelangelo, among others. Perhaps the most famous paintings there are both of Botticelli's masterpieces: the Birth of Venus and Primavera.





We also went to the Accademia, and saw many great sculptures, including David. It really is as impressive as they say it is. We planned ahead and preordered tickets for the opening hour, and arrived early to get in line. As such, when we went in we went straight to the masteriece and had it to ourselves for a full five minutes before the room filled up.

We continued to wander the streets of Florence for the remainder of our trip, eating at various excellent restaurants, stopping into bookstores and pubs, and even toured a local grocery store to get a feel for what the locals do.

On our last day we went to Pisa, and of course saw the famous Leaning Tower. Yep, it sure does lean. Actually, the tower itself is fantastic, and one of the few Pisan towers to survive the bombing during World War II (it is said that once the city bristled with such towers). It is situated next to the Pisa Duomo. We basically saw the entire town, since the train station is on one side of the river and the tower on the other.

We headed to the Pisa airport, and hopped back onto our budget Ryan Air plane to take us back to Brussels, and miraculously we caught the last train between Brussels and Gent at somethng like 1:00.

Santa Croce and Science

Santa Croce is repository of the who's who of Italian dead people. It is an amazing cathedral not far from the river Arno, and we spent hours looking at the graves, wandering through the cloisters, and examining the many works of art on display from the likes of Donatello, Gadi, and Giotto.

All of the tourist literature name Michelangelo the most significant person interred in the cathedral. His elevated coffin and carved tomb was fitting indeed, and it was amazing to see it. But the truly most significant person in the cathedral is none other than Galileo Galilei, the pioneer of classical physics and mechanics, torch bearer of the Copernican revolution, and first modern astronomer. It was fantastic to be able to pay homage.

We also saw the tomb of Dante Alligheri, whose "Divine Comedy" is an all time classic. Not far from Dante was Machiavelli, yet another famous Florentine. The tombs and monuments of Marconi, inventor of the transistor radio, Enrico Fermi, discoverer of fermions, and the composer Rossini were also present.

Rounding this little visit to the remains of Galileo was a visit to the Museum of Science History. There we saw many of the original instruments of Galileo himself, along with three stories of displays on science and technology, with special focus on Florentine and Italian contributions. On display were original Leyden jars, tools of Alessandra Volta, numerous other scientists, but most famously the compass and telescope of Galileo. The original objective lens from his telescope was on display also. I can now say I have gazed through the lens with which the moons of Jupiter and rings of Saturn were discovered. The most Galileo centered component of the exhibition was a piece of Galileo himself- his preserved finger on display in a jar for the world to see.

Sienna

We made a day trip out of the medieval town of Sienna, based on various recommendations we’d received, as well as on the details of our travel guide.

Sienna is a charming Italian town built high in the Tuscany hills, overlooking some very scenic terrain. It is famous for it’s very restrictive attitude toward cars (they aren’t allowed in the city center, which is nice), and the biannual Palio event. It just so happened that we showed up during the Palio, and it made the trip hat much more worth it. After taking the train from Florence to Sienna, we walked up the hill into the city to find the deep streets of the city blanketed in heraldic banners. People were walking to and fro wearing broad scarves with the various flags emblazoned on them, representing the neighborhood from which they come. There are 17 neighborhoods in the town, and each was clearly demarked with the corresponding flag. Some of the neighborhoods are “the Dragon”, “the Fox”, “the Goose”, “the Wave”, and “the Eagle”. I feel sorry for the people who live in the neighborhood of “Wood” or “the Snail”.

The Palio itself is a very short series of events, where “riders” are chosen from each contrade (neighborhood) to represent their borough. There are several heats and a finale. The town square is turned into a racetrack and covered with sand, and thousands of onlookers watch the race. The best part about the race is that the track is shaped like a half moon, so riders often fall off of their horses when making the ninety degree turn in front of the tower. We had the good fortune to observe this happen in true Sienna style (I think it was the rider from the Wave neighborhood). All day the streets, seemingly cut deep into the shadows of the tall facades of the city, were thronged with people in the best sort of festive manner.

We bought some bread, olives and olive oil, cheese, and a local type of pastry and made a lunch of it on the back steps of the Duomo del Sienna. We also took a complete tour of the cathedral itself, as well as the crypt and museum therein. Among the highlights were the remains of St. Clement, tied up with golden ribbons in a little glass box, and some other bits and pieces of dead people. The same was true of the cathedral of Santo Domenico, wherein the preserved head of St. Catherine was on display to see. Yes. The remarkably well preserved and creepy severed head of St. Catherine, was on display in its own little alcove.

This was one of my favorite stops in the whole trip, and I would come to Italy for this town and event alone. This web page has more info on Sienna, as well as some interactive pictures.

In Italy

So we’re finally back in Belgium, after our five week journey to the U.S. We re-adjusted to the time, language, and food differences and things are back to normal.

We spent a week in Italy for our “official” summer holiday, which we can now dole out in a couple of installments. We flew via a company called “RyanAir”, a low budget carrier in Belgium that gets the job done for less by stripping services from its flights, and charging for each bag carried. Given that we travel light, and the flight was only ninety minutes, the only adjustment was the complicated journey to the Charleroi airport. We landed in Pisa and immediately took the train to Florence.

The city is amazing of course, though not overly large and we were able to walk across the entire historic center in about twenty minutes. The Duomo of the cathedral is the largest and most impressive building in the city, but the city is also filled with other churches, palaces, and museums. Our first stop at a historic building was to the “Palazzio Piti”, the palace owned by the Medici family. There are several museums inside, and we were able to go through many of them. The costume museum was fascinating, particularly the clothes on display removed from some of the corpses of the Medici’s themselves, centuries after their deaths! The royal apartments were on display, which included works by Raphael, and other renaissance masters. We had time to walk through the large Boboli gardens behind the palace, and see the porcelain museum as well.

I drank a cappuccino every day, and we ate Italian food every day, of course. After lunch and some gelato, we continued exploring the architecture of the city until finally returning to our apartment to get some sleep. We rented a room with a small bathroom attached to it, which itself was part of an apartment complex that had been converted to “hotel rooms”. It was small, but clean and very comfortable.

Photos: The Duomo and Ponte Vecchio, the only bridge across the Arno not destroyed in the war.

International Diplomacy with Extra Curry

Late in June we had another international dinner for the expatriate employees at Bekaert. This was the week the U.S. and Russia were sniping at each other over the proposed missile shield in Eastern Europe. It was also the week congress called out China on trade and civil rights practices. And of course, more harsh words were tossed around with Iran over their nuclear plans, and Iraq weapons issues.

So as a joke, the organizers sat me across from two Chinese people, and between an Iranian and a Russian. Our table was jokingly referred to as the “evil empire” table. There is something really amazing about connecting with people whose nations are ideological foes. Our respective nations quibble and spit harsh words, but in the company we’re all on the same team and joke about it. It strikes me that perhaps international businesses accomplish diplomatic goals that Departments of State have a difficult time achieving. Either way, it was a grand night and an evening of cultural exchange.

Apparently the Chinese learn quite a lot about America history (I was impressed, it seemed they knew more than the average American). I was warned in advance to beware of the tendency of the Chinese to get colleagues and customers and business partners inebriated, because they feel that is when you learn most about a person. Being rather temperate, and having been warned ahead of time, I sipped my wine exceedingly slow and drank water liberally. Ha! You are foiled, paper tiger.

I’ve known the Russian fellow for quite some time (he came to San Diego before we moved to Europe), and he is a very soft spoken, polite intellectual type who has no use for politics. He actually graduated with his Ph.D. from the University of Akron (a hotbed of polymer activity), and lived in the U.S. for many years. We also joked together about world leaders and international politics.

The Iranians were very Westernized, and we talked about that. The wife of the employee doesn’t wear a burqua (actually, there seems to be large swaths of Muslim Europeans who view Islam liberally, and act that way. You just don’t read much about them because they aren’t very newsworthy). As business minded people, they feel barriers should be torn down and not constructed.

The organizer was an Indian, and so we had dinner in an Indian restaurant that was very good. It was in the neighborhood of “Little Turkey” in Gent, and was apparently quite authentic.

Level 3!

I've made it into level 3 "Nederlands voor anderstaligen"! These courses are so intensive it has pretty much become my whole day. Once again, in the new class we have an interesting mix of people. One of the first exercises in the class was to go around and interview each other to see if more than one student came from the same country. We have people from Canada, Thailand, China, Portugal, Australia, Kenya, Romania, Poland, India, and Peru. Once again, I'm the only American. As for pairs, two from Turkey, Morocco, Indonesia, and Iran. There is one girl from Kosovo, and one from Serbia, one of whom feels that they are from the same country, the other of whom immediately disagreed. At that point the teacher quickly changed the subject!

The class it taught completely in Dutch now. Our teacher is great, she enunciates really well, and doesn't speak too fast. She also has a very expressive face, and occasionally makes gestures so I understand her really well. Which is good, because there is a lot to learn! So far we know how to introduce ourselves and give basic information about ourselves. Theoretically we can make basic comparisons, speak in the perfect and imperfect past tense, talk about our likes and dislikes, order food and drinks, reserve a hotel room, go to the doctor, conduct our banking, ask for and give directions, and understand a little bit of museum tour. In real life sometimes people ask me to repeat myself when I order a cup of coffee, so who knows.

We haven't yet covered the future tenses, which sometimes makes conversing with Travis at home a little challenging, but I have enough trouble remembering the word order, proper grammar and conjugations as it is, so I'm not in too much of a hurry. Every day I sit in class from 9am to noon, then go home, sometimes stopping to do grocery shopping on the way. I usually give myself a break over lunch, and then spend the rest of the afternoon doing my homework. I also try to look up the words in the next days' lesson that I don't already know, so I can pay attention in class, instead of frantically leafing through my dictionary. Then I make dinner, Travis gets home and I spend the rest of the evening trying to teach him what we learned that day, hounding him to say things to me in Dutch, and generally making a complete pest of myself. I'm also working on reading a Dutch comic book series, and I try to read a few newspaper articles a day, too. There are so many words that I don't know yet, so it's hard to say how much progress I'm really making. I know I've reached at least a small milestone now, though, because when I heard people speaking Netherlands Dutch instead of Belgian Dutch they sound really funny to me now!

Comic Art

It’s been awhile since our last post, mostly because out lives have been relatively boring lately. No major trips, no fun mishaps, everythgn has been more or less work, school, and language classes. The summer will certainly bring more interesting episodes with all of the activity we’ll be doing.

That being said, this weekend we did hop over to Brussels for a day. We decided to finally go to the “Belgian Center for Comic Strip Art”, which contains informative, historic, and collected displays of the Belgian “strip” tradition. They also have other European and American originals in their archives. As most of you know, Judi and I are consumers of the format and it was interesting to see comic development in Europe. Belgium paralleled the U.S. in creating syndicated “strips” as they are called here, and began creating books of collections or “albums” (a local term) at about the same time. One of the most famous comics locally, the youth oriented “Archie” like comic Spirou, began distribution in the graphic novel format in 1929, the same year the first “The Funnies” insert appeared in the U.S., and seven years before The Funnies albums appeared.

The Belgian strip (along with their French counterparts) was an extension of the spirit of Art Nouveau. As the artistic movement fell out of vogue, the strip market nonetheless continued to grow and the popular art form, both in syndication and graphic novels, became marketable. There are series still running after many years here, for young and old, and all of the local comics are translated into both Dutch and French. Strips are one of those cultural ties that both Flanders and Wallonia have in common- both regions (and Brussels) produce artists and they all by and large form one national industry identity.

Of course, there are spheres of influence of all of the comics. Most Belgian comics are popular only in Belgium and France. There are some, however, that are known world wide. Two in particular- Tintin and The Smurfs, are well known in the U.S. The Smurfs (1963+), were created by Peyo, perhaps the most famous of all Belgian strip artists, and are of course the little blue forest dwelling kabouters (gnome-like creatures) that eventually claimed a cartoon and merchandising empire. Tintin, “the everyman” adventurer and his dog Snowy, were created by Georges Remi in 1946 after the end of WWII.

Does Whatever a Spider Can

In continuing our tradition of watching key Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and comic-book blockbuster “midnight showings”, Judi and I purchased tickets for the Gent special event for Spider-Man 3. We bought the tickets the previous week in a last minute bid to get seats for the three film screening. Spiderman one and two were shown back to back starting at 7:30, and at 12:01 Spider-Man 3 began. Thankfully May 1 is a holiday in Europe, so it was easy to pull off. As you’ll see later, we needed the extra time.

The kinepolis in Gent is amazing. I always assumed Americans would have the best multiplexes since we pretty much invented the movie industry and dominate the overall market. The kinepolis quite honestly put the best I have ever seen in the U.S. into the margins. The long, broad hallway along the screens is lined with distractions. They have a wall-screen panel of video game consoles that anyone can pick up to play Soul Caliber II, racing games, or whatever else is plugged in at the time. People lay sprawled in dozens of bean bag chairs in the little alcoves, watching film shorts and upcoming attractions on monitors as they wait to enter their hall. There are several mini stores in the theater, which include traditional fare such as popcorn (kettle corn!), sodas, and nachos, to a separate candy store and even a bar. All seating is assigned, so there is no worry about being separated from your group, or having to force a row to “squeeze in” to eliminate the heterosexual chairs. (Heterosexual chair. Noun. Slang. The unoccupied chair between two persons of the same sex.) The theaters have special events too, such as women’s night, and the monthly Nestle night, where the hideous giant NesQuick rabbit dispenses free choco to the children.

The movie itself was pretty good. We decided it wasn’t “great”, each for our own reasons, but it was a respectable end to the series unlike the closing third film of another comic book movie trilogy. The ending-that-shall-not-be-named. We’ll just substitute “X” and call it “X3”. There were many story threads running through it that made the movie rather long, but I appreciate the fact they didn’t shirk on story.

The most… interesting, and ironic, part of the evening was the fact that Judi and I had to play Spider-Man after we got home. The busses stop running at midnight, so we walked back from the theater to our apartment. Somebody had locked the outer door, and our keys weren’t working in it (it tends to jam all the time). That door has been notoriously picky before, and once I couldn’t get it open and had to wait for someone else to go through. After forty-five minutes of messing about trying to unlock it and looking for hidden keys, Judi declared we could use a ladder. Yet no ladder was to be found. So I walked around the block to the construction zone, disassembled a piece of the modular fencing there, and dragged it around to the front of the building. I leaned it lengthwise up against the wall and climbed up into the second story window, which was thankfully still open. I couldn’t get the door open from the inside, so much to Judi’s dismay, she too had to play spider and climb up the improvised ladder. And she did it in a skirt! Judi is hardcore.

We slept well that night.

Say what?

I am enjoying a day or two off after the end of "Nederlands voor Anderstaligen" the level one intensive class I've been taking at the University of Gent. In a just a month of classes, my vocabulary and understanding of Dutch has expanded greatly! Now I can say in Dutch with great precision, "I'm sorry, I don't understand you, do you speak a bit of English?" I can say it so well, that some people continue on in Dutch as if they are certain I must understand what they are saying. I can also interject, "I come from America," and "so please speak slowly".

Okay, I can say some other things to. I can talk about what I like and don't like, and give simple directions. You know those striped lines where you cross the road? They call that a "zebrapad" here. Cute word, eh? I know just enough to badger Travis, "say that in Dutch, please!" Since he doesn't have three hours every day to go to class, I must teach him Dutch. Whether he likes it or not.

But sometimes knowing all of the words in a sentence does not guarantee comprehension. The other day I was working on some homework that involved putting sentences in the book in the negative form. It can be confusing to a non-native speaker. In Dutch they have two different words that make a sentence negative, "niet" and "geen". For example, "ik heb geen geld" is "I have no money". Or, if some one asked, "Zijn jullie moe?" (are all of you tired?) the negative answer would be, "Nee, wij zijn niet moe" (no, we are not tired). Then you get into the question of where to put the word "niet" in the sentence. In the case of a direct object, you would stick niet at the end of the sentence, for example, "nee, ik ken jouw broer niet" (No, I do not know your brother).

Anyway, on my homework I was confronted with "Eet jullie baby vlees?" The direct translation of those words seemed to be, "eat all of you baby meat?" I thought, huh, the writers of this textbook sure have a sense of humour. I hope people would answer that in the negative! So I wrote, "wij eet geen baby vlees" (We eat no baby meat). Later on, when I checked my answers in the back of the book I realized that the word "jullie" in this case was NOT the 'jullie' that is the plural of you, but instead the _possessive_ form (confusing because it is the exact same word, and you must just know it by context) transforming the question to 'Does your (plural) baby eat meat?' and the answer to, 'Nee, onze baby eet geen vlees', or 'no, our baby does not eat meat'. I was laughing so hard that little tears were popping out of my eyes.

I should find out today or tomorrow whether I got into the second level class!

Musee d'Orsay

On Saturday in Paris we visited the Orsay Museum, which contains the collections of art created between the oldest in the Louvre and the Paris museum of Modern Art. The building itself was once a train station, which ceased functioning and was converted in 1977 and opened in 1986. It still looks like a train station, complete with the giant clock, but has art stuffed in the wings, and large sculptures from the likes of Rodin and Carpeaux displayed in the open area where the tracks were.

We viewed paintings by Van Gogh, Degas, Manet, Renoir, Klimt, and other masters of the period. We saw sculptures by Rodin, Gauguin, Carpeaux and others. There were some early photography works on display, glassware, and some models and a respectable display of art nouveau, including an entire reconstructed room based around the theme from top to bottom. Judi is rather a fan of art nouveau, so she was exited to see that.

We had coffee in the café there, which was once the restaurant and feast hall of the hotelthat operated within the congruent wings. This room itself is a work of art, with high painted ceiling and a good view of the Seine. Coffee breaks are good for the feet.

Following our long visit to the Orsay, which is thankfully manageable in a day even if we walked out at the latest possible minute, we once again headed to the Latin Quarter and had Thai food for dinner.

The American in Formula 1

In Europe travelers can save money by staying with a friend, or a youth hostel. If you don't know anyone in Paris and have outgrown dorm-style living, "Formula 1" hotels are the next step up in privacy, without breaking the bank. At breakfast, you can hear a different language spoken at each table nearby. Neat! If you have never stayed in a Formula 1 before, there are a few things you may want to bring with you, as Travis and I discovered:

10.) Your own bottled water and snacks. The hotel does have pretty comprehensive vending machines in the lobby, but they will charge you twice what the products are actually worth.

9.) Your cell phone. Nothing but a payphone in the lobby here!

8.) A travel alarm clock. No clocks in the rooms, or wake up calls either.

7.) Your own soap. Your hotel room comes with sink, and you share a bathroom down the hall with your neighbors. If you want to wash your hands with actual soap in your room, you will need to bring your own soap as none is provided.

6.) Your own towel. The hotel _usually_ does provide you with your own towel. One day the housekeeping staff came into our room and replaced two used towels with only one clean. Seeing as this towel is roughly the size of a washcloth anyway, there really isn't any way you can share it. A full-sized actual towel would be a huge improvement, and use the ones the hotel leaves as hand towels in your room.

5.) Your own breakfast cereal. For a very cheap price you can buy breakfast in the hotel. The choices include plain white bread, chunks of french bread, butter, jam, apple sauce, corn flakes, coffee, hot chocolate, and orange juice. All of it is pretty stale and low quality, and by the fourth day, believe me, you would kill for a cheese omelet or piece of fresh fruit. The corn flakes were the sort that instantly dissolve into mush after the application of milk, and we noticed one family had brought their own mini boxes of much better cereal. Smart!

4.) Some flips flops. This is to wear while you are in the showers, of course.

3.) A blind eye. In our room there were grubby fingerprints everywhere, dust and foot prints on the carpet, and oddly enough, a small wad of gum stuck to the top bunk.

2.) Some The LYSOL® Brand Spray Air Sanitizer. The bathrooms. Oh, the bathrooms. When you unlock the door to leave the bathroom stall, it automatically flushes the toilet. This is the ONLY way to flush the toilet. Sometimes, though, you go into the little room and discover that magically somehow the last person never flushed. Did they never lock the door in the first place??? So you have to lock and unlock the door until the flush mechanism engages. No matter what, every bathroom smells virulently like cat pee. So while you are flapping the lock open and closed, and trying not to look too closely at the dead bugs or curly hairs on the floor, a little Lysol might at least make the air smell better. This whole thing is a bit mystical, as the lights are also turned on as you lock the door. Was someone peeing with the door..open...in the dark?

1.) An open mind. Some people actually seem to live in these hotels as if it is a big dorm. They lounge on their bed with the door open, wander back to their room from the shower in the nude, and their children run around raucously in the halls. It could be nostalgic, if you liked dorm living the first time around.

Or, I suppose, you could save money on all these things and spring for a slightly more expensive hotel. And miss out on this cultural experience? Heaven forbid.

April in Paris

Last week we went on our next trip to Paris, given the four day holiday we had here in Belgium. It was a busy four days, but we continued our exploration of Paris- a feat that can never truly be accomplished in its entirety. This city seems more interesting the more we learn about it, and the “top twenty” tourist attractions only scratch the surface of an ancient and sprawling city covered in monuments, temples, museums, and tombs.

After resting on Thursday night, we set out for The Louvre: Part Deux. It was a heroic effort in stamina, and we spent a full ten hours in the museum (with two breaks for lunch and a snack). This time around we covered the ancient Mesopotamian and Egyptian antiquities, the Italian and Spanish paintings, and French sculpture and some French antiquities. We rented the audio guide to the Louvre as an experiment this time around, and it was actually quite informative and helpful.

It was a great pleasure to see the archetypal Egyptian “Book of the Dead”, completely unrolled and on display. I captured a video of the entire length of it (I do not use lighting or flashes per museum rules, so I apologize for any blurred or dark images). Click here for that video: Book of the Dead.

We also saw the Code of Hammurabi, the code of laws of the first king of the Babylonian empire, which later influenced the Torah and other codified laws. I studied this in World History my first year of college and wrote an earnest term paper on it, and was very pleased to see it.

Of course the most famous piece in the Italian painting collection (and probably the most famous painting in the world), is the Mona Lisa. This time around we braved the crowd and went to see the famous da Vinci. Taking pictures in that chamber, even without flash, is strictly forbidden, but somehow I think you have a good idea what it looks like.

From the sculpture room, this is the fresco of St. George smiting the dragon. Dragons automatically make any piece of art awesome, but I thought the light coming from the window was illuminating the dragon slayer was neat too.

After our challenging day we retreated to a dinner of falafel pitas in the Latin Quarter, a section of Paris that we grew quite fond of during this stay. There are many very good restaurants there with excellent deals. In fact, the Latin Quarter really deserves its own post, which we’ll get around to sometime.

The Secret®

This last weekend was the warmest, sunniest weekend in Belgium since September. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping, and the chairs and tables migrated out of the pubs and cafes onto the streets. So of course, I came down with the flu late Friday night.

I was quite ill all day Saturday, and stayed in bed and slept half the day, and Sunday wasn’t so great either. I was feverish, horribly nauseous, and ached all over. I could hardly look at text or even sit up enough to play on the computer. Woe is that day I cannot even manipulate the mouse!

But you know what? I now know… The Secret®. Yes, via the secret healing powers of... The Secret®, the Law of Attraction® taught to me by former reality T.V. producer Rhonda Byrne® visualized the manifestation of my being non-ill, and so I was healed by... The Secret®.

Actually no, that didn’t happen. The truth is my hero was Judi who got me fluids, and went down to the Apotheek and manifested the true secret- a drug called Motillin®. (® for real this time). The FDA has banned this drug from any use in the U.S.A. (despite the fact the FDA’s division of gastrointestinal drugs had approved the active ingredients, and the non-profit medical group Gastroperesis and Dysmotilities Association has strongly requested it be approved based on all evidence). The active ingredient is domperidone, a stomach settling agent found in breast milk. It is sold over the counter all over Europe, and was actually invented here in Belgium by Janssen Pharma.

Praise be to modern medicine, that stuff was amazing. I was even able to eat a little after taking it, my stomach settled, and nausea was kept at bay. Apparently this drug is one of the major “Secret Imports®” to the U.S. from Canada. Sometimes the FDA is an enigma to me- they block Motillin®, but they’ll let heart stopping cholesterol medicine slide. I say they just put the stuff in some alfalfa capsules and call it a “supplement” since the FDA refuses to regulate those, despite the fact many of them are pretty dangerous. But I digress.

Now you know The Secret®. Except I do not yet have the DVD, book, audio book, soundtrack, day planner, calendar, tote bag, and keychain. Nor have I been invited on Oprah.

A safe place

In Terry Pratchett's book, The Truth, he says:

"Words resemble fish in that some specialized ones can survive only in a kind of reef, where their curious shapes and usages are protected from the hurley-burley of the open sea. 'Rumpus' and 'fracas' are found only in certain newspapers (in much the same way that "beverages" are found only in certain menus). They are never used in normal conversation."

In some ways, the language I am learning in my Dutch class is the same. We are learning how to say simple things very slowly in complete sentences, with a sort of exaggerated pronounciation. Every day in class, my classmates and I sit there and have practice conversations that run something like:
(in dutch, obviously)
Me: How ARE you?
Marisa: I am good, and you, how are YOU?
Me: Good!

Me: And all of you? Are you going to Paris tomorrow?
Andrew: NO. All of us are are NOT going to Paris tomorrow.
Me: Ah, and where are of you going to?
Andrew: We are all going to Brussels.

Then, when we are talking about our actual plans for the weekend, we lapse back into English, because, seriously, who talks like that? But in a way, I have gotten used to these conversation even so. I was returning a book to the University of Gent library on Monday, and I carefully constructed a sentence that (I think) would translate to something like, "I have a book to return" that I could say to the librarian as I handed it in. I almost expected him to say something like, "Oh, you have BOOK to return? Ah, HERE is the book! THANK you very MUCH" and I braced myself to try to understand any variation thereof. Of course, because this was the real world, he took it, making a noncommittal grunting sound. I stood there for a moment feeling disappointed, and then I walked away feeling relieved. In the real world, people still communicate mostly in gestures and fragments that are pretty universal, and that is something I feel like I completely understand!

Ice, by any other name...

...is still really bloody cold.

I am amazed at the multitude of ways ice can fall from the sky. A cold snap has been rolling its way across Northern Europe since Sunday evening, bringing with it regen (rain), sneew (snow), hagel (hail), and plenty of ijs (ice).

By now I am starting to become familiar with snow:

...but there are also the wonders of flurries. It's like the cottonwoods are seeding, only instead of standing in a warm, humid, green grove you're standing in the freezing cold and wind.

I'm reminded of the Terry Pratchett book "The Last Continent", based loosely on Australia, where the natives don't believe that water can fall from the sky. "Water is heavy, how does it get up there?!" I'd have thought that about so much ice had I not seen it myself!

People here (and probably everywhere) hate the flurries because they 1) reduce visibility considerably 2) turn the ground into a brown slushy and 3) case your vehicle in ice. If your eyes are really good (or maybe if you click on the image), you can see the dim outline of the red license plate rim on this BMW in the parking lot at my work.

And of course, there is hail. I have seen the small hail that falls by the bucketfull, which drops from otherwise dry skies. The picture at the right features what I have dubbed "rock salt" hail, which freezes to things as if they are stale cineplex pretzels. It seems to always strike exactly when I get on my bike for the last leg to work.

The finer points

I started taking the introductory Dutch class at the University of Gent this last Wednesday. So far we have covered pronunciation, and some basic phrases most of us already knew such as "What is your name?" and "Where do you live?" My classmates hail from all over. Everywhere from Nigeria to Thailand, Canada to Portugal. When we were planning our trip to Belgium it seemed that spending my time with other expats would be silly. Why go all the way to Belgium to send our time with people from home? But it has been a huge comfort to me to talk to other people who live linguistically and culturally isolated. Interestingly, I'm the only one in the class that is there with someone from home. Everyone else is there, rather romantically, for love.

I suggested to one of the girls in class that she will likely be learning Dutch much faster than I, seeing as she can practice it at home with her Belgian boyfriend. She rolled her eyes and laughed. "It causes tension!" I guess he isn't always as...patient as he could be. They too have trouble finding certain foods, and struggle with being unemployed after successful professional lives in other countries. And there is only one other American there, so really I'm NOT spending time with people I could have met back in the States. Instead I get to meet adventurous people from all over the world! Neat!

Our teacher is really funny. She speaks Dutch, English, French, and knows some of the good swear words in Arabic. She has to teach Dutch in English and French at the same time, because not everyone in the class has a language in common. There is one girl there from Spain who doesn't speak either of those, so she tries to throw in a few words in Spanish if she can, although professor Ines admits that she really doesn't know much Spanish. The class takes twice as long because she has to go back and say everything again, but I don't mind because it is fun to try to understand what she says in French. In a very practical way, she is stressing the Flemish dialect pronunciation of Dutch.

In Flemish, I have learned, the "g" sound is very soft. It is almost exactly like an "h", and all of us in the class are struggling to distinguish them. They also differ from Netherlands Dutch with their v's and their w's. In the Netherlands, a "v" at the beginning of a word sounds more like an "f", and a "w" often sounds more like a "v". In Flemish, V's and W's are more like their English counterparts. Of course, when I started learning Dutch, I was learning from a girl in San Diego from the Netherlands, so now I have to unlearn a few things. I am sure that when my Dutch speaking relatives hear my careful Flemish pronunciation they will think, "Gee, her Dutch really isn't that good!" But if I don't learn the local dialect, I never will understand what anyone is saying, so what can you do.

On another subject, I had to go out and buy new shoes this week. When I lived in San Diego I wore sandals or flip flops when ever I wasn't at work. Since I've been here, I've been wearing boots more suited to the cold weather that apparently didn't fit me very well. I never really noticed, because I didn't wear them very often. For the past few months I was noticing my left foot hurting, and some reading online suggested that sometimes your left foot is bigger than your right, if you are right handed...and that my shoes were causing my problem. No problem. I'll just go out and get new shoes! In the land of sexy boots, this could even be fun, right? I looked up what my shoe size would be here in Europe, and went out to remedy the problem.

In the US I am usually a little bit discriminated against, shoe-wise. I have freakishly large size ten feet, which are very wide through the toe box. Most stores don't order a lot of shoes in that size for women, so they quickly sell out of any cute shoes. With fear in my heart and my foot hurting, I walked around to shoe store after shoe store. No matter what shoes I looked at, they never had it in my size. I realized after a few hours that it is because they only stock shoes up to size 41 for women here, and depending on the brand and that type of shoe, I can wear up to a 42. That's also leaving a little bit of room for thick socks, but still, it's supposed to snow on Monday, so it would seem unwise not to leave room for some decent socks! In the end I had to buy a pair of Men's sneakers. Since then, my foot has been feeling a lot better, but it's sort of sad. No sexy European boots for me.

In Bruges

It looks like a major motion picture is being filmed now over the hill in Bruges. I fact, the film is calle "In Bruges", and is about some mobsters lying low there. It will star Colin Farrell and Ralph Fiennes. Some people I work with saw them filming about a week ago.

The Flemings are upset that apparently a French speaking actor Jeremy Renier, will be displayed speaking French, which some commentators found upsetting:

"Jeremy Renier is going to be the 'local character'. Jeremy Renier is a french speaking actor who will most likely speak French in this movie. French is NOT the local language in Bruges. I hope someone from the production team will make sure not to make the mistake of having the local characters in this movie speak French."- Nicofavo

This is followed up by numerous assenting comments decrying the fact, and demanding local Flemish be used in the movie. Which is immediately followed by Vlaamse political commentary about Belgian language issues. I do hope they use Flemish in the movie- if they don't, it will be incredibly inaccurate, and since most Americans learn geography from television, it makes it an even worse offense.

At any rate, now I'll keep my eye on this. It will be interesting to see when it comes out, since it allegedly addresses cultural exchanges between the characters and locale. The film info: http://imdb.com/title/tt0780536/

A Trip Home

So I just returned from a week back in the states. I flew into San Diego last Saturday, and our again one week later, for some technology and business meetings in the unit headquarters. Despite taking the camera, I managed to take exactly two pictures- both from the plane. One is in the Northeast U.S., flying over a frozen landscape, and another of Antwerp at sunrise. Maybe when I return for two weeks next month I’ll actually be able to see more people and snap more pictures. As it was, I only met a few friends for lunch and dinner, and had dinner with the family a few nights. I guess business comes first though.

I’ll post the pictures as soon as I can get them out of the camera.

It was a very busy week for work, as was the week preceding it, and so shall be the following week. In fact, I’ll be pretty slammed through May 1st as our project elements become due, so posting through April may be a bit sparse. Not necessarily because we’re too busy or lazy to post, we’re just quite sure you don’t want to hear about Dutch indefinite articles, project planning, and trips to the grocery store.

Judi and I are looking at traveling somewhere local in March, since we’re budgeting for a longer trip to Paris in April, and both of our “busy” factors will increase. Judi starts her intensive Dutch classes on March 15th. I’ll be taking the same lessons by proxy, meaning I’ll read her text book and work on the same program without actually taking the class, since I can’t actually be there (the class lasts three hours per day, five days per week). That of course, on top of our graduate classes we’re both taking. Fun!

It was nice to eat some Mexican food again. Real Mexican food. We had tried a “Mexican” place in Gent the week before my business trip, and while it wasn’t exactly “horrible” in any sense of the word, it wasn’t exactly Mexican food either. They did have pinto beans- but they were re-fried baked pinto bean chunks that kind of reminded me of those crusty Japanese mochi ice cream balls. Only bean flavored and not chilled- rather crusty and dry. The rice was bland, as if they made white rice and poured chile powder on it thinking that made it Mexican. The burritos were generic store corn tortillas with corn, lettuce, cheese, and tomatos in it, rather like a vegi pita in a tortilla. It was good, but not a burrito. It’s not Belgium’s fault they suffer from a significant shortage of Mexicans.

So it was nice to have a steaming hot plate of cheese enchiladas, a fish taco, “special” quesadilla, and some real runny beans and proper Mexican rice. Oh, and a bean and cheese burrito dripping with salsa fresca. Now I’m hungry again.

Genre: horror

Travis likes to tell stories about our travels, but occasionally strays into politics. I like to write humor, mostly, but this time I am going to stray into horror. If you have a dental phobia, I advise that you a.) Read no further, and b.) Don't go to the dentist in Belgium.

While we were in Amsterdam I noticed a slight tooth ache. I wrote it off to the occasional tooth aches I get when my sinuses are really stuffy. Apparently that can happen, my last dentist explained to me. But as the week went on, I noticed more discomfort, until on Wednesday and Thursday nights I was waking up in the middle of the night to take ibuprofen. I had not yet found a dentist here, but I knew it was time. Friday I called a hotline that helps expats find English speaking doctors, but they didn't have any dentists listed in Gent. They gave me the web page of the phone book, and I looked up a dentist that is only a block away. The woman I talked to said she was comfortable with English, and, I'll admit, I was sort of glad that the first appointment she had wasn't until Monday. I was beginning to suspect that the tooth hurting was one that I already had a crown on, which probably meant that it would have to be a root canal. Fun. Spent the weekend on tenterhooks, which are apparently "hooked nails for securing cloth on a tenter" or so I hear.

When I went to the office on Monday, I was immediately informed that the dentist I had the appointment with was out sick (his wife), but that the husband had a cancellation at 2:30 PM. Could I come back then? Oh yes! Feeling like a condemned woman who had been granted a small reprieve, I dashed out and ran some errands. Later that afternoon I arrived about 5 minutes late, but the appointment before me wasn't done yet anyway, so I got the opportunity to look at dental flyers in Dutch (interesting!). Colgate is trying to break into the market here, I think.

At about 2:45 the gentleman rushed in, and invited me back to the patient room. I'm used to having to fill out intake paperwork, but I guess they don't do that here. I sat down in the chair, while he hurried around dumping out trays, disinfecting apparatus, and tossing instruments in another room.
"What brings you here?" he asked brusquely. "Just a checkup?"
"No, I have a painful tooth with hot and cold sensitivity." I admitted. He asked me a few questions about how long I had been feeling the pain, and tilted the chair back. A few probes later, I admitted I couldn't tell for sure which tooth it was. My whole lower left jaw was hurting, honestly. He took an xray, offhandedly asking me if I was pregnant right before shooting the film.
At this point he entered my name, phone number and address into his computer.
"This is not such a nice street, the one you live on." He said. I shrugged, and commented that it is close to the train station.
"That is the only good point about it."
Sadly, the xray didn't reveal any more information about the tooth, so he blew some cold air on my teeth. "Can you feel this?" he asked.
"Oh! God! Yes!" I cried. He took the air away.
"Can you still feel it?"
"Yes!" I said, as pulses of agony rippled through my jaw.
Then he took a piece of cotton and got it very cold with, I think, dry ice. "Oh boy." I gasped. This was going to hurt. He put it on one molar...nothing.
He held it to my crown...little tears popped out of the corners of my eyes.
Yup, that was the one.
"I don't think I am going to be able to get the crown off." He warned. And then all of a sudden he pulled out this three inch needle. Whoa, what's going on here? One minute we're trying to figure out what is going on, next minute he is pulling out a huge syringe. What is he doing?? Usually, in the states my dentist would discuss with me a little more what is going on before they just start.

I cringed and said something like, "jesus!" when I saw the needle. As my family knows, I am not good with needles. In fact, sometimes I pass out. The last dentist I had in the US didn't even use that sort of needle anymore, instead some sort of space age thing that would directly numb the gums and tooth she was working on. All of my dentists in the states would at least put a little bit of topical anisthetic on a Qtip and numb the injection site first. My heart started really pounding.
"Would you prefer to do this without this?" he asked dryly, waving the needle in my face.
"No! I'm just one of those people who really doesn't like coming to the dentists!" I said, feeling really panicky now. He made some comment about how no one likes going to the dentist. I rolled my eyes away and tried to at least not see the needle.
Then he pulled out some sort of bizarre torture device and started bashing my crown trying to get it off. Most dentists in the states don't even use those anymore, I read later on the internet, because they can damage the underlying tooth more than it is worth.
"Well, it is well made." he said. "I am going to just have to drill through it."
"Can you DO that?" I asked, my stomach lurching. "Isn't there metal in there?" (Gosh, this thing was expensive, too. Now you're going to drill through it? I thought).
"I can't tell from the xray," he answered. No more information than that, the drill just comes out. He doesn't say anything like, "if this hurts, raise your hand". After a few moments of drilling he says, "There IS metal in there." No, REEEALLY. Switches out the drill bit, gets back to work. Suddenly, more pain is stabbing into my jaw. I raise my hand.
"I can really feel this." I say. He grabs the needle, and almost with relish stabs it back into the hinge of my jaw again. Picking, of course, a new spot to jab, one that wasn't numb, so I got to feel the needle going in again.
I am sensitive to dental anesthetic. It makes my heart race, and it makes me shaky. On top of my pain and fear already, now I feel like my heart is going to lurch out of my chest and go down the hall for a brisk jog.
I draw in a ragged breath and say, "If it still hurts, I will raise my hand again, okay?"
"Tilt your head back more," he instructs. "Can you still feel anything?"
"I can still feel cold, and a feeling like stabbing pins in my tooth." I told him.
"You aren't supposed to feel anything." He sternly admonished me. Now this is my fault!
"But as long as you don't feel pain..." he starts drilling again. Okay, okay, he doesn't define the feeling of being stabbed by pins as pain. Maybe one must be crushed by stampeding buffalos for it to count as pain in this country!
Suddenly, it feels more like he is jamming a power drill directly into my tooth, sans anestethic completely. My hand flies up, more tears form in the corners of my eyes. He throws down the drill in frustration.
"It must be infected, that can keep the anesthetic from working." He packs some antibiotic into the tooth, and throws some sort of seal over the whole thing, tells me that the pain will go away in two or three days. Makes an appointment for me on the 22nd, and says, "I don't have time to do a root canal today anyway."
Well why was he fishing around in my tooth with a drill then? This will remain a mystery.

I have trouble understanding what he says when he says how much money I have to give him, and I notice my hands are shaking like a leaf as I hand him the cash.


Cut to later in the evening. I make soup, Travis gets home, we eat, and I joke about my whole left side of my face still being numb. I take two ibuprofen before the numbness wears off, because hey, it hurt before it got bashed for five minues and then drilled open, right? Gradually the feeling returns to my cheek and tongue.
7:20pm: I started to feel a distinct throbbing . I know you can take more ibuprofen then the dose mentions on the bottle, so I take two more.
8:00pm: The anesthetic is pretty much worn off. I can't sit down, can't even stay still. I walk around the apartment sobbing from the pain. We spent the next twenty or thirty minutes on the internet trying to figure out if it would be safe for me to take any more ibuprofen.
8:30pm: I tell Travis to call the emergency dentist number in Belgium, for evening and weekend emergencies. I can't take it anymore. Two or three more days like this? No. Just, no.
8:40pm: No one answers the emergency number. Travis starts calling other emergency medical numbers, tells the story to each person, and gets transferred to someone else each time. I pace, sobbing. The pain is radiating into my neck, my whole mouth, it's like the sun and my whole body is just sort of orbiting around it.
8:43pm: Travis finally gets transferred to the on-call dentist, and she calls in a prescription to a local hospital. He runs out to take the bus there to pick it up for me. I contemplate hurting myself somehow just to get my body to release some more endorphins, and to maybe distract me from my tooth hurting.

The happy ending is Travis, my hero, getting back with some amoxycillin and paracetamol with codeine. I'm also NOT going back to that dentist, we decided. Does anyone know a nice English speaking dentist in Gent who will give me some diazepam? I don't think I'm going into a dentist's office in the near future without it.

Sneeuw!

It is snowing! Most of you have seen snow before, and some of you have a lot more experience with it than you want, but this has been a week of fascinating weather firsts for me. On Tuesday it pseudo-snowed for two hours. I was told it wasn’t really snow, only kinda-snow. It was snowish icy stuff falling from the sky though, which I’d still never seen, and fell in big chunks that melted moments after hitting the ground. After an hour some metal eaves and the tall grass started to build up wet slush, but that was the extent of it, though for half an hour it did come down pretty fast. I was surprised by how heavy these little snow-ice-chunks falling from the sky were. They made a clicking sound when they struck my jacket. And I think they had it out for my eyebrows and eyelashes.

On Wednesday morning everything was covered with thick ice and frost. The slush from Tuesday had re-frozen over everything creating a very white, slippery world. The fog was still thick, and the naked trees were white and icy, creating the eerie gray and white frostscape I’d only ever seen in pictures. It was much more exiting to see it in person. That morning I learned about sleet on my bike ride to work through some brutally cold wind. It was microscopic frozen rain, very quietly hissing against my jacket as I challenged the ground ice at top speed. The elevated ruffles on my outer jacket layers collected the particles, and by the time I got to work I looked like a cobalt tiger with jagged white stripes. And white eyebrows.

This morning I left a numbingly cold Gent, and stepped off of the train in Harelbeke into about a centimeter of snow (apparently even Flanders has microclimates). It had been falling there for a little while, and was continuing to pick up. This snow was smaller than the Tuesday ice drop, and was coming down in interesting, swooping ways following little contours in the wind. I picked up a fluffy pile of snow and tossed it into the street (by then already a chocolate slushy). It still “clicked” off of my jacket and got in my eyebrows and eyelashes.

It was coming down even faster as I tore through Zwevegem on my bike, and I learned that while riding very fast, snow in the face stings, and wow does it jab you in the eye constantly. By then the squares and lawns in Zwevegem were thoroughly covered. The Markt looked like a huge flat sheet of quilt batting, and all of the grass expanses looked like they’d been replaced by polystyrene. It was interesting to see how the powdery phenomenon behaved- sticking into the bark on the windward side of trees, gathering on the tops of juniper branches in little tufts, collecting on eves and windshields. I crunched through the biggest piles I could find when I got to work (which weren’t terribly deep, since I guess this is pretty mild snowfall). Still, this is the first time I’ve ever seen it snow all the same, and quite exciting. Still, even the so-called "fluffy" snow isn't so fluffy- I'm surprised by how hard and heavy it is.

As soon as I got to work a coworker took a few pictures of it. The snow won’t leave my eyebrows alone even in pictures! It's supposed to stop snowing and rain later on, but then snow more and stronger tomorrow.

Most fun..and for none of the reasons you are thinking

Hello all, this is a picture of the Central Station in Antwerp, another beautiful train station here in Belgium. I took this picture on the way back from Amsterdam this weekend.

We went up to visit our friend, who we know online as "Allieboo", on his way through the Netherlands on a business trip to India. I took the train up to Schiphol station to meet his flight on Friday, while my other half had to stay at work for a long meeting. As Boo is currently on crutches, he didn't get to see too much of Amsterdam, but I managed to get him a cup of coffee in a genuine Amsterdam cafe using my small stock of Dutch. It made me look like quite the expert, although if we had done anything more complicated the illusion would have collapsed!

On Saturday, after dropping off Boo at Schiphol again, Travis and I went into town to visit the Anne Frank house. It was lucky we got there pretty early. When we went in, the line was about twenty people long. When we left, the line stretched all the way down the block and around the corner! The library I worked at in San Diego hosted a traveling model of two of the rooms from the Anne Frank house, so I was curious to see how the traveling exhibit matched up to the real thing. It was...different. The actual Anne Frank house was not restored to resemble how it did during the war, furniture-wise. But we did see the actual pencil marks they made on the wall where Anne and Margo had been measured while they were in hiding. There was a guest book to sign on the way out, and we left our names, the date of our visit, and a short note. I confess, as I signed, I got pretty choked up.

After a cup of hot chocolate to fortify us, we went on to see Rembrandt's house. Like most houses in old Amsterdam, the actual building was narrow. There were four floors, each leading up to the next through a very steep, dark staircase. When we finally got to his studio on the top floor, it was amazing how airy and full of light the room was. We also got to see a big collection of his etchings, which were absolutely gorgeous.

This one was my favorite. At only 5.1 x 4.6 cm, it was also very tiny. But Rembrandt can really work an area that small!

For lunch we went to an Indonesian restaurant and had Gado Gado, a coconut vegetable dish, and Nasi Goreng. We also had fun trolling through some of the neat shops in Amsterdam, including a great used book store. Out of all of the cities we've visited, Amsterdam is probably the best loved. It's got such an interesting combination of historic and modern things all together. Yes, there are sex shops and marijuana cafes, but anyone who goes there just for that misses out on some really awesome stuff!

Our Civilization has Advanced far Beyond what 100% of your Brain can Comprehend

I have really wanted to stay away from non-personal, non-travel, or non-European related topics in this blog, but some recent events in Boston have prompted me to comment on the high profile activity in that city at this time, since I am quite familiar with the issue as well as the subject material involved. Do I take it seriously? Yes. Do I think it is funny? Yes. Most importantly, there is a lesson to be learned here.

As many of you by now know, an ad campaign launched by Adult Swim (a late night adult themed block of Cartoon Network), involved hiring the third party viral marketing firm Interference Inc. to launch an ad campaign. The firm, in turn, hired two young urban performance and video artists to create installations, which they were to publicly display in ten cities across the United States in promoting the surreal cartoon Aqua Teen Hunger Force and its upcoming movie. The installations were, in effect, four batteries on a blackened poster board powering some LEDs. They were LiteBrites. The images were none other than Iknignokt and Err, “the Mooninites”, a popular pair of returning characters, flipping the bird at passersby.

On Wednesday afternoon, a call regarding a “suspicious package” was made to the police in Boston. When I went to bed here in Belgium, I was aware that some “suspicious packages” had been found in Boston, and it snarled traffic and transportation as bridges and such were shut down. I knew right then, when a dozen of these things had been found, that there was more to the story. I was shocked to learn in the morning that the whole hubbub was about glowing posters, and had nothing to do with bombs or packages, or anything resembling bombs or packages. (Though those that look silly will disagree). I was doubly shocked- and doubled over laughing, when I read an early article on the topic stating that they were ads for a cult cartoon. They explained the show poorly and didn’t name it at first, but as soon as they started referencing delinquent moon men, I knew exactly what they were talking about.

By then, the “oh, shit” game had already started. Now I won’t ever criticize law enforcement authorities for responding to and investigating a threat, but they should have been much more surreptitious about it. Had they investigated it immediately and quietly, they should have been able to determine that a poster board of a cartoon character flipping you off isn’t a bomb. As far as I know, terrorists also do not generally advertise the location of their weapons with glowing lights. Had they kept it on the low down (i.e. dome some cursory investigation and fact checking before panicking), then the media would never have known to report “suspicious packages” that were not packages. Only when the local news service started propagating rumors and quite frankly, false information, did all of the other “mysterious packages” begin popping up. I place a lot of the blame on those entities for providing feedback to the situation. (Note, this kind of thing happens all the time in airports, subways, and rural streets where kids just want to play live action Mario Brothers, with five teenaged girls being threatened with a law suit in the latter case. It fizzled.)

So it snowballed into a huge, snarling fiasco, and every official and their grandparents became involved, sweeping pronouncements were made- all over some glowing posters. So naturally, when Turner finally realized what was going on, and informed the authorities, it was chalked up as a bad misunderstanding and ill-advised ad campaign, right? Hello no. Apparently when you make the Boston police look stupid, somebody has to pay the piper, and the two artists who hung the poster boards up are being tried as felons- Peter Berdovsky and Sean Stevens. And here is where it gets interesting. This is now a PR spinfest, and its spinning rapidly and aggressively down into my skin. The tactic of Massachusetts is to now hit hard and fast, focus the blame intensely on these two young artists, and control the language and debate used to discuss the issue.

Assistant MA Attorney General John Grossman said “if they had been explosive, they could have damaged transportation infrastructure in the city”. Um. If your glasses had been explosive, it could have caused damage to the infrastructure of your face. The level of desperation and absurdity in this statement is self apparent- what kind of Attorney General makes an argument that doesn’t exist? A desperate one. “Sure your honor, our officer tackled an old man they thought had a gun. I mean, it did turn out to be a cell phone, but we’re going to try him anyway because if it had been a gun, he could have hurt someone.” Grossman insists on calling the LiteBrite poster boards “bomb-like devices”. Oh noes!!1!! Every pixel board, neon sign, matinee, and well- anything with glowing lights or wires is now a “bomb-like device”. Stay clear of Las Vegas, that place is a mine field! It was comforting to hear that the first time he showed the posters during the arraignment hearings yesterday and said “these bomb-like devices”, snickers rippled across the entire courtroom, and not just from people sympathetic to the defendants. He’s clearly trying to frame the terms of the case, but he isn’t fooling anyone, including the judge apparently (more on this later).

Among the other fun elements of the PR damage control spin machine: Said Boston Mayor Thomas Menino, "this is a product of “corporate greed”"? Really? Check your facts you ignorant tool, the show is the product of a handful of art school graduates that were given a budget of a couple thousand dollars by Williams Street to work on what was supposed to be a short-lived, badly animated, and absurd series of shorts. As a goof-off project. It just happened to attract a cult following and more episodes were made, and even now the artists cater directly to the fans and it was never intended to be main stream. They said as much to us in their panel at the 2005 Comic-Con. It isn’t Paramount, New Line, or some big network TV show or Showtime. It’s absurd sub-culture. You can’t slap down the “corporate greed” card on a show that generates comparatively little revenue and caters to animation geeks. Until yesterday, most people in the USA didn’t even know what the hell Aqua Teen Hunger Force was!

It’s also funny who calls them what- pay attention to who calls them “ads” and “posters” and “light boards”, and who calls them “devices” and “implements”. And who calls this a “stunt” and who calls it an “ad-campaign”. I don’t need to explain it to you.

My greatest irritation is the use of the word “hoax” to describe the advertising campaign, a term all other news sources have stopped using except for Faux News. A hoax implies intent to deceive. These were glowing posters of a cartoon character… advertising the cartoon. Orson Welles’ “The War of the Worlds”? That’s approaching a hoax. The Proctor and Gamble belongs to the Church of Satan thing? That was a hoax. These were simply ads, representing exactly what they were, and that Fox is still calling it a “hoax” after even the Judge presiding over yesterday’s hearing stated “it appears the suspects had no such intent” to deceive is ridiculous. Of course, Faux is already telling us how we should feel as they describe the “SHOCKING” video of the artists perpetrating the “HOAX”. Shocking? A video of a couple of guys hanging up LiteBrites is shocking? Faux news can go to hell.

And those young men are lucky they posted that video. Both the artists and the firm they were working with documented the plan and process very well, and it is clear that it was intended to be an ad campaign, with absolutely no intent to cause a panic. That video and the communications between the artists and Interference Inc. are going to help them a lot, because it shows Faux and the MA officials are full of crap. The hilarious part of all of this is in the fact that these posters were hanging up for three weeks before someone called the police- in ten cities. Hundreds of these things were hanging in Portland, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago… and in the entire three weeks not a single other city freaked out and caused a bomb scare. New York and Philadelphia only started taking them down after they learned of the panic in Boston. Indeed, in laid back Portland the police intend to leave them up, even after the circus in Boston. Portland Police Sgt. Brian Schmautz said to CNN “At this point we wouldn't even begin an investigation, because there's no reason to believe a crime has occurred.” (Lena and Lisa, did you happen to see any of them? They are selling for hundreds of dollars on e-bay now). I guess Portland wins the Free Speech award of the day.

So Boston is angry because they freaked out at a Mooninite flipping them off. Now as someone on the Adult Swim forums pointed out: “They claim that removing the (first) device “took three hours and cost thousands of dollars. If it took the bomb squad three hours and thousands of dollars to defuse a LiteBrite, Bostonians have a lot more to worry about than glowing ads”. So now I am going to buy my hilarious shirt to support the two scapegoat artists: here (It took all of two hours for that shirt to appear on e-bay)

I look forward to when this case is thrown out and/or, the men are acquitted. Because when this is said and done, there is no way that the felony charge is going to hold water. Everything the officials in Boston are doing is sound and fury, and the worst they can do is fine the artists for hanging up objects on municipal property if such an ordinance exists. They are already on record as being 100% cooperative. End of story. I’m sorry that the Boston Crew reading this had to suffer as an example of America being afraid of it’s shadow, but there is an important lesson to be learned here.

Do you see this Faux news? I hope you do because I'm doing it as hard as I can.

On the Subtle Distinction Between Syllables: Part 1

In as much as Highland English is often perceived as confusing and garbled by the average American, such is the case with Flemish spoken in Zwevegem versus that in Antwerp or Gent. Learning a new language is difficult enough, but there is something particularly confounding about wading through no less than eight regional Dutch dialects, some strongly influenced by German and French. At least San Diego and the Outer Hebrides can claim to be in different countries 12,000 miles apart. Zwevegem is in the adjacent county to Gent.

It wasn’t a huge surprise to see that the Hollandic Dutch we spent a few months reviewing (with a native of Amsterdam) was so dissimilar from Flemish. It was, however, surprising to learn that Flemish dialects vary even more amongst themselves. When I worked for two weeks in and near Eindhoven, even in Flemish Limburgh I could hear the “Limburgh” dialect- strikingly more similar to the Brabantian and Hollandic dialects than anything I’ve yet heard in West Flanders (even if spoken somewhat slower). It sounded more like what I’d heard before moving to Belgium.

The complications stem partly from the fact that French is scattered in many of the Flemish dialects and regions, and partly because of enunciation particulars. My biggest problem is the lack of distinction between syllables that largely permeates most Flemish dialects. I believe Judi already mentioned the “heen en terug” moment, where I asked for a ticket “heen en terug” (return trip) at the counter. I received a blank look as a reward for my painstakingly crisp interpretation of Hollandic pronunciation. Finally, the lady at the counter asked “Ah, hn’tr’h?” in a heartbeat. Apparently you need to sort of slur the term and say it really, really fast if you want to be understood at the Kortrijk train station. It kind of complicates the process when people say things you would have understood on paper, but can’t understand when spoken (most Dutch and Flemish dialects are nearly indistinguishable in written form). In that return ticket sentence, I know now I should have gone softer on the “G” as well, which the Flemish either pronounce a “G” as an “H”, or gargle it, depending on the phrase.

With no offense to Flemish people, I must say it sounds a bit as though they take a Dutch sentence, soften the “G” to an “H”, and gargle the rest if it quite fast. I have nothing against gargling. The running joke in Belgium is that Dutch has a “G” and “H”, while Flemish has a “hoog “H” en laag “H”. (The up “H“and down “H”- referring to the letters hg). For reference, Hollandic Dutch scratches the “G” in the throat. My co-worker, Ric here, is now laughing and telling me that “Flemish people like to be quick and to the point. The people from Holland sound like they want to sing to you.”

The eight main Dutch dialacts:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Dutchdialectpic.PNG

Screaming Winds

Yes, it was bad. http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/europe/01/18/europe.storm.ap/index.html

The wind was howling… screaming past my second story office all day. I’ve read that clichéd metaphor a thousand times, but when you hear it actually doing exactly that, the truth of it grips you. I couldn’t even ride the bike from BTC to Zwevegem, as was threatening to hurl me into traffic, and I made zero progress anyway. The strong wind was about to pick the bike right up and toss it into the fields, and would have done so had I not gripped and leaned on it to walk it back to a rack. Even when walking I was literally nearly knocked off of my feet by a few of the intense gusts, and had to keep my head poked forward toward the wind so it wouldn’t rip my wool hood cover off of me like tissue. Walking into it was like walking on the bottom of a pool with weights on your feet. One older man here at BTC fell down on the stairs after a sudden pulse. Tree limbs were snapping throughout the day (they didn’t have far to fall since it seemed every tree had decided to lie down), and arriving this morning I notice the foliage look quite haggard, and the ground quite littered with plant detritus. On the way home through Zwevegem, I noticed fire and electrical crews scrambling to clear fallen power lines- many of which were lying about in the streets (the article notes Eurostar was held up by fallen power lines in Lille- a stones throw from Zwevegem). Trains were delayed, trains were cancelled. My bus was late to the station, and I was delayed an hour. I’ve never seen wind that strong in my life.

Every once in a while a sudden “burst” of rain, scarcely a second long, would fall as if someone dumped a bucket on your head. I watched in awe as a large pool of water slithered rapidly through the gutter all the way down the block past the bus stop. The stone trash cans in Kortrijk were knocked over, and the huge tarp sign from Café Cinquenta-Six in Kortrijk had ripped free and was pinned against the side of the building across the street, like one of those flat green chitins you can never peel off the rock in the tide pools. It looked like someone had painted it on the facade.

Fortunately, nestled among the urban buildings in Gent the wind was dampened, and settled for a reasonable dull roar. But get this- the meteorologists are certain it is going to snow in Belgium. Starting Sunday, there are supposed to be eight days of sub zero temperatures, dipping to -8 °C. I’ll finally get to see it snow! Hopefully it will be kinder to Europe than the wind.

More pictures (local news): http://www.standaard.be/Kanaal/Index.aspx?KanaalId=316

Happy New Year, everyone!

We have emerged from the holidays this year unscathed, and I hope that everyone else has too!

I have discovered a new bus line with a stop that is very convenient stop to the local grocery store, and a branch of our bank. Waiting at the stop outside the Delhaize with my bag of groceries has brought me into contact with some of my elderly neighbors. I can only hope that I will be as spry as the 90 year woman I saw dash like a gazelle for the number 9 bus this morning, with a large grocery bag in each hand. The bus drivers here are relatively peremptory, and this gentleman in particular seemed almost disappointed that she made it.

We received our new combination washer/dryer yesterday. The delivery men managed to get it up the stairs with ease, and within a few minutes had it installed in our tiny kitchen. They helpfully gave me some tips on how to use it. At one point the impenetrable Language Barrier of Bewilderment fell between us, as they tried to remember the English word for "fabric softener". We all smiled and shrugged, and I was much relieved to find that there was an English language section to the instructions that they left on our kitchen counter. It really is an interesting thing. It uses relatively little space, electricity and water compared to American appliances. The capacity is a princely 4.5 kg, which I think is equal to roughly two of the super-sized towels that we got as wedding presents. Once you are done washing, the very same machine then dries your clothes, using some mechanism to condense the water. It doesn't even have a vent outside. It's not as big or fast as I was used to from the US, and I think it will take me a week to feed all of the mountain of clothes we had managed to create through it, but I don't mind in the least! No more wheeling a heavy, bulky suitcase full of dirty clothes for a twenty-five minute walk through two construction zones to the Laundromat! Hooray!