2006 - BELGIUM

BELGIUM

After a rather lengthy trip to Belgium, I finally made it! Luckily the plane from Chicago was not full and I didn't feel as if I was a sardine in a tin as I felt on the flight from California to Chicago. That flight was implausible. They must’ve moved the seats closer together because something was very different on that plane. They squeezed in a few more rows, maybe? Can they do that? My knees were hitting the seat in front of me and I couldn't use the communal armrest because as usual a man sitting next to me had to have it. I was miserable. So I slept most of the way, crammed into my corner against the window. Good thing I was tired to begin with. But the second leg of the flight was much better. I had an extra seat to spread to and I did some more much needed sleeping, since I hadn't slept at all the night I left.

Once in Brussels the train station in the airport was easy to find, I just followed the train emblem posted on the overhead boards, that is, as soon as I figured out what it was. It took a few minutes. Thank goodness for pictures, because I don't understand the languages. French is spoken mainly in Brussels, Dutch in Brugge. People are friendly and helpful, however, even in gesturing, so I was able to navigate well enough. I changed trains once in the center of Brussels (Brussels Nord) and found a comfy seat at a table on that second train and settled in to enjoy the remainder of the trip to Bruges or Brugge. (Spelled both ways.) However, that was short lived, for the conductor came through and told me I would have to go to the second class car because I was sitting in first class. Damn! So, I acquiesced and moved my luggage (one computer bag and one medium sized piece of luggage) to the space in between the cars and that's as far as I went . . . the second class cars were packed. More sardines. I opted to stand the duration of the trip in that space between first and second class, making me a no-class passenger. Standing felt pretty good, actually. I'd been sitting for over 13 hours as it was.

The ride through the countryside reminded me of the Austrian countryside. Very green, dotted with stone houses and farms, although no mountains as in Austria. The Belgian terrain is flat. Other than the occasional trips the passengers were making to the toilet, as it turned out I was standing by the toilet in that in between-space, I was alone to take in the lovely views through the narrow panes in the doors.

Once in Brugge I headed directly to a coffee concession in the train station. I hadn't had a cup since leaving Chicago. The flight from Chicago didn't have potable water, believe it or not, and they were unable to serve tea or coffee. They even asked that the passengers use the sani-wipes they provided in the restrooms for their hands, asked that they not use the water from the faucet. Evidently there'd been a problem and they didn't receive fresh water before we left Chicago. There was bottled water to drink, but they had to make a quick last minute special trip in the terminal to get enough of it for the duration of the flight. Now that was a first in all my flying time.

So, you can imagine how good that coffee tasted in that little concession stand in the train station. I sat there and enjoyed every drop of it while I got my bearings. Here I was in Belgium. What the hell was I doing here? That was the question that surfaced all of a sudden. I was having of moment of feeling alone, perhaps. Sitting in a strange land with my suitcases. Wishing I had shipped the 15 books anyway, regardless of the exorbitant cost, instead of carrying them in my bags that were way too heavy for me to maneuver. I finally got the clothing thing down pat, had that all figured out, and then I had to go and add the books that are heavier than the clothing. Something wrong with that picture. Never again. I'll definitely ship them if I have to carry them to a book signing again. So I'm still learning as I make this trip through life.

I got my second wind and decided to leave my safe spot in the train terminal and venture out into Belgium. First thing I noticed was how warm the weather was, and then saw the cobble stoned walkways and streets everywhere, as I made my way across the huge square to the taxi stand. I was carrying another cup of coffee with me and waved to a cab driver and waited for him to pull up to where I was standing. He told me I couldn't drink my coffee in his cab, that I'd have to dump it. Sadly I did so. He turned out to be a very pleasant driver however, told me a bit about the city as we rode, gave me a map, took me through the main part of Bruges - the Market Square - all within the Ring. Most European cities are situated within a Ring. There's always a ring road encircling the city and when you reach that road, you know you're moving into the outer limits. It comes in handy when you're a city-walker like I am. I usually walk everywhere I go. Or if it's too far, will take a subway (as in Paris or London or New York), or a cab at night. But I usually walk mostly in smaller towns, like Bruges.

The B & B where I'm staying is within the Ring. The town centre is maybe a 10 minute or less walk - a wonderful walk, over and alongside canals and shop-lined cobbled streets. Robert van Nevel and Lietjve Gevaert are pleasant and energetic hosts. Robert speaks English as well as French and Dutch and who knows how many other languages. His appearance reminds me of a bearded, long-haired professor, an intellectual. Lietjve is a charming woman, still learning English. Robert built all the furniture in my room - one of two rooms in their home they rent out to tourists. It's set up just like a small hotel, however. In the parlor are antiques and collectibles - an antique camera collection that caught my eye. Carmmerstraat is a very quiet street, a small market across the lane that I plan to venture into today. I'm on the second floor of their brick and stone 16th Century house, high ceilings, tall windows opening onto the street below. 265 Euros total for five nights. At last check, 1 Euro equaled $1.20. So, the accommodations are very reasonable. I'd stay here again in a heartbeat. But no elevator and very steep stairs. Getting my luggage up here posed a problem. It took Lietjve and me to carry the one. Robert wasn't here when I got here. And bless her heart she did her best to go over everything with me in her broken English. But we made it and I was very happy to finally be left alone in my comfy room with a bed I immediately sprawled across. At that moment I felt like I might never rise again. Felt like maybe I'd spend the next 5 days in Belgium in that bed.

LATER IN THE WEEK . . .
As I sit here eating a delicious jar of white Asperges (asparagus) in my room, I glance across the lane at the rooftops of the neighborhood houses, the front roofline is shaped like stair steps coming up each side meeting in the middle, topped with a chimney-like crest. And I notice that one of the pieces of furniture here in my room, the furniture that Robert built, has the same motif topping as do most of the houses in Bruges. It’s a design used throughout the town. Even on postcards. Stair steps that meet at a higher center apex.

Friday when I was taking the boat through the canals, viewing the buildings from the water’s perspective, it was beautiful, especially along the “green” canal where photographers congregate to snap the canal foliage and the attractive houses and cafes along the way. The boatman reminded me of the French actor Gerard Depardieu (“Green Card”) in size and looks, only his lengthy unruly hair was sunbleached and he was tanned from being exposed to the daily elements in his profession. He spoke four languages during that “cruise”. Something that is beginning to bother me about our U.S. school system . . . we only learn one language while growing up. I think that is a shame. The children here and elsewhere in Europe learn 2, 3, and sometimes 4 languages in their elementary school years. What is wrong with us? Why do we insist on teaching our children only one language? Incredible! That needs to be changed, our world is getting smaller and the knowledge of other languages would be to everyone’s advantage. I’m even changing my view on the controversy of Spanish being spoken in our schools. Why not have the non-spanish speaking learn the language right along with the Mexicans learning English? At least we’d be bi-lingual. Here everyone learns their neighbors’ languages. We seem to fight that in the U.S. A good case of what’s dumb and dumber.

In a few minutes I’m meeting with a magazine editor and the local newspaper editor to be interviewed. What a surprise that is! It came about through Robert, whose son in law is the magazine editor and wanted to interview me and decided to ask the local newspaper to be present also. Robert had told his son in law that I’m here to research for a novel I’m writing to be set in Bruges. So, I guess that’s what created the interest.

Speaking of doing the research . . . I’m making great headway. Have found the love interest for one of the main characters, he’s a waiter in the Braenenburg, a very popular restaurant on Market Square. Stefan is young, divorced, has a couple small children, and is living in an apartment near the Braenenburg Restaurant. “Amanda”, one of my lead characters will go to the restaurant to apply for a waitress position and there she’ll meet Stefan. Waitressing is the only job she knows, but is in search for something else to make her mark. After her husband disappeared on Christmas Day two years before, while they were living outside Las Vegas in a broken down trailer, her sister persuaded her to move to Bakersfield and live with her. She helped her find work as a waitress, the first time Amanda had ever worked. Over the next two years, she saved her money to go to Bruges. She’d read all about Bruges and fell in love with the photos and the romance of the place, and after she arrived she was drawn to lacemaking which is one of Belgium's national prides and is prevalent in Bruges. So she decides to take the classes offered in the sector near where she is staying. Etc. etc. Of course there is much more to the story and “Rachel O’Neill” my serial lead character comes into play again. And there’ll be another New Year’s Eve to end the novel . . . this time in Belgium. In the first novel, New Year’s Eve was in Trafalgar Square in London, second novel at the Eiffel Tower, third in Belgium, fourth in Moscow, and so on - Twelve novels in the series. But enough on that.

I walked into a church yesterday, the “Saint Saviour’s Cathedral” and was lambasted with the sounds of its huge pipe organ. The terrific, eerie sounds consumed the air space and I felt as if I was in a theatre on Broadway hearing the “Phantom of the Opera” organ. Wow! It was incredible. I swear the guy was playing a jillion extra notes that weren’t supposed to be in the number. It sounded as if he was pounding on all the keys at once. Mesmerizing! I wished I would have arrived sooner, for it had been an organ concert and that was the last song. The church was built in the gothic style of the 14th century and has been continually added to and restored ever since. After a disastrous fire in 1839 a major restoration was necessary, but the original rustic-ness is prevalent still. As in all these European cathedrals you can’t help but stand there and feel in awe for the years these buildings have been in existence and for the multitudes of people who’ve passed through their doors. I also visited an even older church, smaller, in “Burg” square which is right next to Market Square. Its huge rustic-hewn pillars were fascinating. You could see and touch the irregularity of the stones that were cut and mortared in place to create the columns that held up the church all these years. If they were flattened out it would resemble the pattern of the cobblestone streets. The diameter of those columns had to be at least seven or eight feet, or so it seemed. “Solid as a rock” certainly applies to these churches.

I plan to go into the Jerusalem cathedral in this section of town today – called the St. Anna section. The lace museum is at the Jerusalem church and the nuns run the center and the classes. I’d love to come back and take some lace-making classes. Maybe before I finish the Bruges novel, since “Amanda” will be taking the classes. I’ll need to know first hand how that’s done. And it’s something just to watch, believe me. The way they toss those bobbins around, weaving the tiny intricate patterns. Most of the lacemakers are elderly, you know, my age and over. One woman was tossing them back and forth so fast I couldn’t believe she knew what she was doing. It looked like she was shuffling the bobbins and moving her hands lightening fast just to be impressive. She definitely was impressive. The pattern was taking form right before my eyes. I don’t see how they do it. And they do give classes to school children in order to keep up the tradition. One of the makers just passed away at 102 years of age.

So I was looking in the shops, yesterday, for an affordable handmade lace tablecloth. Most are at least 100 Euros, but I saw a few that were around 40. The only problem is, and we’re warned of it, some shops sell machine-made pieces as well as hand-made pieces. So I would assume the 40 price is machine-made. The more intricate piece, with less linen, is the most expensive. I’d love to have one of those. But then I ask myself, why? I probably wouldn’t use it. And if I did I would be too terrified it would get stained. So, maybe I’ll pass on that and just buy a little doily as a memento. Although I could hang the tablecloth on one of my walls. Now which wall would that be, Rebecca? You have empty wall space somewhere? How about a ceiling?

I’ve already tested and tasted the authentic Belgian chocolates. So much so one day, it put me right to sleep. Had a long nap that day. The milk chocolate is my favorite, solid chocolate. But they have everything, crème filled, nuts, chewy, dark chocolate, name it they make it. Between the chocolate shops and the lace shops, that makes up a good 50 per cent of the business in Bruges.

And the fashion shops are in plenty, too - shoes, clothing, jewelry – it’s all here. The fashion trend is almost gypsy-like. Layers of colorful pieces, tufted pants and skirts with vests and scarfs and other adornment added to create a work of art, actually. Walking art pieces the wearers become. Then you have the simply dressed . . . non-trendy dressers. There are always those. And they are stylish, too. Mono-toned ensembles either in tans, browns, or olive greens. You can immediately pick up on who is affluent and who isn’t. Most times. Not always. And these people have tans! I’ve noticed that about Europeans. They do go to the beaches for relaxation and tans. Usually to Spain and the south of France. And some go to Florida, believe it or not.

Well, today’s my last day in Bruges. I catch the 6 a.m. train to Brussels in the morning, then change trains to go to Paris where I connect to go to St. Malo, France. I’ll arrive in St. Malo sometime in the early afternoon and will have a few hours till I get on a hover-craft ferry (Condor) that takes me across to Weymouth, England. I’ll arrive in Weymouth at 8:30 p.m. So Monday is going to be another very long travel day. I’m hoping I’ll be able to store my bags in St. Malo somewhere so I can roam around the port town, I hear it’s something to see.

Then on Tuesday I begin my stay in England. See you there . . .