THE STALKER AND OTHER STORIES LOST IN THE VAULT
Ok dear reader, I totally owe you. I got you all excited about my stalker post and then...nothing...for along time. Ok, now I'm coming clean. The thing is, my first week in Brussels was full of "fun".
Monday: Transport strike on my first day of work. I got in ok. But geeze, what a way to say welcome.
Tuesday: Gemma and I come into work together and are followed by a strange man wearing a grey hat, a black bomber jacket and a bright orange backpack. At first it was spooky for Gemma when this man was staring at her on the tram. She jumped off and he quickly lept into action to follow her to the train station. This is when Gemma and I met up. Mind you I was also shell shocked at the moment from sheer humiliation when I waved at a blonde girl who I thought was Gemma. "Hi!" I said waving and staring across the street as this blonde got off the 94 tram to Stade. The tram passed in front of her and I realised my mistake, but too late. This woman had already seen me and was looking confused. Others were around. Had they noticed? I don't know. Feck it, I went across the street pretending that my now "mystery" friend had gone into the park and not noticed me. I waved into the park pretending to try and catch the attention of one of the various people ignoring me. I simply looked defeated and tried to play off that my "friend" had not noticed me. Right o. So as Gemma made her way off the tram, I'll be damned if I was going to be caught with that little trick again. I saw someone I was sure was Gemma, but she passed me by without looking. Little did I know she was trying to avoid her stalker. I chased after her once I realised it was her... she seemed startled and I would later find out she thought I was the stalker coming in for the kill. However, she kept quiet until we reached the train station together where she informed me someone was following us. She went to the loo to try and avoid him but he waited. He then followed us to our train platform and stood within striking distance. We kept moving, he kept following. We tried running in circles around the station to no avail. He got on our train with us and sat in the same carriage. We must have lost him along the way as we didn't see him again, but we felt a bit freaked out. Gemma stayed at my place for a few nights until we were sure her scent trail had dissipated. We thought it was over until....
Wednesday: Went to the cool Chatalain market, we were too late. We went to Le Bar anyhow and had some Kriek (fruit beer). Yum.
Thursday: Always the scenester, I led the pack to Place du Luxembourg. Nice bars and the chance to meet someone from the European commission. We ended up making friends with half the place including a diplomat from Guatemala, people travelling to Africa the next day and indeed some of our colleagues. We went home in someones car, who turned out not to be a cabbie. How this happened, I'm not entirely sure. I felt bad and invited him and my male co-worker for some Nutella and toast with juice. I ended up stealing the guy's hat on accident and have not seen him or heard from him since.
Sunday: Sitting outside McSweeney's having a pint and who walks in but THE STALKER. Was this a message to me that he knew where I was? Was he THIS good? The bartender surmised that he was a town idiot and as simple as a kindergartner and that maybe we were wearing something shinny that attracted his attention on our first meeting. Gemma concluded "Guess its just the magpie in all of us." Indeed...
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
MOST DISGUSTING SANDWICH EVER
Miriam made me dinner tonight. Wow, that sounds really nice of her huh? I would agree in most situations, unless, as in my case, you become a guinea pig for her culinary experiments. You see, she was thinking that combining coleslaw and turkey on wheat bread would be a good idea... Ok, doesn't sound like a bad idea but what REALLY happened was that she put fake crab salad into my sandwich along with the turkey. She smelled the "coleslaw" and thought, wow, that smells strange...maybe I'll let Shelby see how this actually tastes before I go for it. She handed me my plate... Aww thanks Miriam, thanks for dinner, huh, nice friend, wow. I took a bite, ughaaagha... Disgusting. I felt that I must finish it as we all know the story mother tells us of starving children in some impoverished nation. Miriam was laughing and then made herself a much better looking sandwich. I decided that although the sandwich tasted disgusting I should try to combine the disgusting taste with another taste which might offset the disgusting factor. Hummus was the ingredient of choice and I used it to get the rest of the sandwich down. Victory. I still went to the gym and by the end of my rowing sets I felt really horrible and had to go home. Ugh.
Miriam made me dinner tonight. Wow, that sounds really nice of her huh? I would agree in most situations, unless, as in my case, you become a guinea pig for her culinary experiments. You see, she was thinking that combining coleslaw and turkey on wheat bread would be a good idea... Ok, doesn't sound like a bad idea but what REALLY happened was that she put fake crab salad into my sandwich along with the turkey. She smelled the "coleslaw" and thought, wow, that smells strange...maybe I'll let Shelby see how this actually tastes before I go for it. She handed me my plate... Aww thanks Miriam, thanks for dinner, huh, nice friend, wow. I took a bite, ughaaagha... Disgusting. I felt that I must finish it as we all know the story mother tells us of starving children in some impoverished nation. Miriam was laughing and then made herself a much better looking sandwich. I decided that although the sandwich tasted disgusting I should try to combine the disgusting taste with another taste which might offset the disgusting factor. Hummus was the ingredient of choice and I used it to get the rest of the sandwich down. Victory. I still went to the gym and by the end of my rowing sets I felt really horrible and had to go home. Ugh.
WORKING OUT WITH MIRIAM
Working out with Miriam has become and interesting daily ritual/ competition for me. "Blondie" (Miriam's gym rat code name) and I make our way to Silhouette nightly for some serious calorie burning. My record so far is 1,250 calories in one day. I'm going to try for 3,500 which would equal one pound of fat. That would be awesome!
Most women in this gym are here to look cute. They come in and hardly sweat and prance around on the machines like hyper poodles with their matching outfits and flash smiles at passing men. They then do deep stretches to show off all their wares to any passing males. Can't say I blame them, there is a lot of eye candy in this place. No doubt! Well, this was Miriam too until I came to the gym. She thought she was pretty awesome. Yeah, 3 hours in the gym, she thought she could easily outdo me, but this would be one of her first grave underestimations of the Shelby superpowers. One seriously bad mistake on her part was not realising she was inviting another competitive female into her domain. You see both she and I hate to lose so we will nearly kill ourselves trying to outdo one another. I think I would rather run 10 miles with a pulled groin muscle than admit defeat. I told her the first day "Miriam, I'm here to sweat, not to look pretty… NOW GET MOVING!" And I gave her a snappy swat to the bum with my newly fashioned, and now much used, towel whip.
Miriam is much more skilled in man watching than I am. I am completely convinced that I look like a large, sweaty mammoth hurdling at top speeds, drizzling with sweat and looking as unattractive as a tube top on a fat girl. Miriam tried to convince me that males were actually looking at me while I was working out and might actually find me somehow attractive. Impossible I said as she tried to attract my attention to such a supposed admirer while I was running at top speed on the treadmill. What she doesn't realise is that it takes every ounce of concentration in my body to remain steady on this machine while my feet are moving at the blinding speed of 13.3 kilometres per hour. All I envision is my speedy demise at any mis-step.
After much verbal abuse on my lack of observational skills, even escalating to the level of assuring me that my future career depended on it, I decided to make an effort to respond to Miriam's not so subtle hand gestures. These gestures often attract the male in question's attention and have to be played off as a cardio enhancement to her workout. By the time I turn around I just see Miriam flailing around and smiling at me for no apparent reason. She would no longer stand for this and forced me to be more vigilant of her clandestine gestures in the future. So the time came, a man passed. Miriam flagged me down, I turned to look and I could feel my feet becoming tied together, I could not even look over to see a thing before I found myself concentrating yet again on regaining my balance before I was overcome by the inertia of the whizzing plastic below my feet to inevitably have my sweaty face smashed into the high-tech TV screen on the machine and by body spit out in the reverse direction into the unforgiving wall. No more man watching for me.
Miriam has a competitive nature, even in yoga. For example, we went into the stretching room the other night, which we often clear out with our blondie banter, and she was trying to show me a great yoga stretch. Now, this is a serious stretch because it requires two people to perform. She lay down into a pea pod position and encouraged me to sit on her tiny back, lean backwards over her pea-pod form and grab her hands. A full stretch indeed. She grabbed my hands and said "THERE! Now enjoy that!" Yes m'am! I was laughing so hard I could not control myself and all she could feel was my massive weight perched on her small back and shaking from the laughter. I wonder why we end up clearing that stretching room out!
Working out with Miriam has become and interesting daily ritual/ competition for me. "Blondie" (Miriam's gym rat code name) and I make our way to Silhouette nightly for some serious calorie burning. My record so far is 1,250 calories in one day. I'm going to try for 3,500 which would equal one pound of fat. That would be awesome!
Most women in this gym are here to look cute. They come in and hardly sweat and prance around on the machines like hyper poodles with their matching outfits and flash smiles at passing men. They then do deep stretches to show off all their wares to any passing males. Can't say I blame them, there is a lot of eye candy in this place. No doubt! Well, this was Miriam too until I came to the gym. She thought she was pretty awesome. Yeah, 3 hours in the gym, she thought she could easily outdo me, but this would be one of her first grave underestimations of the Shelby superpowers. One seriously bad mistake on her part was not realising she was inviting another competitive female into her domain. You see both she and I hate to lose so we will nearly kill ourselves trying to outdo one another. I think I would rather run 10 miles with a pulled groin muscle than admit defeat. I told her the first day "Miriam, I'm here to sweat, not to look pretty… NOW GET MOVING!" And I gave her a snappy swat to the bum with my newly fashioned, and now much used, towel whip.
Miriam is much more skilled in man watching than I am. I am completely convinced that I look like a large, sweaty mammoth hurdling at top speeds, drizzling with sweat and looking as unattractive as a tube top on a fat girl. Miriam tried to convince me that males were actually looking at me while I was working out and might actually find me somehow attractive. Impossible I said as she tried to attract my attention to such a supposed admirer while I was running at top speed on the treadmill. What she doesn't realise is that it takes every ounce of concentration in my body to remain steady on this machine while my feet are moving at the blinding speed of 13.3 kilometres per hour. All I envision is my speedy demise at any mis-step.
After much verbal abuse on my lack of observational skills, even escalating to the level of assuring me that my future career depended on it, I decided to make an effort to respond to Miriam's not so subtle hand gestures. These gestures often attract the male in question's attention and have to be played off as a cardio enhancement to her workout. By the time I turn around I just see Miriam flailing around and smiling at me for no apparent reason. She would no longer stand for this and forced me to be more vigilant of her clandestine gestures in the future. So the time came, a man passed. Miriam flagged me down, I turned to look and I could feel my feet becoming tied together, I could not even look over to see a thing before I found myself concentrating yet again on regaining my balance before I was overcome by the inertia of the whizzing plastic below my feet to inevitably have my sweaty face smashed into the high-tech TV screen on the machine and by body spit out in the reverse direction into the unforgiving wall. No more man watching for me.
Miriam has a competitive nature, even in yoga. For example, we went into the stretching room the other night, which we often clear out with our blondie banter, and she was trying to show me a great yoga stretch. Now, this is a serious stretch because it requires two people to perform. She lay down into a pea pod position and encouraged me to sit on her tiny back, lean backwards over her pea-pod form and grab her hands. A full stretch indeed. She grabbed my hands and said "THERE! Now enjoy that!" Yes m'am! I was laughing so hard I could not control myself and all she could feel was my massive weight perched on her small back and shaking from the laughter. I wonder why we end up clearing that stretching room out!
Monday, October 27, 2008
KIKI AND BORIS
Last night I didn't get in as much of a workout because Miriam and I saved a little dog from being killed. I was walking to the gym with Miriam on Ave Louise, which is a main street with 4 lanes of traffic. I saw this little fluffball darting all over frantically. I thought oh my god, that dog is going to get hit and I'm going to feel so bad. So I set Miriam and myself about chasing the little cutie. It just seemed completely upset and frantic - looking for its owner no doubt. We caught it and spent the next half hour calming it down and trying to find where to take it. He was completely distraught and breathing quickly with his little heart beating a million times a minute. A guy on the street said that its owner was drunk and left without the dog. We let the dog sniff around the neighborhood, tied to the end of Miriam's scarf, for a while and eventually a motorbike pulled up into the pedestrian street across Louisa from where we were. The little dog went "YIP YIP!" and pulled on Miriam's scarf. The motorbike was stopped at the moment and the little dog and I were running across four lanes of traffic. The guy started to leave and went to the other end of the pedestrian alleyway with little fluffball in full pursuit and me running behind. Finally we were able to catch up to the guy and the little dog put its paws on the guy's leg and the guy looked down and said "OH KIKI!". Apparently this guy had gotten drunk in front of the bar and his little dog ran off. He said he spent two hours looking for the dog and was so worried. He was a HUGE Eastern European guy missing a tooth with a leather jacket, yet had a dog named Kiki. I loved that. Miriam was disappointed that the dog didn't say thank you, although the owner was thrilled. It was so cute to see them reunited. I felt much better about myself despite the fact that I only got in part of my new workout plan, the 1200 calorie burner! I got on the running machine and went for 350 calories, stretched a bit and then did a few sets of 500m rowing runs. I noticed a Belgian woman getting on and trying to row, although she didn't strap her feet into the rower and was not able to get the hang of it. I noticed this as I got off to try another machine and came back to the rower next to her and started working out again. She was barely pulling the handle and when I did you could hear WHOOSHHHHH WHOOOSHHH. She was watching to see how I was doing it. I leaned over and said "You might want to try tightening those straps, it will make it easier." She looked startled but then did so. I showed her the technique and explained why you did things and how it would work on a real boat. She said "Like a rowboat?...", I thought...uh yeah something like that, but nodded my head anyway. She seemed happy to have it explained. Anyhow, I think I have my good karma for the week now :) Hopefully tonight I will burn a few more calories...
Last night I didn't get in as much of a workout because Miriam and I saved a little dog from being killed. I was walking to the gym with Miriam on Ave Louise, which is a main street with 4 lanes of traffic. I saw this little fluffball darting all over frantically. I thought oh my god, that dog is going to get hit and I'm going to feel so bad. So I set Miriam and myself about chasing the little cutie. It just seemed completely upset and frantic - looking for its owner no doubt. We caught it and spent the next half hour calming it down and trying to find where to take it. He was completely distraught and breathing quickly with his little heart beating a million times a minute. A guy on the street said that its owner was drunk and left without the dog. We let the dog sniff around the neighborhood, tied to the end of Miriam's scarf, for a while and eventually a motorbike pulled up into the pedestrian street across Louisa from where we were. The little dog went "YIP YIP!" and pulled on Miriam's scarf. The motorbike was stopped at the moment and the little dog and I were running across four lanes of traffic. The guy started to leave and went to the other end of the pedestrian alleyway with little fluffball in full pursuit and me running behind. Finally we were able to catch up to the guy and the little dog put its paws on the guy's leg and the guy looked down and said "OH KIKI!". Apparently this guy had gotten drunk in front of the bar and his little dog ran off. He said he spent two hours looking for the dog and was so worried. He was a HUGE Eastern European guy missing a tooth with a leather jacket, yet had a dog named Kiki. I loved that. Miriam was disappointed that the dog didn't say thank you, although the owner was thrilled. It was so cute to see them reunited. I felt much better about myself despite the fact that I only got in part of my new workout plan, the 1200 calorie burner! I got on the running machine and went for 350 calories, stretched a bit and then did a few sets of 500m rowing runs. I noticed a Belgian woman getting on and trying to row, although she didn't strap her feet into the rower and was not able to get the hang of it. I noticed this as I got off to try another machine and came back to the rower next to her and started working out again. She was barely pulling the handle and when I did you could hear WHOOSHHHHH WHOOOSHHH. She was watching to see how I was doing it. I leaned over and said "You might want to try tightening those straps, it will make it easier." She looked startled but then did so. I showed her the technique and explained why you did things and how it would work on a real boat. She said "Like a rowboat?...", I thought...uh yeah something like that, but nodded my head anyway. She seemed happy to have it explained. Anyhow, I think I have my good karma for the week now :) Hopefully tonight I will burn a few more calories...
Monday, October 13, 2008
ARRIVAL
I arrived in Belgium after a long hard battle to get a visa. Apparently Americans are not allowed to work in Belgium until we have had our lungs x-rayed, blood tested, overall health checked and a letter confirming the above sent to the Belgian officials. Getting this completed took me about a week and then I had to wait another week for the secretary in the doctor's office to type a two paragraph note saying that I was in good health. Why this process took as long as processing a complete blood panel and lung x-ray review I will never know. Viva la English customer service.
I also had to find accommodation which became another hassle as every apartment I chose was, for some reason, already taken when I emailed my interest. I went as far as negotiating my own contract, which was actually a good deal, but at the end of the day I could not follow through because this was not an avenue normally taken and thus impossible to secure. Despite all my best efforts I only ended up being yelled at by the company who I had negotiated the contract with. Fantastic. Belgian culture does not leave too much room for choice, a fact which I would later discover when trying to order single items off of a menu or tap water at a restaurant. Bottled or nothing Madame!
I thought everything was in order until my visa flew out of my purse cycling home only 3 days before I was supposed to leave. For some reason, nothing on this project seems to come easy. After a myriad of frantic calls I was allowed to enter Belgium and begin my project. However, these hang ups were not to be my last.
I took the Eurostar over to Brussels, a Eurostar that was jam packed as the train schedule had changed due to a recent fire in the Chunnel. We were 20 minutes late to arrive in Brussels and I clumsily lugged my extra large suitcase, bag, backpack and handbag across the station in search of my cab driver who was supposed to meet me in front of Sam's Café. I was hungry and tired and could not wait to get home, freshen up and meet my fellow "rotators", as we are affectionately referred to. (Introductions to come later) Minutes ticked by and no driver. I called the number I was given by the housing office and reached the manager of the cab company. They informed me that they were not aware of any pick-up but said they would call around for me to see what happened. 65 minutes later and 5 calls to the cab company and they finally gave me the number of the housing office who called the concierge in my building and then told me to find my way there and meet the concierge who would provide me with a key.
CHEZ MOI
Two hours after I arrived on the Eurostar I took a cab and tried to find my way home. After being told by my cabbie that I was living in a terrible neighbourhood where it was dangerous for a woman to walk after dark (dark = anytime not between 8am and 5pm), I finally arrived at my home. It was pouring… I stepped out of the cab with my 60kg of luggage. I had no idea which of the buildings to enter or which bell to ring. There was no way to open the door and no indication of how to ring the concierge. I called the housing company again… They called the concierge who would, I was told, meet me outside. Moments ticked by and by this time I was absolutely drenched. I suppose the friendly face of the concierge made up for it. He also didn't know where I was going and as he could not speak English and I could not speak French. We communicated using hand gestures and slowly speaking in our mother tongue. I was in apartment two on floor two…but in which building… He was trying to ask me if I had a two or three bedroom apartment, but I did not understand. I said "APARTMENT TWO, FLOOR TWO", he said "dooo chambreee?" I said "wee! Dooo, dooooooo" and I pointed up indicating the second floor. He looked confused. I look confused. We both looked at one another… I called the housing company again. I asked her to explain to him where I was going. At some point he nodded and then led me to a small elevator. My large bags, the concierge and I crowded onto a small elevator. I could feel his breath on my face. "IT'S SMALLLLLLL, SMALLLLLLL" I said using my hands to form a small box shape in the air. "Weee! Pee-tee!" he said. The doors opened. I got off and he led me to my apartment. I realised that I would have to learn French…and fast. The concierge left me in the apartment…
I began to familiarize myself with my new surrounds. It's huge! I would guess about 150 square meters... Two bedrooms, three bathrooms, huge kitchen, lounge and dining room, all fully stocked with 10 of everything dining-ware and other such essentials. Hooray I thought, such luxury! However, I was soon brought back to reality in my thinly veiled IKEA mirage when I slid into my bed in my normal sweeping fashion, elbow leading the way into the home-plate pillow. Immediately, although too late, I discovered that these cheap low thread count sheets added far more resistance to my leading elbow than my eqyptian cotton sheets do and I managed to give myself a rug-burn on my first landing. Despite this knowledge thereafter, I seem to find my home run bed entry technique a hard habit to break and re-burned myself about every other night. Oh, how ever am I to survive like this? ;)
LE NEW WAY OF DOING THINGS
Speaking of survive, and aside from the harsh reality of cheap sheets, I had to adjust to a new culture and language. I have discovered that things I have come to know by their native names, like Latte and Mocha have been renamed in Brussels to Lait Russe and Weiner Melange… Somehow, drinking coffee that has anything to do with WEINER makes me a bit uncomfortable, yet, due to my adventurous nature, and that they are in a free vend machine, I have so far had two today.
In an effort to take in all that Brussles has to offer, the Rotators have been trying various bars and restaurants in town. We figure, why not explore the REAL Brussels? As such, we targeted a dive bar in the vicinity of Gemma and Andy's apartments (rotators FYI). The walls were painted red and were decorated with really disturbing modern art which clashed with the red, barn-like, traditional background. Apparently, they opened the bar after a failed career in interior design, and frankly, what better place to drown one's sorrows of a failed career than over a lovely Belgian beer with the locals. We ordered our drinks in broken French, I opting for my normal mime with the menu technique to order my favorite, a Chimay Blanc. Mmmm, delicious. The older women at the bar took our first order and then brought our drinks accompanied by crackers, olives and nuts. Our second order came with cheese and celery salt. I think we were getting upgraded with each order, perhaps she was Spanish as this was a more traditional technique for keeping clients there. Unfortunately, my last order was taken by a man wearing a black turtleneck, black members only jacket and track bottoms. He looked a bit like Luigi from Super Mario Brothers. I later discovered he spoke Italian and was, in fact, Italian... He asked what I wanted (in French) and I said Chimay Blanc, he said Blonde...I said Blanc...he raised one eyebrow and twitched his moustache. I pointed at my hair. "Yes, like me! Blonde." Just bring me a beer I thought. He pointed to his eye with his index finger and then made a pumping motion with his arm and his hand in a fist. What was this to mean? I figured it was yet another adenture in Brussels, initiated by the government to keep the weary hearted out of the country. What came next must have been the advanced test.
comming soon...THE STALKER
I arrived in Belgium after a long hard battle to get a visa. Apparently Americans are not allowed to work in Belgium until we have had our lungs x-rayed, blood tested, overall health checked and a letter confirming the above sent to the Belgian officials. Getting this completed took me about a week and then I had to wait another week for the secretary in the doctor's office to type a two paragraph note saying that I was in good health. Why this process took as long as processing a complete blood panel and lung x-ray review I will never know. Viva la English customer service.
I also had to find accommodation which became another hassle as every apartment I chose was, for some reason, already taken when I emailed my interest. I went as far as negotiating my own contract, which was actually a good deal, but at the end of the day I could not follow through because this was not an avenue normally taken and thus impossible to secure. Despite all my best efforts I only ended up being yelled at by the company who I had negotiated the contract with. Fantastic. Belgian culture does not leave too much room for choice, a fact which I would later discover when trying to order single items off of a menu or tap water at a restaurant. Bottled or nothing Madame!
I thought everything was in order until my visa flew out of my purse cycling home only 3 days before I was supposed to leave. For some reason, nothing on this project seems to come easy. After a myriad of frantic calls I was allowed to enter Belgium and begin my project. However, these hang ups were not to be my last.
I took the Eurostar over to Brussels, a Eurostar that was jam packed as the train schedule had changed due to a recent fire in the Chunnel. We were 20 minutes late to arrive in Brussels and I clumsily lugged my extra large suitcase, bag, backpack and handbag across the station in search of my cab driver who was supposed to meet me in front of Sam's Café. I was hungry and tired and could not wait to get home, freshen up and meet my fellow "rotators", as we are affectionately referred to. (Introductions to come later) Minutes ticked by and no driver. I called the number I was given by the housing office and reached the manager of the cab company. They informed me that they were not aware of any pick-up but said they would call around for me to see what happened. 65 minutes later and 5 calls to the cab company and they finally gave me the number of the housing office who called the concierge in my building and then told me to find my way there and meet the concierge who would provide me with a key.
CHEZ MOI
Two hours after I arrived on the Eurostar I took a cab and tried to find my way home. After being told by my cabbie that I was living in a terrible neighbourhood where it was dangerous for a woman to walk after dark (dark = anytime not between 8am and 5pm), I finally arrived at my home. It was pouring… I stepped out of the cab with my 60kg of luggage. I had no idea which of the buildings to enter or which bell to ring. There was no way to open the door and no indication of how to ring the concierge. I called the housing company again… They called the concierge who would, I was told, meet me outside. Moments ticked by and by this time I was absolutely drenched. I suppose the friendly face of the concierge made up for it. He also didn't know where I was going and as he could not speak English and I could not speak French. We communicated using hand gestures and slowly speaking in our mother tongue. I was in apartment two on floor two…but in which building… He was trying to ask me if I had a two or three bedroom apartment, but I did not understand. I said "APARTMENT TWO, FLOOR TWO", he said "dooo chambreee?" I said "wee! Dooo, dooooooo" and I pointed up indicating the second floor. He looked confused. I look confused. We both looked at one another… I called the housing company again. I asked her to explain to him where I was going. At some point he nodded and then led me to a small elevator. My large bags, the concierge and I crowded onto a small elevator. I could feel his breath on my face. "IT'S SMALLLLLLL, SMALLLLLLL" I said using my hands to form a small box shape in the air. "Weee! Pee-tee!" he said. The doors opened. I got off and he led me to my apartment. I realised that I would have to learn French…and fast. The concierge left me in the apartment…
I began to familiarize myself with my new surrounds. It's huge! I would guess about 150 square meters... Two bedrooms, three bathrooms, huge kitchen, lounge and dining room, all fully stocked with 10 of everything dining-ware and other such essentials. Hooray I thought, such luxury! However, I was soon brought back to reality in my thinly veiled IKEA mirage when I slid into my bed in my normal sweeping fashion, elbow leading the way into the home-plate pillow. Immediately, although too late, I discovered that these cheap low thread count sheets added far more resistance to my leading elbow than my eqyptian cotton sheets do and I managed to give myself a rug-burn on my first landing. Despite this knowledge thereafter, I seem to find my home run bed entry technique a hard habit to break and re-burned myself about every other night. Oh, how ever am I to survive like this? ;)
LE NEW WAY OF DOING THINGS
Speaking of survive, and aside from the harsh reality of cheap sheets, I had to adjust to a new culture and language. I have discovered that things I have come to know by their native names, like Latte and Mocha have been renamed in Brussels to Lait Russe and Weiner Melange… Somehow, drinking coffee that has anything to do with WEINER makes me a bit uncomfortable, yet, due to my adventurous nature, and that they are in a free vend machine, I have so far had two today.
In an effort to take in all that Brussles has to offer, the Rotators have been trying various bars and restaurants in town. We figure, why not explore the REAL Brussels? As such, we targeted a dive bar in the vicinity of Gemma and Andy's apartments (rotators FYI). The walls were painted red and were decorated with really disturbing modern art which clashed with the red, barn-like, traditional background. Apparently, they opened the bar after a failed career in interior design, and frankly, what better place to drown one's sorrows of a failed career than over a lovely Belgian beer with the locals. We ordered our drinks in broken French, I opting for my normal mime with the menu technique to order my favorite, a Chimay Blanc. Mmmm, delicious. The older women at the bar took our first order and then brought our drinks accompanied by crackers, olives and nuts. Our second order came with cheese and celery salt. I think we were getting upgraded with each order, perhaps she was Spanish as this was a more traditional technique for keeping clients there. Unfortunately, my last order was taken by a man wearing a black turtleneck, black members only jacket and track bottoms. He looked a bit like Luigi from Super Mario Brothers. I later discovered he spoke Italian and was, in fact, Italian... He asked what I wanted (in French) and I said Chimay Blanc, he said Blonde...I said Blanc...he raised one eyebrow and twitched his moustache. I pointed at my hair. "Yes, like me! Blonde." Just bring me a beer I thought. He pointed to his eye with his index finger and then made a pumping motion with his arm and his hand in a fist. What was this to mean? I figured it was yet another adenture in Brussels, initiated by the government to keep the weary hearted out of the country. What came next must have been the advanced test.
comming soon...THE STALKER
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
