I am an Ex-Expat

Repatriation isn’t getting the U.S. stamp in your passport and a “Welcome home” from the customs agent.  It doesn’t end when you find a new house in your chosen (for you) new hometown.  It’s not even over when you’ve settled in that new house, the kids are in school and the pantry has been restocked.  After four months back in the states, having left Belgium behind, we’re still working on the process.

The subject has come up repeatedly recently.  E hit me with, “School is so different here,” on the car ride in this morning, then launched into the myriad of changes he’s had to endure.  L has been skipping breakfast recently, something that never happened when Côte d’Or chocolate spread on a baguette was put in front of her, and yesterday I caught her singing, “Bob l’eponge carre” over the English theme song to SpongeBob Squarepants.

The repat process might be most confusing for Ben since both the U.S. and Belgium are home countries for him.  He moved most easily into Belgium to begin with so was quicker to adapt back to their ways, making moving again a chore.  Just yesterday I fielded the questions, “Can you mow on Sundays in this country?” and, “Are expiration dates day-month-year or month-day-year here?”.  Small, but important differences between the two countries.

For me, the change has been much easier.  Coming back felt as if I could finally unclench.  Day to day living over there was not easy for me.  The language barrier was my top problem and made me uncomfortable from day one.  Travel opportunities?  Awesome.  Brocante shopping?  My favorite.  But!  Groceries and shoe shopping and watching tv and communicating with neighbors and reading highway signs?  Total stress.  So being “back home” for me has been pure joy on the daily level.  However…

Will I ever remember that I can turn right on red?  Will my Diet Coke habit return because sparking water isn’t as readily available as flat?  Should I still get that jolt of excitement when I remember that I can shop on Sundays?  Will I ever stop confusing the cashiers by trying to bag my own groceries?  (Will I ever stop being mortified that that man is running for president of my beloved United States?)

 

Will I ever be fully comfortable anywhere, knowing that there are things in other places that I prefer to wherever I am now?

While I’m sure the answer is yes, it comes with an asterisk.  And that asterisk will stand for… *only if I get to continue to travel.  Because having new experiences, in new places, has been one of the best ways to figure out what I really enjoy, need and want.  Plus, I haven’t yet exhausted all the brocante-shopping opportunities out there.

The Last Goodbyes

Well, that’s it.  After three years of living in Belgium, our European adventure has come to an end.

  Just about two weeks ago we flew out of Brussels and landed first in Washington D.C., then in Columbus, OH to start a new, American adventure.

But first we had to say some goodbyes to our favorite people and places.  Farewell parties, Christmas markets, birthday parties and the motivation to get out of an empty house made it easy to meet people one last time.  But that was the only easy part.

Goodbye friends.  Goodbye family.  Goodbye teachers and schools.  Goodbye favorite horses, favorite beers, favorite downtown strolls.  Goodbye Mons monkey.  Goodbye Brussels and Waterloo.

Goodbye Belgium.  We miss you already.

 

200 Years Later: The Battle of Waterloo

To be honest, it really should be Ben writing this one.  Because I know nothing about Napoleon.  And he knows everything.  Everything.  Napoleon has always been Ben’s hero, which is why last weekend was so important to him.  The two hundred year anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo was celebrated with a reenactment involving thousands of people, hundreds of horses, all the paraphernalia that goes along with them including really bad traffic.

The battle was “performed” twice, once on Friday and once on Saturday.  The whole family went for the first night, just the boys on night two.

Evidently, there was a lot of complaining going on after night one.  People couldn’t see, the announcing was weird, nothing started on time, no one could get to their seats…  The head Waterloo folks did their best to change it up for night two, including rewriting history so that people could see better.

And now Ben has a new buddy to share his love of Napoleon history with.

Vive l’Empereur!

Battle of Filot

We spent last weekend at Ben’s brother’s house in Filot to participate in a reenactment of an American versus German, fictitious WWII battle.  Why would one bother to design a fake battle when so many real ones actually happened, not just nearby, but pretty much everywhere in Belgium?  Got me, but we had fun, nonetheless.

The village of Filot is made up of nearly all old, stone houses, about 40 in all if I had to guess, making it the perfect backdrop for this weekend’s plans.  The residents were asked to dress in 1940’s attire and hide their cars to set the WWII scene.  It was surreal to step out the front door and see small groups of fully dressed soldiers hanging out on the cobblestone street corners, smoking, laughing, watching the ladies in polka dot skirts and bright red lipstick walk by.

We walked down the street that afternoon to watch the battle take place in a grassy field, wedged in between the American and German campsites.  The Americans, aided by the Belgian resistance fighters, won the battle, because what fun would it be if the Germans did?  And then it was time to party.

“American” troops with actual American troops.

Swing music, GIs, beer, fireworks and more red lipstick.  Now that’s a party.

And thanks to Benoit and Violet for putting up your very own set of Americans!

Fall

It’s here!  My favorite season.  So, happy fall!  Happy Autumnal Equinox!  Happy Mabon (for all you pagans out there)!

The house is ready.  Away have gone the bowls full of shells and vases full of summery flowers.  Taking their places are dried wheat stalks pulled from Belgian and Kansas fields, orangey colored candles and the only pumpkins I’ve been able to find so far.  Oddly enough, this is the season that makes me miss the U.S. the most.  At home the Halloween decorations have been for sale for months, everything is covered with fall leaves, from hanging banners at Target to the grocery store deli case, and, the ultimate sign of fall, everything is pumpkin flavored.  From coffee and scones to beer and Oreos.  Belgium has not jumped on the fall bandwagon yet.  As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure a Belgian would be highly suspicious of anyone who tried to order a pumpkin beer.  Be that as it may, fall is still on my mind.  I mean, how could it not be?  The weather has been fall-like for at least six weeks now.

So, while we can’t head out to Brookdale Farm to go pumpkin picking followed by a stop at Bergey’s to take a spin through the corn maze then make our way inside to stand in the unending line for a pumpkin ice cream cone, we can do our best to find some fall themed activities.  So, step one this year was apple picking.

Some friends told us about a local farm that grows apples and pears for picking so Saturday we headed out to Culture Fruitiere du Point du Jour in Henripont to see what apples were available in late September.  Several kinds were ready, nearly every one I had never heard of so we picked some of each to do our own tasting.  Jonagolds (which were the only ones I knew) are perfect for eating out of hand, Karmijns are tarter with roughish skin, Suntans are small and less crisp, Coxes we haven’t tried yet but I’ll get back to you.  They also had a few pears left but the ones we’ve tried are a little tasteless.  Maybe they were better earlier.

It was a warm day and the sun was out.  Very summery for our first scheduled fall outing, but I’m not complaining.  In fact, it reminded me even more of home as the first fall outings we have in southern Virginia tend to happen during very warm weather.  The only disappointment?  I had all the windows open while making apple bars so the cinnamon apple baking smells didn’t stay trapped in the house.

Now if someone could please stop by the Starbucks in Brussels to let me know if they’re serving Pumpkin Spice Lattes, that would be great.

Weekends

We’re back to weekend-only adventures.  A consequence of school starting and sucking up all the freedom.  So those two days do not get wasted, no sir.

Two weekends ago we made time for hiking boot and bike shopping, geocaching, an open house at a local fire station, 4:00’s in the rain, and a day in Brussels to visit the Titanic exhibit and the Atomium with the Richies.

This past weekend the calendar filled up with horseback riding lessons, SHAPEfest, a birthday celebration in Filot, dinner in Tournai, and the big brocante in Lille, France.  And when I say big I mean the biggest brocante in Europe.  And that is big.

Happy Birthday Charles!

Friterie Momo… star of the movie we watched just the night before that I really wish had been subtitled.

My only complaint about the biggest brocante in Europe?  It’s too big.  Can you believe that came out of my mouth (fingers? brain?)?  A brocante that is too big?  What?  Yes.  It only lasts for a day and a half and it goes on and on and on.  We saw maybe 20 percent of it.  And there were SO many people.  At one point we were involved in what can only be described as a human traffic jam.  A mass coming from the right and a mass coming from the left and couple of food lines cutting straight down the middle made for a total standstill.  I mean, how am I supposed to pick through people’s old junk in those conditions?  I found a way.  We came home with an old wooden apple picking basket that I love, a perfectly chippy café au lait bowl, another addition to my old white serving bowl collection, and another item we’ve been looking for–a huge, old school poster of Belgium.  Where I will hang it is anyone’s guess.

What’s on tap for this weekend?  More horses, more birthday,  more cousins, probably more geocaches.  I guess it’s a good thing we only have two days to fill.  I’m tired just thinking about it.

Not a single one of us thought to point toward the giant iceberg or “King of the World!” it up? Shameful.

Leuven (Louvain)

We woke up last Saturday morning with no plans, which is unusual.  So we picked a place we hadn’t been yet and hopped on the train.

Leuven (in Flemish) or Louvain (in French) is a very fun city.  How can you not be when you are home to a huge university AND Stella Artois?  Actually, let’s give it the credit it deserves.  Catholic University Leuven is the largest and oldest university in Belgium and Anheuser-Busch Inbev is the world’s largest brewery group.  What?  You thought Anheuser-Busch was American?  Not anymore.

Anyway, Leuven has the air of a true college city.  Restaurants of every kind, art studios, book stores, street art including quite a bit of yarn-bombing, and an enormous university library with a history all it’s own.

As our trip to Leuven was very last minute, we didn’t realize that we had decided to visit during some sort of city wide sidewalk sale/festival.  We walked out of the train station and stumbled into a brocante/braderie, then walked toward the Grote Markt where we found crafty stalls and a tai kwon do demonstration.  We choose a nice outdoor table at  lunchtime and were entertained immensely by passing street artists in costumes and, my absolute favorite, a parade of geese marching along to a drum and whistle.

We found geocaches!  We passed by two weddings!  We wandered through the Grande Beguinage checking off yet another UNESCO World Heritage Site (Belgium is full of them)!

Leuven, you have joined Ghent as one of my favorite Belgian cities.  We will be back.

 

 

Carnaval de Tilff

It’s carnival season.  Still.

And you know what that means.  Fried foods, confetti,  temporarily set up rides of questionable stability, and parades full of giants, witches, elementary school children, local royalty-for-the-day, and whatever symbol the city or town or village has adopted.  In Tilff, it’s the leeks.

The Porias Tilffois, the Leeks of Tilff, are part of the Laetare Parade, held at the halfway mark between Mardi Gras and Easter.  Meant to celebrate spring, they have a huge bonfire in the evening to burn the “Winter Witch”.  We missed the burning but we did get to participate in all other things “carnaval”.

A family of one of Ben’s colleagues joined us.  Sorry boys, don’t let the carnival get in the way of your Blackberry fun.

 So, after hamster balls in the water, the Music Express, frites, pitas, burgers, Jupiler and a quick phone break to check on the General, the parade began.

I’m not sure how many trees gave their lives for the amount of confetti that was showered down on us.  The kids had already spent the day tossing it at each other and their parents but that was nothing compared with what the parade had for us.

Before…

…and after.

Five days later and I’m still finding confetti everywhere, including in the corner of the guest bathroom, under the couch cushions, and filling the dryer lint trap.

Happy Carnival season!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Arlon and a Really Old Cache

Last Saturday we took a trip out to Arlon, in super southeastern Belgium, to visit Nicholas and Geraldine.  E spent the whole time talking away about school and Legos and his friends.  At least, I think that’s what he was talking about, as it was all in French.  By now, he is fluent.  And I am not.  For instance, at dinner the other night I told him, in French,to put his bum “in” the chair instead of “on” the chair.  In English, that works.  In French, it absolutely does not and he spent the better part of the next few minutes laughing, and pointing, and laughing some more, at his mother.

After a wonderful lunch of spaghetti Bolognese (thank you Nicholas) we decided to go bowling, as the rain would make a tour of the city a little… damp.  Twelve shoe changes later (six of which were for L) we were ready to go.

We said our goodbyes and hopped into the car for the long ride home.  Leave it to me to make it even longer by asking to go out of the way to search for a geocache I’ve been wanting to find since we got to Belgium.  GC40!  The oldest European geocache!  Well, there’s some debate on that title.  There is another cache, one month older, in Ireland (GC43).  But it was, at one point, missing for a year, then replaced with a different cache in a different spot, close, but not on, the original site.  SO, which is actually oldest, I ask you?  I’m going with the one in Belgium.  And, ha, ha!  We found it!

Actually, it’s super easy to find.  Especially with the number of people who search for it.  When we got there, a man and his son were already on it, so we hung back to give them time.  Then, before we left, a new group was already headed toward the spot.  That’s one popular box.

Then again, maybe we should take a trip to Ireland, just to make sure we’ve definitely found the oldest one.  You know, just to be sure.

La Plage et Les Boules

The weather in Belgium has been unseasonably warm.  Like, really warm, especially compared to last year.  One quick dusting of snow in November is all we’ve seen of the white stuff so far this winter.  The clouds never go away, though.  Did you know that the average amount of sunlight that Belgium sees in the month of January is an hour and a half per day?  That means if you count up all the minutes of sunlight, all day long,  you would only get to ninety.  And I’m pretty sure that’s stretching it.  But, anyway, even with the constant clouds, the temperatures have been above normal.  So we did what all good southern Virginians do when it’s warm in January.  We went to the beach.  This time we headed toward Oostende (Ostend).

Check it out, Montgomeryfest!

Oostende used to be a favorite spot for the Belgian royal family.  The Leopolds (I and II) liked to hang there so they built royal villas and horse racing tracks and casinos and long galleries so the royals could pass between all of their playgrounds without being bothered by rain or, presumably, beach goers.  These days, the galleries are there for the Martins to pedal through.

January is also a good time for a little sand soccer.  None of those crazy Dutch tourists taking up all that precious space.  The beach does something to my normally short-attention-spanned children.  Their need for the television or the Wii disappears.  They are both content with a huge stretch of sand as their playground.  Not like those crazy Leopolds.

Shell collecting, digging, rolling down sand hills… keeps them occupied for hours, which pleases me immensely because I can spend just as much time at the beach with my own thoughts.

Sunday was brocante day, as usual.  This time we opted for the closest weekly market on the opposite side of Mons.  We usually wind up bringing home lots of little things from this one.  L wound up with a dancing, MP3 playing pig, E brought home both a Harry Potter and Hagrid doll, Ben found some beautiful, frame-worthy, Belgian sheet music, and I chose several things including… balls.  Unusual, old balls.

Have you ever heard of crossage?  No, you haven’t.  Neither had I until we asked about these.  “Poor man’s golf” is how the seller described it.  So we had to come home and immediately Google it.  Apparently you play by whacking a ball with a stick and it’s very popular in the area around Mons and just across the border in Maubeuge, France.  It dates back to the 12th century and can be played either in the street or in fields, though records show that King Philip V prohibited street crossage in 1319, probably due to too many broken windows and concussions.  Completely ignoring King Philip’s pronouncement, there is a small town very near Mons that has an organized street crossage match every Ash Wednesday.  I am so there.

Now that’s good Belgian fun!

Oh, yeah, I also got this…

There’s no good union without good wine and good cheese.

Amen.