More pictures of la moi :D
So these are those troublesome ones that didn't want to upload last time round.
The Belgian Daily Times
Editor's note
Guys, if like my darling Nana you thought the lack of blogmmunication reaching you from Belgium could be due to a technical error, I’m sorry, mea culpa. (And that goes for everyone except you Mum; I love you dearly, but if you’re having blog viewing issues it’s almost certainly just your technical retardation at fault.) In reality, having told myself that I needed to make myself post more regularly, I then proceeded to let over one month's worth of ridiculous business to elapse before I sat my lazy self down at this here computer screen. Thus for my own sanity this post requires categories. Ain't nothing says fun-times like paragraphs sorted by topic and grouped beneath relevant and pithy headings. In appropriate places I've gone really crazy and even used sub-headings. Uns uns uns.
World News and International Relations
The high density exchange student drop zone known as District 1630 to which I have been deployed continues to function as the ultimate international meet-and-greet Ground Zero. Through joint-force activities such as Operation Adventure Day soldiers are put into high social pressure situations in which they must befriend or be fried like a Belgian frite. On this particular operation, blue jumpsuits and mortal peril high among the tree tops of Wavre was a technique employed to foster these vital friendships by Rotex - an elite division of returned exchange students looking to pass on the skills gained on their own international campaigns. Despite a general overestimation of ninja-ness stemming from a screening of the Hunger Games in the barracks the week before, the Operation was a great success and a jolly good time was had by all. Under the watchful eyes of Rotary High Command, troops have attended several other mix'n'mingles including a day trip to Luxembourg ('s most famous brewery), and attendance at a rare visit by the Rotary International President. On the subject of this last event I have something to confess. Pretending that in fact our welcome-arch of umbrellas was really part of a tragically bad production of Singing in the Rain led to my unfortunate discovery that wooden umbrella handles are simply not as strong as they look. Dear Rotary: I am the one that broke the umbrella. But parapluie mishaps should not detract from the fact that on this Belgian bootcamp experience I have met people from 15 (+?) countries who all bring some of their own languages, accents, outlooks and exotic kinds of craziness to the table. They also bring their pins. Which are like a combination of Christmas presents + birthdays x a million-billion and rolled into 10g of sheer badge magnificence.
Health and Wellbeing (or the all-encompassing lack thereof)
It is a well-known fact in exchange-circles that weight gain is an intrinsic part of the experience. While I am not going to name numbers, be assured I am no exception to this rule. Unlike someone I could name. You know who you are. And I think that when you take a look at the hideous-brilliance that is the baguette-sausage-frites-mayonnaise-sandwich-of-glory I am holding in one of the photos, taken in Brussels on St. Patrick’s Day, you can be left in no doubt why. Not to mention the 3Euro 12 packs of Snickers, and the superhuman amounts of ice-cream devoured in Spain. Seriously…after the range of flavours like tiramisu, spekuloos, green apple sorbet, Ferrero-rocher and nougat on offer in every Spanish streetside ice-creameria I just don’t know that TipTop is going to cut it once I’m home. Actually, I’m going to retract that statement: New Zealand Dairy Industry (yes, even you Fonterra) you are still the prince of my heart. Belgians have successfully tricked themselves into believing that their tasses of UHT LongLife are the real deal, and it is I alone who knows there is a better world that lies beyond those cardboard cartons. I don’t care if I’m flouting solidarity and the collective good here after last year’s milk-price-gripe-fest but I’ll happily pay too much into the pocket of any méchant-milk-monopolist who can get me some Acutual Milk.
Travel
Viva la noche! Viva la fiesta! Viva Espana! Viva compacting seven cities and nine days in the incredible country of sunshine (quel blag), sangria and Salvador Dali into a top-ten!
10. Spanish food
Fresh paella, sangria by the bucketload and churros. And some of the best Italian food I’ve tasted. Go figure. Some friends and I also discovered a hipster’s paradise in the form of this amazing café/deli called “The Organic Market.” I could rant for hours about the ambience, food and good-looking service, but I’ll just say that if you’re in Barcelona do yourself a favour and eat here. And then go to the ice-creameria next door where they sell 10 scoop monsters OM NOM NOM.
9. The facades, Segovia
Segovia was absolutely gorgeous – all winding streets with balconies hanging overhead and cracked terracotta coloured walls. It was one of my favourite places out of the cities we visited and the incredible cathedral, parks, views and history are all worth a google, but one of my favourite things about Segovia was the amazing patterned facades on the houses in and around the Jewish Quarter. You don’t find two houses quite the same, and all the different styled facades can be placed on a spectrum that goes from ‘subtle’ to ‘Casa de los Picos’ – the House of Spikes. If houses had voices, this one would sound like Alan Rickman.
8. The Plaza Mayor, Salamanca
One of the most beautiful plazas in Spain, and people watching opportunities like you wouldn’t believe. The Plaza is the centre of the old part of Salamanca, which was built in sandstone that has turned a deep golden brown over hundreds of years, making it the heart of the real “Ciudad Dorada” (City of Gold.) Town squares in general are just such excellent things, but this baby takes the cake.
7. The Mediterranean, Barcelona
Getting your feet wet in the Med is like a rite of passage for the European tourist, so my continental forays are now at least on par with the sock’n’sandal British Grandpas’. Yusss. Also my first time seeing the ocean since I arrived in Belgium, and I made the most of frolicking in the sand even if the water was a bit nippy for a swim. It’s ridiculous how disoriented I feel without the sea nearby, every time I round a hilly corner and see a blue-grey shiny smudge in the distance my heart literally accelerates… until I realise it’s city haze. Of. Course.
6. The Roman Aqueduct, Segovia
Amazingaburger for three reasons: a) this thing was built without any mortar – it’s pure physics holding the stones together, b) in theory, it could still function as well as the day it was built, and c) there’s just something so romantic about aqueducts.
5. The Alcazar, Segovia
I found where Barbie Princess lives!
4. The Walls of Avila
OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO COOL !#$@asdfghjkl^&*!!! Something that cool calls for metaphor time... So, before seeing the walls of Avila my concept of “mighty fortress” was Gertrude, our hypothetical Outbound Rotary Exchange student. Avila was Gertrude’s exchange-year-diet. With the help of Jenny, Gertrude may be able to combat the fat once she gets home, but that poor kid’s skin is never going to regain its pre-exchange shape. Ponder that, and while you’re doing so try and imagine what 2.5 kilometres, 9 gates and 88 turrets of three meter thick sheer Muslim-fearing medieval paranoia looks like. It’s a beautiful thing that today’s Spain is a fusion of Christian, Muslim and Jewish culture and everyone seem to get on like a house on fire, but Avila’s walls would have to be one of the best things to have been born of old school inter-racial animosity. In some parts of the wall you can see the pieces of the hundreds of Roman stone-coffins excavated for building materials! You may have had some cognitive lurches on the matter of peace and harmony, but I salute their innovative spirit, and commend their ecologically friendly mind-set. It’s like Reduce Reuse Recycle meets Game of Thrones.
3. Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
Barcelona was the last city we visited and I have to confess that by this stage by even I, History Geek Like None Other, was nearly at the breaking point when it came to cathedrals, monasteries and basilicas, of which, I can comprehensively reassure you, Spain has no chronic shortage. But then came Antoni Gaudi’s famed ‘Sagrada Familia’ – the most unearthly piece of architecture I’ve ever seen. The basilica was started in 1882, but the next year the famous Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi took over as architect, basically scrapping the other dude’s plans and completely redesigning everything in his distinctive neo-Gothic/Art Nouveau style until he shuffled off the mortal coil in 1926. Gaudi’s untimely demise, disputes about the artistic integrity of the post-Gaudi construction, the lack of bling-bling characterising all cathedral-building and the Spanish Civil War have given the basilica a pretty colourful history, and have meant that today it is still unfinished, although construction is projected to conclude around 2028.George Orwell named it “one of the most hideous buildings in the world.”
3. The view of Toledo
Just look at the photos. I think this one speaks for itself.
1. Holy Thursday Procession, Avila
Unreal.
In summation:
Lunch at The Organic Market: 15Euros.
Old school travel stickers bought from the Gaudi store: 6Euros.
The irony of it snowing while you’re in Spain: Priceless.
WEEK FIVE: Part The Second…Finally
Pre-word from the author:
To Dad, I’ve had enough grief from you so HERE IT IS.
To everyone (except you Dad, you tyrannical blog critic), I’m sorry this post is so a) overdue, b) long.
Thursday 23rd
International travel in New Zealand invariably requires two things: a passport and a trip by plane over a rather substantial body of water. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by telling you that travelling in continental Europe is different, the fact of its continentinality sort of making substantial bodies of water an extinct species. But what got me when my busload of fellow exchange students crossed the border into the Netherlands was that I had no idea we were crossing the border into the Netherlands. For the first thing, the north of Belgium (Flanders) is Dutch-speaking, so it wasn’t like suddenly the signs went from French to Flemish – Brussels, our city of departure, is a sort of linguistic buffer zone between Flanders and Wallonia. Nor was there any sign at all of a frontier or checkpoint; it was more like what few rises-in-altitude they call hills in Belgium slowly gave way to very flat topographical déja-vu. But although you could never call the Dutch landscape a particularly interesting one, it enables a couple of things that completely atone for its lack of diversity – canals and bicycles, which have to be two of the coolest things ever.
When it comes to bikes, I have to confess that until now I’ve not been a huge fan – in New Zealand their street cred is tainted by spandex, bike helmets and those tricycle riding kewl kids who invariably need to pull their pants up. No such menaces threaten the coolness of bicycles in the Netherlands. Au contraire, when we stopped at Delft on the way to Amsterdam – the first time we actually touched Néerlandais soil – I could not get over the number of abnormally good looking, elegantly dressed people cruising along on their vintage-style bicycles. But while appreciation of alternate modes of transport was an interesting feature of Delft, we were actually there to visit the hugely underwhelming Vermeer Centrum (which was far more memorable for its gift shop than for anything else). That is not to pour scorn on Vermeer. His work is amazing – it’s just unfortunate we didn’t actually get to see any of it because the number of Old Masters in the VC’s collection is exactly on par with the number in the Auckland Art Gallery. Nevertheless the day was saved by siroopwafels, a perpendicularly challenged cathedral tower, a cheese shop with bountiful samples of gourmet cheeses and chocolates (plus a fake cow and a saleslady in traditional dress) and of course, bicycles.
Another hour in the bus and we arrived in Amsterdam, at the StayOkay youth hostel. Now, normally, I would steer well clear of anything with a name like StayOkay, but in fact it was 100% cockroach free and had this cool retro theme going on. I wound up with 3 hilarious Americans, an awesome Canadian and a lovely Kiwi as roommates, so it was very loud/intense - which isn’t normally my jam - but it was fun. After settling in we headed to the Hard Rock Café for dinner. And that, boys and girls, is how I learnt that the chicken, egg, avocado, cheese and bacon we take for granted as the foundation of any respectable Caesar salad, is in fact just New Zealanders exercising their genius; while my table-mates were munching away on their delish burgers and fries, I was choking down squares of lettuce dripping in Caesar dressing and dotted with a few soggy croutons. Oh, the regret. Almost as deep as my regret when I went to the HRC gift shop to buy a badge for my blazer as a memento of the trip, and didn’t realise in time why they don’t display the prices in the display cabinet. My eyes may have watered a little bit. But I do have to say that my blazer is looking fairly swag right now.
Friday 24th
Déjeuner. (To all you NCEA level 1 French veterans going “Lunch?” – no. Belgian French is just cooler than French French; meals = déjeuner, diner, souper, and 70 = septante, 90 = nonante – none of that ridiculous ‘quatre-vingt-dix’ stuff.) Anyway, apparently it is perfectly normal to offer cold meats and cheese in a breakfast-buffet in the Netherlands. I know it’s a bit rich coming from a Sunday-brunch-streaky-bacon-fiend, but there is something so wrong with eating salami at 8am.
The Jewish Quarter. Our first stop was the Portuguese Synagogue which has enormous historical significance for the Amsterdam Jews. This was a pretty rare chance for me to see the inside of a historic practicing synagogue – visitors are not allowed during the summer months and most traditional synagogues do not allow women. The Synagogue itself was quite dark and simple, but it had these incredible, enormous gold candelabras which looked amazing because of the dim natural light. The complex where it stands also houses the Jewish community’s “treasures” – lots of crowns and candlesticks, but most impressive, a collection of beautiful hand woven Torah mantels. For all you history buffs who want to know more… http://www.portugesesynagoge.nl/eng. And about thirty seconds down the road from the Portuguese Synagogue is the Jewish Historical Museum which is designed to educate completely ignorant people like me about the basics of Judaism, which, when I thought about it, made me realise how Christian-oriented New Zealand is. Don’t want to get too political or d&m, but I think it’s strange I could make it through 12 years of school without ever touching on what other religions actually value or teach. Maybe I can add that to the email I’m about to send to NZQA to helpfully inform of their shortcomings, both numerous and profound, ironically enough which include their unrivalled ability to ignore other emails. I dearly hope that the afterworld for bureaucratic governmental organisations burns with the fire of a thousand suns.
Diner, also known as Misson Mex. Using only our keen instincts and ten Rotary-appropriated Euros we had to fend for ourselves and locate a source of lunch in the wilds of the unchartered Amsterdam city centre. My group had a collective craving for Mexican – which naturally proved the hardest type of international food to find, and took us about forty minutes to hunt down – but when we did we were sufficiently pleased with ourselves. The only problem was that by the time the food arrived we had exactly fifteen minutes to eat, pay (a much more protracted process than you’d think) and return to Mission HQ via an uncertain route generally agreed to be about a ten minute walk. The enchiladas were omnomnom. Sprinting back in a winter coat with a full stomach was less so. But make it back we did, and with time to boast – and never before has an after-dinner mint tasted so strongly of sweet victory.
Theatre Tuschinski. This old-school art-nouveau/art-deco cinema has to be the ultimate movie theatre. I just don’t think going to the movies could get any better.
The Anne Frank House. Haters gonna hate, but I’m not an Anne-Frank disciple. Yes I read the diary, but I think the global impact it has had is far more touching and worthy of notice than the diary itself, and I think people need to differentiate the two. She’s basically been canonised by public opinion but being Jewish during the Holocaust did not stop Anne Frank being a petulant 13 year-old, and I hate the way so many people accept the diary as The Definitive Holocaust Story and don’t bother reading anything else ( http://www.amazon.com/Suitcase-Street-College-Education-Stieglitz/dp/0807531480). Of course, my instinctive self-preservation stopped me from unleashing these opinions on the hordes of Anne Frank House pilgrims around me. And on that point, it’s probably because of the sheer number of visitors, as well as the safety-features/hard-wearing-floors/absence-of-all-furniture that this necessitates, that the house itself feels much, much more like a museum than like anyone’s home, which is a shame.
Van Gogh Museum. After dinner we paid a night visit to the Van Gogh Museum, which was definitely the unexpected best experience of the entire trip. Before now I didn’t really get the whole Van Gogh thing, but seeing the paintings in real life is a completely different experience to looking at calendar reproductions. The man was a genius.
Saturday, 25th
The Rijksmuseum is basically the Dutch equivalent of the National Gallery in England, so it exhibits the art of the quintessential Dutch masters. Here I had another Van-Gogh-esque epiphany of appreciation, this time for Rembrandt’s painting ‘The Night Watch.’ I’d seen it in an art book, and thought ‘meh’, but until you turn a random corner in the gallery and are confronted by this thing that could probably match a young whale in terms of size and weight you have no idea what makes it ‘a masterpiece’. But the highlight of the Rijksmuseum was seeing two of Vermeer’s most famous works: ‘The kitchen maid’ and ‘The little street’. It doesn’t hurt that thanks to the film ‘Girl with the Pearl Earring’ I will always picture Vermeer as Colin Firth, so not only is he de ‘meester van het licht’ (the ‘master of light’) but he’s fused in my imagination with Mr Darcy. As far as hybrids go, it isn't at all bad.
The canals. People call Amsterdam ‘the Venice of the South’ because of the amazing network of canals throughout the city which we got to explore by boat – do not visit Amsterdam without doing this. Not only do you get to see the city from a different angle, but our captain was this hilarious born and bred Amsterdammian with this thick Dutch accent that made everything he said that much funnier. He showed us the so-called ‘dancing houses’ – apparently right-angles just doesn’t hold the same attraction for Dutch architects as it does for the rest of the world – and the skinniest house in the city, which was seriously about 1m wide, thus solving the conundrum of where Oompa Loompas go when they retire from Wonka’s.
Soirée. So because it wasn’t a busy enough weekend, once we’d returned on the bus and I had caught a train back to my town, I had exactly half an hour to get looking as convincingly red-indian as a blonde, blue-eyed, European New Zealander possibly can, for a Carnaval party. But in between bus and train we had some time to kill so some oldies took me to the Grande Place in Brussels, which is so beautiful at night. I love my crazy life.
WEEK FIVE, Part I
So it wasn’t until I titled this post that I realised I MISSED MY ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY. I’m inconsolable. But anyway, I can forget that the snow is falling on the winter of my discontent (yes I’m an unashamed metaphor-thief, sorry John Green fans) because I have an epic week to write about. A week so epic it requires two parts. You know sugar’s getting real when a post merits a sequel. But I’m going to try and avoid one of those really bad sequels that makes you wish death on the first-born child of whichever aggressively inept cad decided to destroy the original by making a totally redundant second instalment that you knew would suck and swore you would never see but in the end paid $15 to see anyway and now fervently wish you hadn’t.
Regardless, Part One starts here: Right This Minute it’s 4.24pm, Sunday afternoon. I’m tired, sore and skint, and you can track my movements around the house by the trail of technicoloured confetti. Understanding this set of circumstances requires a trip in the super-magical-rotary-time-machine…
*This time last week*
Sunday 19th
New Zealand’s not too big on tradition, mainly because tradition requires history and every second building in Europe is older than our country. Fo’ sho’ we enjoy Waitangi Day, because let’s not lie, Kiwis will take any opportunity to participate in the culinary glory that is the Hellers-TipTop-Watties- Combination-Of-The-Gods, but sausage-in-bread notwithstanding, we’re a bit devoid of ritual. The Europeans, however, are on to it. Back when the Moa still thought he was badass and New Zealand was denoted as a middlingly ferocious sea-monster on the map, some crafty Europeans were scheming a way to provide the future generations with an excuse to dress up like absolute weirdos and have a party-in-the-streets. The fruit of their labours was Carnaval. Carnaval, celebrated all over Europe, marks the end of winter and, among thousands of different traditions and events, it normally involves the residents of ancient towns putting on a huge parade for visitors. The music, costumes, rituals and folklore of the parades vary between countries, regions and towns, but I got the chance to go with my host parents Gerard and Laurence to the Malmedy Carnaval – ranked the second most tradition-rich in Belgium behind the famous Banche Carnaval. It was sheer ridiculous awesomeness and I have never seen, nor am likely to see again so much confetti in my life. It’s been a week and I’m still finding little bits in extremely unlikely places in my bedroom. Like in the fishtank, with ‘Baboon’ the ugliest goldfish ever who likes to take regular naps on the bottom of the tank in order to make the new exchange student think she just killed her host family’s pet fish. But that’s another story. Anyway, in addition to the gargantuan quantities of confetti, there were hundreds of Malmedians who had gone all-out making costumes and decorating floats for the parade. There were also the traditional character groups based on local folklore who dress and behave in certain bizarre and hilarious ways. A few of the best are the Arlequins (1), the Longs-Bras (2) and the Sauvages (3) who just cause general mischief by swapping spectator’s hats, mussing their hair, painting their faces with zinc sticks and the like, the Haguète (4) who catch your legs with these kooky wooden contraptions and force you to kneel down and beg atonement for the sins of the last year, the Boulangers (5) who waddle around feeling people up with their bread paddles, and my personal favourites, the Longs-Nez (‘long-noses.’) As the forefathers of ghosting, these guys are like ‘Hamish and Andy’ meets Pinocchio. Dressed identically, they frolic around in groups until they find a target and start to ghost them (6). Once the person realises they are being followed, they lead them around the streets, winding through the Carnaval (7). The ‘long-noses’ have to copy exactly what the target does (I saw long-noses embracing their target’s friends, doing press-ups and pirouetting – actually the lead presser-upper in the photo is a fellow rotary kid from NZ) (8), but the catch is that eventually the target has to lead them to the nearest pub and shout the group a round of drinks (9). Only in Belgium.
Monday 20th – Tuesday 21st
*In bed sick because my body decided that it just couldn’t handle the jandle. Again.*
Wednesday 22nd
Once a month my Rotary Exchange district organises a day trip, and so I went with my ‘oldies’ (in Belgium, Rotary kids are divided into ‘oldies’ who have been here since July, and ‘newies’ like me) and the other two ‘newies’ in my club to the major Liege train station (Gare Guillemins), which is a seriously cool building. In the photo you can see my oldies Martha (Mexico) and Patricia (Brazil) and fellow-newy Jessica (Whangarei.) Belgium runs the biggest Rotary Exchange programme so we met up with LOTS of other students and caught a bus together to Bastogne.
Where we visited a) a petting zoo, and b) a war museum. Um, Okay? The only rationale I can provide for this weirdness is that the powers that be think all Rotary events should be happy occasions, thus they felt they needed to throw a healthy dose of cute-fluffy-animals in there to counterbalance all that morbid death and destruction. The zoo was a bit underwhelming… I’m from Clevedon; bunny rabbits are for shooting practice and sheep. do. not. impress. me. The museum on the other hand was great. Belgium is like the ultimate battleground and during WWII Bastogne continued its country’s proud tradition of getting-munted -in-a-spectacular-fashion-by-other-countries. In my photos you can see Nazi-occupied Bastogne, and then the same street present-day – why do they look so different, you ask. Well…
German mind-set: No Bastogne > American Bastogne
And speaking, of those lovably-detestable Americans, our last stop was this outlandishly large memorial for the American soldiers who fought in Belgium. Cool, yes, but needless to say it doesn’t do a great job of contradicting stereotypes about American jingoism. But hey, where’s the fun in minimalism?
And on that note, over and out until WEEK FIVE Part The Second makes its appearance. K' here's the photos. Hugs and kisses to all xo
Some golden nuggets of advice for the Belgium-bound traveller
1. Don't order a cappuccino and have the audacity to expect coffee. What you recieve will more closely resemble a glass of whipped cream with some lukewarm insipid brown liquid at the bottom. And you will pay three euros for the privilege. *The photo is just what came up when I googleimaged "belgian cappuccino" - in fact I feel the cafe that sold the pictured cappuccino should be ashamed of how stingy their cream:coffee ratio is - mine had atleast half the coffee of this one.*
2. Learn the phrase "Lydia, I think your French has improved since last week." That way you will escape the brutal irony of asking your host father to repeat this exact phrase three times.
3. Realise that the version of English you are speaking is actually grammatically incorrect. To avoid that awkward moment when you, the only native Anglophone in the classroom, gets 2 questions wrong on an English test designed for your Belgian peers. Oh, the shame.
4. Hone those charades-skills. Because they are the only way you will get the message across. And we all know charades are a non-fail way of exponentially increasing the fun factor in any scenario. The three expressions I advise you master are 1) the "i-don't-know-why-everyone-is-looking-at-me-and-laughing-but-nawww-aren't-i-so-cute-and-cluelessly-foreign, 2) the "i-have-no-idea-what-you-just-said-in-very-rapid-french-but-i-feel-like-i-should-agree-with-you, and most frequently used, 3) the "eh?" For further instruction, consult the handy photos attached below.
-17°C? Whoooah Nelly!
I have fallen profoundly out of love with the cold. Ours was an epic amour while it lasted, but it was a tale of woe of Shakespearean quantities, doomed as we were, like so many star-crossed-lovers before us, to the customary comeuppance of (metaphorical) syphilis, followed by early and tragic (metaphorical) death. In this case, however, the affliction that extinguished our flame was a cold, not an STD. I thought myself possessed of an iron-constitution, but alas, those devilish "belgian microbes", as my host father put it, have won this round and I've had 3 days off school.
But in all fairness, I suppose colds are an inevitable fact of life when one is compelled to wait outside for the school bus in temperatures around -17°C. I can't believe I actually thought, *ooh, toasty* when my host mum told me next week would be more like -10°C.While it was very picturesque and quite astonishing standing at the bus stop and literally having whirls of snow flurry around me (revelation: snow actually does come in tiny wee snowflake shapes, who would have thought?!) the effect was somewhat ruined by the bitterly cold wind carrying the snow into your clothing and the snow underfoot soaking into your shoes. Which may be part of the reason I have a toe infection on not one, but both feet - hence the super-sexy "poupées" (= toy dolls) I wore to bed last night - here i direct you to the picture below; believe me it both looks and feels like wearing barbie and ken's pillows on you big toes.
There is one way, however, in which the omnipresent cold has improved the quality of life of the good people of Belgium. For such a small population, they have historically been "liberated" a tediously large number of times by various bigger-badder nations, however no freedom movement has had such a great effect on modern life in Belgium as that of the nose-blowing-revolution which broke the shackles tying shame and embarrasment to the simple action of blowing one's nose. On all forms of public transport, in otherwise silent classrooms, and on the street, a Belgian will blow his/her nose with not a shred of bashful self-conciousness. None of that stupid sniffling business. Not only that, but I've had the novel experience of using a handkerchief for the first time. The fact it took me three attempts to even spell 'handkerchief' should indicate what a new thing this is for me. I'm not sure I feel quite right about blowing my nose into what is essentially a very square teatowel, however funnily enough the tissues over here are horribly scratchy, so desperate times, desperate measures.
You probably didn't want to read this post in order to hear my various winter-complaints detailed so exactly, but if you made it this far, well done you, because I have oh-so-cunningly saved the best for last. Last weekend my family took me for a bracing 3hr/10km randonee through the (snowy) Belgian countryside to an abbey called Val Dieu. It was indescribable. I know that to then turn around and try to describe it is a bit contrary, but in the words of the inimitable Maggie Smith: "Mary, I'm a woman; I can be as contrary as I like." Yusssss I did just quote Downton Abbey in a paragraph about an abbey. But I digress. The abbey has existed since the 13th century, and although it has been destroyed twice, both times it was rebuilt in the original design. There were several amazing, beautiful buildings in the complex (including the monastry brewery), but the abbey itself was incredible. The inside was absolutely freezing, and absolutely massive - you have no concept of just how big and solid those historical buildings are until you're inside. It was spine-tingling. Ok, enough, I feel myself getting poetic, so it's a good time to stop, say my goodbyes and 'gros bisous' and put up the pictures. xo
PS. I've just seen that when you hover over the selected picture, you can enlargen it - please please do because the little pictures do no justice to the reality.
SNOW!
So I guess the post heading gave it away, but this morning I opened my curtains to this amazing winter wonderland - !qsdfghjkl! Everything is COVERED in this fine white snow and all morning fresh powder has been falling softly - my host family laughed at how excited I am haha. Will post a pic asap. And now to other news... here are a few deeply unprofound insights into the differences between Belgium and God's Own:
#1 Good students be party animals
So I've had one half day at school so far and everyone was lovely and very welcoming, but I've ben placed in a school with very high expectations which isn't...ideal for exchange students so it's possible I'll be moved to a technical school or a special arts school which would be pretty cool, but we'll wait and see. Not that my school (le College Royal Marie-Therese) is too bad... I've been invited to after school drinks on Friday at the local 'cafe'; kids here work hard but party harder. Not to mention Wednesday drinks with the rotary kids in Liege's notorious 'carre' bar district.
#2 Houses and cars be swanky
There isn't a crappy car in this country; such a thing does not exist - not a single nissan sunny, toyota corola or ford fairmont has passed before mine eye. And the houses are incredible. Admittedly I have only been into 4, but all of them look like they come out of My House and Garden. There is lots of super styly furniture and art, and there are lots of differences that make our homes look a bit like that one gumpy red-headed kid in PE, e.g in the kitchens all the appliances are built into cupboards so the dishwasher, fridge, etc just look like attractive cupboards until you open them.
#3 Style be accessible to all who so desire it
The rest of the school week was teachers only days so on Thursday I went with my host sister Lilou (14 y/o) and her friends to Verviers - a nearby shopping town. I'm in love with the shops here - things are either much cheaper than in NZ or for just slightly more you can buy absolutely beautiful things. Almost everything is really stylish and elegant... I'm afraid it puts kiwi dress sense to shame - it's like comparing Audrey Hepburn to Ke§ha. I know it sort of sucks for millions of people, but long may economic recession plague Europe and long may the value of the euro plummet against the NZ dollar!
#4 Belgium be the God country of food
Chocolate. Baguette (believe me; what they call baguette in NZ is not the real deal). Waffles. Pommes frites avec mayonnaise. Chocolate. BEER. Pain au chocolat. Salad. Soup. Chocolate. Dutch bikkies. Haribo lollies. Crepes. Cheese. Salami. Chocolate. When I come home, I will look like the love child of Santa and Dawn French.
#5 There be history in these walls
New Zealand looks like a wee frolicking yuppie in terms of history. I just had an orientation weekend with all the 'newies' in my district and our 'oldies' who have already been here 6 months and it was held in a beautiful chateau called Wegimont (see photos). And I mean chateau... there was a moat.
#6 Belgians be European New Zealanders
Both have a case of small-country-itis, listen to the same music and are much nicer than their immediate neighbours.
First Day in Belgium
Salut again!
Just sitting in front of telly (The Voice, Belgium :D) with my third host family who I am with until monday. Last night we came in after a 10 hour flight to Heathrow, 5 hours in the airport and then another 1 hour flight so I was a bit delirious, but all the host families were waiting at the gates and mine had a massive banner with balloons! Then I slept until 1pm so I guess it might be a bit of a stretch to call this blog post a whole first day, but I'm already tired again - translating everything is hard work and I honestly think I must sound hilarious en francais. Regardless, we've packed a lot into 9 hours! Up and breakfasted (there are iddy biddy chocolate flakes in all their cereal and my host mum Mano tells me its for weightloss - I dig this Belgian weight-watchers), dressed, out to the town hall for visa-dealings, had a peek in their church (apparently its not a very beautiful church, but that puts our churches somewhere underneath Graham Henry in the pretty-stakes), picked up host brother from school, went and ate a Belgian waffle (!asdfghjkl!), visited my school and met the dp - i start tomorrow - eek!, went to the supermarket, helped with dinner, ate said dinner (yum), and now i'm here. At school I have French (with a year 10 class), English (ha!), general science, history (yuss), geography and religious studies/philosophy so wish me luck!
I'm living in Battice, a tiny wing of the town Herve which isn't far from Liege city. It's very cute and pretty - all tiny winding streets (some cobbled!) - and my host family's house is so cool. The Colyns are really great and I wish i didn't have to leave so quickly but I'll be coming back in July for 6months and to kick it off we're going to the South of France for 2 weeks with 3 other families!!! Missing home a lot, but once I learn a bit more French I think I'll love it here,
xox.
Los Angeles, CA
So my first post after leaving Aucks - excitement!
*This post is best enjoyed to the sweet sounds of Phantom Planet's "California"*
After an uurreebelle flight to LA (total lack of sniffer dogs and screaming customs officials did not live up to the hype) almost 50 Europe-bound rotary kids have had three days together living it up in sunny California. We've done the Santa Monica Pier, Venice Beach (ew), Disneyland (woo-hoo!), California adventure park and Universal studios (double woo-hoo!) so its been a pretty busy few days with very little sleep and even less nutritional eating occur(r?)ing. American food is ridiculous, all legends are true. Our hotel is across the road from a 'Ralph's' - supermarket loitering has never been so entertaining... pretzel filled m'n'ms, tubs of marshmellow cream and a bajillion-trillion different flavours of ice cream (Ben and Jerry's 'cookie dough' comes with the Lydia seal of approval), churro flavoured popcorn, corndogs (=like eating a processed sausage covered in a thick layer of deep fried cake) and everything comes in peanut butter flavour. Overkill is a foreign concept to these people. Who have all been very lovely good sorts, I should add. Can't wait for IHOP (international house of pancakes) for brekkie tomorrow mmmmmm I feel your jealousy radiating.
I've met an awesome group of people here and I'm totally bummed we won't get to see eachother for another 12 months - but our reunion will be a LEGEND-(and i hope you're not lactose intolerant, because the second part of that word is...) DARY second-language/exchange experience chinwag fest. Tomorrow most of us fly on to Heathrow (longhaul flights can burn eternally in the blazing fires of hell for straying from the path of righteous and humane transport) and then myself and the other 7 (!) going to Belgium will take another flight to Brussels where I will meet my third host family who will also look after me for the first week. Suddenly regretting not doing something to remedy my appalling French sooner... *nervous laugh*
Missing home, friends and family A LOT so my love, hugs and kisses to you all, and indeed anyone who made it to the end of this tome-length post. M'bad guys. I will upload some photos of my LA adventures soon as I can and I guarantee they will be more interesting than this drivel..
*update* we have finally delivered on the above promise; we apologise for any inconveniences caused by this delay.
So you want to know more about Belgium?
Only two weeks until departure and this slave driver has had her minions on research detail, conducting extensive (and overdue) research into her future homeland.This great video sheds a little light on the sheer ridiculousness of Belgium - enjoy!
