Life with “The Others”

(For the full and original post of this list, see here.)

I’ll really miss….

Fri 29Feb…church bells in the morning!

Ahh, I love the charming sound. (This one’s worthy of standing all by itself!)

People have often asked me what’s with my historical preference for Europe. In particular, why do I insist on dating foreign men? What’s so great about them anyway? I’ve tried to answer that many times, although it’s like trying to describe the ways in which Coke tastes better than water to someone who’s never tried it. It’s all opinion, individual chemistry. But finally, today, I read something that backs up all my claims.

I have always had a propensity for dating foreign men. I’ve rarely dated Americans, and every time I have I’ve ended up smacking myself on the forehead and admonishing myself for knowing better. I’m not saying that American men are no good. I don’t believe that. But it seem that what I wanted in a man is easier to find over here because of certain cultural differences. Just follow me for a minute.

Mostly I’ve answered this question by trying to explain that the dating rules feel more consistent in Europe. (Disclaimer: obviously all claims in this discussion are painted with a broad brush and subject to exceptions.) Usually, you know where you stand with a European guy. If he likes you, you know it. In America, it happened a number of times that I went on, say, four dates and still left wondering whether or not they were “dates”. That was okay with me, but…strange.

Most importantly, somewhere along the line (college?) I developed the strong feeling that men and women in America were sort of against each other. The stereotypes were that women were out to get their claws in a man, men were out to avoid relatioships, marriage, children at all costs. That stuff just wasn’t “cool” among American guys. Men weren’t supposed to need women, or particularly want them. Girlfriends and wives were “the old ball and chain”. (And I, a famously happy single for years, am guilty of responding in kind.) I’m not sure I really believed that men fell deeply, madly in love before a few years ago.

In contrast, my European guy-friends and I would often have discussions that involved mention of a past broken heart, their desire to marry or how many children they one day want. They didn’t always want those things now, but they seemed to be unaware that young men are not supposed to consider those things as “goals”. The streets in Northern Europe are lined with young, hot men walking along with a baby carriage. Almost all of my men-friends here are in a long-term relationship, regardless of age.

I just never saw this in American men. Instead I saw men like the two frat boys caught in the Borat movie spewing their immature chat, then suing after because it “ruined their reputation and made them look bad”. They played right into my suspicions. I’ sure it’s just a certain age, but still. Eww.

Many of these differences in attitude played out in the fact that I find it more natural for men and women to be real friends in Europe. I’ve always had a lot of guy friends, but in the US people were often suspicious of this. Here, it’s an expected dynamic of socially healthy adults and nothing more. In fact, the same close guy friend has taken me out for two Valentine’s days in a row now while Del stayed home, and no one thinks it’s remarkable beyond a little chuckle. It’s so refreshing.

As for my own American-male prejudices, I’m not fully sure where they came from. I don’t recall being particularly screwed over by men in college. But somewhere along the way I definitely came to distrust American males in their 20’s, as no-substance jackasses. I admit, it’s almost certainly unfair.

But on to my finding. Today on salon.com’s Broadsheet, I found a post about a survey which finds that teenage boys are not only motivated by sex, but also for love. Shocker! You mean boys admit to looking for real, meaningful companionship from the opposite sex? But that is not what’s notable – I believe it. What is interesting is that after NYT published these results, many snarky remarks were left – by men. The Times took this to psychologists, who stated that “it reveals more about adult men than teenage boys.”

So I’m not completely crazy. There is a snarkiness about relationships among a certain age of American men. Why is that? Maybe if we figure it out, we can save these sweet teenage boys in the survey and let the turn into the sincere men they want to be.

That’s it. We did it. We finally did it. We’ve actually settled on a venue for our wedding reception!

After looking at every historic property in the West Midlands, and feeling every bit like Goldilocks (“This one’s too small. This one’s too expensive. This one’s too new…”), we have fallen in love with Coombe Abbey. (You can find links to the runner-up properties on my other blog here.)

Dating back to 1100-something, this is a dark, luscious property full of dark nooks, creaky crannies and hidden passages to explore. This place is the essence of why I agreed/wanted to have the wedding in England. I can’t wait! I will post some photos I took later this week, once I get home from England and take them off the camera.

Fri 15Feb. I’ll miss…standing in line at the post office for 20 minutes every time I have to mail a letter….standing in line at the bank for 20 minutes to do anything…awesome Thai food…thinking a warm sunny day is a rare and precious event that makes all of life seem okay….the funny calculator machine that’s necessary to do internet banking….Dutch spelling games on the TV late night and mornings….

Mon 18Feb. I’ll miss…my friends, both Belgian and expat…public transport run on the “honor system” (no barriers or guards,just a box where you’re trusted to validate your ticket. At most, ticket checkers come around 2-3 times a year. I think everyone should pay, but I love the faith in humanity that it shows. Or laziness. Or laissez-faire. Whatever it is, it’s distinctly Belgian.)…European architecture (a fireplace in seemingly every room)…Gothic buildings…Art Deco buildings….cobblestone…closed stores in Sundays (often impractical, but it has its merits)…baguettes and Nutella…coffee and croissants for breakfast.

Sat 23Feb….affordable healthcare…affordable university…taking trains everywhere…not having to drive anywhere…canals…
_______

I’ve decided I should also have a “Kiss List” of things I”m going to embrace about moving to America, too. There are lots of good things, after all, and I should focus on those instead of just being nostalgic. So here goes:

Sat. 23Feb…Living off of US$ (and not some other horribly expensive currency)…people who say “excuse me” when they bump into you on the street…businesses that care about customer service…restaurants that take credit cards – always…being confident driving…knowing instinctively how something works or where to buy it…people always understanding what I’m saying…being close to my family…Wendy, Adam and Jess…much more sun…strangers who might smile if they accidentally caught your eye in a public place…people who line up for things and don’t jump the line (and if they do, and you challange them politely, they will most certainly yield to their proper place in line and probably even apologize instead of arguing with you)…1/2 price electronics and affordable versions of almost everything…

One of my commentors actually touched on something I was planning on explaining anyway. That is, what is the upside of shops being closed on Sundays?

In Belgium (and many places in Europe), shops are not legally allowed to operate on Sunday. Cafes and restaurants are exempted from the law (under certain guidelines I believe), as are a handful of small grocery stores which are allowed to open so that people can by necessities. These groceries pay a premium tax for this right, however, and have to close on a different day of the week instead. Coming from the 24 hour culture of America, it is a wild sight to walk the streets of your city on a Sunday afternoon, as they are practically deserted. Only a few cars or buses roll by. The normally jostling sidewalks could have tumbleweed rolling down them, adorned only by an endless line of depressing, grey metal shutters and grates, many of them covered in graffiti.

Sunday closure is something that is (apparently) constantly under discussion in Belgium. In this day and age, a Sunday devoid of any services is an inconvenience that is hardly thinkable. Particularly because stores here only stay open until 5 or 6 anyway and, unlike Holland or Germany, Belgium cities have no set “shopping day” of the week where shops stay open extra late (say 9 or 10) so that your Average Working Joe can have a prayer of getting anything done during the week. Nope, the Average Working Joe in Belgium has quite the challenge to figure out when to pick up dry cleaning or do their shopping around their own office hours.

All expats find this particularly excruciating and while I don’t understand why Belgium doesn’t make this practice a little more user-friendly, some locals did once explain to me the theory behind the policy of these “silent Sundays” — it’s to protect the Little Man.

You see, chain stores like Zara and H&M can afford to pay people to work 24/7 and reap every cent of business. Independently owned businesses don’t have this luxury. Usually they have to man their shops themselves. They either have to work 7 days a week or lose the business that the big stores would reap by staying open an extra day. For small stores, that business is already difficult to compete for. So, enforced closure for everyone on Sundays is designed to allow the mom & pop store to compete with the Big Dogs and still have their day of rest. Coming from a state that seems to be turning into one big strip mall, full of the same 17 stores over and over, I am a big fan of this thinking.

Yes, I still think Belgium is behind the times on making the Sunday rule useful to everyone. But whenever I feel like silently cursing to myself because it’s Sunday and I desperately need….anything…it always helps to remind myself that there’s a reason behind it, one that I support.

Yesterday there was a moment that perfectly embodied one of the textures of being a foreigner – at least in Brussels.

I was at the grocery store. I paid for my items and the girl asked me if I wanted a bag. (You have to pay 3 cents per plastic bag in the grocery stores here.) I say, “Yes, one only.” She finishes checking me out and goes on to the next person. I’m still standing there, no bag. I say, “Excuse me. I’m still lacking the bag.”

She keeps on about her business and says, “They cost three cents,” with a tone that actually says “Duh. I’m not just going to give you one for free.” I’m a little confused now. I say, “Right. You asked if I wanted one and I said, ‘yes’.” She just says again, “But you have to pay three cents.” Okay, this is strange. “But I’ve already paid.” “But you didn’t pay 3 cents.”

Now, I’ll skip over the long details of this conversation, but you can see how it played out and what was happening. I have no reason to think that the 3 cents weren’t already paid. I mean, we had the conversation and everything. If she just didn’t hear my reply, I would have expected her to indicate that at some point during all this. Instead she’s acting like I had refused to pay it. So now, in a flash, I’m frustrated. I can’t find a way to elegantly express myself, to make it clear that I’m not refusing to pay, I just don’t know what happened here. Everything I think of saying comes out sounding like I’m pissed about 3 cents (when in fact I think it’s a good rule). I pull out my coin purse, dig around and pull out 5 cents and put it firmly on the counter. Mind you, there store is packed. Everything’s stressful, busy, rushed. The groceries are being scanned and tallied (beep. beep. beep. beep.) all around.

She says to me with pointed serenity, “Why are you stressed? Why are you irritated?” She is brilliant. If I had been working a flight an a passenger had been putting off the vibes I was, I would have handled it the same way. I hadn’t even realized I was worked up in irritation until she said that.

But I didn’t know how to tell her that I’m so sick of having conversations in Brussels where the other person suddenly acts like I’m stupid, as if the conversation we had 2 minutes prior never happened! She has no idea that this little exchange is piled onto a pyramid of worse ones just like it in my mind. I cannot tell her this in 10 words or less. To use more words/time than that would seem really exaggerated. But it doesn’t help my irritation that I cannot find the words in French to express this clearly. Your usual Bruxelloise person will have no sympathy for the mad, exhausting language gymnastics that your brain is trying (and failing) to pull off in those few seconds. This girl was no different. She’s just thinking I’m a bitchy freak. I want to explain, but I only end up sounding like I’m mad about paying 3 cents. I’m not! I’m mad because I don’t understand these people sometimes, over the stupidest things! I’m mad because, what the hell just happened?

But she’s caught me in what appears to be over-reacting, fair and square, and she’s not being snotty (surprisingly). So I acquiesce, “I’m just frustrated. I didn’t mean to be ugly.” Of course, she says, “What?” which is also terribly annoying. But I just repeat myself and she says says, “No problem,” and continues about her business. Here I’m exhausted and it wasn’t even a blip on her radar. I want to scream at her, “But why didn’t you just put it on the bill like a normal person!?!?!” But I pick up my groceries and go home, saying it in my head instead.

I always want to write more posts here than I do. I often think “Oh, I should write about that.” And all of those possible posts just sort of create a bottleneck.

Now, in case you haven’t heard yet, Del and I have decided to move back to America. Yeah. Really. I’m torn about it, but I’m sure it will be a good thing for us. I’ll be excited once things are rolling. Meanwhile, as I prepare to move, the little things that are different, the little things I will miss, are coming to my attention as if I had never noticed them before. You know, I’m starting to (re)notice the things I’ve gotten accostomed to.

While I certainly won’t manage to write about all those things before I leave (“Leave”. Wannnhhh!) I’m going to try some sort of compromise. Over the next 6 weeks, as I prepare to move back to America (gulp.) I’m going to just keep a running list of them here as they come to me. This list will stay at the top of the page – any other posts will go just below (if I can figure out how to do that).

Mind you, not all of these will be good things. But I’ll be nostalgic when they’re gone. Here’s goes today’s entry:

Fri 15Feb. I’ll miss…standing in line at the post office for 20 minutes every time I have to mail a letter….standing in line at the bank for 20 minutes to do anything…awesome Thai food…thinking a warm sunny day is a rare and percious event that makes all of life seem okay….the funny calculator machine that’s necessary to do internet banking….Dutch spelling games on the TV late night and mornings….

That’s what some of the signs around the fancy hotel that was sponsoring a Super Tuesday event here in Brussels read. That cracked me up. But Super Tuesday, Super Duper Tuesday, Mega Tuesday….whatever you want to call it, was not something we expat Americans missed out on by living in Belgium. In fact, the event was sortof crushed by its own success.

Last night, Democrats Abroad (DAB) and Republicans Abroad (RAB) ganged up in a stroke of genius. People were invited to a Super Tuesday event where we could follow the primaries, have a debate of our own, have a straw poll, drink, eat and make merry. I was enthusiastic about the idea of a political event that both Democrat-leaning me and my hardcore Republican-wannabe fiancee could enjoy together. Guess what? So was everyone else in town!

We arrived to a hotel packed to the gills with people following the American political races. It seems everyone I knew was there, along with 1000 I didn’t know (which is amazing when it usually seems that you can at least recognize almost every foreigner in the city). I heard lots of French. I saw European Parliamentary Members. It seems that not only Americans came, but everyone under the age of 40 came too. How exiting to see how interested other people are in your elections! One friend and I tried to imagine what it was like to be from a country whose politics weren’t cared about by anyone really. It was hard to imagine that, seeing all this.

But it seems that even DAB and RAB were taken by surprise. I and all my friends ended up trickling out early, as it was so crowded that the lines for drink tickets was not worth bothering with. Nor was the line for the coatcheck. Nor the line for food. Nor could we even find the boxes to place our straw votes, they were so hidden by dense crowds. Nor could we elbow our way close enough to the stages to hear the debates. Worst of all, there weren’t even any TV screen around showing the progress of the primaries (as we had all thought there would be). No, it was more like we paid to come in and see…all our friends and have a chat. There were so many people I couldn’t even find some of them, and I’m sure they were there!

Given all that effort and finally giving up on receiving any news of what was going on in the States after a couple of hours, it was rather anticlimactic to wake up this morning and run to BBC/CNN to hear….that nothing is near settled for the Democrats. Good for Obama (I’ve just decided yesterday who I’m actually pulling for now), and oh well, good for DAB and RAB. I’m proud of people for being to eager to participate. It seems I am not so far away from home after all!

I wasn’t going to post a photo of the ring because I feared seeming, well, declasse. You know, as if the material thing is what matters. But many of you lovely people who have followed this (and all my) story(ies) would like to see it, and that seems fair enough. So here I go.

It’s tough to get a decently focused photo of, but my dear friend Adam has done a good job. Can’t you just see why I was in love with the cut? The consecutive square shapes are just my thing! (And hey, how about those overly-good new macro functions on cameras? Yikes, huh?)

Imstell asked a legit question which is, why didn’t we rent a car? We did consider it, but we would still have needed to take a 35 Euro ($50) taxi to the airport to get the car rental places, pay 50 Euros ($75) minimum for a car (or God-only-knows how much for a day during a transport strike), pay something like $30 for gas, find and pay for parking, drop off the car and get another $50 taxi to the city. We’re looking at a lot of hassle and something like 135 Euros minimum anyway. Yeah, in hind sight it would have probably been worth it, but we also underestimated exactly how much the taxi would cost us, so it was a bad call. [*Sigh...*]

But anyway, that’s in the past and the present is beautiful sparkles

After all the effort put into choosing the ring, Del and I awaited anxiously for it to be ready. Normally it takes 2-3 weeks. I was going home on the 15th for who-knew-how-long (since I was supposed to go straight back to work in the US after the holidays) so our jeweler said he could squeeze it out for us on the 14th….two loooong weeks later Del and I get up early to head to Antwerp, doubly excited because there is a weekend train ticket special for all of December: 7 Euros ($10) round-trip to anywhere in Belgium. It was all falling into place!

Then we arrive at the train station to discover there’s a train strike. (Doh!)

The blight of union action in Europe is a well-known and often cursed joked about phenomenon. I’m all for unions – I’m in one myself. But still, I’m not sure anyone can be sympathetic when a strike seems like a weekly occurrence. (Especially to an American in a country that already has a 35 day national minimum on annual vacation days!)

In all my years of living and working in Europe, I’ve escaped too many serious brush-ups with strike action. But when they’re bad, they’re bad. Today was bad. Not only were the trains on strike, but the buses were on “sympathy strike”. And what’s worse, do you want to know why they were on strike? It was because the train schedules had just been revamped. The conductors said the new schedules would require more workers. The SNCB (train authority) said, “Maybe, but we can’t hire anyone until we get an increase for that in our budget, and we can’t get a new budget until there’s a governemnt to sign off on it.” Don’t forget, Belgium doesn’t yet HAVE a new government as they’ve been squabbling over coalitions since June of 2007. Thus, any budgetary stuff has to wait until that is resolved. The SNCB can’t do anything about that! But they chose to strike anyway.

And doesn’t your country being plunged into it’s biggest political crisis ever call for a little bit of everyone working together through the circumstances? Apparently not here. Unless that’s to ban together to not work. Del and I really didn’t want to leave the ring in Antwerp for what could be months, after making a special rush on it and waiting so patiently.

So…we took a cab.

A cab that turned out to be 290 Euros ($425). (gulp!) Though the “nice” cab driver gave us a discount of 40Euros off ($60). It was only a 30 minute ride. Grrrrr!

So much for saving money on the stone by going to Antwerp!

But we were in a much better mood on the way back after we got it. We had to smile as it’s beautiful and glittery and just like we wanted…goodness knows we better have some kids so that we have someone to appreciate a “good” story! I wish I could send the cab bill to the conductor’s union. Humph.