Summer Moon

Well, it's not exactly summer, in fact, the bitter cold and humidity make that painfully obvious, but in trying to figure out what to post I came across this picture from this past July.

This is the view from my bedroom window, and I have to say, it's pretty freakin nice. Brussels may not be the ideal travel destination for many people, and dealing with the bureaucracy if you live here can be a nightmare (19 mayors in Brussels and no national government?? Really??), but on certain summer nights it's grand to be in old Belgique.

Trying to see a movie in Brussels

It's another lazy Sunday, and Miguel and I are thinking of seeing a movie, so while having coffee over at Blomqvist's, we check out the movie schedule at the UGC on his blackberry. There was one I had been thinking of seeing for a while called "Another Year," though for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was about, so we clicked the title to look at the synopsis. This is what it said:

Printemps, été, automne et hiver. La famille et l'amitié. Amour et réconfort. Joie et peine. Espoir et découragement. La fraternité. La solitude. Une naissance. Une mort. Le temps passe...

Spring, summer, autumn and winter. Family and friendship. Love and comfort. Joy and Pain. Hope and discouragement. Brotherhood. Solitude. A birth. A death. The passing of time...

Riiiiight, so this could be just about any movie ever made. Awesome. On to imdb...

Of Rain and Umbrellas

First of all, I wanted to apologize. I have been a very neglectful blogger lately. I guess working 40(+) hours a week in addition to being in the middle of the cold, gray, rainy Belgian winter takes the energy right out of me. Sometimes I think the endless clouds, rain and milder temperatures are worse than the bitter cold with the possibility of snow and/or sun, but what do I know?

I complain about the rain, but it does make the city shine and sparkle at night. The drops hit the street where a car's headlights are shining and it looks like glitter is falling rather than rain. But then, of course, a big drop falls on your head, or you step in a previously unnoticed puddle and the magic is gone. The rain sucks again.


The rain coupled with the constant (and powerful) wind just outside the escalator to the Porte de Namur metro have created an umbrella graveyard along the sidewalk and in the square. Mangled skeletons of umbrellas turned inside-out one too many times litter the area. The smart (if damp) people close their umbrellas before reaching the square risking their comfort to save their umbrellas. Selfless, really.

Since I don't have any pictures of the umbrellas to share for the moment, I will leave you with a picture I took late in the year in 2010. I think it's the appropriate color...

When the winter rains come pouring down on that new home of mine, Will I still be in your eyes and on your mind?

Musée d'Art Fantastique

Brussels is a strange town. You never know what you're going to find, or where a particular path will lead you. I thought I had gotten used to this, and that there wasn't much left that could surprise me. How wrong I was.

I went to the Horta Museum for the first time last week with some guests that had been staying over. The house was gorgeous with the feeling of almost being a living breathing being. There was something beautiful to be found in every detail to the point where it became difficult to process it all.

After being so stimulated and moved by such a work of art, we left to make our way home. It was only a few doors down we came upon something so strange, so bizarre, so completely different that we decided to stop in for some comic relief. This was the Musée d'Art Fantastique, and fantastic it was. There was a beer festival going on at the time, so we couldn't resist going in. We were greeted by this:

And this was only the beginning. I don't know if I can properly describe some of the things I saw, so I suppose I will just have to let these pictures give an idea. You had better believe I'll be going back the week of Halloween! So enjoy, and if you are in Brussels and you are up for something... well, like this, go. Gawk. enjoy.

Romance in the Cheese Aisle

One thing I've really had to get used to while living in Brussels, and really, Europe in general, is lack of space. In the US, especially in the suburbs, there's nothing but space. The roads are wider, the restaurants bigger, the aisles in the grocery store are big enough for 2 carts at once! Imagine!

Here in Brussels I feel like I'm in the way everywhere I am. Waiting to be seated in a restaurant anywhere I stand I'm in the way. Shopping for clothes I have to squeeze between racks to let other people past. On some of the sidewalks it's impossible to walk by another person without touching them.

Of course, this closeness, this lack of space is always made more difficult by certain individuals who seem to have no concept of the people around them. People will walk down the narrowest of sidewalks 3 in a row (slowly) and will make no move when someone tries to go the other way or pass them. Crates are left blocking half an aisle in stores where a child will have parked his or her tricycle blocking the other half. People will MAKE OUT in front of the cheese section of Delhaize making it impossible to reach the parmesan or gouda! I mean, really. The cheese section?

So maybe I'm a spoiled American (ok, I definitely am), but at least I don't feel the need to have some tongue with my cheese.

The Kitty Dance...

Inspired by the orange thread.

Eew, bugs...

I hate bugs.

I don't think this comes at a surprise to anyone that knows me. I don't even really think this comes as a surprise to those people that don't know me, but have seen me around bugs. The make me do crazy things like jump around and shriek at awkward times. I would not do well in the rainforest. I would almost certainly be making more noise than the monkeys, while my leaping around would frighten off any other interesting wildlife.

So now that you have that background...

I was in Holland last week, er, 2 weeks ago? It doesn't really matter. In any case, I was in the South of Holland with all the trees, where the average age can't be lower than 65. I was sitting outside with Miguel and most of his family eating dinner at the hotel, when a bug decides to fly over to me and land on my shirt. (They are like cats, the are instantly attracted to the person that is most disgusted with them.) I maintain a certain level of calm as Miguel goes to casually brush it away. Only, it doesn't go as planned. Oh no.

I can see by the look on his face that something has gone horribly horribly wrong. And that I'm not going to like it. Yep, that icky little bug has gone DOWN my shirt. Shit. How do you maintain any level of dignity in front of your in-laws whilst digging around the front of your shirt for a bug? A bug that you're afraid to touch? It looked like I was trying to fondle myself. At dinner. Shit. The alternative was to strip. Which is better (or worse?)??

Mercifully, before my shirt was clean off, Miguel said, oh, it flew away, it's gone. Now, I was pretty skeptical, I didn't see it fly away. I thought I could still feel it. But when the alternative was stripping, I thought ok, maybe it really is gone. I tried to calm down, but I was still laughing/crying from panic and sheer embarrassment for a good while.

So, the meal ends. (I know you didn't think the story was over yet...) We go back to our room. I had not yet forgotten about this bug, and I was anxious to make sure it had indeed flown away. Miguel had confessed later that he lied, and that he hadn't seen it fly away. Shit. I got undressed with my eyes closed and asked him to check.

He laughed.

There it was, squished and plastered to my boob. Not that I saw it, my eyes were closed the whole time. He brushed it away. I cried. Then laughed. Then cried.

I hate bugs.

Cat Saga

I have been meaning to post about this for some time, but have put it off for good reason. Anyway, here goes.

Last month, Miguel and I were walking from the Foire du Midi to De Bruckere to see a movie. We were nearly to Bourse, when across the street we saw a black and white cat in front of a convenience store. We decided to go over and check it out, since we rarely (if ever) see cats on the street here. This cat was hanging out on a busy sidewalk, not flinching at people or dogs, just standing her ground. I thought this was strange, especially since our cats are scared of everything. She came up to us, so I started petting her and convinced Miguel to go to the store we were standing outside of to get some food. As soon as he was near the door she started meowing (she had a deep, loud meow) and going crazy! We tried to get her some water too (by buying a styrofoam carton of figs, taking out the figs and pouring water in there). The moment we openend the tin of food she was at it. She had bits of it all over her face, and we could tell she had been starving.

At this point I had seen enough and refused to leave her there, though Miguel was worried about making her our problem. (At this point I had guessed she was a girl because many people here do not fix/sterilize their animals.) We asked for a box in the convenience store, which he gave us reluctantly, but when I tried to put her in it she jumped right out. One of the neighbors in the same building as the convenience store had been watching all this played out, and threw us down a roll of packing tape. (We also found out from another neighbor that the cat had been around there for a few days.) I put the cat back in the box and held it shut while Miguel taped it up. She struggled a bit, and meowed as we walked her home (a schlepp from Bourse). As we walked I began to get nervous. I had already called my vet at home (on a Saturday night) as well as everyone I knew that might be able to take her in. I was reluctant to bring her home because I didn't know if she was healthy and I did not want to expose our cats to anything.

By the end of it, no one was able to help, and I didn't feel right about leaving her in a park, so we took her home and locked her in our (very large) bathroom. After spending some more time with her, petting her (which she loved) and feeding her a bit more, we noticed that she was skin and bone... everywhere but her belly.

I immediately left the bathroom, grabbed my computer and googled "how to tell if a cat is pregnant." According to what I read, we indeed had a pregnant kitty on our hands. So what was left to do but give her a name? We settled on Fabiola (also thename of the queen of Belgium). We were resolved to at least get her to a shelter, though they were all closed on Sunday, so it had to wait until Monday.

During this time I made sure she was well fed, had plenty of water, a warm bed and a toy to play with. She got plenty of attention, and we began to grow attached. She purred when petted, she purred when she ate, she meowed when we came in the bathroom, she played with us, used the litter box like a pro, but mostly she slept. I became resolved to do everything I could for her, though I knew that adopting her, especially in her condition and with 2 cats of our own, would be next to impossible.

So Monday rolled around and I found a list of all the shelters in the Brussels area and called all of them, asking if they had room for our little, up-the-spout Fabiola. All but one, Blue Cross, were full. When I called Blue Cross all they said to me was bring 10 euros. I can't say that this gave me the best feeling about the place, but there was no other option. Laura, a friend of mine, and I decided to go that very morning. I packed Fabiola up in a carrier (one we no longer use for our cats), and carried her to the taxi hub nearby. 14 euros later, we were at the shelter and talking to the woman at the front desk.

She spoke no English, took my 10 euros, asked a couple of questions and summoned a guy from the back room. He lifted the carrier and took her though a door, down a corridor. Not having had a chance to say goodbye, I asked the woman at the front desk if he could bring her back, she told me in cold French no, and mentioned something about microbes. I tried to argue with her, but my already mediocre French failed me, more so because I was growing more upset by the second. There was nothing to be done. I couldn't get her to listen to me and I could no longer keep the tears behind my eyes. We had to go.

The taxi driver was waiting for us, as he said he would, and as soon as we got in the floodgates opened. Thank god Laura was there, if only to give me a much needed hug. We got back and I called Miguel in tears, begging him to come home for lunch, which he did. I explained what had happened, and he decided to call to see if we could get her back. The gist of that phone call was that no, we could not get her back. We had signed the cat over to them. Not only that, but they didn't have to release any information about the cat and it would have been illegal for us to keep her.

Now, I understand that she may have belonged to someone else, but any vet here can check for a chip or a tattoo (which most pets have here). Also, it's entirely possible that once her owners found out that she was pregnant they got rid of her on purpose. It then occurred to me that what if all the shelters had been full? Would it still be illegal? What were you supposed to do then. It turns out, if that is the case, you just have to leave the cat where you found it. To me that is just unbelievable.

So we got no more information from the shelter. I would think that when it's a person's job to care for strays and take in animals they would be more compassionate. More understanding. Nicer. I just couldn't believe my experience. One thing is sure though, in case Fabiola's time is running out at the shelter they have my number and will call me.

So that is the end of the story. I know it's not the best of endings, but I do take comfort in the fact that she will at the very least be fed and well looked after.

If you read this and are looking to adopt a cat or kittens, the website for the Blue Cross in Belgium is here. Fabiola is not listed yet, but I imagine that is because she is still nursing.

Overheard in Brussels

I was walking into town with Miguel yesterday, and as we walked by an Italian restaurant we heard: "Guarda la questa bianca bianca!" (Look at that extremely white girl!) I didn't think much of it, until I turned around and saw that they were pointing at me! I know I'm pale, but I didn't know I was that pale! *sigh*

Our Nightly Concert...

This video was taken from our bedroom window at about 12:45am. He had been singing for about a half an hour before the video and is still singing now. Grrr....

*Update* He just stopped, it's now 1am. I yelled "Arete!" down there, which seemed to do nothing, and was about to call the police when he left! Miguel said I should have blown my Vuvuzela at him. That's a much better idea....

Come back singing guy... Here singing guy...