Brussels in Five Hundred Words

Enjoying some trappist ales at La Lunette

Our trip to Brussels was waylaid due to train delays and cancellations, which I hear is not that common in Europe, so lucky us. We spent a random night in den Haag (The Hague), though thankfully not because we were in trouble with the United Nations. Though we didn't visit any political buildings of interest, we did find an Indonesian restaurant that stuffed us to the gills with delicious food I’ve never had before. (If you ever pass through The Hague, eat at Warung Bude Kati, order the rijsttafel, and leave feeling more full and happy than you’ve ever been before.)

Our first stop upon finally arriving in Brussels the next morning was a café near the Grand Place that served frikandel, which is sort of between a hamburger and a hot dog, frites (fries), and of course beer. We’d been drinking Belgian beer our whole trip and finally we were in its homeland. My Leffe came out of a bottle, just as it would have back home, but it still tasted better.

Frikandel and frites

Leffe Brown, my love.

After lunch we wandered a bit, ducking into chocolate shops. Following a commandment from Joel’s Belgian coworker Geraldine, we had our street waffles sans-sauce or whipped cream on top, and enjoyed the sugary dough by itself. We bought giant syrup-filled gumdrops and wandered the Grand Place, was accosted by mussel vendors, and found the famous Mannekin Pis fountain, which was smaller than I expected. We enjoyed one last beer with Emily and Roger at Poechenellekelder, which is filled with hilarious figurines, pictures, and comics of the peeing little boy.  

Hot, sticky street waffles

Mannekin Pis

We bid Emily and Roger adieu at the train station and treated ourselves to a hotel room instead of a hostel, where I took a nap (I’m not used to day-drinking) while Joel planned our evening. Again thanks to recommendations from Geraldine, we set out through the comic book district to La Lunette, a bar featuring trappist ales and giant beers. We talked with a lovely couple from the UK who used to live in Brussels, who gave us recommendations on neighborhoods to visit. He was not a fan of Belgian fries, which he described as akin to worms. Proper chips, he said, are flat.

Rochefort 8º

After our new friends took their leave we found another Geraldine-recommended bar, A la Morte Subite, where I discovered my love for kriek, a sweet cherry lambic. We indulged in frites from a cart on the way home – they are a perfect drunk food.

Our last day in Brussels had a pretty loose schedule – we had breakfast at a Parisian-style bakery in Old Brussels, walked to the Royal Palace, and spent a few hours with the iguanadons at the natural history museum. Our final dinner was spent at Le Petit Boxeur, where we celebrated our four-year anniversary, and we had some final Belgian beers at The Greenwich.

Poor iguanadons. Scientists used to believe they stood upright, but since these were displayed it's been discovered they walked on all fours. The bones here are too fragile to fix.

Verdict: Our time here was not long enough. Need to come back to Belgium, if even for the beer alone. 

Amsterdam in Five Hundred Words

Before I get to Amsterdam, some words about European train travel: it’s heaven on a track. Clean, efficient, fast, on time (mostly, but I’ll get to that in another post), the trains were just about my favorite overall thing about the trip. From the windows of our car from Copenhagen to Hamburg to Amsterdam, we saw farmland, countryside, deer, and hares while sipping coffee and munching croissants. The best part came while crossing the Baltic Sea from Denmark to Germany. Instead of a tunnel or bridge, our minds were blown as the whole train rolled onto a ferry: we rode a train on a boat. (Okay technically, we had to exit the train during the crossing, but still. It was pretty damn cool.) It started snowing in Germany, and we watched the big flakes stream down outside the train car as we sped along.

Roger, Emily, and Joel. WE'RE ON A TRAIN. ON A BOAT.

Snowy Hamburg

After a quick connection in Hamburg, where we purchased and bolted down currywurst (yum) and schnitzel (yum), we arrived in Amsterdam. The first thing one can’t help but notice about Amsterdam, at least the central portion, is that it’s all canals – I can now see why, back before climate change ruined all the fun, it used to be quick to ice skate to get around in the winter. From the vast front window of our apartment (Yeah off-season traveling in the middle of the week!) we looked down on the Amstel Canal and the houseboats that line it. The apartment was a traditional canal house, which means it was three stories high with a stairwell that could very well have been classified as a ladder. We tried not to ever have to go down the stairs after a considerable amount of drinking.

Just a bit steep.

The view from our apartment. Off-season travel's the way to go!

We mostly wandered - across the Amstel Canal that first night to the Red Light District (surreal at nighttime but even more so at noon on a Tuesday), through the narrow streets and across bridges, dodging tiny European vehicles and bikes, bikes, bikes. We saw myriad shops, places to get coffee and traditional Dutch Pancakes, and a central flower market where The Netherlands’s biggest exports can be purchased: tulip bulbs. We skipped partaking in another famous product of Amsterdam (weed), though did take advantage of their more liberal stance on sexuality and walked through their sex museum – quite amusing.

Bikes! Canals!

One of many stalls at the bulb market

The sex museum toilets were only vaguely sexual.

Corny tourists, HO!

On our last day, we visited the Anne Frank Museum, which brought to life a book I read in elementary school, and the story sunk in. I’m glad we made it a priority to visit. After the museum we had lunch at one of Amsterdam’s oldest cafes, Café Kalkhoven, where we ate mini Dutch pancakes with butter and powdered sugar. We ended our visit with a boat tour of the canals, which perhaps offered the best views of the city.

Verdict: Definitely my favorite city of the trip. I’d fight tourists to go back in the summer and rent bikes. Many thanks to my friend Madeleine for great activity recommendations.

Copenhagen in Five Hundred Words

The first stop of the journey was the one my father was the most envious of: Copenhagen, Denmark, the land of his ancestors. After some travel headaches involving Joel’s missing bag (come on, Germany, you checked it at the gate), we got on a train to have dinner in Malmo, Sweden. (Think someone in NJ grabbing dinner in Manhattan.) We met up with some friends, Em and Roj (who are documenting their crazy months-long European adventure here) and some of their Swedish friends, who helped us greatly in the translating of our menu at the strangely-named Mrs. Brown. We ate charcuterie, ox, and I officially decided I no longer hate mushrooms. Dessert was the most interesting – it was like someone flash-froze apple puree and served it on a glob of homemade whipped cream. Back to Denmark after dessert.

Yes, Steig Larssen fans, they DO have 7-Eleven everywhere in Scandinavia - this one was between tracks at the train station in Copenhagen. There were two more upstairs. The presence of Billy's Pan Pizzas was not confirmed, however.

The next morning, celebration ensued when we found Joel’s bag at the hostel desk. We ate a classic European breakfast (rolls with meat and cheese, yogurt with muesli). After some planning, we met up with Emily and Roger in the hostel lobby and set out. Our first stop: the National Museum of Denmark, where I would surely photograph some fabulous Viking artifacts for Dad. I did, and in addition we found an impressive collection of Egyptian mummies, Iron-Age artifacts and remains, runestones, and the skeleton of a large, extinct cow-like creature whose likeness was painted in the caves at Lascaux.

A very small fraction of Viking hoard. A sign in this room said, "It does not look as if the Vikings tried to make contract with foreign peoples in peaceful ways." However, they did set up a vast network of towns in Northern Europe, so trade-off?

Joel was not so sure about this dude.

The National Museum thought visitors might recognize and appreciate Hercules relics more if they included a likeness of Disney's Hercules.  I was slightly insulted but mainly amused.

Early dinner was next. After wandering around the mostly-empty squares of Copenhagen, our hungry stomachs decided on Bof & Ost, where we sat by an open hearth and stuffed our faces with bread and butter, steak, Carpaccio, and crispy guinea fowl: fuel for more wandering in the cold. (Did I mention it was cold? No, I wasn’t surprised – it’s Scandinavia in early March – but they’d just had a warm spell and the cold had come back just for us. How nice of it.) Hot chocolate and coffee helped.

Yep, it was cold. I also got the sense that I was very small in Copenhagen, because all the buildings seemed enormous.

The last stop was the strange area of Christiania, which felt a bit dangerous at night (but most likely wasn’t dangerous at all). Heeding warnings about not taking pictures of Pusher Street, where marijuana is sold openly*, we strolled down the wide path of barrel fires and dealer’s kiosks. We pulled the cameras back out for some shots of street art outside the walls. 

The outer walls of Christiania were covered in tags and street art.

Shockingly, Bob Marley. Who would have guessed?

The walk back to the hostel was frigidly windy, but some two-for-one beers at the hostel warmed us up (even if it was only Carlsburg, Copenhagen’s famous and sadly flavorless brew). After some planning, ticket-buying, and thawing out, we turned in early to catch at 7:40 train to Amsterdam the next morning.

Verdict: Should come back when it’s warmer and bring my parents, especially on to northern Denmark to visit the Gammel Estrup Castle and agricultural museum.

*Cannabis is illegal in Denmark, yet tolerated in Christiania, though its sale is mostly controlled by pushers connected with gangs. Another good reason not to take pictures.

Facebook Break Results

My pre-vacation Facebook break was not only helpful, it was most likely the biggest reason that I was actually able to get everything accomplished without losing too much sleep. I will admit that I got back on once or twice because I was scheduling some meetings with people who primarily contact me there, and didn't want to neglect a message. However, as planned, I didn't touch my notifications or news feed. When my vacation started Friday morning, since we ended up having a two-hour snow delay at an airport with free wi-fi, I got back on. A week had passed.

I had 50 notifications, but only 10 or so that were actually directed at me. It took me 30 minutes to reply to comments and catch up. After that, I kind of idly scrolled through my news feed and something strange happened: instead of feeling the rush of a fix, I was bored. It wasn't that I didn't care about my friends anymore, I just became antsy for something else to do. I surfed some news sites and eventually settled in with a new book. Time passed more slowly than it might have while under the internet's spell, but I felt more relaxed, like I was actually on a break rather than procrastinating from doing something else.

I've been in Denmark for a day and a half and checked here and there, on downtime, but it still doesn't pull me in like it use to. Could it be that I've cured myself of something I didn't know I had? (Or more likely, wasn't admitting I had?) My thoughts might change as break continues, but right now I'm hoping that my new productive, Facebook-limited life will continue at home as well.

Why It's Important to Procrastinate (Sometimes)

The first draft of my thesis is due a week from Monday. So, like any responsible student who can't stand to write at home, I planned to spend my Friday night at a coffee shop. My normal go-to is Diesel Cafe in Davis, although on Friday nights it can be a bit of a challenge to find a seat (unless I wanted to sit at a high-top for four hours. Constructive writing is produced only with a certain level of comfort involved that, let's face it, does not occur for a short person at a tall table). But since I'll be working at my new temp job at least through the beginning of May, I thought I should probably stick to the neighborhood a bit.

After a short, 10-minute walk from my office, I was in Central Square at Cafe Luna. The nighttime atmosphere is a little fancier, with a specials dinner menu and white tablecloths (and white paper!) at every table. I greatly enjoyed lasagna and a beer, set up my computer, and got down to some serious revisions. That is, until a poetry reading began sprouting up all around me.

Before I knew it I was talking to the woman at the table next to mine more than I was looking at my computer. And despite the owner's insistence that I stay no matter how busy it got (being Midwestern, I always shy away from taking up social space with my work), I kept feeling the pull to close my laptop, order another beer, and enjoy networking with some other area writers. The pull kept fighting with some fading voice in my backpack, crying out, "Your thesis! Your stories! We need you!"

I zippered my computer in my backpack and had gone so far as to get my check when my table neighbor's friends and sisters arrived, urging me to stay, taking the rest of my table, and ordering wine. I sent the check back. One more beer, I said to myself, and I will go. But then my new friends started asking me about myself, telling me about themselves, distracting me from the fact that the poetry reading was starting, and oh why would I leave before I heard my table-neighbor's sister and friend read? I wouldn't of course. So I stayed. And eventually I shook my head at the cute waiter when he asked if I was ready for the check. So he stopped asking.

By the end of the night I had met two poets, listened to some moving poetry and memoir, donated a little bit of cash to Haiti, and swapped emails with people who had been strangers just three hours before. I couldn't even remember what the voices in my backpack sounded like. And that's when I realized that sometimes, depending on the activity, putting off your work in favor of something else is far more valuable. If I had left, I might have gotten my story revised, but I would have missed out on everything else, which was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I might have gotten one step closer to finishing my thesis draft, but I wouldn't have met the poet populist of Port-au-Prince.

So I had to get up early this morning to work on what I didn't get to last night. So what? Totally worth it. I encourage you all, next time you are faced with what could be a unique, once-in-a-blue-luna kind of experience, to consider putting off studying for two more hours and take a chance. That's right, I'm giving you permission. Don't make me regret it!

The Big Apple Redeemed

For a long time, I wasted a lot of energy hating New York City.

I partially blame my upbringing in the semi-rural Midwest, which made visiting a stiflingly-large city filled with fast-moving, brash individuals just about as alien as you can get.

But I mostly blame my previous two visits there. In high school, I followed around my parents, who insisted on traditional sightseeing stops, and little cousin, who insisted on shopping. We did see The Lion King, which was spectacular, but overall I don't have fond memories. I think it was hot, and my dad decided to eat at pretty much the same deli every day. Come on, Dad...do you know how many good restaurants there are in this city?

Fast-forward to college, when I still lived in the semi-rural Midwest, and I went to NYC with some friends to visit my roommate. I remember getting lost driving in the city, running around trying to find student-discount Broadway tickets, and sleeping on a cold, hard floor. Oh and my cat died while I was there. So again...not fond memories.

So naturally, now that I've been in Boston for a while and more acclimated to urban living, AND now that it only costs about $40 round-trip to get down to NYC, I couldn't find a reason not to give it another shot. Joel and I took a quick, un-eventful bus ride and BAM. It was that easy. It helped that he has a friend in the city who has a much warmer floor, too.

In addition to spending time with Ms. Jen, we:
-Enjoyed free folk music at the American Folk Art Museum
-Shared plates of noodles and seafood at Chai Thai
-Sipped exquisitely expensive cocktails at The Library Hotel's rooftop lounge, Bookmarks
-Scored cheap tickets to darkly funny off-broadway show, Smudge
-Stuffed ourselves with pierogi, goulash and kielbasa at Little Poland
-Ate bagels, NY style pizza, and drank Max Brenner's hot chocolate
-Rode the tram from Roosevelt Island to the main island of Manhattan, enjoying the views as we crossed the water

And with that ride, as I watched the traffic below zip along the streets, I gave New York a reprieve. There is a beauty there it might take a little effort to see, but it's there. I even saw it as we wandered along the windy streets in 15 degree weather. I would still never live there, but I don't think I have to waste any energy hating it anymore.

Joel and Jen, thanks. :)

Five-Year Journal, Year One

One year ago today, I started a 5-year journal. I get 6 lines to write a short summary of my day. This was my first entry:

"For the first time, the future looks back at me, as vast and open as the endlessness of space, and as one vision of how to fill the space ends, I must create a new vision of how I will fill it back in. This is very scary."

Though I haven't had the best autumn so far this year, I am happy to say that my future is not so scary as it was on November 3, 2008. Now every night when I open the journal to set down my day, I will also get to read about what happened last year.

This, my friends, is my secret for remembering everything.

5 Randoms for a Halloween Weekend

1. My parents decided to come up for the weekend, and while I had a good time with them, I was ready to get back to normal after I dropped them at the airport today. As I observed my interactions with them this weekend, I wondered if other peoples' parents (especially mothers) talk about the past as much as mine do:
"Do you remember when we brought you to Boston when you were 7 and we ate at that place with the checkered tableclothes at Quincy Market and had baked beans?"
"No."
"You DON'T!?"
Or, even more curiously, "Do you remember when you were one and we used to dance around the dining room table singing nursery rhymes?"
"Kids don't remember anything from when they were under three, mom."
"They DON'T!? You don't remember that?!"
I've come to the conclusion that my mother never quite got over me growing up.

2. I saw the Post-Meridian Radio Players' production of "The Big Broadcast" last night, and forgot how much I love live theatre and concurrently am embarrassed for loving live theatre so much. It's so corny. But I don't care.

3. I realized that as much as I miss being a child, I wouldn't find walking around getting free candy from strangers as entertaining as I did when I was little. I can go to CVS down the street now and buy whatever candy I want. Kind of a bummer, really. Now if as adults we could go door to door asking for money, or beer, or electronics...that I could get into.

4. I can't believe it's been almost a year that I've been here on Parker Street. I've now witnessed all the seasons here, and still maintain that this is one of the best neighborhoods to live in. Now, if I could get a couch and maybe an area rug in my living room, life would be near-perfect.

5. Autumn seems to be, once again, a time for endings and re-assessing life goals. I think I am better equipped to deal with such things this year, although am still quite sad at the current outcome. Hopefully if this trajectory continues similarly as last year's, I will see a resurgence after Christmas, and for that I am very excited.

And a bonus 6th...

No matter what kind of mood you are in, seeing Chewbacca riding around on a Seguay in the North End will always, always bring a smile to your face. Especially when he growls at everyone he passes.

Fall

This weekend was quintessential fall:

Apple picking and leaf peeping, tree and rock climbing, movie-going.
Festival-attending, beer sipping.
Dancing to tubas and trumpets and trombones and big drums.
Cart Indian food.
Sleeping in, breaking out the fleece.
Long talks on long walks.
And, of course, having to turn on the space heater first thing in the morning...

I try to keep these feelings with me as I'm back to work for the week, waiting until the next weekend of fun, when I get to let loose again. Sometimes I wonder how some people do this their whole lives - working weekend to weekend, trudging through until they get two special days where they can actually live their lives. This is what I'm working towards, I tell myself as I get up at 5:30 and lumber from the red line to the green line with the masses. I'm working for every day to be just as fulfilling as this past weekend.

Good luck to me, you say. Thanks. I'll need it.

Rural Girl Makes a Comeback

I really hate worn, overused phrases, so I will attempt to use something a little different. Let's see...

You never knew you even liked cheese curds until they show you some good old Midwestern hospitality and you realize there aren't any where you live, and this makes you bawl like a baby on the way back to your cheese-curdless existence.

Wait, I don't think that worked.

Having lived here almost a year, I have made many friends and found myself involved in a lot of communities. I have my writing group, my work friends, my Lesley friends, and the occasional friendly game night. But over Christmas and then again last week, I was reminded what it was like to be a part of a family of friends and loved ones who have known each other forever, support you almost no matter what you do, and make amazing food. Even more than missing MyQue, although I certainly am doing enough of that, I was sad to come off the plane alone last night alone after being surrounded by MyQue's family the whole trip. While I've learned to enjoy my solitude, I mourned something I forgot was there, and now I look around and realize it's something I'm definitely lacking here.

Since I graduate next July, I know that I will definitely want to be here for another year at least, so this is something I'm going to have to remedy. I don't know how; I think it just has to do with spending more time with those I already know. But since I can't live around my own family (who is spread around the Midwest), nor can I go to visit MyQue's anytime I want (he will be leaving them for grad school at the end of the summer), I am going to have to surround myself with my own motley crew here, and enjoy these little jaunts into the heartland as much as I can.

Although the Northeast's lack of cheese curds is not literally making me cry, I do miss being able to see the sky all 360 degrees, real thunderstorms that shake the siding of the house, the call of a red-wing blackbird, and eating fresh sweetcorn right out of the garden. I guess you can't take the Rural completely out of the girl after all.