Luxembourg - Brussels

We paid 2 Euro each, and the Luxembourg hostel's shuttle service zipped us to the train station. On the way in I thought that a guy was about to tee-off on the building. Unfortunately, he was only using a 9 iron. After a brief wait, we hopped on a train.

The main thing which caught my eye on the train was the Belgian countryside. I had always imagined Europe as this tree-less mass of overly inhabited land. In the case of Belgium and many others, this is far from the truth. The sheer density of farms and woodlands which I saw blew my mind.

As soon as we arrived in Brussels, it began raining. Rain has never really discouraged me, so I just smiled at Laura as we went outside. We decided to put finding a place to sleep on hold, and instead sample some of the local fare. This was not hard to do because compared to France, Belgium is the king of sweets. (Or Queen, if you speak French - La Belgique.)

The first place we went to was small and inexpensive. While window shopping, an old man and his wife walked out of the same shop. He smiled at me and said, "Jeune homme!" He began talking to me in French while I tried my best to follow. I was simply amazed he had even approached me and with a smile, at that. He told me some Belgian phrase about what to say when something tastes good, which I very regrettably cannot recall. He patted me on the shoulder before leaving while his wife smiled. (Why can't the French be like this?)

Laura and I entered the shop, and noticed a child was running around. His mother, the shop-owner, castigated him for continuing after customers had entered, and sent him to the back before talking to us.

I need to trail off on another educational lesson. Belgian French is a little bit different from the French used in France. French accent difference are not yet easily recognizable for me, as I still have trouble understanding sometimes. Nonetheless, the Belgians sound a bit different. They also speak slower than the people in France. The Belgians also use slightly different numbers than the French:

For 70 - Septante (Soixante Dix)
For 90 - Nonante (Quatre-Vingts Dix)
For 80 - The same, though in certain parts of Switzerland 80 is said Huitante. (Quatre-Vingts)

This makes much more sense. Imagine if British people said Sixty-Ten for 70 or "Eighty-Ten" for 90! It sounds weird, but that is how the French do it. I still cannot understand why 80 is said, quite literally, "Four-Twenties". The Swiss have it right. Anyway, back to our confectioneries...

I asked the lady for her recommendations for something chocolaty. Proud of her creations, she recommended all of them. I finally settled on a particularly sinful-looking éclair with enough cream inside to make a Twinkie look malnourished. Unfortunately, Laura got something with apple in it. ((I, Laura, happen to think my pomme de la pastrie was delicious.)) I decided we could not just stop there.

We went to another little place down the road. My eyes perked- up when I saw the signature color of caramel on top of one of the little tasties. I hopefully inquired, but was let down when I found out it was coffee, instead. I ordered another go-to-hell-for-eating-it éclair, and asked the lady where I could find a place to get on the internet. She was incredibly helpful, and began speaking English. In my haste to devour more Belgian goodies I had overlooked the free internet building next door. (Yes, it is a building with an attendant that lets people get on the internet. It isn't a library just...an internet building. Weird, n'est-ce pas?)

I called the Brussels hostel, and found out I already had a reservation for a single room. This really surprised me because I thought I had just been testing the form while at the Luxembourg hostel. I told them I'd be there by 8, and I thanked both the...free-internet-building lady (I have no idea what her job description is.) and the lady running the dessert shop before heading back out.

Laura and I made our way to the hostel. After many wrong turns and many instances of "Oh that is neat! Let's take a picture even though we are exhausted!", we finally made it into our room. After changing into some dry clothes, we laid around for several hours.

Using the free map given by the hostel, we set out to find something for dinner. The map recommended a little Vietnamese restaurant for many reasons. I would have preferred to have something a bit more traditionally Belgian, but most Belgians don't often eat traditional food. We made it to the restaurant and enjoyed some great food at an inexpensive price. I was tempted to try the frog legs, but I chose something more familiar to be certain I would eat it. We paid, and began walking around again.

We chanced upon a movie theater, and decided to watch Rush Hour 3. It was getting late, so I knew there would not be much else to do. I was hoping there would be French voices dubbed onto the film, but I was met with an even better surprise. Though Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan spoke English, both French AND Dutch subtitles were shown at the bottom for the entire duration of the film. The film took place in Paris, France, so I felt it was fitting. When the movie was finished, we went outside and happened to see a building perform a light show.

While wandering around, we decided to look inside a supermarket. After we had picked out some good Belgian chocolate and marveled at the store's price tag system, it was time to call it a night.

On the way back to the hostel, we stopped at a convenience store. I wanted to grab a Belgian white beer and get Laura something, too. Even in French, the store clerk did not understand my question when I asked if he had the original flavor of Hoola Hoops chips (Laura's favorite). Even after asking him 3 times, he still thought I was just trying to find where the chips were. I finally gave up and left. Belgians have some strange beer. On the ingredients, "spices" are listed, but I have no idea what these spices may be.

After a great night's rest in a bed slightly larger than God's interest in the outcome of professional sports, Laura and I set out once more.

Next stop: The Adamantine Acme of Antwerp

The End is Near

I showed up early today to study a bit and work in the library. The chairs and tables still barred each door, but this time I was bemused, for the large metal doors were also closed. A small sign read, "For the safety of students and teachers alike, classes are canceled and all university buildings are unaccessible until Wednesday." It made me chuckle. I was surprised it had not happened sooner. I struck up a conversation with a French student reading the sign at the same time as me. A rather pleasant philosophy student, we had a good chat about French and American culture. He is the first French student who has been receptive to me, so I hope that I have many more chances to speak with him. Right now, I love nothing more than being able to speak French to a somebody who cannot speak English.

The buildings looked awful because students perpetuating the blocus had been living in the buildings. Having brought beds, televisions, and enough spray paint to cover the Eiffel tower, the interiors were laden with graffiti and general filth. The inside and outside of each building was being cleaned when I arrived. Students with mops and rags worked like bees to excoriate any trace of the vandalism. In turn, the grevists put up signs of dissension on the outside of every door: "Le gouvernement a peur!" Essentially, this is a derisive remark saying the president of the university and others are afraid.

The majority of students are not en greve, strange as it may seem. It is obvious that most of them do not mind missing class, (myself included), but the level of active participation is only sufficient. I really want to join for the hell of it, but I abstain for fear that French president Nicholas Sarkozy might ninja-kick me across the Atlantic.

The Brussels post is coming soon, I promise. Now that I have this unexpected vacation I will have more time.

P.S. I apologize if the Google ads are in the way, but I put them up a few months ago because ads like this, which pay the blog owner after each valid click, are a decent way to make money.

Strasbourg-Luxembourg

The view from the train was somewhat sentimental because the tree-covered mountains reminded me of Kentucky. Laura was kept company by an energetic seeing eye dog.

Our train pulled into the Luxembourg City train station at around 4 PM. Luxembourg is a small country (Only about as big as most counties in the U.S.), so we decided to spend our time just in the capital. Again, I had no idea where we were going to sleep. I hoped for the best.

Since it was Sunday evening, I decided it would be best if we grabbed a quick bite before everything closed. We stopped at a Subway because they had a decent deal for students. Also, to my surprise, this particular Subway offered free refills. This may not seem like a big deal, but this was the first time Laura and I had encountered this in Europe. (In France you buy a coffee for 2 Euros. If you want another coffee, you pay 2 more Euros.) I soused myself with carbonated drinks to my heart's content. I knew I would be treading the dangerous waters of incontinence later, but it was worth it.

My discourse on drinks leads me to digress: finding a free place to use the restroom is nearly impossible, from what I have seen so far, in Europe. Some places are "generous" and offer free restroom facilities to paying customers. Normally, one would expect this, but in many establishments this is simply not the case. If you go to certain Mcdonald's restaurants and spend 10 euro on food and drink, there will still be a restroom ATTENDANT expecting you to pay anywhere from .30 to .60 centimes (cents) to use the potty. Frankly, the places I have seen which do this the least are Nantes and Luxembourg. At any rate, if you can't hold it, bring a change purse with you on your travels.

I had little more planned than just walking around, so I decided it would be best to take a circular path around the center of the city. Even in it's center, Luxembourg was incredibly quiet on this particular Sunday night. The city was also clean and well-nigh devoid of graffiti.

We finally threw away our well-worn Subway cups due to the cold, and started taking pictures. The most conspicuous building in Luxembourg City is its iconic castle where the Grand Duke and his family live. I will not discuss Luxembourg's government at the present moment; it is unique, so I suggest you reconnoitre the structure at your leisure.

Having seen all of the sights, Laura and I went into a small bar because it had wireless internet access. I ordered myself "The most Luxembourgian beer available" and got Laura the most non-winy wine available. What I perceived to be a couple arrived shortly after us and took a seat in the neighboring booth. At first I thought they were speaking Luxembourgish, but upon further inspection, it turned out to be Russian. I did not perturb them, but a haggard-looking individual in the bar decided it would be a good idea to perturb me.

Apparently he spoke French and a little English, but the only language I understood was Oaf. (Having been one myself in the past I still understand this tongue even if I cannot speak it anymore.) He would continually approach me, force me to shake is hand, then walk away. During each "visit" he would also make comments to Laura which assuredly riled me up. After several return trips, he decided to also bother the Russian couple. The woman bluntly told him that he was not being polite and that it would be in his best interest to leave them undisturbed. He complied for the moment, and went back to the bar.

During this brief respite, I began speaking to the Russians. It turned out they were not a couple but simply friends. Ilyas, as his name is written in English, began speaking to me about Luxembourg and Russia. Unfortunately, we were yet again interrupted by the inebriated man. Having had enough, I raised a fist, ready to level my first European. I somehow restrained myself and forcibly marched myself to the bar where I tattled on him. He was given the door, and I returned to my table.

As it was getting late, the Russian woman bade us farewell. Ilyas remained where we talked in-depth. His French was about the same level as mine, so we would switch between English and French depending on the difficulty of our explanations. During our discussion, I learned something very interesting about Russia. Living a few hundred miles or so out of Moscow, Ilyas told me that his mother tongue was actually closer to Turkish. He said everybody has to know Russian, too, but only because it is the official language of the state. He did not know the word in English or French for the name of the particular dialect.

As we were leaving, I asked where we could find a youth hostel. Unexpectedly, he offered to walk us to it even though it was nearly midnight. At this point I thought that either all Russians were saints, or that we were about to get murdered. I decided on the former, but only because of vague intuition. On the way he gave us a short history lesson.

We passed by the following:

• a British Embassy
  
• a rather nice church with an equally nice fountain
  
• an ancient wall
• the former gate of the city when the Romans occupied the area. (Sorry; no picture. He was in a hurry to catch his train after seeing us off.)
  

We arrived at the hostel and said our goodbyes. As we walked our separate ways he turned and shouted with a wave, "I respect the Americans!" I never imagined I'd be a United States ambassador in Luxembourg.



(Forgive the angle; our suitcase took this one.)

Next stop: The bristly, bustling, wonderfully bedraggled Belgian city of Brussels.

Nantes Students = Pissed Off

Today I had the pleasure of witnessing a real-life French strike in an unexpected place: my university.

I was expecting to have a written exam, but instead I was met by an old man meticulously locking all of the classroom doors. He informed me that I would not be having class today. I was confused until my professor finally approached the confused huddle of my classmates and explained that every time somebody tried to unlock a room, the French students would forcibly enter, steal all of the desks and chairs, and force the professor out of the class.

I waited for over an hour. I tried to keep my mind focused on the forthcoming exam, but with hundreds of French students carrying pilfered articles to be used as barricades, I had a hard enough time restraining my bewildered laughter.

After intense negotiations, the students finally agreed to temporarily cease hostilities for one classroom so that we could have class. The only stipulation was that we vacate immediately at 5. Class proceeded as usual, except we made certain not to finish late this time. As I made my way past the hundreds of chairs barring the doors I could not stop grinning. I wish we did this kind of stuff to make people listen to us back home.

If I can find some pictures I will post them. Today was definitely one of the more humorous representations of French culture at its best.

(More blogs about our trip are in the works. Keep checking back; comments are appreciated and an account is not required to post.)

Paris-Strasbourg

We arrived at Strasbourg in late afternoon. I had planned to make Strasbourg a simple stop-gap before Luxembourg, but that changed due to train schedules. We bought two 24 hour tram tickets and zipped our way to the center of the city. On the way I asked a fellow passenger where to find a grocery store. She quickly rattled off several different places, but good advice comes with a price. It turned out she was homeless and I immediately felt tactless about my question. She said something along the lines of, "I know where to find all the grocery stores, but now that I lost my job and don't have a place to sleep I can't buy food there anymore." Good job, tourist...

To make the most of our money, we bought a loaf of bread, some ham, and a cheap coke. We sat in the middle of a small park adjacent to an enormous fake keg. Hoping for a bite, somebody's black dog [Laura apologizes for the distortion of this photo] walked directly up to our bench and sat patiently; it even gently pawed Laura's leg in an attempt to win her over. Despite my most earnest efforts in French and English, I could not get the dog to leave. (While reflecting later I decided that the dog must have been German.)

I booked a room at an inexpensive hotel. I had no idea where to find it, but since I am a frugal person I reserved a room anyway. (I found it humorous that the hotel's name was "Best Hotel". That leaves a lot of room for subjective opinions if the person is not familiar with the actual 'Best Hotel'.) Before leaving the park area I saved a small map of the hotel's location. I knew it would not do us much good, but I hoped it would be better than mine and Laura's usual "look at maps whenever we see them at a bus stop" method.

We finally made it to the right location. I would have felt I had made a grievous error due to the copious wait we endured were a family not waiting for the same bus. The bus eventually arrived and we got on board. About half an hour later we happily got off at the incorrect stop.

I realized my error, spat out a few gros mots, and proceeded to walk towards a pizza place in our vicinity. A shady looking man was smoking a cigarette on the porch, so we went inside to look for somebody else to disturb. The man running the place had a phone in one hand, money in the other, and a full line up to the counter. Realizing the futility of my desire to solicit him, I motioned to Laura and we stepped out onto the porch. Upon stating, "Bonsoir, excusez-moi monsieur," he immediately extinguished his cigarette and listened attentively. He hailed one of his friends who was about to deliver a pizza, whereupon the two began a Schlieffen-style exchange about how to find the hotel. The directions were perfect, though disheartening due to the number of kilometers we needed to traverse to recuperate from our choice of the incorrect bus stop.

Though we were completely lost, Strasbourg was a breath of fresh air compared to Paris. The German architecture was interesting and the typical French graffiti was nearly nonexistent. The neighborhoods reminded me of subdivisions in the U.S. Laura insists that I say we saw a cute little hedgehog walking across the street as we walked to the hotel. It turned out that the bus we had taken passed by our hotel.

I have learned that when traveling one must appreciate the best and accept the worst. Unless you are a rich individual with a good guide, tourism is a tough gig.

We fell asleep to a French quiz show in a room much larger than the one we were compelled to use at the airport several months ago. The next morning, we took the bus back to the center of the city, and admired the Palais Rohan as well as the amazing Strasbourg Cathedral, which was finished in 1439. We walked around for about another hour, encountering interesting street signs, shops, and entertainers before ultimately making our way to the train station. I gobbled a pretzel and a beer while Laura downed an espresso, and off we went once more.

Next stop: The diminutive domain of the Grand Duchy - Luxembourg.