For so long I have dreamed of the romance of traveling. If you look at my Pinterest board, you'll see exactly what I mean. There's something that's always been mysterious and lovely about the idea of Europe. Maybe it's the old elegance that somehow steeps through every little street, opera house, or city cafè. Or because it's the grand scene of all of my favorite books. I am so proud to be an American, but there's something in me that just melts at the history and tradition that this foreign continent holds captive.
So, I'm finally here. The enchantment of old Europe? I am utterly swept away. With every country village, cattle-dotted hillside, and cobble stoned city street, I lose another little piece of my heart. Or maybe I gain a little piece. Whichever way it is, I can safely say that my European dreams are being satisfied.
First off, importantly, the food. Yes, my stomach has been very, very happy these past few weeks. Thankfully I am staying with a family who loves good food as much as I do. My first night here, we casually ate fried calamari at a fold-out table in the back yard. I've thrown off my outer-American and eaten snails, raw beef, and am discovering the pleasure of a good Belgian beer. Ha! Breakfast consists of bread, jams and chocolate, and the occasional croissant. We've eaten everything from fresh spaghetti to hearty sausage and potatoes, a light weeknight supper of asparagus with boiled eggs (yes, mashed in melted butter), to a Saturday lunch of baked salmon and sautéed zucchini. And oh, have I mentioned the chocolate?
My first week here I attended an art exhibit of the painter Theirry Bosquet. His work was grandly displayed in an old estate: a currently inhabited house that stands complete with walking gardens and an ornamental lake. Something out of a novel for this little American. As I wandered through the rooms, surveying the art and smiling politely, but trying to avoid conversation of any kind (only my third day, not exactly fluent), all I could do was drink in the surroundings. Light French conversation on all sides, casual waiters serving mini hors-d'oeuvres, rich Belgians drinking wine and catching up on life and art. It really seemed an art form in itself, this kind of event, and the hosts pulled it off with such comfortable elegance.
And then I visited Namur. A twenty-minute train ride to the small-ish city, drenched in sunlight and bustling with visitors. Narrow streets, lined with picturesque shops and apartments, full of life and activity. I got my first taste of European shopping and fell in love; with a "When in Rome" mentality, came away with the tightest pair of pants I have ever owned. On my first time through the city square saw a men's acapella choir, the second, an accordion-guitar-clarinet combo serenading the passersby. With wide eyes, I toted around my little backpack and huge camera, soaking in all the little details. Everything seemed picture perfect, from the ice cream to the cathedral.
So yes, life here seems to have a little extra charm. But I realized again tonight, as I picked a huge pile of dirty legos up off the floor, most of it is still just normal life.
Day to day is not necessarily exciting around here. I'm living with a young family (some distant cousins) in the Belgian countryside. The parents both work, and the kids go to school during the day, so I usually have a lot of time to myself. I can fill it with anything from drawing to baking, writing and reading, playing the piano and wandering around the surrounding farm land. A quiet, idyllic country lifestyle.
Except after school, not so much. Two little boys (6 & 3) and an 8-month-old baby girl produce enough activity and commotion to keep anyone busy. It doesn't help that they only speak a language that I barely know. Of course for the first few days, the words for "don't hit me with that stick" and "stop spraying me with bathwater" completely escaped me at all the wrong times.
The first weeks were filled with more adjustments than I ever imagined. The little things were easy. No shower curtain and malfunctioning bathroom lock = shower quickly. No wifi in my room = late night skyping in the kitchen. No delicious processed snack food in the cabinets = make up the difference with cheese and chocolate croissants.
But French. The language, the language, the language. I have been here 2+ weeks and am only now starting to put sentences together without hesitating after every word. I hear immersion is like this most of the time, and I certainly hope that's the case, because I definitely feel like an airhead. I can't even count the number of blank stares followed by dumb, uncomprehending smiles I've given out in lieu of responses. Thankfully everyone is very gracious, and always willing to help the struggling American cousin.
So, how's my grand European vacation? I can barely talk to anyone, the weather is more cloudy than not, and I'm living with two little boys who don't believe in washing their hands. I've learned that getting hit with a spray of baby formula is no more romantic in Europe than it is anywhere else. But then there are those "Ahhh, yes!" moments that balance everything out and me feel as if I'm living in a daydream. So yes, it's grand. And with my family arriving in a week, I know things are only going up from here!
Until next time, then, mes amis.
C
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