The Policeman Just Came

For reals. You know, just to check on us. Because we need checking on. Actually, everyone who applies for commune registration (a nightmare-and-a-half; everyone has a horror story) receives a visit from the local police in order to verify that they really do reside at their reported place of domicile.

And while my guy wasn't as dapper as the two prototypes featured above left, we had a nice chat (in Dutch), mainly about Flemish identity. He told me that about 60% of cops here are Flemish, do not live in Brussels, and feel bedrogen (which could either mean "deceived" or "threatened"; likely the former) by French speakers. He couldn't really explain his grounds for feeling deceived, but who am I to invialidate his feelings? He also shared that, in his opinion, the Flemish resemble the English more than they do the Dutch, whom he believes are more "Germanic." He also asserted that the Flamands have fewer problems with vreemdelingen, or foreigners - but, as with his previous point, did not have much to back it up. Except that the Flemish are more "protectionist," which made me feel, as a (visible) foreigner, slightly uncomfortable. Especially since he was evaluating our abode in a manner slightly reminiscent of someone from the Administration for Child Services.

In the end, he gave J the green light to register at the Saint Gilles commune - yay! (My visa/registration status remains in the "Unresolved" category for the time being.) I also kind of wonder what would've happened if I hadn't been around today.

L'Ultime Atome; Someone Else's Food Blog

Going to l'Ultime Atome tonight for a holiday party. Yes, they have those here, too - company gatherings where everyone behaves shamefully and pretends to "forget" the following day: "OMG I was so drunk!" "OMG me too!"

For some reason, I often get Ultime Atome confused (at least conceptually) with À la Mort Subite and the charmingly named Delirium Tremens. So far, I've only been to Mort Subite, a lovely beer bar close to the equally lovely Galéries Royales Saint-Hubert, where ordering a tripel is a good/bad way to start the evening.

Ultime Atome being tonight's destination, I googled it, which then landed me on a nice Brussels-based, English-language beer blog, which in turn led to a food blog which seems worth following.

Ah, Healthcare in Belgium

When you don't have a lot to hang our hat on, you will turn anything into a coat rack take what you can get (better put: beggars can't be choosers). So, in the midst of yesterday's abundant wet snow, coupled with the ever-dwindling number of daylight hours, I wasn't all that pleased to receive a bill for a recent ER visit. Except that, when I opened the bill, I was overjoyed to find the cost of an ER visit here to be a mere (drumroll, please) 21,53€.

Only in Belgium, never in the United States of Uninsured-Middle-Class America.

Magnétoscope

While attempting to DVR Little Dorrit a few nights ago, I was informed by the VOO user guide (which I can barely read, since it's in French) that I needed a magnétoscope. Really?!? Now I am really confused. Because I kind of thought that was the point of getting digital cable.

Brussels Beauty Tour

I don't know if it's me, the weather, the calcium-rich water, or mild culture shock, but something is going on with my skin. And it's not just the fleas.

So I decided to try not one, but two estheticians. Since googling "Brussels and facials" doesn't yield much result, I thought it might be worth writing about, at the very least to see if anyone else has any suggestions. Skip this post if skin care does not interest you in the least.

The fruits of my dermo-adventures so far:

Livia Kova. Self-proclaimed "legend around town" spa near Place Lux. Generally gets good reviews. I wasn't personally in love with its cherub and excess-of-charm aesthetic, but the esthetician did a good job, and the whole experience was comfortable, if not necessarily luxurious. Aggressive attempt to sell product was a slight turn-off at the end. A facial can be had for 87€, which borders on expensive by my standards, depending on the exchange rate.

Pause Beauté (no web site; 0478 35 95 79). This one was a little more of a gamble. I think I persisted in getting an appointment (not the easiest thing - closed more often than open, returned my call over a day later) simply because it seemed a little difficult. But most importantly, it's around the corner from my apartment in Saint Gilles. Like many things here, the experience was a bit weird and yet enjoyably so. (This is starting to take on a tone I didn't intend.) For one, the esthetician informed me she basically had all the time in the world, just like her family members in Africa. Not sure if that meant business is a little slow. What this did mean was that built into the facial were a number of lengthy massages, some with reflexology. Overall enjoyable experience, clocking in at 2h and 88€. (High eighties seems the going rate.)

If someone were paying me for this, I would also check out Aspria, Espace Beauté, Serendip Spa, and subscription-based Wax Zone Ixelles. Let me know if you have done so already.

P.S. Salon de Shyou and Mario Badescu, you are missed. 

Christmas Market Joy

Sometimes it all gets a little heavy here - far from family and friends, with consistently gray weather to boot. At which point it's time to go to the Christmas market and drink glühwein and eat tartiflette! And watch the light and sound show in the Grand Place! Which is exactly what J and I did yesterday. Nothing like some son et lumière to brighten the mood . . .

NYT Article on Expats

I realize we're not living "in places like Belgrade and the former Soviet Union during the cold war," but the take-away from this article seems to be that we're hardly alone. I checked out Tales from a Small Planet, and it's pretty good.

The Elusive Little Dorrit

(Just in case you're worried all I do is read the Twilight series out here,) I've been intermittently following the BBC series Little Dorrit. I say "intermittently," because the BBC has decided to make it nearly impossible to remember when the show is on - or at times simply not to show it, even when it was scheduled to be aired (as appeared to be the case last Thursday, when I had to sit through a UK version of an Amber Alert show). Alas . . . I suppose there is always replay on the BBC site.

Vampire City (As Opposed to Weekend)

I will go ahead and admit that I have been reading Twilight. Yes, it is poorly written and at times more than slightly idiotic, but it's also not a bad way to pass time in a city that in many ways seems a safe haven for vampires. (Interested, Cullens?)

I also am embarrassed to say that it wasn't until the second book that I understood how a vampire series could be written by (and this is an assumption, but she did go to BYU) a Mormon. Eternal marriage, duh! (But then again, she - the writer, not Bella - is married to a guy named Pancho. Can anyone explain?)

L'il Sis also picked up the book (partly my fault, I have to admit; sorry, Serious Readers of the World) and brought up a good point: Why do the Cullens have to be rich? Why does this point seem so important and . . . souligné? Feel free to weigh in - and admit that you've been reading the series, too.

Ways to Brighten a Belgian Day

Some days here are hard. Thank goodness, therefore, in no particular order, for:

- NPR online. I may have missed most of the election coverage, but at least I got to hear Obama announce his National Security Team. And thank god for World Café.

- iTunes, purveyor of Gossip Girl, 30 Rock, and SNL.

- Any kind of hot tea, particularly Lady Gray, green, and à la menthe.

- VO/OV (Original Version) movies. (Note to self: buy tickets to Twilight.)

- Daily open-air markets (Monday: Place van Meenen; Wednesday: Place du Châtelain; Sunday: Gare du Midi; every other day: Parvis de St. Gilles). Nothing does the trick for me quite like just going to the market. But I do have to remember to look up the names of my grocery items in both French and Dutch (e.g., celery = céleri = selderie).

Ryanair: The Official Airline of Soccer Hooligans

 

Over the weekend, we went to Madrid (highlights: the food, Prado, Reina Sofia, the new Caixa Forum, our friends T and B's baby) for Thanksgiving. Which meant that we got to check out "Brussels South" Charleroi airport, a mere 1-hour bus ride from Gare du Midi, in order to benefit from Ryanair's cheap fares. 

Flying Ryanair was generally a good experience, with the exception of extortion at the gate, i.e., having to pay €20 per piece of checked luggage, even though I had dorkily taken out the tape measure to ensure that our luggage met cabin luggage specs. (This can be circumvented by paying €10 per piece online in advance of the flight).

What I wasn't completely expecting, though, was the fact that the flight would be booked to the gills by Feyenoord fans from Rotterdam. The closest, albeit imperfect, comparison to an American tribe/locale would be perhaps Boston Southie. As the Dutch themselves might say, oei . . .