Smurfs #2

I never really thought I would start a blog - let alone a blog containing not one, but two (and counting?) posts about Smurfs. It's just that moving to Belgium is bringing up a treasure trove of childhood memories.

The other day, I was researching the difference between transformers and converters, which I still can't say I completely understand. But then I recalled learning at least one part of the lesson the hard way, back in the day.

We had just moved into our new house in Roosendaal, the Netherlands. I must've been about 9 or 10 years old. Even though I was a girl, my room was decorated according to a (not-atypical in Euroland) red-and-white Formula One theme, straight out of the Ikea catalogue. I think the prior inhabitant, a boy, had slept in a racecar bed. Nevertheless, I loved my room and did not yet resent my parents for being Chinese and uninterested in ameloriating or personalizing interiors.

One day, I decided to play a record on my Smurfs turntable, which had been carefully shipped from the U.S. I had watched my parents use the converter with their grown-up devices, and figured it would allow me to do the same. Unfortunately, shortly after plugging it in, the record player began to emit smoke before basically exploding in my red-and-white room.

Lesson learned: Do not use converters on appliances better served by transformers. And identify which is which.

Dr. Windmill

One of the challenges of moving to a new country - especially if a work visa is to be obtained in the process - is having to jump through various hoops. Some of these are tedious; others, colorful and odious, among other things. So far, one of the more pleasant ones has been to meet and be examined (in some fashion) by a certain Dr. Windmill.

Dr. W and his wife operate out of a one-bedroom apartment in Midtown East and are the lucky recipients of referrals from the Belgian and other francophone embassies. They also appear to service francophone expats on an ongoing basis.

I had been warned by J that Dr. W may not exactly be politically correct. Among other things, he had recommended to J at the conclusion of his visit that he might want to lose some weight, because he is "a lee-ttle chubby." (Let's just establish that this is not the case.)

So, it was with some trepidation that I entered Dr. W's office. No comments were made about my portliness. He did, however, ask me a number of seemingly irrelevant questions surrounding my ethnicity, including my favorite, "But where are you from?" after I made it known that my nationality is American and I was born in Texas. (In all fairness, I don't look the part.)

The clinical conversation then progressed to the topic of venereal disease. After asking me a couple of questions, he volunteered that I would not believe the varietals of STDs - and "bad behavior" from which these might result - that he regularly encounters in his practice. I sadly admit I tried to egg him on. At which point, he reconsidered: "I could not possibly tell such a nice young woman such terr-eeble things."

Although I can't recall with complete certainty, I believe he also took my blood pressure.

Stinky Drains

I'm not sure how people moved abroad in the past sans Internet - like my parents from Austin, TX, to Putte, the Netherlands, in 1985. Without Google, I would not have been able to find this gem of a welcome site for Americans, primarily military servicemen, moving to Brussels.

A few useful facts:

"Pour water into any drains you have in the garage on a routine basis. It will prevent an unpleasant odor." Hmmm.

"It is an unwritten law/tradition in Belgium that Sunday is a day of rest. If you work, do not mow your grass or do any loud outdoor work." I may be warming to this Belgium.

Good to know:

"Men and boys using the restroom anywhere outdoors is accepted as normal. Knowing this in advance can ease the initial shock."

Who knew?

"If you like candles, they are plentiful and inexpensive in Belgium." Phew.


And then, the best part - common sense that someone bothered to write up:

"When you receive local mail at your home, ensure it is nothing important before you throw it away, even if you can't read it. If unsure, get it translated!"

Primers

We've been doing a bit of recce, and I just learned that we will have to decide whether to live in the French- or Dutch-speaking district of the city. Apparently, the inner areas are French, and the outlying parts - only 10 km from the center - are Dutch. This allows certain guide books I've picked up to declare Brussels to be "one of very few cities that can claim a spilt personality." A city with dissociative identity disorder - imagine that.

In order to learn about the EU, which is a topic most Americans (including me) haven't the first clue about, we've been pointed in the direction of the latest (2008) edition of The European Union: How Does it Work? by Elizabeth Bomberg.

Finally, the most useful advice we've gotten to date is probably to "bring umbrellas and raincoats!" Thank goodness I have a closetful of absurd-looking print wellies.