Starbucks-Free Zone

Believe it or not, the entire country of Belgium is almost entirely sans Starbucks.

Thanks, Julie! And welcome to Belgium, too.

Forecast: Rain All Week

After a beautiful weekend of lounging in the Bois de la Cambre and house hunting (more to follow), the weather has now reverted itself to what we were warned against: chronic rain.

The Bulletin was also so kind as to point out, in a lovely article by Leona Francombe, that "Belgium occupies roughly the same parallel as Irkutsk and Moose Jaw."

I believe we're in for a long, wet winter.

And I Got to Eat Matjes

Also known as herring.

Drinking Wine in the Rain

We went to the Châtelain market last night, which involved browsing stalls of produce, cheese, charcuterie and other delights - all without the politically correct smugness of an American greenmarket.

We then did as all the locals (read: expats) do and drank a glass of wine in the rain.

Not sure how high this experience ranks on the ALC (Authentic Local Color) scale, but it certainly was enjoyable.

Who Knew?

Falling under the category of news I would certainly remain oblivious to in the U.S.:
Croation federation fined for fans' racist behavior

Zebra-Themed Hall Decorations and Other Excesses of Charm

I have been spending my days pounding the pavement in search of an apartment. We were very excited about the prospect of inhabiting a traditional maison de maître bruxellois - until I encountered some of the specimens I have seen. Let's just say that this picture is an understated representation of these real estate gems - and that apparently beaucoup de charme generally means unrenovated and spectacularly tacky. Possibly haunted, too.

While viewing one of these apartments, I was informed that the upstairs neighbor is, in fact, a Duchess (Keira Knightley, I hope). The apartment itself could best be described as a nightmarish version of your Versailles-obsessed grandmother's digs. I was also told that the housekeeper (housekeeper?) who had recently been brought to Belgium from the Phillipines, could, for a fee, "help with extra ironing."

The best part was when I actually got to meet the Filipina housekeeper, who asked me whether I was Chinese, because, she said, pointing at her own eyes, "I can see it in your eyes." (Wow, haven't gotten that one since grade school.) I think (but am not sure) the exceedingly formal Belgian real estate broker was embarrassed.

Contribution from J

J wants me to share with you that the subway (which I have yet to brave) here smells like chocolate croissants. Not only that, but they apparently also play soft rock (J's favorite musical genre, I might add).

Seems like pure torture to me - someone who never wakes up on time to eat breakfast - having to endure a daily commute that not only sounds like Céline Dion, but also smells like pastries.