Extreme Shopping

From one extreme to the other, anyway. 

My wife and I recently returned to Belgium from a less-than-relaxing trip to the United States. We had a lot catching up to do. You know, certain food to eat, lots of people to see and of course, lots of things to buy. It's a good thing that American shop employees are so eager to help out a patron. So eager, in fact, that we were frequently forced to flee before buying a thing. We just couldn't take it.

I assume store managers told their employees that they really need to push for sales in these difficult times, but do they know how annoying they are? When you walk into a store, you're immediately bombarded with "Hi, how are you doing today? Can I help you find something? Be sure to have a look at our sales rack in the back on the left. Did you know about our socks? They're made by alpaca farming dwarves in Nepal and they're guaranteed for life. The socks, not the dwarves. We have a book all about it at the counter. Just ask for one when you check out. All you have to do is fill out a credit card application. Those are great shoes. Where did you get them? Belgium? Is that somewhere in Germany? I bet you can see the dwarves from there. Can I get your zip code?..."

For the other extreme, there's Belgium, where nobody really wants your money. 

Since I forgot my phone charger in the U.S. (oops), I stopped into the little local electronics shop to see if I could find a replacement. There were two employees there: one on the phone, one helping the only customer (by apparently teaching him how to use his iPhone) . Neither of them acknowledged my entrance. I looked at phones to determine that Sony still uses the same connector for at least some of their new phones. Then I investigated the shelf to see if there was a replacement available. There wasn't. That's not completely surprising because this is a small store with minimal inventory. They'd probably have to order it. So, speak to an employee, I must. I waited. I tried making eye contact. I looked annoyed. I left the store. I should mention that I'm not so arrogant that I expected the employees to drop everything else to help me, but an "I'll be right with you" or "I'll be a while - can you come back in ten minutes?" would go a long way. 

If only we could get American and Belgian shopkeepers to combine their methods, I'd be a lot poorer. I could keep ranting, but I need some socks...

When Good Beer Goes Awesome

How can one have a blog about living in Belgium without bringing up beer? No credible blogger can. OK, I don't know what makes me credible, but I'm still going to devote this entry to beer. One beer in particular.

I recently had a conversation with Joe, a fellow beer geek (yeah, I'm a bit of a beer geek, dork, snob, nerd; choose your label, I just really dig beer) and author of Thirsty Pilgrim (go on, check it out!) about one of our mutually-favorite Belgian beers: Rodenbach Grand Cru. This is a fantastic tipple with a deep amber/brown color, fruity-oaky aroma, mild bitterness, malty-sweet and characteristic sourness on the pallet. It's this sourness that generally puts people off.

It's strange that this beer is pretty readily available, yet I haven't met a single Belgian who actually likes it. I know they must be out there. There was a time not long ago when the non-grand cru version (sweeter, less sour) was enjoyed by many, often with a shot of grenadine added. Maybe these people grew up along with their taste buds and enjoy the occasional Rodenbach Grand Cru when they want a hit of nostalgia. They just haven't revealed themselves to me.

Now back to that conversation among beer geeks... besides just drinking beer, we both really enjoy pairing food with beer (or vice-versa). That's how the subject of the Rodenbach Grand Cru was brought up. It's an extremely difficult beer to pair with food. I would usually drink it on its own on a warm summer's day, as it is a highly refreshing beer. It was on a recent warm-ish autumn afternoon when I decided to quench my thirst with a Rodenbach Grand Cru. I was also a little bit hungry, so I grabbed a bag of Hot Sweet Chilli Crac-A-Nuts (Crac-A-Nuts - a worthy subject on its own). Time froze and a glow from the heavens fell upon me. Thai food! Of course! The Rodenbach perfectly complements the florally-sweet/sourness of the tamarind and lime flavors while the beer's slightly roasted malty sweetness cuts through the fiery spice. I think Pad-Thai would be a perfect dish, especially with shrimp (Joe likes his Rodenbach with shrimp). I made a stir-fry seasoned with tom-yum paste that worked extremely well with the beer.

I can no longer imagine Thai food or Rodenbach Grand Cru on their own. To me, they should be enjoyed together. It's a good thing there are plenty of very good Thai restaurants in the Brussels area.

The Stare

A very odd habit that I've observed among Belgians is what I call "The Stare". I notice it nearly every time I'm out walking somewhere. Inevitably, at least one person I cross will stare me down. They'll look me in the eye and the stare doesn't waver. The Stare usually starts a few steps away and will usually last just until I pass the starer. It's not just a glance and a look-away. It's a full-on stare with the head turning until I pass. No matter what I do, they seem transfixed. I've tried smiling, saying hello, staring back, but nothing stops The Stare.

I think I've noticed The Stare in Flanders more than other areas of Belgium, but I could be wrong. Maybe it's a European wide thing and I've only recently noticed it.

I'm not sure what else to say about The Stare at this point. It confuses me. I don't really have a theory as to why it occurs. Maybe there were times when I've had a giant zit on my forehead or something, but certainly not every time. Maybe I'm just weird looking.

Have you noticed The Stare? I'm curious about this one. Please comment.

My Fault, Up Yours

Driving in Belgium. Where does one begin? I suppose with a one-word description: madness. Seriously, every time I make it home safely, it's a religious experience. I really don't understand why Belgians are so rude on the road. They're nice people, but they seem to think that courteous driving practices like keeping intersections clear or allowing another driver a moment to move out of their lane will cause the universe to implode or something.

Rather than fighting against the madness, sometimes you just have to go with it. I still try to allow people to merge, especially if they make the strenuous effort to use their blinker, but there is one important Belgian driving strategy I've learned and will readily use when necessary. When you do something wrong and/or stupid, like go forward in a left turn lane, don't apologize to the guy honking his horn. Get mad. Gesticulate wildly and shout. It doesn't matter if the other drivers can't hear you. The more serious the infraction, the more animated the gesticulations need to be. The point is to make the other drivers think THEY are the ones who've done something wrong. By the time they realize YOU'RE the idiot, you'll be long gone. Brilliant! Give it a try. If executed properly, it works every time. 

I Feeel Good, na na na na na na na...

One of the advantages of having a blog is that it gives one an excellent outlet to complain. If you've read my previous posts, you've seen that I've exploited that advantage to its fullest. You might have wondered why I bother to stay in Belgium. I'm going to go in a different direction now because I really like Belgium and I like living here. I really, really do.

The main subject of this week's integration course along with a recent viewing of Michael Moore's "Sicko" reminded me of one of the major major positives of life in Belgium: health care. The quality and accessibility are excellent. The up-front costs are reasonable as well (though not free, as Mr. Moore might have you think).

Allow me to make a comparison between Belgium and the US health care systems by providing personal examples.

A few years ago I suffered a pretty nasty snowboarding accident in Colorado (yes, I was doing something stupid. Let's stay on track here). My wife had to drive me, near death (well, that's how it felt), about 2 1/2 hours away so I could go to the emergency room at our in-network hospital. I then proceeded to wait in the emergency room for another couple hours. Finally, I got some attention. I was examined by a few different people, x-rays were taken, etc. This was all good, but not once did I see an actual doctor. Nurse practitioners, nurses and so on, but not one single doctor. I was told a doctor looked at my x-rays, but he didn't look at me. The only upside is that, since I was willing to put up with all the suffering and waiting, the direct cost to me was reasonable. $100, if I remember correctly (I could be wrong).

Now for Belgium. About a year ago, I had an unusual problem and went to see a doctor. He was within walking distance - only a few blocks away. The doctor called me in at my appointed time and proceeded to examine me. He took his time, asked and answered lots of questions and took tests. I was in his office for a good 30-40 minutes. He determined I needed to see a heart specialist. He recommended one and called and made an appointment with her for me. I was given the time of the appointment, but told that I should show up early, because she usually runs ahead of schedule. Sure enough, I was seen before the time of the appointment. Some unusual and expensive tests were administered, a treatment given, and a follow-up appointment was made. At the follow-up appointment, my experience was similar, except that I had to wait to see the doctor for maybe ten minutes. The cost was so negligible, I don't remember what it was.

So there you have it. I think you know which system I prefer. Chalk one up for Belgium.

Feed Your Children

Upon my arrival to this week's integration class, I proceeded to get myself settled in. This included taking advantage of the free coffee (it's crap coffee, but it's free! One of the perks (ha-ha) of the class). I was standing in front of the coffee machine, my pointed finger en route to the button when a, um, gentleman taking the class decided that waiting his turn was for westernized sissies. He snaked me! I should've been mad, but how could I be? The situation was just too funny. We'll get back to this guy shortly.

This week's lesson itself was remarkably unremarkable. We were given a whirlwind lesson on Belgian history and politics and discussed laws and culture a little bit. That's good and all, but I'm sure none of us will remember much of the history. Political stuff is good to know, but not very useful since none of us can vote. The laws and culture, that's where things got interesting.

The instructor wanted to know how we felt about certain Belgian rights and laws and how they compared to those of our countries of origin. We learned that residents of Belgium are required to provide food for their kids. Good to know. We also learned that it's forbidden to hit one's children. This is where the gentleman in question had something to say. Actually, he had something to say about everything, so I admit that I zoned out a bit. I did gather that he felt that kids have too many rights in Belgium. By the end of this conversation, I was back on track. We then went on to the rights of women and, by law, that they are equal to men. Everybody agreed that this was good. Well, almost everybody. You guessed it. Our friend took issue with this one. He, very seriously, believes that women have too many rights in Belgium. These rights make it difficult for him to control his woman and his household. I'm serious! He said that! The rest of the class did not bother to mask their amusement. They were laughing AT him.

I began to think that there are definitely people who need an integration course. Then again, will it really make any difference to people like this? Will they ever change? I may not be Belgian yet, but I'm more integrated than some will ever be.

Organized Chaos

I recently attended a sold-out concert at Ancienne Belgique (AB) along with a German friend  (Tom) of mine who traveled from Bonn for the show. AB is a nice and very popular mid-sized venue. It's small enough to see the performers well from any location and the sound is always excellent. But, there are a couple quirks to the place that I would not have noticed had Tom not pointed them out. 

First of all, when you walk into the building, you first enter the lobby/lounge/bar area. This is great, because you can buy your drinks, should you so desire, before you go plant yourself in the concert area. To buy drinks, you first need to buy jetons, which are little coin-like tokens and then exchange your jetons for drinks. This is normal at any event in Belgium. The idea is that you only have to exchange money once, then you can quickly get your drinks from the bar without anybody worrying about change, dropped cash or whatever. The only problem here is that there is only 1 place from where to buy the jetons. The line is haphazard and the queue is slow. Again, this is normal in Belgium. But, it's apparently not normal in Germany. The lack of organization drove Tom nuts. But, he got his beers and we saw an excellent show.

Then it was time to leave.

Crowd control is non-existent and it took us a good 20 minutes to make our way out of the rather small venue. This put Tom over the edge. "This would never happen in Germany!" He's right, and it probably wouldn't happen in the United States, either. If there was a fire, we'd be dead. As it were, we were shoved, nearly trampled and almost got in at least one fight on the way out. 

As I mentioned none of this would have crossed my mind as being unusual or dangerous had Tom not pointed it out. Maybe 6 months or a year ago it would have, but not now. I think I might actually be adapting to the nonchalant Belgian mentality. I don't know whether to be scared or relieved. 

Welcome to Flanders

When I first moved to Belgium, my wife and I lived in the Brussels region. The Brussels region is officially bi-lingual, which means that all official businesses (post offices, courts, etc.) must be able to provide their services in both Dutch and French. There is also a Flemish (Flanders) region, where only services in Dutch are necessary and a Walloon region, where only services in French are necessary. In the Brussels and Walloon regions, if you wish to get something done, it is definitely useful to know French. But, neither of these regions requires you to learn French (or Dutch or German, for that matter) nor do they require anything more specific than what is required by Belgian law to live in their regions. Makes sense, right? Well…

A few months after living in our small Brussels apartment, we decided to move to the charming hometown of my wife in the Flanders region just outside of Brussels. My, how things are different.

We had not lived here long before I began to seriously consider Dutch language lessons. I could always be helped in shops and such in English, but I always felt horrible about forcing people to speak my language on their turf. I remember very clearly driving home from the larger supermarket on the edge of town thinking, “That’s it. I’m going to sign up for Dutch classes”. When I got home, there was a letter waiting for me in my mailbox. Well, two letters, actually. One in English and one in Dutch. Here is the English version of that letter:

Dear Sir,

As you have only just arrived in our country, the Flemish government draws your attention to the fact that it is your duty to attend an integration programme. This will allow you to learn Dutch and receive a lot of useful information about the Flemish society.

Among other things, your duty implies that you have to be prompt to present yourself to the welcome office. Upon your registration at the welcome office, a contract mentioning the courses you should attend, will be drawn up with you. If, within three months of the registration in the municipality, you do not present yourself to the welcome office or do not observe your contract, you may be punished with a fine.

In some cases, you may be exempt from your duty to attend an integration programme. To that end, you should contact the welcome office of which the address is mentioned on the Dutch side of this letter.

We are confident that you will present yourself promptly to the welcome office.

Yours faithfully,

On behalf of the Board of Mayor and Aldermen,

The Mayor

The Secretary

I like how they call it a “welcome" office. Not terribly welcoming, if you ask me.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to learn Dutch or even live in Flanders anymore. I’ve always been one who would, for lack of a better word, rebel against what I’m being told I must do. If you ask me nicely, no problem, but don’t tell me I have to do something.

Once I calmed down, I decided to stick with my plan to learn Dutch. That still made sense and the decision was originally made on my own terms. I also eventually (it took me a few weeks) decided to see what this integration thing is all about.

I presented myself to the welcome office and discovered that, besides the mandatory language classes, it is mandatory that I take a 60-hour integration course. That’s right, 60 hours! And no, since I’m not in Belgium on a short-term work contract or student visa or anything so temporary, I was not exempt.

Now, let me say here that I don’t find all of this stuff that bad. I’m living on their land, I should follow their rules. But, here’s what really gets me: These courses are only required for non-European Union citizens. If everybody was held to the same standard, I would be annoyed, but I would dutifully follow the rules. I’ve been married to a Belgian (from Flanders) for more than 13 years and have made numerous trips to Belgium, yet I am in more need of integration courses than someone from Latvia or Greece who has never set foot in the country. OK, OK, I’m not the intended audience here. I just happen to be the dolphin who got caught in the tuna net. This makes it even worse, in my opinion. There is a massive number of immigrants coming to Belgium from parts of Africa, particularly Morocco, who speak French. It seems pretty obvious to me that they are the ones targeted by the Flemish government.

Wow, I’m digressing here. I’ll leave the politics and accusations of racism out of this for now and fast forward to nearly a year later. I’ve completed my required Dutch course and have just started another. I never did sign a contract, but I did finally agree to take a 30-hour “intensive” integration course which would fulfill my integration requirements.

I’ll back up a moment… About that contract. I had one written up which states that I’ll take the required courses, bla bla bla, but I never signed it. I read somewhere that I could get fined for not signing the contract. It seems to me that a contract is a voluntary agreement between two parties. Forcing me to sign something is contradictory to that definition, isn’t it? I’m still fulfilling the obligations.

Whew, sorry this entry is so long, but now we get to the fun part. Last week I attended the first class of the integration course. This is going to provide for multiple entertaining blog entries. Paging through the book that was provided, there are no topics that I don’t know or can’t figure out on my own by asking my wife or her family. Oh wait! Here’s something interesting! How can you become a Belgian? Page 92 with subheadings Are you married to a Belgian? and Naturalization, pages 92 and 93. This is definitely interesting to me. I’ve already acquired quite a bit of information on these subjects, but I’m curious to see what this book has to say, so I turn the pages. I turn to page 69, turn the page again and the next page is 98. HAHA! This really made me laugh out loud. I guess none of us in the class will become Belgian. For one thing, we wouldn’t have to take this class. Instead, we’ll learn more useful things like Taking a Taxi, page 62 and Withdrawing cash money from the cash dispensers, page 155.