Bruges

We caught a train from Brussels, it taking about an hour to arrive. From the station we took a bus to the center of the city. Bruges is indeed a beautiful city. We alighted the bus in the city's central square; a Church tower shot up into the air to a lofty height. All around the square were renaissance era buildings. An open-air market was taking place. One might imagine that save for the few cars that could be seen, the scene did not look too unlike what it might have looked like in 1808, rather than 2008.

One fellow who was colorfully dressed yelled enthusiastically at the crowd for people to buy his wares. Somewhat disturbingly, at least in our views, raw meat was on sale. We're not sure an open-air market is where we'd want to acquire uncooked meat.

Entering a nearby museum and seeing a painting from the eighteenth century confirmed this: most of the buildings we had seen were standing hundreds of years ago.


Today we had decided to go to Bruges, a city to the West of Brussels, renowned for its beautiful, old buildings.
We took a ride in a horse-and-carriage around the city. The guide spoke to us with a thick Flemish accent, pointing out various landmarks. We stopped to give the horse a break by a canal, and watched some people feeding some swans.


We would have also liked to take a ride on a boat through the city's many canals, but we decided that it was rather too cold. Apparently taking a boat ride through the canals during summer is extremely pleasant.

There was one piece of 'modern', abstract art, installed in 2003, but apparently much disliked in the town. People feel that it's an old-fashioned style town, and shouldn't be tainted with this 'new' style art.

Afterwards we walked all around the city's main square, entering some of the many boutiques, and window-shopping past many of the others. We settled on lunch at a tiny, cozy little restaurant.



Here we noticed a difference in terminology. We wanted to eat lunch. We didn't want a three course meal that would leave us barely able to stand. We tried to communicate this to our waitress. She said, "well you can have a snack." We didn't really want a "snack". We wanted lunch. A sandwich perhaps. We ended up each getting a snack. Apparently, two sandwiches with a side qualifies as a "snack" in Belgium. In fact, anything less than a full-fledged three course meal is a snack.
Craziness.

It's also a little strange how in Belgium, one eats their food, and finishes. Then one waits, and waits; eventually someone will come and remove the food. Then one waits and waits, wondering if the restaurant actually would appreciate being paid for the food they have served.
Eventually one is provided with the bill. I suppose that they must think that one wishes to sit and enjoy oneself, idly chatting after the meal.
It can be a nice change from US restaurants, where sometimes one is not even finished eating and the server will place the bill on one's table.

Also, interestingly, in US restaurants one might pay with a credit card, and have the receipt left on one's table to sign. One signs and leaves.
Sometime after one leaves they will collect the receipt. In Belgium, one is generally expected to sign the receipt right in front of the server, and then the server will immediately take the receipt.

It is refreshing that the price on sees on a meal is the price one pays.
Sales tax is included, and the price of the food includes a full wage for one's waitress. In the US, one generally has to account for an additional 25% for sales tax and tipping.

Anyhow, lunch at this restaurant was extremely pleasant. We ate, and then continued on, stopping to shop for chocolates in some of Bruges'
many chocolate stores, and then to shop for clothes. We stopped at another cafe to get out of the cold, and enjoyed a pot of hot chocolate between us.



We also saw another Tintin store. It was closed, but we took the opportunity to take a photo outside of it. We also saw a Pizza Hut, amusingly sandwiched between all these old-fashioned stores.



Finally, we headed back to Brussels after another very pleasant day. The train rolled quickly across the quaint Belgian countryside.

After relaxing for a while in our hotel, we headed out to dinner. We went to the same street as last night to eat: a charming, quaint, cobbled alleyway with plenty of restaurants on either side. Every restaurant seems to have an inviting looking fire burning inside, each with its own appealing but unique atmosphere.

Lisa wanted to eat Italian food, so we chose a nice looking Italian restaurant. We were guided to a seat near an older man who was sitting alone, and he very quickly began talking to us. Apparently he was from England, near London, retired, and rather enjoyed traveling. He was staying in a youth hostel, and was spending several weeks in Belgium. He had already finished his meal, but very quickly decided he would stay and chat with us "just until your main course arrives".

He was very talkative indeed, telling us of all the subtleties of traveling, how his favorite country was Spain, and so on and so forth.
We supposed he was lonely, since he seemed to be unmarried and traveling alone. He had a certain British charm, and he was interesting enough to talk to, so we did so pleasantly enough until our main course arrived, and he did indeed leave.

After a pleasant meal, we retired to our hotel, unsure what we would do the next day. Visiting Antwerp was one option, visiting some museums in Brussels another. We had already decided to leave all other European countries for a future trip.

Our first full day in Brussels

We awoke early the next morning, and ate breakfast at our hotel. It was interesting to note just how much people in Belgium seem to eat. I had always thought that portion sizes were large in the US, but they are at least as large in Belgium. And people clean their plates out too. We discussed with some level of wonder how everyone in Belgium seems to manage to stay so thin. Eating only quality food perhaps? Drinking wine with their meals? What could it be?

We had decided that today we would take a tour bus around Brussels, seeing the sights. But, after leaving our hotel and feeling the bitter cold, we realized the first order of things would be to purchase a scarf for Lisa. We found a nice blue one that she wrapped around her neck.
Still cold. But, that did help.

We found a tour bus, and were driven around the sights of Brussels. The Royal Palace. A Great War memorial. The seat of government of the EU.
Our bus driver was a little scary, and got honked at by other motorists on numerous occasions. It was fun, though.

We got off at the Atomium. The Atomium is a hugely magnified compound of
iron: nine atoms, each represented by a huge steel ball, connected by steel tubes. It was built in the 1950s, for the World Fair, but remained after it was over. The fascinating part is that each of the balls is hollow and has rooms inside that one can walk around in. The tubes between the balls contain escalators and stairs, and the vertical tube even holds an elevator which can take one to the top sphere.



We walked around inside; the insides of the spheres are museums, showcasing Belgian art, architecture, and industry. Disappointingly, the elevator that takes one to the top sphere was out of service, so we only made it half way up. We did enjoy some hot chocolate from the middle sphere though.

We soon returned to the bus and saw many more of Brussel's landmarks.
There was one particular landmark that is especially well-known in Brussels that we found somewhat amusing: the Manneken-Pis.

I have always thought that most cultures have certain strange traditions and legends. In Celtic tradition, for instance, there was said to be a woman who was pregnant for a period of years, and yet could outrun the fastest horses. The Japanese seem to have yet even more bizarre traditions, which border on the incomprehensible. However, I am unsure if anything is quite as strange as Belgium's apparent infatuation for the Manneken-Pis.



According to tradition, centuries ago, enemies of Brussels wanted to destroy it. They had huge cannons pointed at the city, the fuses were lit, ready to fire. Fortunately, a young boy walking by noticed it, and extinguished the fuses using a simple method that is reflected in the statue of him still on display today.

You're probably wondering where the people who had lit the fuses had gone, and why they couldn't stop a young boy urinating on them. Or why re-lighting the fuses would be more than a trivial procedure. Or why in the world the boy felt the need to strip naked before extinguishing the cannons. Naturally, you are thinking far too hard.



What is especially disturbing is the number of replicas of Manneken-Pis that can be found. Souvenir stores have rows upon rows of replicas of Manneken-Pis in different sizes. Candy stores have candy shaped like Manneken-Pis. We even found a store with a Manneken-Pis cut-out that would allow one to have their photo taken with their face shoved in a Manneken-Pis cut-out. It is disturbingly ubiquitous. Bizarre.

Anyhow, we stopped at a cafe to try some more hot chocolate. Here, we were given mugs filled with hot milk, and then a stick with a block of solid chocolate on the end. One dips the chocolate into the milk and stirs it around until it dissolves, and then drinks it. It was delicious. We were hoping we could acquire some to take home with us, but the maker seems to only sell them in bulk to cafes. We did also enjoy another waffle with cream on it.

Strangely, the concept of a couple purchasing a single substantial portion of food and then sharing it is rather foreign in Belgium. We were asked, with a very strange look whether we really wanted only one waffle and not two. Then, the waffle came with only one fork. We had to ask for another. Hopefully it is not too incredibly discourteous for us not to each purchase a huge waffle.

That evening, we strolled down a nearby alley which was lined with restaurants. Waiters were outside, begging people to visit their establishment. We settled on a very nice cafe and ate a three course meal. I had an assortment of clams and oysters followed by sea bass.
Lisa had a cheese croquet and a steak. All very nice. We ate in front of a fire which warmed us nicely.

It had been an enjoyable day, discovering this strange, almost exotic culture. So different from the US, or Australia, or England. Finally, tired, we retired to our hotel and to bed.

Around Brussels with Jetlag

Around Brussels with Jetlag

We arrived at our hotel. It is situated right in the middle of Brussels, within walking distance of many of the city's landmarks. We checked into our hotel. We were tired, of course, but it was late morning, and we wanted to stay awake, at least until the early evening, so we could sleep during the Belgian night.

So, after refreshing ourselves, we went outside and strolled around, exploring. Brussels is picturesque. We walked down cobbled streets, between beautiful 18th century buildings. We window-shopped at countless artsy boutiques that sold souvenirs, toys, art, and of course, Belgian chocolate.

We were soon reminded that Belgium is the home of Tintin, the comic book character by Herge. Apparently Tintin enjoyed popularity in Europe and in Commonwealth countries, but is virtually unknown in the US. Thus, Lisa hadn't heard of Tintin before, from anyone but me.

We found a store that specializes in Tintin merchandise. In addition to all the regular comics, they sold additional books about Tintin. Prints of Tintin. Clothes about Tintin. Tintin Dolls. Stuffed toys. And so on and so forth.

We bought a Tintin comic, in French. Lisa is planning to try to read it to me. A good way for her to learn about Tintin and brush up on her French at the same time.

We enjoyed lunch at a Greek restaurant. After being in the US, we were unsure what tipping etiquette would be like in Europe. Should we tip at all? How much? We gave a relatively generous tip, but I later researched and found that tips are generally unnecessary, though one can leave them for good service. Restaurant servers actually make reasonable money from their employers in Europe though, not the pittance that is made in the US with reliance on tips.

The architecture at Grand Place is amazing. Huge, cathedral-like buildings are seen in all directions. We walked around, admiring things, until jetlag started to take its toll in the afternoon. We had hoped to make it up until 8 or so, but that wasn't to happen. We had noticed just how nice Belgian waffles smell, though. Buying one, covered with chocolate and strawberries, we retired to our hotel room to consume it. Then we slept. A couple of hours later, Lisa woke me. I was feeling very groggy. We managed to watch a movie together and eat room service before going back to bed.

Traveling to Europe

It seems that just about everyone is starting a blog these days. I have resisted this trend until now. I've been invited to speak at FOSDEM in Brussels, Belgium. Not being overly fond of traveling large distances, I decided that if I was really going to spend the better part of a day crammed in a long steel tube as it hurtles through the upper part of the world's atmosphere, I had better make it worth my while. FOSDEM was kind enough to pay for my travel expenses for the weekend, but I decided to extend my stay to a week, and bring Lisa along too.

Thus, the reason for this blog. Lisa apparently feels that in addition to us traveling to Belgium, we should document the entire process.

People might be interested in reading about it. Or something.

Our journey began on Saturday, the 16th of February. We arrived at San Francisco Airport, with Dallas as our first destination. There we would leave Jackson with our good friends, Larry and Tina, who would care for him while we were in Belgium. Naturally we have convinced ourselves that this is entirely because Jackson would not enjoy a long flight across the Atlantic, and has nothing to do with us wanting time to ourselves on a vacation and so forth. We are good, loving, normal parents. Really.

Anyhow, our flight was late. Apparently there were thunderstorms in Dallas, and once a plane got struck by lightning, and so they don't like to let planes land while the storm continues over the airport. This caused a backlog, and so our plane was not allowed to take off on time.

This meant that young Jackson needed to be entertained. It was past his nap time, but we didn't want him to nap. We were saving that for when he was on the plane.

Instead, Jackson found a sloped area in the airport, and decided it was the best artificial hill he had ever seen. He ran up it and down it and up it and down it. Over and over again. Incredibly amusing stuff.

Finally the plane boarded. Jackson would be in our laps. The battle plan was to keep him entertained, give him a bottle, and then hopefully get him to sleep. It mostly worked. He did throw his bottle a few times, landing it in other passenger's laps, but he never cried, and we did get him off to sleep.

He slept most of the flight, only awaking toward the end. We had to circle around Dallas-Fort Wort airport for a while: the storms were still going on. And there was turbulence. Lots of turbulence; the plane shook around like mad. The plane was dead silent. Dead silent except for

Jackson: he was laughing like crazy. Apparently turbulence is very funny. I'm sure he'll love getting to go on a roller coaster.

We arrived in Dallas. Dragging six bags and a baby through an airport isn't "trivial", but we somehow managed it. We got everything together, and went and visited Amy, who recently had hip surgery, before retiring to our hotel.

The next morning we had breakfast with some of our friends from Dallas, and performed the dreaded "hand over". We tried to quietly slip out and leave Jackson with Larry and Tina, but of course he noticed and started crying. Oh well. Like I said, we're not bad, horrible parents. Really.

We left and drove to the airport. We weren't sure how far ahead we'd have to arrive for an international flight, so we hurried. We of course called Tina to make sure Jackson was doing okay. Not that we had contingency plans to cancel our trip if he wasn't. We're not bad, horrible parents. Really.

Of course, our plane was late, so all the hurrying was unnecessary. We finally got our flight, to Chicago, before taking off for Brussels. The long, horrible trans-Atlantic leg of our journey.

I find it very hard to sleep unless I'm incredibly comfortable. I've never been incredibly comfortable on a plane, so I didn't expect to sleep. Lisa sleeps much more easily.

Unfortunately we didn't get a row with a power outlet, so laptop based entertainment was only available for around two hours. Fortunately, I had bought Lisa an iPod Touch for our anniversary; she had really wanted it, honest! Lisa slept, while I entertained myself with the iPod Touch. She had downloaded some interesting lectures, and then I listened to music. The iPod Touch and iPhone will be much better when third party software is available, though.

We finally arrived in Brussels, the next morning. Immigration was crazily easy to get through. We didn't have to fill out any forms. We didn't have to declare that we aren't members of the Communist Party, weren't associated with Germany's National-Socialist Party between 1931 and 1945, and aren't on speaking terms with Osama bin Laden.

I was even more surprised there was no customs procedure at all. No forms. No speaking to anyone. We weren't even asked if we had anything to declare.

We noticed a mobile phone store in the airport. We wanted to investigate renting a phone, since neither of our phones from the US were compatible with the networks used in Europe. We did manage to rent a phone, after agreeing to have 1200 euros 'reserved' on our credit card. Just in case we talked that much. I guess some people do.

Rather than trying to navigate Brussels' public transport system while exhausted and hauling our luggage about, we decided to catch a taxi to our hotel. So out we went to find one. We were pointed in the direction of where the taxi stand was.

There was a line. A long line. One that snaked past a barricade. Were all these people really waiting for taxis? There must have been several hundred people in the line, and more were arriving by the minute. We asked someone, and they nodded, yes this was indeed the line for taxis.

Of course, their nod could really mean "je ne parles pas Anglais", and we could be waiting in line to get on a bus that would whisk us away to some strange destination. Considering how long the line was, it did seem hard to imagine that there would be enough taxis to service all these people.

But taxis came. Hordes of taxis. Someone was directing the taxis.

Organizing it so three or four could arrive at once and pick people up, before speeding away, leaving more taxis in a queue of taxis to come.

The line moved quickly. A quarter of an hour later we were at the front of the line, and were ourselves, whisked away to our hotel: The Novotel off Grand Place.

Our adventures in Belgium had begun.