Look where we went!

So, upon scanning through a year's worth of posts about living in this small confusing country I've noted that I come across as kind of down on the place, which is misleading.

Sure I've had my share of homesickness, loneliness and frustration about various aspects of being here, but on the whole it's been a truly fabulous experience. To that end, I'm going to write about one of the the things I love best about being here, namely all of the travel we have done.

Now, I know that some might say that I am just bragging about my champagne, caviar and chicken-truck existence, but to those haters I say, check out the post about the dog poop, or the two about grocery shopping.

So, without further ado, here are all of the places Andrew and I have visited in the past year (List includes only places we've stayed over night, not day trips and is in no particular order).

Paris (three times for both of us, and I went once alone)

That's not my husband!

Scrumptious Parisian hot chocolate (may explain my double chin)

Amsterdam (three times)

That's not Andy's wife!


Versailles

London (twice for both of us, three times for Andy)
Went there three times so far and haven't managed to bring the camera once

Rome

Italian Dolomites (ski trip)

This isn't Italy, instead it's a snap of the indoor ski hill in Dubai -- we forgot our camera on the ski trip (of course) but I figure this will do...

Canada (once for Andy, a whopping three times for me)

Lille, France
Beautiful, camera-less

Namur
Best part was the meal. Andy is STILL talking about his steak-frites. Sans apareil photo.

Bruges

Stunning photos courtesy of Susie Tector

Dubai




Snoopy Island

I know I've already posted this pic, but LOOK at this place.

Budapest

We went for our anniversary. It was lovely. Did you know that Buda and Pest are two seperate cities? True fact.

Bouillon

Beautiful town, fantastic food. That's our hotel behind us. I don't know who those two strangers are, but they wouldn't STOP following us...

Hecs
Tiny little town on the Belgian-Dutch border where we stayed at a B and B for two nights in August. We went for a long hike one day, Andrew dropped the map at some point, and we spent an hour walking through the abnormally hot Belgian sunshine in a pear orchard. The pears weren't ripe. No camera.

Wales
We stayed with friends. We visited castles. We hiked through the countryside. We played with a baby. We read books. I became briefly obsessed with Kakuro puzzles. We took pictures. I erased them.

Nice

Yes it was.

Pee time

It's taken me a while to write this blog, mostly because I don't know where to start since the subject of peeing in Brussels offers such a wide spectrum of topics.

The Belgian male's approach to public urination might be the best place to begin, because it's so out there, so to speak. For instance, one set Canadian visitors were startled when, in the taxi from the Gare Du Midi where they had just arrived, they spotted a man who had pulled over in one of the many traffic tunnels encircling Brussels. He wasn't having car troubles, he hadn't run out of gas. He just needed to take a leak in one of the busiest and most inconvenient spots in the entire city. Ignoring the blaring horns, angry epithets and stunned stares, he just calmly peed against the side of the wall.

For my part, I realised quite quickly when I stared from our apartment at the lone tree in the middle of our square that it was essentially a deciduous urinal. Men practically line up to use it. (In an example of our incredible wit, Andy and I call it the "pee tree"). I cringe every time I look out and see some kids happily playing in the dirt around the pee tree's wooden base. There is more urine in that soil than in the average toilet. I'm surprised the tree is still able to produce leaves.

Also, in my jogs through city parks I have come across enough men peeing (at least I hope that's what they were doing) in the bushes to no longer be startled when they emerge, zipping up and sheepish from the shrubbery.

This relaxed attitude to public urination might be explained by the presence of "Madame Peepee's" throughout the country. These are generally larger, older ladies who are employed by restaurants (even fast food joints), movie theatres, and bus and train stations to clean the cans. These people sit at the entrance to the toilets and charge between 30 and 50 cents for the privilege of using the johns. Maybe Belgians are opposed to paying to pee, which is why they do it outside. I actually don't have a problem with the Madame system (as long as I have the change) because the presence of the Madame (and occasional Monsieur) Peepee is at least some assurance that you're walking into a moderately clean toilet, and not the fecal spattered horror shows I've occasionally witnessed in Canadian gas station rest rooms.

The social rules governing bodily excretions can be bewildering, to the extent that the "Introduction to Belgium" course offered by Andy's job had a whole section about the issue. The course discussed dog crap, public urination and Madame Peepee. The instructor then went on to counter an apparently common urban myth amongst expats: The teacher solemnly informed us that despite what we might have heard it is not, in fact, the law that if a stranger knocks on your door and asks to use your toilet you must let them. In fact, the teacher stated, letting a stranger into your house to use your WC is strongly DISCOURAGED by law enforcement officials, who feel that such behaviour is not exactly safe.

No kidding. Who in their right mind would ever let a stranger in to use their bathroom? Only in a country with such odd attitudes around toilet use could such a stupid myth actually have any currency.

I thought I'd become blasé about the Belgian attitude to public urination until the day I was waiting in the long long line for the post office. I was inside, standing against the wall, when the five-year-old girl in front of me began tugging on her parents' coats, telling them she needed to go. Her parents told her to hold it, but she obviously couldn't. Finally, the father acknowledged the urgency of his daughter's request and took her by the hand, leading her out of the post office.

I assumed, in my innocence, he was taking her to find a toilet. Ha! Instead, as I watched through the window, the girl pulled down her pants and the father lifted her up, holding her as far from himself as he could. Then the girl, dangling four feet in the air, let loose, peeing all over the car parked immediately in front of the post office.

I really do love Belgium, and I even get a kick out of the Belgians, but man oh man, they're kinda barbaric.