["Macarena." Sorry, I know that's probably now going to be stuck in your mind the rest of the day, but it will make more sense later. In the interim, I offer you Lady Gaga's "Love Game," which I cannot get out of my head dispite the ridiculously juvenile lyrics.]
I am frequently asked by friends what I have seen while I have been living in Europe. The answer is somewhat the same as I might have given while still living in the states -- I have seen a variety of dark, windowless conference rooms in various cities. Two weekends ago, we had a long holiday weekend of sorts and I decided it was time to see something that was worth writing home about (or blogging, as the case may be).
I figured that since it was a long weekend, a lot of Germans would be out driving and there might be traffic, so it would be better to take the train someplace. But I didn't want to spend a long time on the train.... So I decided Brussels, Belgium would be a good destination -- about a 3.5 hour non-stop ride on the ICE and with several Starwood properties from which to choose (always key). Two years ago I had been there for the same conference that sent me to Rome last month, but again didn't have time to see the city other than from a bus window while en route to dinner. Time to see the rest of the city.
I made this decision on Tuesday night and figured out how to book the ticket online and I was set. Except I didn't have a travel guide, so I purchased one on Amazon.de where they have a whole section of English language books (I suspect the site is simply a front end for amazon.uk) and generally deliver in 1-2 days. Excellent. Except that one of the intervening days between the order and when I was to leave was a holiday. On Friday afternoon, I hung out at the office until the last possible minute before I had to leave for my train, but DHL had still not delivered. Doh!
I had a few extra minutes at the Frankfurt Hauptbanhof (a very, very large train station with quite a few shops), so I ducked into a bookstore. I found a small travel guide to Brussels that was suitable for purse schlepping and which had a lot of maps, including a few walking tours. What more did I need, right? Of course, there was the minor issue that said travel guide was in German and I didn't happen to have a German-English dictionary on my person. So, picture an English-speaking American walking around a city where the languages are French and Flemish with the "assistance" of a tour guide in German. Perfect....
Actually, it worked out pretty well, generally. I followed the outlined walking tours and saw most of the sights, though the history and their significance were often lost on me. It also helped that I had taken two years of French in college (much more study than I have had in German), so I could generally read signs and menus. Problem was, when I would try to speak with people (for example, ordering a croissant at the bakery), German would come out of my mouth. No, not the French listed on the menu. Not English which they would have understood as well. But clumsy and imperfect German. Which was often as much of a surprise to me as it was to the clerks. I felt a compulsion to cover my mouth to keep the words from coming out as I was thinking, "Where did THAT come from??" Apparently my small brain is unable to handle multiple, concurrent languages.
I stayed at the Le Meridien, which was nice enough. Very old school. They were kind enough to upgrade me to a delightful corner suite, which is always nice when you actually have time to enjoy it rather than just ducking in to sleep in between, say, visits to various conference rooms! And they had a Nespresso machine in the room! Not quite as cool as my handsome machine, but still much better than regular drip coffee. One of the unusual features of the hotel was the sound in the elevators. No, not elevator music. Nature sounds. The day I arrived, it was weird bird calls. The next morning I got on along with some other Germans (I was soooo excited to hear German being spoken!) and we all commented on the water sounds. Really odd. I suppose it was supposed to soothe guests, but it just kinda freaked me out.
I didn't really have a plan for the city, but just kind of wandered around, primarily following the walking tours in the book. When the spirit moved me, I'd sit down in one of the many parks or at an outdoor cafe and whip out my Kindle for some reading and people watching (and, of course, coffee or other beverages if at an outdoor cafe). Just very relaxing.
One of the interesting things I noted, though, was one of the many outdoor chalkboard signs by a restaurant. Like most of them, it was in French and listed some very tasty sounding things. But this one caught my eye when I saw "avec Freedom Fries." Yes, served not with French fries in this French-speaking country, but the Freedom Fries of the House of Representatives Cafeteria fame. As Rachel Maddow had said just a few days before, Freedom Fries are kind of like the Macarena. You know people who did the Macarena, but of course YOU never did the Macarena. Just like no one wants to admit they had anything to do with the Freedom Fries dealio. Except, apparently, Belgians, who keep the story alive.
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