Not In Bruges

Leaving the Ward

2012-02-10T16:23:00.000+01:00

It’s moving time again. I’ve only been living in this studio since the end of December, but my lease here ends next week. I’ve been looking at apartments, and made some calls and appointments, but it’s been slow going. House hunting is not my thing.

There has been some stress, not knowing where I am going to live next week. I haven’t been finalized for NATO yet, so I’ve been dragging my feet making any long term decisions until that gets worked out (long term meaning the next six months - after that, I still don’t know).

This apartment has been good, but this isn’t the first time that I’ve lived by myself in a studio. In January 2006 when I was living in Denver, I moved out of the apartment I shared with a roommate because I wanted to be alone; I wanted to think. I was working at the bank at the time, my third shitty job since I had arrived as a recent college graduate in Denver, and my life wasn’t working out the way I had hoped. I really didn’t have any friends in Denver, and wasn’t meeting people that I especially wanted to be friends with. I had dreams of starting a band, but the music scene was bland.

It wasn’t long before my frustration spilled over into my job, and pennies had to get thrown away. I’ve told that story enough times to anyone who would listen, so I don’t need to repeat it, but by March I had no job. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, I spent about 23 hours a day in my apartment (save 1 hour to go for a long walk every day). The apartment’s nickname became “the cell”, and I started to think about the life I wanted to live.

I decided at this point that I wanted to leave the U.S. If I was going to have a shitty job, I reasoned, I should at least be picking up a new language along the way. But I couldn’t find a way to get a job overseas. I even seriously considered the Peace Corps, ultimately deciding against it for a handful of reasons. Usually, I’m not much of a reader. But I started reading books to distract me from my thinking. It was while I was reading the tragic biography of Portland musician Elliot Smith that I had a dream one night. It was a lucid dream, rare for me, where I saw people my age flocking to Portland. (It turns out that the actual location of the place in the dream was SW 4^th and Burnside, specifically the big billboard there. I had no way of knowing that at the time.) The people told me to come to Portland. The next day when I awoke, I made plans to move out west.

I planned to stay in Portland for 3 to 4 years, then leave the U.S. Basically from the day I arrived I was planning my exit, hanging out at Chinese restaurants trying to pick up some Mandarin. And then after 4 years I did leave.

Sometimes the plans we make come true. I haven’t had any prophetic dreams so far in the new studio, which I call the “recovery ward.” But I am not in need of any right now. Life in the ward is quite different than life in the cell. I have friends that come to visit, and have brought me dinners when it was hard to get out of bed. Friends have gone shopping for me, and helped me with laundry. I am reading, not biographies of musicians but international relations theory as I write my master’s dissertation. I have no five year plans but I trust myself to land on my feet, whatever is thrown at me in the coming months. As difficult as the six months in the cell were, looking back it turned out to be valuable time.

So that’s what’s going on right now. The knee is strong, maybe stronger than before the surgery. But stronger than the knee is the spirit, and the optimism for the future.

Knee brace.

This was taken a week ago, and the swelling has gone down a lot since. Probably because I'm constantly icing it. Probably because Brussels hasn't gotten above freezing in 2 weeks.

Surgery

2012-01-10T18:57:00.000+01:00

Well, I'm back. It was a strange 30 hours, even though I probably slept through 15 of them.

The hospital story begins as I left my apartment at 6:20 AM, after staying up all night working on my papers, turning them in, and then cleaning my apartment in preparation for crippledness. I've been staying up pretty late the past few weeks, as I tend to write better in the early morning hours and I've been drinking a lot of red bull. But there was no red bull on Sunday, since I had to fast for the anesthesia and I didn't want the taurine interfering anyway.

So I was a little sleepy as I took the metro to the hospital. When I got there a little before 7, the hospital was closed. I mean, the doors were open and you could walk in, but nobody was working. That's not something that I'm used to seeing. So after waiting for the help to arrive, I checked in and headed for my room, on floor 2, section U24.

I assumed they meant floor -2 (2 floors below the entrance, in Europe the ground floor is "0") since that's where all of my appointments had been. I took the elevator down and there was indeed a section U, which was the surgery section. I followed the signs looking for room 24, which it said was next to the surgery theater. "Cutting to the chase" I was thinking "I like that." There was no receptionist at the station so I headed in, walking past people in wheely beds prepped for surgery.

I was walking down the hall when a woman in scrubs started yelling at me in French. The only parts I could understand were "you can't be in here" and "you have to leave now." I didn't think much of it, as I'm used to making such mistakes so I went back to the reception and waited for the receptionist to show up, who informed me that there was indeed a floor 2 in a different bank of elevators.

So I found my real section and found a nurse who showed me the room I would be sharing with another man (later introduced to me as Angel from Peru). My surgery was at 9 so they had me change into the hospital gown right away and take a shower with some disinfectant, then the nurse shaved me knee. I got into my hospital bed and an orderly wheeled me down to the same section I had barged into before, only this time I was prepped for surgery in my wheely bed like the others.

I stayed there for quite awhile, as other patients were wheeled in and left, and I started to think that 9am on a Monday morning isn't the best time to schedule surgery and maybe my doctor was hungover or stuck in Ibiza. It was pretty close to 10 when a group of doctors came and got me, and started asking me questions in French as they wheeled me into the theater, which I didn't understand so I just nodded my head, which made them mad because they were asking me how much I weighed, which is not a yes or no question.

At this time I should say that the hospital I have been going to is a teaching hospital. The doctors sometimes have assistants that are medical students who do some of the easy work. There were probably 10 people in the operating theater when we got there, and I new that half of them where there to observe by the way they were trying to look busy. I am an expert of knowing how to look busy, so these gomers couldn't fool me. One plucky young lad, with a "real" doctor's assistance (maybe my anesthesiologist?) starting jabbing a needle into my hand for the IV. He missed several veins, gave a Rick Perry "oops" and then pulled the needle out and went for a third time. I silently prayed that Dr. Butterfingers wouldn't be near my knee to make a salad out of it.

Next they put a plastic holder for my left leg to prop it up, and they put a mask on me which they said was oxygen. At this point, one of the doctors (or maybe a gomer?) asked me which knee they were operating on. I wanted to say "how about we start with the one that's shaved and in the plastic holder" but I just laughed. I don't know if I was laughing because there was some kind of anesthetic in the mask or if it was because I had been up for almost 24 hours. Mercifully, at that point the anesthesiologist told me it was go time, and I nodded and then the sounds of the operating room got very strange and then I was out.

When I woke up I was in the post-op, which made sense. It had only been under for 2 hours. My left knee was in a lot of pain, which considering what was going on before the surgery made me somewhat relieved. They shot me full of painkillers and then wheeled me back up to my room. I think I slept a lot that afternoon. When I woke up there were people speaking spanish in the other half of the room. Angel's family introduced themselves, the daughter started speaking to me in English. "The nurses tell me you only speak English," she said. "That's not true," I corrected her, "I speak un poco de espanol and I can understand sometimes when people yell at me in French." She didn't seem impressed, but she was polite anyways.

I spent the evening alternating between reading and sleeping. There was a bottle with a snap cap by the side of my bed. "It's for pee" one of the nurses had said when I first arrived. Around ten o'clock another nurse came in "Il fait pee pee? (Does it make pee pee)?" she asked. "Non." Then I heard her asking Angel, and when she left I hear her asking the same question people in other rooms down the hall. Nurse Pee Pee, as I came to call her, came back every hour asking if I made a pee pee, and every time the answer was no. Finally, at about 4am I did have to go. But I have spent 31 years conditioning my body to not make a pee pee when I'm lying on my back. Plus the whole gravity thing was wrong. So Nurse Pee Pee helped me wheel my IV while I hobbled on crutches into the bathroom. She asked "Il fait pee pee?" as I came out. "Yes." "Bon!" she replied, and I never saw her again, making me wonder if she was part of some opium dream.

This morning was easy, just sleeping and watching some TV. Around noon they brought lunch, and Angel and I had a pretty good half-hour chat in Spanish. I could understand maybe 70% of what he said, if you count hand gestures. Usually people get bored talking to me in Spanish, but he seemed to enjoy it. He told me stories about being a professional soccer playing in Peru, back in the day. Then the doctor came and checked me out and told me I could go home. Fahim drove out and picked me up and took me back home, where I am now eating burned frozen pizza in bed.

That's where the story ends. Now I have people coming over to play guitar. I hope you have enjoyed my story about surgery.

Off to Surgery

2012-01-09T02:04:00.000+01:00

I've been pretty busy working on my final essays for school, which are due tomorrow. It's 1:41 in the morning and I have to be at the hospital at 7 to get my ACL repaired. I was planning on working all night, but I think these papers are about as good as they're gonna get. I can't eat anything more until after the surgery, and I don't think I can go to sleep since I've been staying up until 6 pretty regularly for the past few weeks, and I don't want to oversleep. So maybe a nap, I don't know...

I don't have much to say right now, hopefully I'll have some down time soon to catch up on some older stories, and also have something new to talk about as I sit later today in a communal hospital room with people speaking languages I don't understand. Honestly, I've been pretty relaxed today, considering all of the deadlines coming up. I think in a weird way the stress of the paper deadlines and the anxiety of the surgery have cancelled each other out, each one keeping me from dwelling too hard on the other. I'm all moved into my new studio apartment on the ground floor and have a bunch of frozen pizzas and cans of soup to last a week or so, and my friend Fahim will drive me home from the hospital tomorrow.

So, cheers to my last night of having one ACL.

Aachen, Germany

2011-12-23T15:23:00.000+01:00

I'm bad about posting photos, because it's kind of a pain in the butt. But I am trying to get to know iPhoto a little better so that I can post some of this stuff. These are from a recent trip to the Christmas market in Aachen, Germany. This is also the place where the great king of europe Charlemagne ruled from over 1000 years ago. We took a high speed train for a little over an hour to get there, and spent the day the day wandering around before coming back the same day.

Charlemagne's throne

Charlemagne's thone with me and Norwegian Thomas

Charlemagne's final resting place

Some church or something, I don't know

The crowd.

My group of travelers having a beer after a long day of standing in the rain

Inside of the chuch

Christmas market; the shack on the left was selling Glühwein, a hot spiced wine popular this time of year.

Success!

2011-11-03T17:42:00.000+01:00

My job in Brussels is to organize conferences, mostly in the area of security and defense. My focus recently has been on conferences on cyber security, so I have been the point man for the new shindig we’re throwing at the European Parliament. It’s a smaller affair, maybe 25 participants, with two panels, each with three speakers over one hour.

Today was a good day. I’m actually home sick with a cold, but working online I see that a member of the European Parliament (MEP) has just confirmed as a speaker. Success! I have three speakers confirmed, but I still need to scramble a bit to ensure that I get the other three. I have only some of the 25 participants that I need, but there tends to be a last minute scramble on the side of the participants. If I have 15 a week before, I will likely have 30 on the day of the conference.

We are organizing this conference (Round Table, we call them) in coordination with an Estonian MEP. The Estonians are big into the area of cyber security since a few years ago. A small country, they are highly digitized with banking and voting and other central services provided almost exclusively over computer networks. In 2007 their infrastructure was attacked, severly crippling the country for a few days. Ever since, they are the first to beat the drum for overhauls to the European systems of cyber security.

So far on the list of confirmed participants we have people from NATO, Europol (the European police agency, like Interpol but for Europe), Permanent Representations to the EU (like embassies for member states of the EU) and staff members of the European Pariament. It looks like there is interest, which seems to be the case for most of the cyber security events these days.

In related news, I have been accpeted into the NATO internship program in their cyber defense area, beginning in the spring (after my current work contract is over). I still need to get a security clearance from the Americans, which is not easy. I received my background check form from the State Department. They estimated the burden to be 2 ½ hours, including research. This was not the case. Even having 20 years of housing history and 10 years of work history previously researched for other NATO forms, I was still 5 hours into the form when I started to lose my patience. They asked me if I had ever had contact with any foreign governments, and I typed “Yeah, every fucking day” and then put the form away for the night.

The next evening I drafted a three paragraph response detailing my work with my company. They wanted a list of every foreign government I had ever contacted, and I told them that it was outside the scope of this form to list every government I had ever had contact with, but that it was all in line with my job, and if they wanted more info they can come talk to me. Sometimes I really don’t think I’m cut out for government work. But if this gig doesn’t work out, maybe I can go talk to the Estonians.

I promised myself I would post something in the month of October

2011-10-31T17:23:00.000+01:00

I'm trying not to abandon what readership I have. Sorry for trying people's patience. I've been so busy that the thought of blogging has been a little bit daunting. That's kind of the blogger's quandary, isn't it? When you finally have something to say you're too busy to say it.

But school has started up again, I'm working 15 hours a week (paid) at the German company where I did my internship. I have student government duties, and try to go to as many social events as I can fit in, especially since I skipped some birthdays when I was hobbled up in my apartment.

By the way, the knee is better. I have ACL surgery scheduled for January 9th (Mom's birthday!). I guess I could write a whole big post on knee stuff, but I'll just leave it to say that I have been without an ACL in my left knee longer than I ever had one (17 years), and it affects my life in ways I don't always notice, and I'm looking forward to relearning how to do things with two working knees again.

I had big plans to write about my adventures in the Belgian hospital system. I had a blog post written about my struggle to learn French but scrapped it. Things are busy, which is good, but it does get stressful. I find myself missing playing my electric guitar, and end up watching youtube videos of amateur players demonstrating their new amps, and fantasizing about which amp I'm going to get once I have money and a place to play it.

So I've been turning to music to help with the stress. I wrote a song back when my friends were leaving. It really isn't about anyone or anything in particular, it's just about people leaving. It's just a demo, recorded on my built in computer speaker. If you're curious, it's posted here:

How Far Would You Fly Away From Me?

Well, I have a Halloween party tonight, so I need to go find a lame costume in the 20 minutes before the store closes. Happy Halloween, by the way. Love you all.

Backlog

2011-09-09T15:57:00.000+02:00

I published a few things I have written earlier but haven't been able to post since we don't have internet at home right now and I haven't been to work much in the past week. I am actually sitting in the lobby of my office building uploading stuff on some random internet signal.

I did go to the doctor on Tuesday and they say my knee is broken. Not shattered, per say, but there is some kind of fragmentation at the bottom of the femur. I got an xray and CT scan but I didn't see them. The hospital system is a bit different here than in the States. For instance, in the States you are sitting in an exam room and the doctor comes in with the xrays and shows you were the problems are. In Belgium, I was sitting in a wheelchair in the hallway with black socks and no pants on, and the doctor came over and drew a little stick figure on the back of an envelope. "Uh, that's great Doc. Can I have my pants back? It's drafty in this hallway and old women are leering at me." Her English wasn't so great but she sounded like she knew what she was talking about. The whole hospital experience was quite interesting, for instance getting an xray while an xray tech who didn't speak English barked commands at me that I didn't understand. But I have private insurance, and I am eligible (and have almost finished paperwork) for the Belgium insurance plan, and these tests only cost 10 Euros in these communist countries anyway. I ended up with a full cast on my leg, and I see a specialist next Thursday.

Speaking of communists, in order to get on the Belgium insurance I needed a document from the commune. Andy, my German coworker, was kind enough to drive me there yesterday. I hobbled to the basement on my crutches, and saw that there was a 45-minute line. I am not able to stand for 45 minutes, and didn't want to make Andy wait that long, so dejectedly I hobbled back to the car and told him the line was too long and that I will just go another time. He asked me if they had handicapped access and I said there wasn't, that the "take a ticket" machine was broken and there was just a line. "This is not acceptable. I'll be right back," he said sternly, and thus the second German invasion of Belgium was launched.

He returned 5 minutes later. "I've found someone who will help you. Some were helpful, and some were not." We hobbled past the receptionist with her piles of pamphlets. "Like this one, who is ONLY GOOD FOR DISTRIBUTING MAGAZINES!" She pretended to be busy. We reached the basement and went around the corner to a back office, where Andy knocked on the door. A woman nervously pushed her head outside. "She is the one who will help you." She took my documents and I could hear the employees chattering amongst each other about Germans and handicapped access as she closed the door. But a few minutes later she returned with my documents. It was the fastest and friendliest experience I have had at the commune yet.

So, I'm bored but things are going OK. My internship was set to end next week anyways, so I'm not missing a lot. Orientation for new students is the following week, which being part of the student government I will have to help with, but won't be too taxing. School starts the week after. This might be a good time to get my knee and ACL fully repaired. I've actually had a damaged knee for more of my life than it was healthy, and to tell you the truth it always hurt. It hurt if I exercised it a lot, and it hurt if I didn't. So this might be the perfect time to get that piece of housekeeping out of the way.

I really had a great summer playing basketball twice a week. I lost most of the fat on my stomach without doing any situps. When we started playing in May, I could only play for about half an hour before getting winded. Last week we had an extended session of about 3 hours, with only a handful of 5 minute water breaks. When my wallet was stolen I was able to run a mile home without being winded to start cancelling my cards. And I had a lot of fun getting better at the game and meeting Belgians on the court. If somebody asked me at the beginning of the summer if I would still want to play knowing I would end up with a broken knee, I think I would say that I would do it all over again.

A Bad Weekend

2011-09-09T15:20:00.000+02:00

6 September, 2011

I had my wallet stolen on Saturday night. I was walking home from a friends house, and was pickpocketed by a young man. I chased him but was unable to catch him. Left without an ID or cash cards (I luckily have a backup credit card that was not stolen) I was fuming. I went to play basketball on Sunday. The game was uncharacteristicly physical and I badly injured my knee again as I landed from attempting to block a shot. It was worse then that time I injured it playing soccer a few months ago.

So last night I was lying crippled on my couch, alone. The internet was in my roommate’s name and was shut off when he left, so I didn’t have the ability to contact anyone via Skype or make long distance calls, or even kill time on Facebook. I almost never watch movies, but I found a random DVD that had been left by someone, and wanting to distract myself began to watch it. The movie turned out to be about people whose parents get cancer and whose friends die in car accidents, and it depressed me so much that I had to shut it off. I felt the urge to call home, but could not.

Last night, without money, ID or the ability to walk I felt homesick for the first time in a long time. And it was a terrible feeling. I hobbled to bed early, and thought of how miserable I was. And I thought about how much worse things could be. I was not injured when my wallet was taken. Much worse happens to people in Brussels, and had I been stabbed the lost wallet would have been the least of my concerns. I was safe, warm, and dry. There was cheese and grapes in the fridge. My parents and friends weren’t dying like in that horrid movie. But there was an unmistakable sadness, probably the bitter combination of the anger and frustration of being victimized and the helplessness of being injured.

I woke up today and called in sick to work. It was too bad. I had a meeting scheduled at NATO for my current internship. It was a big opportunity, but hobbling interns are not very useful. Then things began to turn around. My German coworker Andy brought over some anti-inflamitories. My friend Fahim brought his guitar over and we played for awhile, and he offered to drive me to the doctor and to the bank, which we will do tomorrow. My Romanian friend Alexandra came over for awhile, and offered to make me dinner tomorrow. Amerian-via-Belarus Yulia explained how the medical insurance works over here (herself having similar misfortune). Fahim’s Greek girlfiend Naya drove me home from basketball last night.

And maybe that’s the Brussels experience. Expats taking care of expats. Fellow wanderers and lone wolves, none of us having family here, becoming family. And maybe that’s what hurts so much as I watch them go, one by one, back to their country of origin or on to the next big challenge. And it’s maybe a little frustrating having this love and kindness bestowed on me with little chance that I will be able to pay it back. But I am beyond grateful that I have the love and support that I feel from my real family manifest itself in their kindness.

Berlin, or How I Spent My Summer Vacation

2011-09-09T15:17:00.000+02:00

For my internship, I was given two weeks off, which seems a bit silly since the internship is unpaid, and maybe I could just not come in whenever I want. But fine. For the vacation, Heather came to visit me. We still Skype, and she is maybe my best friend.

For the first week, we did little day trips around Belgium and the area. We took a train to the Belgian coast to a town called Oostende. This is where the Belgian aristocrats have their second (third? eighth?) home. It was a beautiful day and we went swimming in the sea twice (also getting kicked out of the sea twice, by some guy on a jetski who had a walkie talkie but didn’t speak much English). The water was warm and very swimmable, at least by Oregonian standards. On our way back we stopped in Brugge, which I did just to show her how horrible it was. Heather agreed that it was horrible, although we did have a very nice pasta dinner there.

Next we went north to the southern part of the Netherlands to a city called Maastricht. It was nice. The Netherlands are quite livable, what with their bikes and flawless English and tall people (so that I could buy clothes there, something I’m not really able to do in the Land o’ Hobbits that I currently live in). We got their via the famous Belgian city of Liege, which is famous for something or other but all we saw was the train station.

Anyway, the real headliner was the trip to Berlin. We had arranged with my German coworker Andy that one of his friends had accomidation for us for 2 out of the three nights we were there. Andy actually happened to be on our flight out (he goes to Berlin maybe 2 weekends a month). But for the first night we needed to get a hostel. Except that Heather informed me that she doesn’t do hostels, because she doesn’t know how awesome and cheap they are. So we got a hotel room for the first night. It was in the East part of Berlin in a neighborhood called Mitte, and the hotel was East Berlin to the core. (As a reminder, East Berlin was communist and West Berlin was capitalist.) The building was made of concrete, as pretty much every building older than 20 years in East Berlin is. The fixtures were like some kind of futuristic 60’s deco, like Star Trek meets Mad Men. It was pretty great. Two thumbs up.

Andy showed us around town. He seemed to really like showing us the city. Berlin is cheap but not dodgy. We saw the Berlin wall, the Holocaust memorial (both are quite cool) and Andy gave us a tour of West Berlin (the “lame” Berlin) for the highlights, although we didn’t get out of his car on that side.

That night we had dinner in a restaurant that had an open-air courtyard for eating. (I had a delicious plate of gormet ostrich for slightly more than a hamburger costs in Brussles.) The building was not designed to be open-air, but was “redecorated” by Allied bombs during WWII. Actually, Berlin still shows many scars of war. There are bullet holes in the Roman columns of government buildings. Neighborhoods are pockmarked with newish buildings built from the rubble standing side by side with older buildings that were somehow spared. Even the museum had entire floors missing from its original construction, and the interior stone walls show scars of bomb shrapnel.

That night we stayed at Andy’s friend’s house. It was also concrete, but he had decorated the place to make it quite livable as kind of a post-Commie chic seen around East Berlin. The next day, Heather had to work on schoolwork for awhile, so I went in search of Hansa studios.

When I visited Dublin a decade ago, I went to all of U2’s recording studios. One I entered by pretending to be part of a maintenance crew going in the front door. The receptionist was very nice as she kicked me out, and allowed me to take pictures of the platinum records on the walls (Google “U2 studios” and somewhere there is a website that shows all of the studios and their location. I gave them my photo and they put it up on their site). Another studio was open, so I went inside past a room full of amplifiers and up a flight of stairs. The engineer asked me how the hell I got in there, and I told him the door was open, and then he escorted me off of the premises (no pictures this time). The other two I was not able to get inside of. However! The recording of U2’s classic Achtung Baby (itself being rereleased this fall on its 20^th aniversary) was not started in Dublin. The first sessions were held in Berlin in a place called Hansa studios, where David Bowie and other famous people had worked before.

I googled the location and headed over via subway. When I got to there I was vaguely disappointed. It was an office-type entry with buzzers for various Hansa and non-Hansa entities. I pressed the button for the main Hansa studios. Nothing happened. It was Saturday, so I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there for a couple of minutes. As I was starting to feel a bit pathetic I began to head out just as a group of people arrived at the door. “Do you, uh, work at Hansa?” I asked them. One of them nodded his head. “Do you, uh, give tours?” He told me that there is a tour given in September, information was on the website blah blah blah. “I don’t, uh, suppose that I can see the studio?” He shook his head. It was, afterall, his place of work. “OK.” But as I was leaving, I looked at the back gate and saw the parking lot. The VERY SAME (I think) parking lot that appears in a photo in the albumn notes. So the Hansa mission was a resounding success and I can finally say that I finished what I started ten years ago. Four thumbs up!

Anyway, the rest of the trip was hanging out in Berlin with Heather and Andy and Andy’s friends and drinking beers by the river. I think the earliest we went to bed was 3am. It was a good trip. The end.

Train station at Liege, designed by George Jetson

In Maastrich

Heather makes a new friend

Sunset in Maastricht, Netherlands

Some guy. Everybody gets a status nowadays.

Hawaii, no wait, Oostende!

There was nowhere to change into swimming suits on the beach, so we used my coat to wrap around ourselves to provide some modesty. Heather was trying to discretely change when I yelled "Surprise!" and she turned around, and it ended up being a pretty good picture.

I rather like Oostende.

D'oh!

And then Heather took another one, which caught me off guard.

Brugge swans

Brugge people

Brugge building

East German Trabants. They run on a 2-cycle engine, like a weed whacker. (You have to put oil inside the gas.) When the wall came down thousands of these were discarded at the border.

Berlin museum of old stuff.

View of the museum and East Berlin. Note the East German "Space Needle". I don't think it tilts though, just my camerawork.

Berlin is cheap. My mega-BLT and salad cost 6 euros inside the museum café. Also, Heather.

The Berlin wall.

Holes in the Berlin wall.

Andy, Carmello (Andy's dog) and Heather check out the Holocaust memorial.

I don't remember what this is, but it is decorated with Napoleon's cannons. And the omnipresent space needle is in the background.

Bundestag (sp?). Or Deutchstag. Uh, German parialmentary building.

Apartment we stayed at with Andy's friend Roy.

Berlin subway station.

Outside of Hansa studios.

Hanging out by the river, drinkin'.

Hanging out with Andy's friends somewhere in East Berlin at some unspecified time in the morning.

Mac'd

2011-08-22T14:54:00.000+02:00

It's been a busy summer. I'm back at work after a two week vacation, the last week of which Heather came out to visit. We took a few day trips to some Belgian cities (Brugge, Liege, Maasricht and the beach at Oostende) and then flew to Berlin for four days. We returned last night, and Heather boarded her flight back to the US this morning. I will post some of the good pictures once I get them sorted. But I want to announce that I am typing this on my new (to me) Mac. (Warning: If you don't care about computers, you should skip this one and check back in a few days when I get some pictures posted.)

The Dell that Dad gave me last year has been bulletproof. It's a 6 year old computer (about 108 in people years) and is faster than most of the other computers I use. The secret? I keep it lean and mean without putting a lot of stuff on it. And it runs Windows XP, which is fast and efficient despite being a decade old. But the keys are starting to break, and the power cord needs to be propped up with a bottle cap in order to get it to charge, and a few weeks ago I plugged it in and it blew the master breaker in the apartment, which seems like a cue that it is time to upgrade. My uncle Bert graciously gave me his old MacBook Pro (which Heather brought over with her). I've been a die-hard PC user and defender since 1994, so this wasn't a small change.

I remember back in the 1990's when computer processors were doubling in speed every two years. Back then, a computer took about 90 seconds to boot up. With the growing speed of computers we computer nerds were promised faster boot times, as little as 5 seconds. This reality, however, never materialized. As processor power increased, the new resources were devoted to maintaining operating systems ever-increasing in complexity. As such, my laptop at work - with a clock speed 60 times faster and with 250 times more memory than my family's first computer - takes over 2 minutes to boot. This same laptop when shutting down gives me enough time to take my cups to the kitchen, wash them, dry them and put them away, and even then sometimes it hasn't been able to shut itself down, causing me to just pull the plug from the wall in frustration. What the hell happened?

Granted, the work laptop is running Windows Vista, which is widely regarded as the worst product Microsoft ever produced. But it's been a long time since a supposed "upgrade" made my life any easier. I've noticed that every new redesign of Windows is merely a snapshot of what Apple was doing 3 years ago. So I wanted to try a computer that was thoughtfully designed with features that I would actually want to use. As I get older, I'm much less inclined to want to fiddle around with technology to get it to work. I just want to turn the computer on and have it quickly doing what I want it to do.

There are some downsides to Macs. I have already run into a few compatibility issues, and many programs are made for the PC only. But this computer boots up fast, runs programs quickly and efficiently and shuts itself down in 5 seconds or less. It doesn't bombard me with questions and messages that I don't care about. It doesn't sit there and constantly churn. And the layout is visually pleasing, something that Windows has had 18 years to get right but fails at, in my opinion.

When I informed people about my switch, Mac people usually gushed about how much they love their computers, while PC people usually responded with "Huh." So I sense that there is quite a divide between the two camps. I still will probably always use a PC for work, but it's nice to be able to come home to something that requires much less effort to use and maintain.

OK, none of that was about Belgium, so I'll try to be quick about posting some Belgian stuff, once I figure out how to import pictures into the new computer.

Airshow

2011-07-19T20:28:00.000+02:00

Yesterday afternoon, my coworker and I were lazily staring at our computer screens when we heard the unmistakable sound of a fighter jet flying low in the sky. As this is unusual in Belgium, we stuck our heads outside. Two more F-16's followed, flying slowly, maybe 1000 feet off the ground. 10 seconds later an entire parade of aircraft followed, including 3 helicopters, 2 C-130 cargo planes and a passenger jet. At the tail end, another pair of F-16's followed.

Honestly, I thought it was some kind of airshow. But later on the news they showed the French state funeral of 7 soldiers killed in Afghanistan the previous week. Sarkozy was there, and they had the ceremony in a large cathedral in Paris. What we had seen earlier that day was a sort of aerial funeral procession.

I caught myself thinking that it was all a bit overdone; that it was only seven soldiers, that the US loses that many in a week quite often, that all they needed to do was flash their names across the scrolling news bar on the headline news show. And then I thought about how long it's been, how long we've been seeing those names on the scrolling news bar, and how maybe we're becoming desentized to the thought of soldiers' caskets flying home. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to see the flag-draped coffins and the grandmother crying on national TV once in awhile.

Poverty

2011-07-16T15:05:00.000+02:00

I just realized that I haven't written on this thing in awhile, probably because it's just been business as usual. I'm broke as a joke, but just made 100 Euros proofreading the English for another grad student's dissertation. It's a hard way to make a euro. I miss the days when I would go to the bar across the street from work and not even read the check when it was given to me. It seems like poverty was more glamorous in my early twenties.

My clothing budget is extremely small. Clothes are expensive here, like food, rent and absolutely everything else in Belgium. The clothing I brought over has served me well, but is gradually wearing out. I have three pairs of jeans, all with holes in them. The location of the hole designates its ranking. The lowest ranked pair has a hole in the crotch and has been relegated to 'at-home' use. Another has a hole in the knee, making it acceptable for school or low-light situations. My 'best' pair has a hole developing in the pocket where I keep my wallet. While in New York, I noticed that my cousin and Fashion Icon/Sex Symbol Cullen had a similar hole in the same pocket. I'd be willing to bet that his was more intentional in nature, but I can at least be grateful that some of my clothing is dissolving stylishly.

Grocery shopping has become easier. The chain store I go to has a generic brand that has the old familiar white label. If it doesn't have a white label, it doesn't go in the basket, although I do make exceptions for various meat products that are half-off since they are expiring. The good news is that I've been cooking more, and have learned that the entire stalk of broccoli is edible if you cook it in soy sauce long enough. However, I get the majority of my nutrition from the Costco sized bottle of "One a Day Women's" vitamins that Holly left at our house. As a type this I am preparing the first Ramen noodles I've had in years, ever since my undergrad combination Ramen / Hot Pockets diet left me with the triglycerides of a 60 year-old bowling enthusiast (no lie).

Speaking of healthy things, I'm getting some exercise once or twice a week in a basketball game with other students. It's nice to be the first one picked for no other reason than that I am the tallest person there. As I stuff their shots gleefully (and with excessive war cries and celebration), I can remind the Socialists I play with that "life isn't fair, comrade." Basketball is an ideal past time because it's free, however the injury rate is quite high. I was limping for a week when I got hit hard in the leg driving to the hoop, and I badly sprained one of my fingers a month ago, which is just now healing. On Wednesday, one player got his finger smashed and another had his knee swell up. At any given time, of the 8 of us that regularly play, one or two are on the "injured reserve" list. It must be entertaining for the bystanders to watch a bunch of poorly-coordinated grad students injure themselves, but it's a fun way to spend an evening.

Oh yeah, on Thursday I got an email from NATO saying that I've been short-listed to intern in their Emerging Security Challenges division in the Cyber Security Department, which is ironic because the top guy in the division is "General" Iklody. So I'm not sure what the next step is; I don't think there is an interview but I will know by September if I am chosen.

Conference Time

2011-06-16T16:30:00.000+02:00

I think I met my entire blog readership last week in New York City, so I wanted to say how great it was to see you all, and how nice it was that you mountain and pacific time zone people did me a favor and met me out east.

Since I left NY, it's been pedal to the floor. I arrived home in Brussels at 2pm Monday last week, after the usual routine of planes tranes and automobiles. I started on the subway in Queens, NY, and used public transport all the way to the metro stop outside my home here (eat it, Al Gore). I got a couple hours of sleep, and then got up to get ready for the party for Holly, who was leaving Brussels to return to Tacoma, WA for good. Holly was Rob and my patron when we arrived in Brussels, putting us up for 3 weeks, so it was the least we could do to have her sendoff party at our place. We had 10 or 12 people over in our small apartment, and Alabama Dan made ribs. We'll all miss Holly, and her love of dragging us to crappy dance clubs until 4am.

As the party went on, I realized I was in a room full of lazy students and was the only one who had a job to go to the next morning. At 12:30am, I told everyone "I love you all, but get the f*** out of my apartment." They look pretty surprised, but did just that. The next morning was the beginning of the big push to finalize the details of one of the largest events my company puts on each year: the Cyber Conference. I put in my 40 hours of work in the next four days getting ready for the big day. I had never fully adjusted to NY time, but still was jetlagging a bit all week until Saturday when I finally got to sleep in until 2. Monday was a public holiday in Belgium, but we still worked until 8:30 pm getting things ready and printing handouts.

Tuesday was the big Cyber Conference. (Personally, I think the word "cyber" is a bit dated, but I suppose the the outdated nomenclature underscores the diconnect between the general reliance on modern technology in day-to-day life and the policies developed by governmental institutions, which was a point of the conference itself.) We invited people from the EU Commission, the EU Parliament, NATO, representations of member states, as well as people from industry (Microsoft, Symantec) and some larger consulting firms who were sponsoring the conference. We got a pretty good turnout, considering it was the day after a 3 day weekend, but it took working the phones pretty hard to make it happen. The conference was held in the EU Commission's Charlamagne building in downtown Brussels, which was state-of-the-art and quite gorgeous.

I wish I had more time and energy to explain the conference since it was quite interesting and I'm considering doing my disseration on this subject. But today I will give just the highlights. I met Robert Bell (http://photos.state.gov/libraries/nato/225685/Bios/Bell_Robert_001.pdf), who is Sectretary of Defense Gates' top guy in Europe, and NATO Ambassador Gabor Iklody, who I kept calling General Iklody for some reason (so many damn things to remember) but he seemed ok with it.

As the conference was up and running there was less to do, and then my coworker Wiebke came in and said that French President Nicolas Sarkozy was in the building. So we snuck out and went upstairs to another (bigger) conference room that was lit up with news cameras. We walked in to hear EU Commission president Barroso (basically the President of Europe) giving a speach on commodities in French. I couldn't see Sarkozy in the mess of people, but he was there somewhere, and all it took to get in was a fancy suit and a name badge from an unrelated conference (Wiebke snuck out again and went upstairs to hear Sarkozy talk later in the afternoon while I was taking care of bidness).

The night ended up at 8:30 or so. The conference was a great success, and the sponsors were happy. My boss, the owner of the company Christoph, took us employees out for dinner and beers as he related all of the complements he received, including one peer that said that this conference put his firm in "another level." He was understandably beaming.

The next day, Wednesday, we hosted a follow-up workshop in the Estonian permanent representation to the EU (a sort of embassy). It was exhausting but interesting, as we had invited technical cybercrime experts from around Europe to give presentations. The Estonians seemed happy with how it turned out.

Today we had a debriefing meeting over breakfast. There were few errors or mistakes to go over, it was mostly a resounding success. Christoph says that the day of the conference is the first day of the next conference, in terms of lining up new business, and he was flooded with business cards. I got a couple of cards myself, including one from a software consultancy in D.C. if I ever end up there, which is possible.

Now It's 4pm and I am drinking a glass of wine in bed. My adrenal glands are totally shot (I left work at 3), even though I slept 8 hours last night. I'll watch the 4th season of "30 Rock" tonight and put in 7 lazy hours of work tomorrow, then have the weekend to catch my breath a little.

Internship

2011-05-18T23:14:00.000+02:00

I had my second day at my internship today. Yesterday I pretty much got my proverbial ass handed to me as I struggled with the reality of waking up for work at 9 am (I know, I know). My new boss was speaking to me in acronyms until he noticed my eyes glazing over and he looked at me and asked "Do you want a coffee?" "Ah, yes please" was all I could come up with. Luckily they have the big industrial coffee maker where you pour whole coffee beans in one side and water in the other, and out comes fresh espresso. It makes a terrible racket, but that is the price of quality these days.

Today was much better. As the office native English speaker (all of my coworkers are German nationals), I have been charged with proofreading all correspondence, and today I was given the assignment of writing an invitation to our little security shindig to a British member of the European parliament. Then I made some calls to various hotel bars to get our post-conference shindig together. All part of my shindig-related duties. Since I am handed memos in German to research, I am learning the language. That and the fact that some joker set my laptop to German. (What the hell is "das inbox?") Oh well. I adapt and react.

Honestly, if you asked me one year ago "Paul, where would you ideally like to be in a year?", I would have said "Sitting outside on a sunny evening, drinking Belgian beer and arguing Turkish foreign policy with Germans." And that's where I just got back from. I just want to say thank you to everyone who made this experience possible. I know that this can't last forever. I know that one day I will wake up and it will all be over. But I'm having the time of my life, and I'm old enough to recognize that. And it wasn't possible without the help of a lot of people and I tear up when I think about you all.

Early Morning

2011-05-07T05:19:00.000+02:00

It's about 5 in the morning here. I have been working on my papers all day everyday this week. We have had people camped out at our house in and out for the past few days. Last night, Sandenga, Holly and Alexandra were here until 2 am or so, tonight Sandenga is here. Rob's around here somewhere; sometimes he'll come out of his room and microwave a waffle. Last night I went to bed at around 6, and got up a little after noon today. I have all of Saturday and all of Sunday, and will probably just stay up into Monday morning and turn my papers in then (they are due at 3 pm but I have to go print everything out somewhere, and I am guessing they'll be as good as they're gonna be by Monday morning).

I got an internship offered to me today. I will be working for an NGO (Non Governmental Organization) called COPURA which puts on conferences, mostly about border security and information security in a European context. It'll be my job to call members of the European Parliament and European Commission to try to get them to come, I think. It sounds like I will meet a lot more highrollers in the Brussels scene. It's a small office, the 3 employees are German, and the office is about a 4 minute walk from my house, luckily for me. It's unpaid, but it has the chance to become paid after 3 months, if we're all digging it.

Well, that's what's going on with me. My clothes stink and my hands hurt from typing and there are birds chirping, so I think it's time to go to bed for awhile.

Time to Write

2011-04-28T13:57:00.000+02:00

With paper deadlines fast approaching (May 9^th) the time has come to buckle down and to put pen to paper, as they say. It's never easy to get started. It's never easy to frame your thoughts, assuming you have any thoughts to frame in the first place.

For my Political Strategy paper, I decided to write about the political legitimization of Sinn Fein in establishing a government for Northern Ireland. They told us at the beginning not to write about things that you have an established position on, or that you feel passionately about, since it is much harder to write objectively and academically. This was sound advice I chose to ignore.

Sinn Fein is the political wing of the Irish Republican Army, or political subordinate, depending on how you want to look at it. Many protestants declared that they would never join a power sharing government with the IRA, a position that was not hard to defend. But a lasting peace was never achieved without their support, and eventually all sides conceded. A Sinn Fein member named Martin McGuinness was named as a First Minister, a high position of power in the Northern Irish government. McGuinness also has another side job. Although the inner workings of the IRA are secret, he is widely believed to be head of the IRA's Army Council, essentially making him the top man in the IRA.

It's hard to read about Northern Ireland's progress in the last ten years (of which there has been a large amount) without thinking back. I remember the paramilitary march I went to, which induced the most fear and adrenaline I've ever experienced. I remember the helicopters diving above our heads maybe 50 feet off the ground, watching, listening. I remember the automatic weapons held by the police on every corner in the city center. I remember knowing that I stood out, that everyone knew I wasn't supposed to be there. In the end, it was much ado about nothing, although there was that electricity that came with knowing that history could be made at any moment.

I remember walking the North Belfast neighborhoods and seeing the murals of the paramilitaries. The flags that lined the entrances to subdivisions were emblazoned with the Red Right Hand that Protestant paramilitaries use. They were a warning or a welcome, depending on your heritage.

Protestant paramilitary mural (Photo is not mine)

I remember my first morning back in the United States. Restless with jet lag, I went walking at 5 or 6 in the morning. As I came to the first intersection I saw the Red Right Hand flashing at me from a crosswalk. I sucked in my breath. Then I looked around and saw that I was in sleepy early morning Fort Collins. It was calm and quiet.

Maybe they were right that we can't be objective when we write about things we have a history with, but I think that controlling my subjectivity to the best of my ability is a better skill than writing on things that don't excite me. I still think of Belfast when I see the Red Right Hand in the crosswalk, although without any visceral reaction. There are many cheap flights around Europe available, and I think after this semester is over I would like to visit again. I think we have a lot of catching up to do.

My Magic Suit

2011-04-11T23:17:00.000+02:00

It's been really busy here. Classes ended last week, now we need to work on our papers, which I plan on getting to shortly. I don't know where the time goes but somehow my week always fills up.

Last week I bought a suit for the first time in my life last week. With the International Conference this week, and job interviews coming up it seemed like the right time. I had my first opportunity to wear it today while attending a conference put on by the UN on how to get a job with them.

The conference was located in a Belgian federal building in a huge underground conference room. There were rows of desks with microphones and headphones, presumably for translator services. Even though the UN didn't own this room, it looked exactly like one would expect a UN room to look like. Two long term UN employees put on the seminar to about 200 prospective employees, which was to last about 3 hours. The conference humming along like you'd expect, with some information about the UN and some basic job hunting advice. Then they started talking about the telephone interview that all prospective candidates would have to take. One of the women asked for a volunteer. No one raised their hand after a few seconds so I raised mine. My new suit gives me false confidence, I guess. After repeatedly asking the audience for another volunteer another girl was selected. We were led to the head of the room, given a microphone and told to turn our chairs around to face the wall, to simulate being on the phone I guess.

The girl was asked a question about how she approaches teamwork and to name a specific time that she was a member of a team, what her role was, how the process was developed, what the outcome was, and what could've been done better. It was quite an in depth question, and she was trembling but she gave a pretty good answer to all of the parts to the question, considering the circumstance. When she was finished, the moderator asked the audience what she could've done better, and they duly gave a laundry list on where she could've improved her answer. It was a bit savage to lay upon an unsuspecting volunteer, in my mind.

Hmm. Tough crowd. Then it was my turn. They asked me the same question, except that it was for event planning, my role, the outcome, etc. Event planning is not exactly my strong suit. Actually I don't remember planning an event in any professional context so I had to go to my "B" material. After thinking for a second, I regaled (possible exaggeration) the audience with a story on how I had helped organize the first University of Kent Beer Pong tournament. Beer Pong is a college drinking game that we the student government had organized into a tournament as a fund raiser. I elaborated on how I helped pick out the trophy and how I felt that the only downside was the amount of drunk students that where wandering around the neighborhood afterward. My suit gives me a bit of a smart-mouth, I guess.

I turned around and both moderators came at me with every criticism they could find, from the length of my answer to my posture in the chair (Hey I thought this was a telephone interview and we were supposed to be comfortable?). Neither one was amused, but I did see some smiles from the audience, whatever that was worth. I had a good time at the conference today, but I am not expecting a call back from the UN.

47 hours in England

2011-03-28T21:28:00.001+02:00

We just got back from merry old England. The Brussels location's student government (the JCR, of which I am a part) went to England for a meet 'n greet with the main campus and their people. We spent the day hanging out with the vice-chancellor, the main student union president, and others from the university. Our budget got slashed pretty hard last year, so this was part of a PR offensive to make our case that we are doing good things with the university's money, and to better integrate our student government with the main campus. All in all, it went pretty well.

We drove to France to the seaside town of Calais. From there we drove the car onto a train (!) and took the underground tunnel. The trip underwater took about 35 minutes. We got to the hostel in England at about 11 at night, and went for a quick pint and some take out. Meetings all the next day, ending with a pub crawl (purely diplomatic, of course). Then the next morning we packed up and drove back to Brussels. Bam.

Here are some photos:

Meet 'n greet with the vice chancellor.

The delegation and their take out. From left: Sandenga, Andrew, Aurora, Phil, Thomas, Leanne, Moi, Kamil

Future role models.

Canterbury campus. See the abbey in the background, as in the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury. We didn't have a chance to visit this time but we hear it's some swell digs.

Getting bidness done. To the left of me, Lauren, Tim and Helen, our English counterparts.

Driving into the train on the trip home. It's, uh, cozy.

Lunchtime with the "Burghers of Calais." I honestly did not know that this was the original Rodin when I was shaking hands with the guy.

Ok, time to go, my bathwater is ready. The hot water is not working in our house right now so I boiled some water on the stove that I'm going to bathe myself with. Everybody here has had that problem at sometime or another in Brussels, and usually it happens in the middle of winter so I've been warned not to complain. Ciao.

Learning French

2011-03-20T17:15:00.000+01:00

TV!

By utilizing my extensive training in the field of electrical engineering, and by purchasing a 3 Euro cable and plugging the TV into the wall, we are now able to enjoy the wonders of cable television en Francais. Yesterday I watched 3 hours of rugby, which apparently is awesome. I am trying to immerse myself more in the French language, and TV is the most entertaining way to do that. As I type I'm watching a nature show about using killer whales to fight fires. What a great country.

I'm still trying my hardest to learn French. I think I talked about the French class awhile back. At that time, I concluded that it must be part of some psychology experiment. Now I'm fairly sure that it is. Most of the lessons involve the teachers teaching us a handful of words, and then making us read French plays. We don't know the words that we are saying, so I'm not sure what the educational benefit is. I can see the entertainment value, however, in having a bunch of non French speakers butcher your cultural classics with their pronunciation. But what are they studying? I related my frustrations to Nino, my brother from an Italian mother, who goes to my school and is also in the French class. He was unconcerned.

"So what? They're teaching you French for free."

"Yeah, but they're not doing it honestly. Why are they making us read these plays?"

"I don't care, I think it's fun."

Clearly, Nino didn't get it. What I am learning about Italians is that they are too closed minded to be convinced of your point of view. It's a new stereotype I am developing. But Nino is in my new band, and he's a pretty good guitar player, so I decided to wait to give him his lecture on being a team player.

Basia and her boyfriend have bolted, unconvinced that reading French plays for Belgians' enjoyment was in their best interest. The Polish are a sensible people, I am learning. In their place are a group of Estonian and Russian undergrad girls who giggle a lot, and Farsad, a 35 year old researcher from Iran who can't say the sound "eh". Sample lesson:

Teacher: "Eh"
Farsad: "Ew"
Teacher: "Ehhhhhhhhhhh"
Farsad: "Ewwwwwwwww"
Teacher: "Better"

But my French is improving. The proving ground is the grocery store, where I am forced to stutter my way around. A month ago, I needed to get some more wraps for Moroccan food Marine was cooking at our house. I took the empty packaging to the store and walked up to the manager and demanded "Ou est ici? Ou est ici?" ("Where is this?"). He looked at me like he thought I was mugging him for a second, but took me to the wraps. My French has refined a bit since then. Yesterday I went to the store and asked an employee "Sil vous plait, ou est les oeufs?". I had to repeat myself a few times, but she eventually pointed me to the eggs.

So I'll read a few more plays. But I'm watching them carefully.....

My Lunch With Michael Leigh

2011-03-14T21:29:00.000+01:00

Mom told me to pack my ties and a blazer. "I don't wear that stuff," I whined. "They're more formal in Europe," she insisted. She was right. Last Friday I was wearing tie and blazer and wishing for the first time that I owned a suit.

As part of a free contest at school, I won a lunch (along with another student) with Michael Leigh, the Director-General of Enlargement for the European Union Commission. For those of you not familiar with the EU, the shorthand for Director-General is "highroller." In fact, if you Google "Michael Leigh" and click the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button, the first thing that pops up is his resume, all splattered with Oxfords and MITs. I learned all of this approximately one hour before I met him, wondering what kind of shitty prize a business lunch is.

So "Miami" Phil Martinez and I headed out to meet him and my Bulgarian revolutionary teacher Albana Azmanova, who knew Michael personally having worked for him in the Commission before. Lunch was at a classy EU watering hole around the corner from the Commission downtown. We made our introductions, and he gave us a spiel about EU enlargement, basically the process of integrating prospective additions into the EU fold. We talked Iceland and Croatia, asking a few questions here and there but letting him lead the way.

Things were going well with the easy countries, on to Turkey. "So how about Turkey?" I ventured confidently. "They're pretty Eastern."

"Actually, they consider themselves Western and in fact act as a liaison between East and West while....". I zoned out trying to regroup. He finished.

"But they don't have a lot of interaction with the West," I said authoritively, for reasons I don't fully understand.

"They are a member of NATO. Are you studying Turkey?" He glanced at Albana.

Hmm, the ABORT sign was flashing. I needed to quit while I was ahead. I resisted that impulse. "Yeah but there's a lot of people there," I pushed on. "Like, 400 million?"

"About 80 million," he corrected.

I thought for a second. "Do you like beer?" Please God don't let him be Mormon. But his eyes lit up and we talked beer in Belgium, England and Portland, yeast strains and bacterial variations. It was his lunch, we'd made him talk about work for a half hour. The rest of the lunch went well, talking about government and Brussels and why Brussels doesn't have a government. The food itself was of excellent quality and perfect portions, which made me want to be rich or at least have a job that would reimburse me for lunches like these.

At the end of the lunch, I offered him my business card and he accepted. He fumbled around for one of his before saying (truthfully or not) that he didn't have one. I don't expect to get a job or even a phone call out of it, but this is what you're supposed to do at functions like these. And if I can get in way over my head with a highroller and still pull it out in the end, then I think this networking thing just got a whole lot easier.

Normandy, France

2011-03-09T22:13:00.000+01:00

Hello!

I just got back from a few days in France. A friend from school has a family house in Normandy, France, near the town of Ecouche and she invited a group of us to drive down. So we rented a minivan and drove the 6 hours down to France. "Alabama" Dan has a Russian Ural motorcycle with a sidecar, so he followed us down with Holly in the sidecar. So we spent a few days hanging out and seeing the sights.

The House

Some normal people and a crazy person. Clockwise from me: "Alabama" Dan (USA), Marine (France), Alexandra (Romania), Rob (Roommate), Catia (Portugal), Leanne (Canada), Nick (USA)

Another crazy person mocking our dinner's head.

Breakfast, cooked by Alabama Dan.

The outside of Marine's family's house. The foundation was built in the 1200's, the house itself was built in the 1800's.

Farmland

The back of the house.

Marine riding a horse.

Lumberjack Paul with an axe that probably dates back to William the Conqueror.

Gambling with toy trains.

The guest cottage, where the library is housed. We found a bible printed in 1649.

Alabama, Alexandra (on bike) and Catia (in sidecar) taking a joyride.

The Chateau

The only picture of Holly I can find.

Saint-Michel

This is an abbey on an island that is built on a rock in the sea, but is accessible at low tide. People live on this island, and they still hold services in the abbey.

Japanese tourist invasion of Normandy.

Omaha Beach

I don't have to say how huge it was to walk out onto Omaha beach. This is the site of what is considered to be the largest invasion in human history. The beach is accessible, Marine says children play here when it's warm. There is a fantastic museum at the top of the hill, and a cemetary that houses 25,000 graves from casualties of the US campaign in France. Highly recommended if you ever get the chance, this is one of the most powerful things I have ever seen.

The beach, and oddly, the only time we saw clouds this whole trip.

Monument to the Engineers on top of one of the bunkers.

A bunker.

Part of the cemetery.

Going home...

Alabama Dan hits the open road.

North Africa

2011-02-22T00:49:00.000+01:00

I had some kind of smart ass observation ready to post on here, but it doesn't seem particularly appropriate with some of what's going on in the world. I don't know if people in the states are following what's been going on in N. Africa with Tunisia and Egypt, but their governments have been recently deposed, and it looks like Libya is next.

We've been watching the English language version of Al Jazeera here, the Arabic news channel based in Qatar. The Libyan government has, at some point, cut off the internet to the country in an attempt to maintain order. Al Jazeera responded by giving protesters and soldiers small handheld video cameras to take footage, which was then broadcast by the network. There are multiple reports that Libya has used helicopter gunships to fire on crowds of protesters, and soldiers and paramilitaries are firing from cars. Several hundred people have been reportedly killed, including several soldiers who were then killed and burned after refusing orders to fire onto the crowds.

I guess that horrible things are going on in the world is nothing new. It's rare for me, however, that I can do more than glance at a headline or have an informal water cooler discussion. In the last few weeks I've been interloping in a class called Islam, Conflict and the State that deals with recent tensions in the Mid-East. The lectures have been quite good, and I'm kicking myself for not taking this class from the beginning. Last week the professor discussed the difference between Sunni and Shiite muslims. The actual differences are no more profound to me than the differences between Protestant and Catholics, but the history of the conflict between these groups fuels much of the overall militancy of the region. The professor made the point that the Sunnis of the world are no more eager for Shiite-controlled Iran to get atomic weapons than the West is. They fear that they are as likely a target for Iranian aggression as Tel Aviv or Paris. Today we talked about the Libyan conflict, trying to make sense of the forces at play, and debated a bit how much effect, if any, new web technology has on these revolutions, comparing to the Iranian revolution of 1979. I'm probably going to steer my paper in my Globalization class to a topic dealing with some of this material to take advantage.

Anyway, life is good. I blew out my knee (again) playing soccer (again) this weekend. But I was on the couch all weekend so I actually did some homework. I'm limping around this town but maybe I can use this socialized medicine thing to my advantage.

French Class

2011-02-16T22:13:00.000+01:00

I found some French classes.

This is a good thing, because I need to learn French while I'm here. There are a few options for classes. Private tutors cost somewhere around 30 Euros an hour, so my language budget would be eaten up in about 90 minutes. The campus across the street from our building, the VUB, Vriaje (“free” in Dutch) University Brussels, with whom we share library facilities, had classes available, but the beginning French class filled up before I could enroll. So when my friend Holly told me that she received an email telling her that classes were available in the VUB language center I was eager to enroll.

Holly told me to show up at 11 am on Monday at the language center, which is actually in an annex office in our building. When I arrived, she told me that the classes were actually in an hour on the main campus across the street, in room A302. Holly couldn't make it, so I did some work for a bit and then headed off to find the classroom.

I couldn't find building “A”, so I went to the library to ask one of the clerks. He showed me a map of the campus and told me that there was no building A. The buildings started at B and went up to M or so. To this day I'm not sure why they would skip A in naming their buildings, but I'm sure it's due to some sort of centuries-old spat with the French.

I was confused so I called Holly. She was positive that this was the class number that she was told. We finally realized that the letter “E” is pronounced like “A” in Dutch. Maybe it was E302?

I trudged over to building E and found E302. It was empty. But a class was entering room E304 as I walked up, and I asked them what they were learning. French. Success! I walked in with them and took a seat. The instructor came in and sat down and talked for about 2 minutes in French. I pretended to take notes while I wondered what the hell kind of beginner's class this was. Finally he asked in English if everyone was there to translate French poetry into Dutch. Four of us looked around and stood up. “Non” we replied and shuffled out.

That's when I met my language class. We stood outside the classroom and compared notes. “They told me it was a beginner's class.” “Yeah, me too.” “Where do we go?” “Back to the language center, I guess?” We introduced ourselves. Jesus (Hay-soos) is an exchange student from Spain, Basia is a Pole working as a research assistant, and her Polish boyfriend is Mathew who is a grad student. We headed back over to the language center in my building.

We entered the language center and found an administrator, who appeared flustered and apologized for the scheduling error, and then out of nowhere Madam Avril appeared. “There you are! Bonjour! My classe!” She is a 5 foot tall woman, French I think, about 60 and with curly gray hair. “Come this way!”

She led us to an office with circular table, where two women in their 20's sat. “Here you go. Sit! Do you want coffee? Yes? No. Water? No?” The two women, who must be grad students, spoke in French introducing themselves and then translated what they said into broken English. They asked a little about us, and then began teaching us some French. “Sur la tabla.” She put a cup over the table. “Sous la tabla.” Madam Avril crawled under the table. Jesus clutched his bag close to him.

The lesson didn't last long. They explained that due to the scheduling mishap and the fact that they didn't know who was going to show up that they didn't have a lesson prepared. We would start la semaine prochaine. We left without any registration details. They didn't ask us for any enrollment information, or any money. They said that we could invite whoever we want to the class. It was odd, and to be honest I think we might be part of some psychology project, but I've never had a class with a 4:3 student to teacher ratio so I'm not going to argue.

School on the whole is going well. One of my teachers was one of the negotiators for the Good Friday Peace Accord, in Northern Ireland in 1997. It's kind of funny how your best laid plans can fall to pieces in front of you, and then you can fall ass backward into what it is you've been looking for. C'est la vie.

Panoramia

2011-02-06T12:52:00.000+01:00

This is the view from outside my bedroom window this morning using the photo stitch mode on my new camera. Thanks again, Aliquant!

The buildings aren't acutally crooked, just my shooting technique.

Apartment

2011-02-06T01:15:00.000+01:00

Rob "RZ" Zaman and I just moved into our new apartment. I think I've already droned on enough about how hard it was for us to find a spot to live, so we're happy to be settled. The apartment is in a great location, about 50 meters from a grocery store and a metro station. The subway comes about every 5 minutes so I can be downtown less than 15 minutes from when I leave my front door, with a baguette in hand.

The apartment building itself was built in the 30's, and Belgium has a history of some "unique" design considerations so our apartment can be described as historic, quaint, and odd. For instance the shower and bathroom sink are in a room that can only be accessed by going through the kitchen. And when I say "room" I mean a partition with a 7 foot wall and a door, no ceiling. So the shower is basically in the kitchen.

If you forget your towel, someone can just toss it over the wall on the left.

"Where's the toilet" you might ask. Well, there is a door in the front hallway that you might mistake as leading to a coat closet, and it opens up into a room that is about the size of a coat closet. Inside is the toilet. I am not exaggerating when I say that it is much more comfortable to use the facilities aboard a 737. The window in the toilet closet and the window in the kitchen open up into a ventilation shaft that all units in the building encircle.

Surprise!

View outside the kitchen window.
The window to the left is someone's toilet closet.

View down the shaft. Scary!

A few oddities aside, the apartment is very comfortable, furnished, and good for entertaining guests. The south facing windows get plenty of sun and since we are on the 4th floor we have a great view.

My bedroom.

View outside my window.

Head outside the window.

Living room. Couch is very comfortable to sleep on (hint hint).

Well, that's it for my virtual tour.

RZ and I. First night in the new pad, with a pair of celebratory 59 Eurocent beers.

In Bruges

2011-01-31T12:37:00.000+01:00

"Go to Bruges! Go to Bruges!"

That's all I've heard since I arrived in Belgium. Curious, I travelled there yesterday to see what all of the fuss was about. I expected a city of gold with canals filled with beer, and what I was greeted with was a conglomeration of stone streets and white people taking pictures. I feel that I must make a full report in the form of a photo essay.

No milk, no honey. Not a good start, Bruges.

Water fills these canals. Water!!

Who is this man, and what has he done for me lately?
I don't know the answer to either question.

Statue of a man with an erection riding a horse. Not pictured: dignity.

Arg.

Bell tower. Too loud!

Just leave me to my waffles...

I said leave me!

Finally!

A quick comparison:

Metro system: Brussels - Yes, Bruges - No

Peeing baby statue: Brussels - Yes, Bruges - No

Functioning city government: Brussels - No, Bruges - Yes (Ok, you win that one Brugge)

Has a Starbucks: Brussels - No, Bruges - No (Tie)

Chocolate waffles: Brussels - Probably, Bruges - Yes

Winner: Brussels

That is my full report of Bruges. I hope that this will save to from having to go there yourself.

Leaving the Couch

2011-01-26T19:04:00.000+01:00

Rob and I signed a lease today. The whole process of finding an apartment has been exhausting, and we've been crashing on Holly's couches for a full 2 weeks. I get the feeling that she and her roommates would like their living room back. So it's good to have some resolution.

The property manager through email directed us to an unmarked door on a small street. We didn't know her name, or the name of the property management company, really. We knew the name of the guy that was living in our apartment currently, and that the property manager wanted us to bring first month's rent, plus two months rent for deposit, all in cash. So, standing outside the door I was about 30% sure I was going to be hit on the head and wake up in a dumpster on the other side of town without my wallet. There were 4 or 5 buttons on the outside of the door, all with unfamiliar names, so we pushed the biggest one and hoped for the best.

The woman who opened the door turned out to be the property manger, a nice little Belgian woman in her 50's. We went up to her office, and she seemed legit enough. She handed us a contract, all in French. This was a bit of a problem, but she had an electronic copy on her computer and with the help of Google Translate (insert plug here: Google Translate is awesome) we had an English copy to peruse. We have to provide our own fire insurance, which is odd, but I am too exhausted of sleeping on a couch to argue over 150 Euros a year.

So, we handed over thousands of Euros in cash to a little Belgian woman and didn't even get any keys (we don't move in until the 1st). And we're not 100% sure of the apartment number (we thought it was 3A, she insists it's 3G). And we're on the hook for insurance. But overall I think today went very well because I did not get hit on the head.

Some Pictures

2011-01-21T22:32:00.000+01:00

Here are some pictures of where I am staying. The outside shot is of Rue de Saint Pierre, the street where our hosts Holly (US), Cait (Canada) and Nana (Ghana) live. It's a classic Brussels street, windy and narrow with row houses and dog crap on the sidewalk. The apartment itself has no windows to the outside of the street, it's just a door in a faceless bank of buildings that form a wall against the road.

The inside shot is of the 'war room' where the other couch surfer Rob Zaman from the US (shown doing his thang) and I stay. My couch is on the right hand side. It's also classically European with tall ceilings and nothing on the walls. Rob and I are looking for a place together. Actually, we've found a place and are signing a lease on Tuesday or Wednesday, but nothing is for sure until we get the keys. I'm on day 11 or so of living out of a suitcase, so the new apartment can't come fast enough.

Classes are going well so far. They are interesting and I am learning a lot of things. Yesterday we had a seminar on how to get an internship, and I feel positive that I will be able to find one for the summer, although chances are good that I won't be paid for my work. I've met a lot of people so far, we've had a lot of parties at our house and at the homes of other people, and it's a pleasantly strange thing for me to be around people like me that were also restless in their home country. It's a society of vagabonds doing a semester here and a summer there, and 5 year plans are somewhat laughable. It's not an easy lifestyle, so it's relieving to be around people who understand. It's possibly not a bad metaphor for life, to enjoy the company of the people around you while you have your time with them.

Viva La Revolution!

2011-01-18T11:50:00.000+01:00

I just got out of my first class of graduate school. The class was Political Strategy and my teacher is a Bulgarian revolutionary. I am definitely excited about this class and its lessons on how to deceive your enemies into doing what you want them to do. Maybe she will include some stuff on how to overthrow a regime if there's time.

As far as the housing situation goes, I'm getting my ass handed to me in this town. Day 6 of crashing on the couch, and it might be a few more weeks. The other couch surfer, Rob, just told me that he thinks we have scored a place to live, but even if we get this one we can't move in until the first. And there are a lot of empty promises floating around the housing market. I spent 3 hours yesterday walking the streets in a neighborhood writing down phone numbers of places to rent. My feet hurt. Waaaah.

Oh, and I had rabbit for lunch yesterday. It was a good lunch.

Bargain Hunting

2011-01-13T22:00:00.000+01:00

So I'm wandering around Brussels after going to the bank. The bank people couldn't speak English very well and all I could do was shout garbled sentence fragments and point at things in order to convey my message that I wanted to do a wire from a US institution. Which shouting and pointing did not convey very well. So anyway, I'm wandering around and I find this shop that sells handguns, switchblades, bongs and anime stuff. The lesson is that while Belgians may not excel in customer service, they clearly know how to have a good time.

Hello

2011-01-12T17:26:00.000+01:00

Bonjour! Just arrived in Brussels yesterday. The flight over went flawlessly, and I arrived in Brussels at three in the afternoon, local time. I wandered to the train, and made it from the airport and into the city, and then navigated the Metro to the part of town where my couch surfing host, Holly, has her apartment. There are 2 of us crashing here, and 3 residents of the apartment, and all of us go to BSIS (Brussels School of International Whatnot). So it's a packed house but I feel like I'm already among friends.

My first impression of Brussels is that it mainly consists of non French Speakers struggling to speak French to each other. Both sides awkwardly butcher French for a bit until they both realize that they speak English as a first language and can actually have a conversation that both sides can understand. My school is across the street from the Flemish university VUB, which stands for words I can't pronounce. They speak Dutch there, and aren't fond of the French, so you don't speak French to the Dutch, English to the French, or Dutch to anyone. It's a lot to remember which language I'm not supposed to use, but it's probably good idea to stick to English for the short term because I always slip into pseudo spanish whenever I'm around a new language I don't understand ("Where is el toileto"?).

So, in summary, first 24 hours on the ground get big thumbs up. I'm planning on posting here more in the short term, maybe every day or 2, and then dropping it down to once a week or so when I get more settled and notice that all of my posts are about various sandwiches I am making or considering making. Much love to you all.