CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S

It's been a few days.

So anyway, up to Christmas, I was working my brains out. (Sorry, I know this assumes I had any to begin with.) I was averaging very few hours of sleep each night, and by the time Christmas Eve rolled around, I was actually sick in addition to being exhausted.

When I got home on Christmas Eve, I discovered that I had been wearing my shirt inside-out all day, and nobody had bothered to tell me.

At any rate, my friend Sarah came over that night, and stayed, and the next morning, my friend Leslie arrived from San Francisco, and we had a slumber party for the next couple of days. Ate our body weight in Doritos.

Actually, I've been eating like a mad thing since Christmas Eve.

I received fabulous prezzies, which included a rubber ducky with the face of the Mona Lisa, and a collection of four--count them, four!--really cheesy horror flicks.

Life is good.

I've alternated working with shopping since then. Then, since next to nothing happens in London on New Year's Eve, Leslie and I betook ourselves to Belgium.

We stayed in a five-star hotel in Brussels. This sounds rather fabby, but it turned out to be kind of a normal American-style hotel. I think that next time I'd rather stay in an older and more "Belgian" place. If that makes sense.

When we arrived at passport control, the border control guy looked at the photo in my passport and said, (you have to imagine the heavy French accent for this one) "You were very surprised, non? Shocked? Zee man taking zees picture is very ugly, non?"

Ha ha.

We ate waffles. I ate too many waffles.

It occurs to me that not everyone knows loads about Belgium, so here's a little travelogue for you:

The things that Belgium is famous for, in addition to being the seat of the EU and NATO, include: beer, french fries (they were invented here), waffles, and chocolates. Tintin is also Belgian, as were the Smurfs originally.

There are hundreds of chocolate shops, just everywhere. There was a big dispute several years ago about British chocolate, because it didn't contain enough of the actual "chocolate" part to be considered "chocolate" in Europe. (American chocolate, as you might guess, doesn't even come close to the worst of the British stuff) So, as you can imagine, chocolate is a pretty big deal.

Beer and fries are also ubiquitous, and, at least in Brussels, there are about a million little waffle stands where you can go and get hot waffles.

In America, as far as I can tell, "Belgian waffle" just means a waffle with extra-deep valleys in it. The things you get from the waffle stands in Brussels don't bear much resemblance to these. It's like comparing a hot Krispy Kreme to a Hostess Donette.

The waffles are sweet and crisp and kind of sticky on the outside--like there's just a bit of syrup that has turned to candy at the soft-thread stage. On the inside they're moist and a little gooey, something like a cross between something muffiny and the inside of a cruller. They are fantastic.

Mostly, you just get one hot in a folded piece of paper, and munch on it as you walk. You can also get them cold and chocolate-covered, or on a plate covered in any number of the following: melted chocolate, bananas, strawberries, whipped cream, etc., etc., etc.

The Grande Place is a square in the center of the city, surrounded by incredibly beautiful old buildings, each of which used to be artist/craft guildhalls. The first time I turned a corner and saw the architecture in the square, I literally got goosebumps. The buildings really are stunning.

Brussels is also the home of the world's most...confusing? disappointing? strange? landmark, the Mannequin Pis. This is the original "urinating boy" statue.

Basically, the son of the mayor of Old Brussels had wandered off into the forest, and when he was discovered, he was urinating. His overjoyed father had a statue of him in his "found state," created to celebrate his return. This statue is in bronze, and maybe 2 feet tall, and everyone feels obligated to go and look at it. Thousands of Mannequin Pis figurines and other tourist tchotchkes are available for purchase, many of which may actually be larger than the original statue itself.

All right, so. Moving right along.

The cobbled streets/alleyways behind (or in front of, I suppose, depending on which direction you're coming from) the Grande Place are named for the various markets that they used to contain. The Rue des Bouchers is lined with (mostly seafood) restaurants where the waiters wander out into the streets and try to wheedle, cajole, or trick you into coming into their establishments. Some of the food is fantastic, some rubbish. If you find yourself here one day, I recommend Mare Nostrum on 18 Petite Rue des Bouchers, because it is yummy and they have a cat that wanders around the restaurant, adorably breaking several health codes, I am sure.

Anyway, it's all very "picturesque" and "quaint" and several other words that make Europeans want to kill kill kill Americans.

Speaking of wanting to kill Americans, Leslie and I ended up watching the New Year fireworks whilst standing next to two stereotypes. They exclaimed loudly that these fireworks were not *nearly* as big as the ones in Las Vegas, and then they regaled us with tales of how great they are there (every hotel on the strip! imagine!). Then, a group of revellers walked up behind us, and they started waving their hands in front of their crinkled noses and exclaiming "They just *reek* of alcohol!" and other endearing things.

Leslie and I spent the rest of the trip exclaiming to one another that the waffles were *much* bigger in Las Vegas. As were the toilets, the cobblestones, airplanes, and whatever other thing crossed our path.

Belgium has three official languages: Dutch, French, and German. Most people also speak English, and if this isn't enough to make any American feel inadequate, I don't know what is. This is going to sound very weird, but I actually speak French fairly well, and somehow have it in my head that I don't speak it at all, so whenever someone speaks to me in French, I have this odd moment of shock because I understand what they are saying.

Yesterday, it snowed in Brussels, and the day turned into a beautiful Winter Wonderland. Snow, waffles, and friends. It was really lovely.

One thing I like about Brussels is that it is a good day or weekend trip. If you visit Paris in a weekend, you don't have time to see the Louvre and the Musee Rodin, and the Tour d'Eiffel, and the Arc de Triomphe and Notre Dame, etc. And although there is plenty in Brussels to keep one occupied for a week or more (there is a giant molecule straddling one of the roads), one doesn't leave after a one- or two-day trip feeling disappointed. One feels happy and waffle-filled.

Anyway, eventually it was time to go home, and so we went to the train station to get tickets back to the airport. The following conversation ensued between me and the ticket agent:

Me [in French]: Excuse me, which train goes to the airport?

Agent [in French]: Either the one on platform 3 or 5.

Me [in French]: May I have two tickets to the airport, then, please?

Agent [in French]: 5 Euros, please.

[I count out 4 Euros]

Me [in English, turning to Leslie]: Do you have one Euro on you?

Agent [in English]: Do you speak French or English? It is very confusing.

So. That was Belgium.