Book Worm

When Felix went on vacation last week, he left me with two pieces of advice. The first was that Marco was in charge (which came as quite a surprise to me as I had been under the impression that Marco was in charge this whole time. Apparently I was wrong. Not seeing someone for weeks at a time somehow disqualifies them from assuming a super visionary role). The second was to read. As I mentioned before, Felix went to the LSE and so he’s walked the walk, talked the talk and knows what’s up. He thinks I should have some idea of an area of focus or question when I start my MA this fall. Hence the reading. In the hope that by reading some of the books on the reading list I’ll be hit by some brilliant question sure to dazzle him when he returns in August and my potential thesis advisor in October. But, in order to accomplish said dazzling, I needed books. I’d love to read the books at work—with titles such as Basel II: Implementation in the Midst of Turbulence they'd make for fiery reads—but unfortunately they are not on the approved reading list. Therefore, I had to get myself to a library.

Well, that’s not so easy when you don’t speak any of the two official languages and are in Belgium in the summer. My intern friends live beside a library so I thought I’d start my odyssey there. No such luck. It was in Dutch (my first hurdle; reading the catalogue was like playing Russian roulette: although less risky it was just as much of a crap shoot—sorry for the mixed gambling metaphor), and didn’t have any of the books I wanted.

The next was the Royal Library of Belgium. A Google search had told me it had an extensive collection, was in Dutch and French (a language I have a better handle on than Dutch) and, what’s better, had the books I was looking for. So, I dragged my butt out of bed on a rainy Saturday afternoon in time to make it during their (limited) summer weekend hours (1 to 4pm on Saturdays). Or what I thought were weekend hours. Turns out it was closed. It only took me 10 minutes, two circles around the huge building (complete with extensive gardens, fountains and statues—Toronto Reference Library take note) and a few dozen weird stares to figure it out. Closed Saturdays and Sundays in July and August and open Monday to Friday 10 to 5pm. Well that’s nice.

So that meant leaving work early on Monday. As reading was now part of my job description, I left CEPS at 2:30pm guilt free. When I arrived at the (open) library I was told that I could read whatever books I wanted but couldn’t take out any. Well, that wouldn’t do at all. I went upstairs to the librarians and asked the sole English speaker where the eff I could find a library to take out books? The Free University of Belgium (ULB) seemed like my best bet. A quick (half hour) scan of their all-French website told me my books were there. Now, if only I knew how to get there. The librarians, despite having advanced degrees in library science and being able to tell you how many stars where in the sky and what the smallest bone in your body was, could not tell me how to get to the ULB. No, it took the woman downstairs who spoke no English (score one for my French skills) to give me directions to the number 71 bus as it would “take me right to ULB.”

With nothing more than the woman’s pledge, ten minutes later I was on the 71 with no idea where I was going or how long it would take to get there. I sat there with my hands in my lap, a pleasant expression on my face staring out the window like I wasn’t looking out in complete confusion. But it all turned out well. ULB is in Ixelles, a beautiful part of Brussels. Twenty minutes later, I was at the university and asking another non-English speaker for the “bibliothèque de sciences humaines.” After walking the five minutes it took to get there, I was informed that the library was closing in 10 minutes could I come back tomorrow after 10am?

And so Tuesday (or Day 3 of Operation-Find-a-Library-To-Take-Books-Out-Of) began as if I was going to work but instead, I hopped a streetcar (more on this later) to Ixelles. Only the streetcar that had taken me back from ULB in one fell swoop just the day before failed to do so this morning. This time it took three attempts. We’d get to a stop, the driver would say something over the intercom, everyone would get off the car in a mass exodus and we’d wait for the next 94. Three times.

But once I got to ULB, everything went fairly swiftly except for some confusion with floors (who counts the level accessible by a tiny swirling staircase as a separate floor?). I returned to CEPS Tuesday at 1pm in high spirits, a yogurt stain on my jacket, four books (the maximum allotted), and in time to find out that Marco had no idea I’d been gone.


The things I do to keep busy.