Sunday, July 27, 2008
My hiatus
My apologies for another hiatus. This one was self-imposed and a bit longer than I'd originally intended. This past week has been a little hectic. I went to Amsterdam, then it was many of the interns last week in Brussels, so we had a party for them and have been rushing to hang out with and say goodbye to various people. But I haven't forgotten about you. This week may be a little crazy too, as I'll be moving apartments and then going away for the weekend. So I may not be able to update as much as I'd like. But I promise new and interesting posts are coming. I swear. Bear with me.
Friday, July 18, 2008
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away
I found them. The perfect shoe. I've been looking for them since June: bronze gladiator-style sandals, not too many straps, not too high up the angle, not too expensive. I found them yesterday in Sfera. I tried on the left one. Good fit. Perfect shoe. Check. On sale for 20 euros. Check.
So I ask the sales man for the right one. He looks at me quizzically. "Don't know," he says, in broken English, as he scans another size 38 single right foot shoe. "Not there. Sorry." That's it.
My heart sinks. It's fate. I'm not meant to have this shoe.
So I ask the sales man for the right one. He looks at me quizzically. "Don't know," he says, in broken English, as he scans another size 38 single right foot shoe. "Not there. Sorry." That's it.
My heart sinks. It's fate. I'm not meant to have this shoe.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Party like it’s 1958
Since the tour ended, I’ve spent a total of one whole weekend in Brussels. So last weekend I decided to get a better idea of what this place is about. As I mentioned before, I spent Saturday at the library and hanging with the guys. But on Sunday, we took a trip to 1958. That’s right, you read correctly, 1958. We went to see the Atomium, a 335 foot steel sculpture of a molecule created for the World Expo when it was held in Brussels in 1958. It is located a bit far out, but still on the subway—the second last stop on the west side—and when the car came out of the tunnel and we got a glimpse of it, there was an audible gasp in the car. It was hilarious. I don’t want to sound as if I’m above it all, because I’m not. I was one of the people who gasped.
The Atomium is one of those tourist traps that actually lives up to its reputation. Yes, the Manneken-Pis was good, but he’s just a kid peeing. There’s nothing to it: just a statue. The Atomium is a statue and so much more. It’s a museum and a restaurant (the top ball is a restaurant and there’s a café in one of the other balls).
We hit the museum first. Each of the nine “balls” was a room in the museum showcasing the Expo. The theme of Expo ‘58 was technology and science and the Atomium represents that theme quite nicely. The Atomium is an iron molecule, further underling the push toward technological advancement and the future--iron being a symbol of industrial strength. The museum pointed out (quite rightly) that it's ironic that there was such focus on the greatness of science and technology, completely ignoring the fact that thirteen years earlier, science had brought the world the atomic bomb and chemical warfare. But 1958 was supposed to erase all of this and so the Expo focused on science's more positive developments.
The ’58 Expo was the first world exhibition after World War II and therefore was dominated by Cold War tensions. The two biggest pavilions were those belonging to the USA and USSR. In 1958, the two countries were in the height of the Cold War and from what I read, that dynamic was carried into the Expo most aptly illustrated by the fact that the two pavilions were across from each other.
Then there was the German pavilion. According to the museum, after WWII, the German government was reluctant to “celebrate German accomplishments” and so they focused on making the German pavilion as “average” as possible. Now, I understand the reasoning for this (German war guilt and the Holocaust), but it's a bit sad. Thirteen years after WWII and Germany hadn’t begun to come to terms with the legacy of the war—a process which many say still plagues Germans to this day.
What was really interesting was to learn about what was going on in Belgium at the time. The Expo coincided with the fiftieth anniversary of the annexation of the Belgian Congo. If you know anything about the history of colonialism, Africa or the Congo (and I’m by no means an expert), you know there isn't anything to celebrate. The Belgians were particularly brutal to the Congolese: enslaving them to work in the rubber industry, cutting off limbs when production was not proceeding speedily enough, diamond excavation, etc (read the Poisonwood Bible for other atrocities). It wasn’t good. Anyway, for Belgians, the Congo was a symbol of Belgium’s colonial might, and so they tried to showcase the Congolese in a positive light, hoping it would reflect well on them. At the same time, the exhibit tells how for many Congolese, the trip to Belgium showed them how much better the lives of Belgians were than their own and helped to drive home the injustice of their own situations. So just as the Belgians were celebrating "the taming of Africa," the Congolese were attempting to shed their colonial overlords.
That was it for the museum, but next was the Exhibition of Temporary Happiness (its real name). It was a small building made out of Jupiler beer crates (I'm not making this up). By far the best was the movie about the 58 Expo and how recently Expos have had an environmental theme.
Another great part of the Exhibition was the History Makers section, which were little cubbies with audio and transcriptions of famous speeches: JFK’s Ich bin ein Berliner speech, Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech, Martin Luther King’s I Have a Dream where the big ones. But there was also Mao Ze Dong, Albert Camus' Nobel Prize acceptance speech, Robert Schuman’s EU speech (just to throw in some EU content) and a speech by Patrice Lumumba (leader of the Congo’s independence movement). This last speech was beautiful. As a history student, this was my favourite part. As a result I spent about half an hour curled in the cubbies listening or reading the speeches.
All in all, I experienced some temporary happiness here. Especially when we were the only ones left in the exhibit and we went outside to find a random bottle statue. We were feeling pretty silly as the following photos illustrate.
The Atomium is one of those tourist traps that actually lives up to its reputation. Yes, the Manneken-Pis was good, but he’s just a kid peeing. There’s nothing to it: just a statue. The Atomium is a statue and so much more. It’s a museum and a restaurant (the top ball is a restaurant and there’s a café in one of the other balls).We hit the museum first. Each of the nine “balls” was a room in the museum showcasing the Expo. The theme of Expo ‘58 was technology and science and the Atomium represents that theme quite nicely. The Atomium is an iron molecule, further underling the push toward technological advancement and the future--iron being a symbol of industrial strength. The museum pointed out (quite rightly) that it's ironic that there was such focus on the greatness of science and technology, completely ignoring the fact that thirteen years earlier, science had brought the world the atomic bomb and chemical warfare. But 1958 was supposed to erase all of this and so the Expo focused on science's more positive developments.
The ’58 Expo was the first world exhibition after World War II and therefore was dominated by Cold War tensions. The two biggest pavilions were those belonging to the USA and USSR. In 1958, the two countries were in the height of the Cold War and from what I read, that dynamic was carried into the Expo most aptly illustrated by the fact that the two pavilions were across from each other.
Then there was the German pavilion. According to the museum, after WWII, the German government was reluctant to “celebrate German accomplishments” and so they focused on making the German pavilion as “average” as possible. Now, I understand the reasoning for this (German war guilt and the Holocaust), but it's a bit sad. Thirteen years after WWII and Germany hadn’t begun to come to terms with the legacy of the war—a process which many say still plagues Germans to this day.
What was really interesting was to learn about what was going on in Belgium at the time. The Expo coincided with the fiftieth anniversary of the annexation of the Belgian Congo. If you know anything about the history of colonialism, Africa or the Congo (and I’m by no means an expert), you know there isn't anything to celebrate. The Belgians were particularly brutal to the Congolese: enslaving them to work in the rubber industry, cutting off limbs when production was not proceeding speedily enough, diamond excavation, etc (read the Poisonwood Bible for other atrocities). It wasn’t good. Anyway, for Belgians, the Congo was a symbol of Belgium’s colonial might, and so they tried to showcase the Congolese in a positive light, hoping it would reflect well on them. At the same time, the exhibit tells how for many Congolese, the trip to Belgium showed them how much better the lives of Belgians were than their own and helped to drive home the injustice of their own situations. So just as the Belgians were celebrating "the taming of Africa," the Congolese were attempting to shed their colonial overlords.
That was it for the museum, but next was the Exhibition of Temporary Happiness (its real name). It was a small building made out of Jupiler beer crates (I'm not making this up). By far the best was the movie about the 58 Expo and how recently Expos have had an environmental theme.
Another great part of the Exhibition was the History Makers section, which were little cubbies with audio and transcriptions of famous speeches: JFK’s Ich bin ein Berliner speech, Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech, Martin Luther King’s I Have a Dream where the big ones. But there was also Mao Ze Dong, Albert Camus' Nobel Prize acceptance speech, Robert Schuman’s EU speech (just to throw in some EU content) and a speech by Patrice Lumumba (leader of the Congo’s independence movement). This last speech was beautiful. As a history student, this was my favourite part. As a result I spent about half an hour curled in the cubbies listening or reading the speeches.
All in all, I experienced some temporary happiness here. Especially when we were the only ones left in the exhibit and we went outside to find a random bottle statue. We were feeling pretty silly as the following photos illustrate.
Home is where the heart is
This doesn't have anything to do with Europe, but I thought I'd pass it on for those of you in Toronto (or nearby). It proves you don't need to be 3,000 miles away to be world class. It may not be Europe, but I think Toronto is still pretty amazing.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Ducks cannot live on bread alone
There’s a park near my house. I don’t know if “park” is quite the right word for it. There are some trees and shrubs around it but it is mostly taken up by a huge pond. Again, I wouldn’t use the term pond to describe it. I would use “lake” but Cassandra says it’s a pond and I’ve never professed myself to be an expert in geography.
In any case, there’s a huge pond with a fountain sprouting water into said pond. Carelessly swimming in the pond, are cute little ducks. There aren’t many of them, but they make a funny noise when they quack now and again and are amusing to watch.
In any case, there’s a huge pond with a fountain sprouting water into said pond. Carelessly swimming in the pond, are cute little ducks. There aren’t many of them, but they make a funny noise when they quack now and again and are amusing to watch.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
My Digs
A lot of you have been asking for pictures of my apartment in Brussels. Well here they are. Let's start the tour with my bedroom.
I know I could have cleaned it up some, but then it wouldn't have that authentic people-actually-live-here feel. In the bottom right of the picture you can just make out the desk and chair. I'm particularly happy with these pieces of furniture as it's like I have an office. There's actually quite a bit of furniture in the house. I have a chair and two night tables as does Cassandra and Olivier (my other roommate).
This is the view from my doorway. Those white doors lead to Cassandra's room. The best thing about this picture is that shows off the the closet. Since it's in my room, I use the bulk of it, but my roommates hang whatever stuff they need to hang.
This is the view from my door. It's Olivier's room/the living room. Right beside the black couch is the entrance to the apartment. There's also a TV to the right of the picture. We turned the table to face the other way so he can have drawers for clothes and the like (in addition to the dresser across from his bed) and to separate his bed from the rest of the room. Though we needn't really have bothered as we don't use this room except to traverse through it on our way to the bathroom, kitchen or living room.
Which brings me to the living room. This is where most of the furniture is: two couches, a love seat and several chairs. And a sofa bed. There's also a dinner table that we've used once. The room is ideal for entertaining which we've done twice so far (we have a dinner party planned for next week). There are French doors that open onto a little balcony where you can can watch traffic pass on the street. Right beside these doors, is another door leading to the kitchen.
The kitchen got the seal of approval from Cassandra, so it must be serviceable. We've got a fridge and freezer although the fridge is smaller than we're used to. But there's a dishwasher (thank God) and a stove. But no microwave or George Foreman grill--which has added another dimension to my cooking, but I'm coping. What you can't see is right beside the stove (the black square to the right of the picture) is the washer/dryer. Weird, I know. But it's very common here.
Finally the bathroom. It's last because it didn't really flow well with the floor plan. It is off from the living room. It's much bigger than this picture makes it look. I'm actually standing inside the door and beside me is a huge chest of drawers and cubbies where we store various bathroom essentials I will not bore you with.
Tour ended.
All in all, I'm happy with it. It has its good and bad features. For one, it's a little low on privacy. As you've probably guessed, since Cassandra lives in the far bedroom in order for her to go anywhere, she has to cut through my bedroom. For other roommates that might have been a problem, but when you've slept in the same room for a month, it's not a big deal. And it's a big expensive. But it's got a huge kitchen, in-house laundry, is very bright when there's sunshine and comes with everything included (internet, satellite cable and all utilities). There's also a rooftop terrace a level up from us. Although we've never used it as the weather in Belgium is horrible. I'll be sad when I have to move out and find another (smaller and no doubt less awesome) place for August.
I know I could have cleaned it up some, but then it wouldn't have that authentic people-actually-live-here feel. In the bottom right of the picture you can just make out the desk and chair. I'm particularly happy with these pieces of furniture as it's like I have an office. There's actually quite a bit of furniture in the house. I have a chair and two night tables as does Cassandra and Olivier (my other roommate).
This is the view from my doorway. Those white doors lead to Cassandra's room. The best thing about this picture is that shows off the the closet. Since it's in my room, I use the bulk of it, but my roommates hang whatever stuff they need to hang.
This is the view from my door. It's Olivier's room/the living room. Right beside the black couch is the entrance to the apartment. There's also a TV to the right of the picture. We turned the table to face the other way so he can have drawers for clothes and the like (in addition to the dresser across from his bed) and to separate his bed from the rest of the room. Though we needn't really have bothered as we don't use this room except to traverse through it on our way to the bathroom, kitchen or living room.
Which brings me to the living room. This is where most of the furniture is: two couches, a love seat and several chairs. And a sofa bed. There's also a dinner table that we've used once. The room is ideal for entertaining which we've done twice so far (we have a dinner party planned for next week). There are French doors that open onto a little balcony where you can can watch traffic pass on the street. Right beside these doors, is another door leading to the kitchen.
The kitchen got the seal of approval from Cassandra, so it must be serviceable. We've got a fridge and freezer although the fridge is smaller than we're used to. But there's a dishwasher (thank God) and a stove. But no microwave or George Foreman grill--which has added another dimension to my cooking, but I'm coping. What you can't see is right beside the stove (the black square to the right of the picture) is the washer/dryer. Weird, I know. But it's very common here.
Finally the bathroom. It's last because it didn't really flow well with the floor plan. It is off from the living room. It's much bigger than this picture makes it look. I'm actually standing inside the door and beside me is a huge chest of drawers and cubbies where we store various bathroom essentials I will not bore you with.Tour ended.
All in all, I'm happy with it. It has its good and bad features. For one, it's a little low on privacy. As you've probably guessed, since Cassandra lives in the far bedroom in order for her to go anywhere, she has to cut through my bedroom. For other roommates that might have been a problem, but when you've slept in the same room for a month, it's not a big deal. And it's a big expensive. But it's got a huge kitchen, in-house laundry, is very bright when there's sunshine and comes with everything included (internet, satellite cable and all utilities). There's also a rooftop terrace a level up from us. Although we've never used it as the weather in Belgium is horrible. I'll be sad when I have to move out and find another (smaller and no doubt less awesome) place for August.
Faster Than a Speeding Bullet
In my description of my trip to London, I failed to mention a fairly important event that occurred during the weekend. I took the Eurostar. As you may remember, this was on my list of things to do this summer and so I relished the opportunity. It was a large part of my excitement for the trip. Hey, if all else fails/goes horribly, at least I'll have taken the Eurostar.
For those of you who don't know what the Eurostar is, you should be ashamed of yourselves. It's one of the 10 Engineering Wonders of the World and rightly so. It's a high speed (300km/h) train that goes under the English Channel (about 50.5 km) between France and England.
It is the second longest undersea tunnel in the world (after Japan's Seikan Tunnel). And all in two hours or less. Construction of the Channel Tunnel (as it's formally called) involved huge drills, one in France and one in England and digging until they met almost exactly half way (and inches apart). It was also fantastically expensive (surprise, surprise, the project received EU funding) and I think are still trying to pay it off. But it was worth it.
My voyage began at Brussels' Gare Midi, the departure point for Eurostar trains. My ticket was purchased online and was non-refundable, non-transferable and non-losable. When he printed it out, the attendant said all of this and then warned, "So don't lose it. Otherwise..." and trailed off ominously. Then I had to go through a self-check in that involved me swiping my ticket which was way to complicated for my tiny brain, so the guy manning the turnstile sighed and did it for me.
Next was customs. Now I know I should have known it was going to happen, but I was still surprised when I was forced to show my passport. I was only taking a train. I forgot for an minute that I was crossing three countries to do it (the train passes through France before getting to London). I passed the line of non-EU citizens furiously filling visa/travel documents/mad-cow waivers on the nearby desk with a slight smirk (I may have pointed and laughed) and happily offered my EU passport to the attendant. Only to be greeted in Portuguese, with, "Bom noite, como estas?" I was thrown. He knows Portuguese! No one knows Portuguese! Flabbergasted, I paused, staring at him as I remembered the appropriate response. "Estou bem, e voce?" This exchange continued for a minute until he handed me back my passport with a Portuguese thank you of "Obrigado." That's usually my line, so my default response was a French "dernier," which prompted him to begin speaking in French. Realizing this could turn into a "Whose on First?" language-edition fiasco, I kept walking to the Eurostar l waiting area.
Ten minutes before my train left they began boarding and like a Swiss watch, we left Brussels at exactly 9:04. The ride was smooth and calm. It's similar to being in a VIA train but on time, with more leg room, assigned seating and quicker. Instructions are offered in French, English and German.
I wish I could say I knew exactly when we went in the tunnel. But I couldn't. It was dark and there were a succession of earlier tunnels that confused me. Also, the descent starts a few hundred kilometers before hand and I oh did I feel that! My ears started to pop and I had the strange sensation that my head was being squished--like in movies where they're in ancient Egyptian temples and the walls begin to close in on you, except instead of closing in on my body it was my head. It was peculiar but only lasted about 20 minutes (looking back it could have been the descent or crossing time zones). And then I think that's when we entered the Tunnel. Which is pitch black. My uncle told me this hilarious story of one of his students envisaging going through the Channel Tunnel like being in a an aquriaum with fish swimming around as you pass through it. Obviously, it's nothing like that. It's just pitch black and all you can see is your reflection. But you definetly get the sense that you're underneath literally tonnes of water and that if something were to snap, break, twist off or pop, you could drown and die in a watery grave. But at least you'd be comfortable.
The trip on the way back was the same except I got bag-checked in London . And I don't mean passing-my-backpack-through-a-metal-detector checked. Although they did do that. No, for some reason, they thought I was smuggling drugs or some other illegal substances back to Brussels with me because they took everything out of my bag. I mean everything: cell phone, passport, camera, make-up bag, underwear (dirty and clean), pads and tampons, bras, shoes, magazines, books and wallet. And I had to open every zip and clipped pocket in my bag (which if you've seen it, is a lot) And then she swabbed everything and tested the sample. Now, I'm not opposed to security. In fact, the lax security was something that I had marveled at on the way to London. But I was a bit annoyed and the laid back way she went about conducting her search. Asking me to undue to zips and snaps, swabbing, testing. Then starting again. Asking me if I knew my passport was in my purse (of course I did, who do you think put it there?) I sat there with my arms folded across my chest, foot tapping on the floor my body language clearly saying, "Take your time. No, don't worry, it's not like I have an international train to catch in the next 10 minutes (which I did). Which is non-refundable and non-transferable. Go ahead, take my tweezers while you're at it (I joke, but it was a very real threat to me at the time)." Finally she finished and I threw everything into the bag, dashed for customs, tossed my passport, spoke the requisite Portuguese (I was more ready for him this time) and went to board the train. Only to find someone in my seat. So I was sent to the next car--which was thankfully empty--and had a relaxing two hour train ride back to Brussels.
For those of you who don't know what the Eurostar is, you should be ashamed of yourselves. It's one of the 10 Engineering Wonders of the World and rightly so. It's a high speed (300km/h) train that goes under the English Channel (about 50.5 km) between France and England.
It is the second longest undersea tunnel in the world (after Japan's Seikan Tunnel). And all in two hours or less. Construction of the Channel Tunnel (as it's formally called) involved huge drills, one in France and one in England and digging until they met almost exactly half way (and inches apart). It was also fantastically expensive (surprise, surprise, the project received EU funding) and I think are still trying to pay it off. But it was worth it.
My voyage began at Brussels' Gare Midi, the departure point for Eurostar trains. My ticket was purchased online and was non-refundable, non-transferable and non-losable. When he printed it out, the attendant said all of this and then warned, "So don't lose it. Otherwise..." and trailed off ominously. Then I had to go through a self-check in that involved me swiping my ticket which was way to complicated for my tiny brain, so the guy manning the turnstile sighed and did it for me.
Next was customs. Now I know I should have known it was going to happen, but I was still surprised when I was forced to show my passport. I was only taking a train. I forgot for an minute that I was crossing three countries to do it (the train passes through France before getting to London). I passed the line of non-EU citizens furiously filling visa/travel documents/mad-cow waivers on the nearby desk with a slight smirk (I may have pointed and laughed) and happily offered my EU passport to the attendant. Only to be greeted in Portuguese, with, "Bom noite, como estas?" I was thrown. He knows Portuguese! No one knows Portuguese! Flabbergasted, I paused, staring at him as I remembered the appropriate response. "Estou bem, e voce?" This exchange continued for a minute until he handed me back my passport with a Portuguese thank you of "Obrigado." That's usually my line, so my default response was a French "dernier," which prompted him to begin speaking in French. Realizing this could turn into a "Whose on First?" language-edition fiasco, I kept walking to the Eurostar l waiting area.
Ten minutes before my train left they began boarding and like a Swiss watch, we left Brussels at exactly 9:04. The ride was smooth and calm. It's similar to being in a VIA train but on time, with more leg room, assigned seating and quicker. Instructions are offered in French, English and German.
I wish I could say I knew exactly when we went in the tunnel. But I couldn't. It was dark and there were a succession of earlier tunnels that confused me. Also, the descent starts a few hundred kilometers before hand and I oh did I feel that! My ears started to pop and I had the strange sensation that my head was being squished--like in movies where they're in ancient Egyptian temples and the walls begin to close in on you, except instead of closing in on my body it was my head. It was peculiar but only lasted about 20 minutes (looking back it could have been the descent or crossing time zones). And then I think that's when we entered the Tunnel. Which is pitch black. My uncle told me this hilarious story of one of his students envisaging going through the Channel Tunnel like being in a an aquriaum with fish swimming around as you pass through it. Obviously, it's nothing like that. It's just pitch black and all you can see is your reflection. But you definetly get the sense that you're underneath literally tonnes of water and that if something were to snap, break, twist off or pop, you could drown and die in a watery grave. But at least you'd be comfortable.
The trip on the way back was the same except I got bag-checked in London . And I don't mean passing-my-backpack-through-a-metal-detector checked. Although they did do that. No, for some reason, they thought I was smuggling drugs or some other illegal substances back to Brussels with me because they took everything out of my bag. I mean everything: cell phone, passport, camera, make-up bag, underwear (dirty and clean), pads and tampons, bras, shoes, magazines, books and wallet. And I had to open every zip and clipped pocket in my bag (which if you've seen it, is a lot) And then she swabbed everything and tested the sample. Now, I'm not opposed to security. In fact, the lax security was something that I had marveled at on the way to London. But I was a bit annoyed and the laid back way she went about conducting her search. Asking me to undue to zips and snaps, swabbing, testing. Then starting again. Asking me if I knew my passport was in my purse (of course I did, who do you think put it there?) I sat there with my arms folded across my chest, foot tapping on the floor my body language clearly saying, "Take your time. No, don't worry, it's not like I have an international train to catch in the next 10 minutes (which I did). Which is non-refundable and non-transferable. Go ahead, take my tweezers while you're at it (I joke, but it was a very real threat to me at the time)." Finally she finished and I threw everything into the bag, dashed for customs, tossed my passport, spoke the requisite Portuguese (I was more ready for him this time) and went to board the train. Only to find someone in my seat. So I was sent to the next car--which was thankfully empty--and had a relaxing two hour train ride back to Brussels.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
You know it's summer when...
July means a lot to different people. To young children, it means no school, endless days of wreaking havoc, popsicles and climbing trees. To students, it means working 9-5, driving with the windows down blaring music and weekend parties with friends. To me, July evokes sunshine, the smell of sunscreen, heat that reaches the thirties and lazy weekends. To Belgians, it means rainy days (nothing new there), slightly higher temperatures (hello low twenties instead of high teens) and great sales. That’s right, you read right. Sales. As in shopping. And it’s not just in Belgium. It’s continent wide. And everyone knows about it. Cassandra has been telling me since May that if we were going to Paris, it should be in July to take advantage of the sales. A friend of mine works at the Canadian Mission to the EU, and he says the Canadians there have been telling him the same. So today I checked them out. Me and a few hundred of my closest friends. Holy moly, there were a lot of people there. It wasn't as bad as Christmas shopping in Toronto, but I had never seen so many people shopping before. In some stores the lines for the cash were 10 people deep. Obviously, the July sales are a big deal.
Anyway, so I went. I didn’t want to—I’m on a self-imposed spending strike for the next two weeks and I was determined nothing would lure me off that picket line. But I was bullied there by two guy friends (forced to shop by men, doesn't sound real does it?) and so I went, rather unwillingly.
And oh, the beauty. They took me to the shopping street in Brussels, Rue de Neuve, where store upon store stood facing each other in a row of beauty: Esprit, Mexx, Promod, We, United Colors of Benetton, H&M (there were five, though I only visited two) and many more. Each had beautiful window displays with stunning clothes but the most alluring of all were the massive signs that read “-50%” and “sale” in three different languages. I spent two hours perusing that street, going in and out of stores and trying things on—sometimes against my will. I was a hard sell, too. My friend Dave would hold an item up for my inspection and like an American Idol judge, I would instantly deliver my verdict: no, yes, too fancy, don’t like the colour, not wild about the pattern etc. I promised myself I wouldn’t cave unless I found something that I loved. I’m glad to report that I didn’t buy one thing. But here are some of the more interesting finds.
This is a fun shoe. I understand it’s part of the whole gladiator trend and I’ll get ridiculed mercilessly for them (let the comments flow). But they’re pretty versatile and for €15 if I wear them from now until September (when I’m in Portugal) I’ll get my money’s worth.
The next one is a coat. I know many of you are thinking, “A coat? In July?” But this is for the fall in London. It’s a bit of a rain coat. The one I’m thinking of is from H&M but for some reason I can’t find it online (that’ll teach me to take pictures in the store). So, imagine this neckline (the big, scooped overflowing kind), with this jacket (except with a single row of black buttons and a little less A-line, in this colour.
Again, I know what you’re thinking: It’s yellow. And not a demure, eggshell yellow; sunbeam yellow. I was skeptical too. But after I was bullied into trying it on, it really grew on me. My reservations come from two areas. One, can I work yellow? I’ve always shied away from yellow because I feel like it’ll wash out my very white complexion. But the bright yellow pops. But does it make me look like Paddington Bear? Two, the collar. It’s quite large. I don’t have a problem with it, but is it distracting? It’s €30 but I’m going to think about it and maybe it’ll go down to €20.
Then there’s this purse (purses are my personal kryptonite). The one I want is from Mexx not Coach but this is the closest I could find. The one I was looking at was larger (taller and a bit wider--it can hold a clipboard), has thicker straps, is made out of a plastic and leather feeling material (more durable) and is green and brown with a buckle in the middle. It’s off-the-shoulder and therefore would be a good school bag. Right now it’s €30, but I hope if I go back next week it’ll be €20.
Anyway, so I went. I didn’t want to—I’m on a self-imposed spending strike for the next two weeks and I was determined nothing would lure me off that picket line. But I was bullied there by two guy friends (forced to shop by men, doesn't sound real does it?) and so I went, rather unwillingly.
And oh, the beauty. They took me to the shopping street in Brussels, Rue de Neuve, where store upon store stood facing each other in a row of beauty: Esprit, Mexx, Promod, We, United Colors of Benetton, H&M (there were five, though I only visited two) and many more. Each had beautiful window displays with stunning clothes but the most alluring of all were the massive signs that read “-50%” and “sale” in three different languages. I spent two hours perusing that street, going in and out of stores and trying things on—sometimes against my will. I was a hard sell, too. My friend Dave would hold an item up for my inspection and like an American Idol judge, I would instantly deliver my verdict: no, yes, too fancy, don’t like the colour, not wild about the pattern etc. I promised myself I wouldn’t cave unless I found something that I loved. I’m glad to report that I didn’t buy one thing. But here are some of the more interesting finds.
This is a fun shoe. I understand it’s part of the whole gladiator trend and I’ll get ridiculed mercilessly for them (let the comments flow). But they’re pretty versatile and for €15 if I wear them from now until September (when I’m in Portugal) I’ll get my money’s worth.
The next one is a coat. I know many of you are thinking, “A coat? In July?” But this is for the fall in London. It’s a bit of a rain coat. The one I’m thinking of is from H&M but for some reason I can’t find it online (that’ll teach me to take pictures in the store). So, imagine this neckline (the big, scooped overflowing kind), with this jacket (except with a single row of black buttons and a little less A-line, in this colour.
Again, I know what you’re thinking: It’s yellow. And not a demure, eggshell yellow; sunbeam yellow. I was skeptical too. But after I was bullied into trying it on, it really grew on me. My reservations come from two areas. One, can I work yellow? I’ve always shied away from yellow because I feel like it’ll wash out my very white complexion. But the bright yellow pops. But does it make me look like Paddington Bear? Two, the collar. It’s quite large. I don’t have a problem with it, but is it distracting? It’s €30 but I’m going to think about it and maybe it’ll go down to €20.
Then there’s this purse (purses are my personal kryptonite). The one I want is from Mexx not Coach but this is the closest I could find. The one I was looking at was larger (taller and a bit wider--it can hold a clipboard), has thicker straps, is made out of a plastic and leather feeling material (more durable) and is green and brown with a buckle in the middle. It’s off-the-shoulder and therefore would be a good school bag. Right now it’s €30, but I hope if I go back next week it’ll be €20.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
All in a day's work
I’ve received numerous requests for a detailed description of how I spend my days here in Brussels. Well, I’d love to tell you that they are filled with high level meetings with EU officials where I slam my fist on mahogany tables yelling, “This is absolute rubbish and I won’t stand for it!” and then storm out or that I am constantly jetting off to glamourous locales while sipping Champagne from in diamond encrusted flutes. Sadly, this is not my job (in fact, I don’t think it’s anyone’s job).
I work at the Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS), a think tank based here in Brussels. Think tanks are a bit different in Europe than in North America. Here, they are a bit more independent than those at home. In Canada, we have the Fraser Institute and CD Howe Institute, each of which has its own ideology (left or right, conservative or liberal) and recommends policies based on these principles. Here it’s a bit different. The only thing CEPS “supports” is the European Union. Its motto is “Thinking ahead for Europe” and that’s exactly what it does. It conducts research to understand where the EU is and evaluates the progress of certain policies (ie. The Lisbon Strategy) as well as conducting research to see what the best way of achieving certain EU goals are. Many of the researchers are economists or political scientists and CEPS deals with different fields such as social policy, financial integration, economic policy, international relations, justice and home affairs or climate change and energy. As they are researchers—most of them have PhDs and many of them are linked with universities in some way—it adds a further degree of legitimacy to their results and the CEPS reputation in general.
Now the money. CEPS receives the majority of its funding from two areas. The first is through donations. These can come from the public and private sector. Regular Joes like you and me or huge corporations like Microsoft or Starbucks; Enron or Google. Indeed, CEPS’ policy is that to be independent/fair we accept all in order to offset the influence of one (Disclaimer: As far as I know, there has never been any interference from a member in the outcome of CEPS findings). The second way CEPS receives money is from the European Commission (this sounded crazy to me too in the beginning, but it actually works). As Europe is a huge geographically and has a population larger than the United States, the Commission cannot conduct accurate research for the entire continent on its own. That’s where the think tanks come in. If the Commission wants to study the influence of higher education on job prospects, for example, they will issue a tender, or a call for proposals. Think tanks and universities will propose projects and bid on the tender. Whoever wins gets the project and must complete it on a certain timetable and with certain deliverables. CEPS—from what I’m told both from people within and without—has a stellar reputation in this area.
That’s a bit on what CEPS does, now what do I do? Well, I have two jobs. Firstly, I work in communications. This is the job I was given by the Tour when my internship at the Central Bank fizzled out. But CEPS already has a full time communications manager. His name is Marco Incerti, he's Italian and he’s my boss. As a result, I haven’t had much to do on this front. Mostly media monitoring for mentions of CEPS in the press—we try to get our researchers to be quoted in mainstream media as often as possible—as well as report writing for the newsletter and website.
I also do research for a German economist named Felix Roth. I got matched with Felix pretty accidentally on the first day. I told Marco I’d like to get some research experience, but he said they didn’t have much (there’s another Tour intern there researching climate change). But when we were introduced to the researchers, Felix said he’d take me on. And so far it’s been great. I’m lucky that his research really interests me. He specializes in the Social Welfare Model, or the welfare state in Europe, and so a lot of our discussions center on welfare economics and whether they’re sustainable economically or culturally. But he has a background in sociology so he’s not quite a heartless economist. Although sometimes when I say something really lefty he pauses and stares at me and I get the feeling he wants to pat me on the head and say, “Aw, you poor , misguided little socialist. You will learn.” Thankfully, he’s resisted so far. In terms of research, I collect data, make data sets, read reports and edit his reports (as a native English speaker, I’m like gold there). In return he takes the time to teach me. He explains the data and its significance and will go through it with me if I’m confused. Last week he took me to a conference on demographic challenges in Europe and come August I’ll get to attend a conference he’s organizing and maybe even co-author/edit a paper he’s writing.
So as I have two jobs, this usually keeps me occupied during the day. I also get to attend any of the conferences CEPS puts on regularly. So often I get to sit in conferences/lunchtime meetings with brilliant people and hear them talk about really interesting things. Today I sat in on a meeting about the EU budget and another on improving decision making in the EU. Now, for those of you not as geeky as I am, this whole experience may sound like one giant snooze fest. But for a self-professed information junkie, all this knowledge so easily accessible is pretty awesome.
I work at the Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS), a think tank based here in Brussels. Think tanks are a bit different in Europe than in North America. Here, they are a bit more independent than those at home. In Canada, we have the Fraser Institute and CD Howe Institute, each of which has its own ideology (left or right, conservative or liberal) and recommends policies based on these principles. Here it’s a bit different. The only thing CEPS “supports” is the European Union. Its motto is “Thinking ahead for Europe” and that’s exactly what it does. It conducts research to understand where the EU is and evaluates the progress of certain policies (ie. The Lisbon Strategy) as well as conducting research to see what the best way of achieving certain EU goals are. Many of the researchers are economists or political scientists and CEPS deals with different fields such as social policy, financial integration, economic policy, international relations, justice and home affairs or climate change and energy. As they are researchers—most of them have PhDs and many of them are linked with universities in some way—it adds a further degree of legitimacy to their results and the CEPS reputation in general.
Now the money. CEPS receives the majority of its funding from two areas. The first is through donations. These can come from the public and private sector. Regular Joes like you and me or huge corporations like Microsoft or Starbucks; Enron or Google. Indeed, CEPS’ policy is that to be independent/fair we accept all in order to offset the influence of one (Disclaimer: As far as I know, there has never been any interference from a member in the outcome of CEPS findings). The second way CEPS receives money is from the European Commission (this sounded crazy to me too in the beginning, but it actually works). As Europe is a huge geographically and has a population larger than the United States, the Commission cannot conduct accurate research for the entire continent on its own. That’s where the think tanks come in. If the Commission wants to study the influence of higher education on job prospects, for example, they will issue a tender, or a call for proposals. Think tanks and universities will propose projects and bid on the tender. Whoever wins gets the project and must complete it on a certain timetable and with certain deliverables. CEPS—from what I’m told both from people within and without—has a stellar reputation in this area.
That’s a bit on what CEPS does, now what do I do? Well, I have two jobs. Firstly, I work in communications. This is the job I was given by the Tour when my internship at the Central Bank fizzled out. But CEPS already has a full time communications manager. His name is Marco Incerti, he's Italian and he’s my boss. As a result, I haven’t had much to do on this front. Mostly media monitoring for mentions of CEPS in the press—we try to get our researchers to be quoted in mainstream media as often as possible—as well as report writing for the newsletter and website.
I also do research for a German economist named Felix Roth. I got matched with Felix pretty accidentally on the first day. I told Marco I’d like to get some research experience, but he said they didn’t have much (there’s another Tour intern there researching climate change). But when we were introduced to the researchers, Felix said he’d take me on. And so far it’s been great. I’m lucky that his research really interests me. He specializes in the Social Welfare Model, or the welfare state in Europe, and so a lot of our discussions center on welfare economics and whether they’re sustainable economically or culturally. But he has a background in sociology so he’s not quite a heartless economist. Although sometimes when I say something really lefty he pauses and stares at me and I get the feeling he wants to pat me on the head and say, “Aw, you poor , misguided little socialist. You will learn.” Thankfully, he’s resisted so far. In terms of research, I collect data, make data sets, read reports and edit his reports (as a native English speaker, I’m like gold there). In return he takes the time to teach me. He explains the data and its significance and will go through it with me if I’m confused. Last week he took me to a conference on demographic challenges in Europe and come August I’ll get to attend a conference he’s organizing and maybe even co-author/edit a paper he’s writing.
So as I have two jobs, this usually keeps me occupied during the day. I also get to attend any of the conferences CEPS puts on regularly. So often I get to sit in conferences/lunchtime meetings with brilliant people and hear them talk about really interesting things. Today I sat in on a meeting about the EU budget and another on improving decision making in the EU. Now, for those of you not as geeky as I am, this whole experience may sound like one giant snooze fest. But for a self-professed information junkie, all this knowledge so easily accessible is pretty awesome.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
London Baby!
A great thing about living here is that Europe is your neighborhood. Most any country is only a hop, skip and a jump away. Given this reality, I spent last weekend in London. That’s right. London, England. For many North Americans that may boggle your minds, (I knew it blew my mind), but here it’s no biggie. People trot off to Berlin for the weekend or scamper off to Paris for the day.
One of the first things I did on arriving in London was hit up my future school. I walked down Houghton Street and then down Portugal Street where the school is located (the fact that there is a street named after my homeland is in itself an indication that it is my destiny to attend this school), and my heart started to flutter. The buildings were old, some were covered in ivy ( or it could have been stray branches but whose keeping track?) and you could smell the tradition in the air. It was positively collegiate. It was a Saturday morning so it was quite, but the area looked gorgeous; very academic and scholarly. I’m excited for October.
Me: Do you know who this Eric Clapton fellow is?Kyla: D’you know what? I havn’t got a bloody clue.
(After hearing a wicked Clapton guitar solo)
Kyla: D’you know what? This Clapton chap, he’s quite good isn’t he? Me: Yes, he’s quite talented on the guy-tar. Good on him.
It was ridiculous but we loved it. Afterward we tried to find someplace to eat and rest our tired feet but were hard pressed to find one. Can you believe that? At 11 30 on a Saturday night in London, England, there was no restaurant in Oxford Street--one of the busiest in London--serving food? I was appalled frankly.
One of the first things I did on arriving in London was hit up my future school. I walked down Houghton Street and then down Portugal Street where the school is located (the fact that there is a street named after my homeland is in itself an indication that it is my destiny to attend this school), and my heart started to flutter. The buildings were old, some were covered in ivy ( or it could have been stray branches but whose keeping track?) and you could smell the tradition in the air. It was positively collegiate. It was a Saturday morning so it was quite, but the area looked gorgeous; very academic and scholarly. I’m excited for October.
Me: Do you know who this Eric Clapton fellow is?Kyla: D’you know what? I havn’t got a bloody clue.
(After hearing a wicked Clapton guitar solo)
Kyla: D’you know what? This Clapton chap, he’s quite good isn’t he? Me: Yes, he’s quite talented on the guy-tar. Good on him.
It was ridiculous but we loved it. Afterward we tried to find someplace to eat and rest our tired feet but were hard pressed to find one. Can you believe that? At 11 30 on a Saturday night in London, England, there was no restaurant in Oxford Street--one of the busiest in London--serving food? I was appalled frankly.
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