Franse kapper

I finally broke down and let somebody whittle on my troubled head. I decided to go to someone close to home - his shop is next door to our new house.

As always, right off the bat, I ask "Do you speak English?". He says "Yes, I speak English (?)".

That was not entirely true. He UNDERSTOOD English, but I'm not sure what he was speaking. His French accent was so thick I just smiled whenever he said whatever he was saying.

Sometimes when I walk the dog, nice people stop and prattle on to the dog and/or me and all the time I'm smiling and hoping their voice doesn't go up at the end of the sentence implying a question I can't possibly answer. This is kinda how I did with the kapper.

Thankfully it was over quickly and I could leave the painful French accent behind. He was conveniently located next door and there's hardly a resemblance to any chewing left on my not-so-troubled-head (for which I am grateful), but I think me and Frere Jacques may have to say au revoir.

Speculoos

You may know these cookies if you've traveled on Delta Airlines because they serve a similar little cookie that I love! I even found them in the States and was so excited when I did.

These cookies are everywhere here and the closer the holidays get, the more I see them. I've been buying them prepackaged at the grocery store since I got here.

Anyway, I decided to get an education on these cookies and was so surprised when I saw this on Wikipedia. Read in particular, paragraph 5. [Hit the back arrow to return to the blog]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speculaas

Well, naturally I had to go in search of these famous cookies made in Hasselt and that made it onto Wikipedia! Here they are (appears to be Sinterklaas). You can buy them even bigger (and smaller too). This one is about a ft. tall (or ~ .3048 m :). They are kind of like a gingerbread cookie, only not quite as soft.

Dinner with the boss

Oh, a week of so ago, Jim invited me to accompany him to dinner with the boss (a.k.a. Norbord CEO). He was here from Toronto to pay a visit to the Genk facility.

Naturally, I accepted.

We went to a little Italian place (there are more of those than anything else - Italians and places).

I wore my new boots and did my best to smooth my hair (despite the 20 km gusts in the 10 minute walk from apartment to hotel to Italian place).

Jim had told me how nice he is and I agree.

He was very impressed with my Flemish (especially when I knew the words for bacon AND cheese on the menu). We even talked about how my parents weren't even true Southerners yet I most definitely have a drawl. Go figure. I mean, despite my best efforts, me and Johnny Cash are always "on the same page".

Seriously, and I do mean seriously, this was NOT all we talked about. He said to Jim later (and I quote) he "was glad he finally got to meet me" and he "liked my overall approach to the move". I reckon I did awright.

Not exactly what I had in mind

I have never cooked Thanksgiving Dinner.

We were always lucky enough to have Nana and Mae Mae to do that for us. So being here and . . . well, I decided to challenge myself to see if I could whip up some dressing, a turkey, candied yams, green bean casserole, and maybe even a pumpkin pie.

I envisioned it looking something like this, but . . .

after 2 grocery stores, the bakery and the deli, I was forced to seriously rethink that challenge.

Even with my limited language skills (AND toting my Engels/Nederlands translation book) if these items were in the store, I could NOT find them:

cornbread

corn meal

cornbread mix

candied yams

canned sweet potatoes

whole sweet potatoes

a turkey breast

a whole turkey

a pumpkin pie

pumpkin in a can

a whole pumpkin

and mushroom soup is meant for eating - like soup!

However, I did find this roasted turkey lunchmeat and this pumpkin soup.

And this is the closest thing to that list I could find. And nee, I'm niet kidding :~/

Happy Thanksgiving

to all you Americans (and we Americans living elsewhere). Strange that this day will be just like any other here - no turkey, no dressing, no bank closures.

For quite a few years, with the exception of last year (because we were moving into our house in Jefferson) and now this year (because, well, we're here), our family has gone to the beach for the week of Thanksgiving. It sorta became a tradition and we really looked forward to it every year. We were just saying how the weather here right now almost feels like the beach at Thanksgiving. Cool and windy.

I will miss the beach trip, but what I'll really miss is Thanksgiving Day with my family at Mae Mae & Pop's.

The things we take for granted . . . we do have so much to be thankful for.

Never leave home without...

a paraplu and a spare if you have one.

I am short one paraplu as of yesterday. And it was my favorite. It opened AND closed with just the push of a button. Anyway, I was walking home from the wassalon, carrying 2 bags of clean laundry, in the rain, when the wind whipped my paraplu right out of my hand and it went sailing off as far as I could see. The only thing that stopped it was when it stuck completely flat against the shovel of a backhoe.

I found the whole thing so funny and couldn't help but laugh at what had just happened to my umbrella. Of course, I was sure anyone who saw me laughing (alone) would surely think I was schizo (given that I often portray a homeless look already with my laundry bags, goat-chewed hair, and my "all wrong" shoes). Add to that me walking now in the rain WITHOUT a paraplu.

So I used to say in the South "I don't leave home without my shades". I now say "I don't leave home without my paraplu and a spare."

Geen Reklame

Means "no advertising". And it appears that if you have one of these stickers on your mailbox . .

. . .your mailbox won't look like this.

While we were still in Jefferson, we had a small mailbox that was perfect for letters, but wouldn't hold anything taller than a regular envelope. Plus, it was attached to the picket fence so if anything taller than an envelope was placed in the box, the lid stood open and naturally, if it rained, everything in the box got wet.

Every week on Wednesday we would get a flyer from the local Brookshire's grocery store with inserts from places like Direct TV, etc. This stupid flyer was too tall for our mailbox and well, ..... (see above).

Soooooo, I went to the local Jefferson P.O. and asked to stop delivery of this stupid Brookshire's flyer. Guess what? It can't be done. That's right. If a business or individual pays to have something sent to "Current Resident", the P.O. must deliver it. AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!!!!

I suggest the U.S. adopt the "Geen Reklame" policy so your mail won't get wet either. Plus, think of all the crap you won't have to throw away.

Verhuurd!

The new L.E.A.S.E. Now, that's more like it - maybe 3 mm? [How 'bout those metrics?]

Although it's in Dutch and we signed "read and understood", we really hadn't "read" and didn't fully "understand", despite having had a native Dutchman do his best to splain it - we signed a lease - and it's registered with the Belgian government and everything!

Plus (unlike the other lease) it doesn't appear to hold us responsible for "random Acts of God" "windows that even only burst" and the "floors being in the same or BETTER condition" since we have never known floors to IMPROVE over time, this is a good thing.

Finally, the internet ad for our herenwoning says VERHUURD! LEASED!

So, we celebrated. Chias!

Happy Anniversary

to us!

Hard to believe it's been 29 years. And how many people can say after 29 years they'd do it all again and not change one thing?

Well, I, for one, can.

Dierenarts

I haven't found a salon, but we did find a dierenarts. That's the veterinarian. His office is just around the block from the house we're moving into so it's really convenient. He is a one-man show so he did everything in the office. Very different from every office - small or large - that I've ever been to.

Here is a photo of his office and he lives above it. That appears to be very common in Belgium to live and work in the same building.

Anyway, his name is Wim Geurts and he was really nice and Winslow is good to go for another year.

Randomness

I couldn't resist buying this bag of Circus Marys.

This is the biggest ginkgo tree I've ever seen and this lawn was just beautiful all covered with leaves.

Know what those are? Yep, those little turtles we got as kids. And they even have the little bowl with the palm tree and everything! You know it's illegal to sell these in the US because they carry salmonella. I don't know why they can sell them here!

Jim asked me to take a picture of this alligator we saw in a window in Edinburgh. It's not nearly as big as the one he plans to carve for our yard upon our return to the States. And I have always envisioned a full scale alligator in our yard so I can. not. wait. Ours will be more like the size of the one at Randoll's in Lafayette. You know, the kind you can stretch out on.

Our first major purchase was this coffeemaker. Isn't she a beauty? With only two features - on and off - you can see why we'd pay over - well I won't get started on that again. Plus the added bonus of what it does for our little kitchen. And BTW, that is one entire side of our kitchen. Counter space is at a premium.

You may remember from a previous post the huge loaf of bread that is used to make these yummy sandwiches called kebaps. Here's a photo of one we got at a restaurant in Genk. It's got really thin chicken that's roasted on one of those spiral grill things like at Greek restaurants + a salad mix + a picante sauce sorta like the tiger sauce at Copeland's. Did I mention it is yummy?

To date, I had not seen a cocktail on any menu . . . until now. We got this mojito also at a restaurant in Genk. Nice presentation, huh?

On our way to and from Scotland on KLM Airlines, we received these little Coke Lights. Isn't this the cutest little can of Coke you've ever seen?

And for those of you who have been living in a cave for the last 50+ years - smoking kills. Here's a cigarette package I saw on the street. It says "smoking kills" in Dutch, French, and German. I don't know about France and Germany, but this huge message has been no deterrent in Belgium. Smoking is fine and well in Belgie.

The end.

The root of all evil

isn't money

isn't religion

isn't greed

isn't politics

isn't pride

isn't fear

Although all these things can make people pretty stupid.

It's ignorance.

Lack of knowledge, education, understanding, awareness.

Metrically handicapped

The more I try to become adept at the metric system, the more I realize this may never happen. The US system (whatever it's called - imperial, maybe) is so ingrained that I simply can't get past it.

I mean I do know that celsius is temperature, but that's about as far as it goes. And even then, all I know is Baby, it's really cold outside, or Baby, it's just plain cold outside, or Baby, it's colder than it was yesterday outside. It could be 2C or 20C so I always have to look it up on the handy Google conversion gadget if I really want to know.

When I go to the slagerij (which is really a butcher shop, but they sell all sorts of prepared foods) and they ask me how much soup I want, in my mind I'm like - uh, a meter, a liter, a kilo? I take on this confused look and they start holding up various-sized containers and let me pick one. It always works.

Oh, and thanks slagerij employees (and pretty much the rest of the world) for speaking English.

Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

And he does the reverse just as well :)

Battle of the Bulge

After a lot of shopping and trying on, here they are! Whatayathink?

Too plastic-y?

Too red? ,

Too lace-y?

Too shiny?

Not black?

Perfect?

Juuuuuust kidding. Not that I have a problem with those, for the record.

I did buy some, but only because a nice sales girl was willing to work with my clunker calves. She reminded me of Amanda. If you don't know Amanda, I'll describe her like this. Adults don't come smaller than Amanda. She was a little bitty thing, but strong - I'll explain later.

Anyway, I picked out the ones I liked (not black!) and she fetched my size from the back. I tried them on and quickly determined, like aaaaall the others, the calf was not quite roomy enough. I mean there was an inch gap. No way, right?

The nice salesgirl said "Let me see". So I tried them back on and she said "Let me try something". Obviously looking for a challenge, she again went to the back to fetch something. But what? A calf-reducing shoe horn?

She returned with a tennis shoe string. You can imagine my wonderment. How is this shoe string gonna take an inch off my calf? I put the boots back on and she slipped this shoe string through the eyelet on the zipper and carefully forced the zipper up and not once pinching my calf as it tried so hard to bulge out of this cylinder.

I was expecting an explosion any minute, but alas my calf stayed in the boot and I was even able to stand and walk around. She suggested we try the other one before making any rash decisions. Which, I must hand it to her, was certainly a good idea. This same shoe-string method was used and voila, another calf safely squeezed into a boot. And like she said, they will only get bigger (the boots - not my calves :).

Naturally, I said "sold" and we proceeded to the checkout! Of course I had to bring her home with me since I will never be able to do this by myself. Thanks, sales girl who reminds me of Amanda. I now have a new use for my old shoe strings.

Oh . . . and here they really are.

A Bank Account

We finally got to open one because Jim FINALLY got his slick wallet-sized identiteitskaart! After only 10 weeks (was supposed to take 2 - 3). Anyway, it arrived and it allowed us to open a bank account. Apparently Belgium does not want your money in a bank until you are a bonafide resident.

The bank, KBC, was recommended to us so that's where we went. It was a lockdown facility meaning the doors automatically lock and an employee has to let you in and out. Anyway, after making copies of our paspoorts and identiteitskaarts and entering it all in the computer, I showed her my American checkbook and asked if we would get one of these. She looked at the checkbook strangely and said "Oh no, we haven't had those in 15 years".

That's right - she said everything here is done electronically. And has been for 15 years!

The KBC rep was unable to assist us in a money transfer, so in all fairness to the check-writing American banking system, the rep at CTB handled the transfer of some money to our new Belgian account and it was flawless and in less than 24 hours. We were impressed and appreciative.

And, of course, the identiteitskaart. Pretty slick, huh?

The moment you've all been waiting for

The paar-tay at the wassalon, of course. No party pics, just this party vid.

You could clearly see what a blast the lady at the mangle drain was having. And what a picnic the woman pondering "how does this thing work, again?" was having. And then there's the guy to my left changing the leg cross - it was a riot!

Okay, so it wasn't the shindig you probably expected, but I did get not one, but two free waspoeder and a Coke light for my gratis frisdrank. Johan (I assume - based on the invitation) even poured the waspoeder in the wasmachine for me. This is obviously the kleine attentie the invitation promised. No bloemetjes : /

It was really nice and I appreciated it. I mean that. BTW, the leg cross guy had a Fanta.

Circus Mary

As I returned from the wassalon the day before yesterday, I stopped by the bakery for a loaf of bread. A little basket of broken cookies and some colorful somethings (?) were on the counter beside the cash register. I assume these were for customers to taste, but I chose not to partake. Who knows where all those other little hands have been?

Anyway, as I was walking back to the apartment, I began to ponder what those colorful somethings were in that basket on the counter. Could it be?

Remember those candy-like snacks called Circus Peanuts - pastel orange, soft yet firm, shaped like a 2 inch peanut? They were a staple around my house growing up - serving as a vegetable, I think.

Well, I returned to the bakery yesterday and you're not going to believe this. Those colorful somethings in that basket were . . .

lo and behold, Circus Marys.

Yep, pastel, soft yet firm, shaped like a 2 inch Virgin Mary.

Sorta makes you wanta break out into Ave Maria doesn't it?

Well of course, I brought some home.

Scratch the bakeware

As I was making a list of things we would need when we move, I noted that our little apartment (though fully equipped) does not have any bakeware. No cookie sheets, no pie pans, no cake pans, no mixer, no mixing bowls. I put these things on my list as I was sure we'd need them. I mean, what proper household doesn't have all this, right?

Then, of course, it occurred to me . . . there is a bakery on almost every corner (seriously). Here are fotos of the one at the end of our street and the one across the street from it and the others are less than a 5 minute walk! This stuff is beautiful, baked daily, delicious, and not too hard on the pocketbook. With this kind of loot you definitely wouldn't need to bake.

My kitchen necessity list got a lot shorter.

Free Flemish Lessons

I got this creepy feeling when I read the comments on my blog yesterday. A stranger had posted a comment. That's right. Someone, that as far as I know, I do not know. Why would anyone who doesn't know me be interested in my blog? I imagine many people who DO know me who aren't interested in my blog. I found this very strange and, oh invasive, somehow.

Then, I realized that I also stalk someone else's blog. She is a friend of a friend, but she doesn't know me and as far as I know she doesn't know I read her blog. Her blog is really witty and I thoroughly enjoy reading what she writes.

However, now that this invasion has occurred, I decided to send a comment to her so she knows. Not only that I'm stalking her, but that I really enjoy her blog :)

Uh, picker of nits stranger who knows all words Flemish, you should do the same.

Lookin' good and smellin' good

Kleding is Flemish for clothing (I stand corrected). As I mentioned from Day One on arrival here, kleding is a big deal. These are window dressings (since it's a little awkward taking photos of actual people), but I'm telling you, this is how everybody dresses here. Young and old. And while I've not been able to pull any of this off, the main characteristic seems to be layers and layers. Even when the weather was warmer, people wore layers of lightweight clothing.

Skirts over leggings with boots, skinny leg jeans with a flouncy shirt, a multitude of jackets, and almost always a scarf. I have not seen anyone in a warmup suit. I have not seen anyone in tennis shoes unless they were running or they were the kind meant for just walking around in.

And for "smellin' good". Several stores in town sell only parfum and apparently they are doing a heckuva business because most everyone I pass closely on the sidewalk smells so good! I've found myself spraying an extra dose on myself so maybe someone will pass me and think I smell good too :)

Maybe just publishing this post will inspire me to put away my warmup.

Asking for directions

Not sure what makes Jim and me (and sometimes just me) look like we know how to get from here to there, but we are amazed at how many people have stopped us on the street and asked for directions. Do we look like natives? I mean, even without the dog on a leash, we do not look like Belgians! If for no other reason, my wardrobe :)

Anyway, they prattle on about where they're trying to get to and when they take a breath we say "Sorry, we only speak English". Like it's a disease. Older people say "Ahhhh" in a sad sorta way and move on, but younger and middle aged people just begin speaking in perfect English. And say, "Oh, you're not from here?". To which we answer, "Yes, we live here, we just don't speak Flemish (yet)".

We've been here long enough to actually help a few (get lost).

Just kidding.

Missing Amy

I'm growing my hair out by default.

I was saying just the other day that my hair "looks like the goats chewed it" as Nana used to say because it's been so long since I had a haircut.

Amy Neal at Hair Studio did my hair for almost 10 years and when we moved to Jefferson, I had a few bad haircuts before finally finding Tiffany Wheeler in Longview. My hair went from shoulder length to Twiggy in only a couple of months so you can imagine that I am hesitant to go down that road again. Plus, who knows what might happen with the language challenge. Of course, they say "a picture is worth a thousand words" so I should probably start there.

I have decided longer hair might be better with the unpredictable rainy weather here so I can avoid being mistaken for Winslow. However, I have always thought we had a similar salt and pepper look when I go past my two week color regimen. And you've gotta admit the resemblance is uncanny when I'm having my regular bad hair day (no offense Winslow).

There are a multitude of really nice kapsalons so I will soon have to darken their door and hope to find an Amy. After all, what's the worst that can happen?

The Almighty Dollar

Did I mention my last post on the $ probably wouldn't be my last? Here's number two in what may be my series on the almighty dollar.

I wanted to do a post on exactly the difference in cost of living here and in the States with all the exact facts and figures, but it's complicated and I'm not a CPA.

But if you ever thought you pay way too much in taxes and there's never enough left over for everything else, you might want to think again.

Belgians (and Americans living in Belgium) pay as much as 50% of their income in income tax.

Yep, half.

Oh, and the cost of living here (according to an official document we now own) is 29% more.

AND throw in that current exchange rate between the Euro and the Dollar at a [insert expletive] 1.5!

AND just because you don't live in the US, you still get to keep coughing up your half of Social Security regardless of whether you'll ever see it when you need it. But who's counting? And thanks Employer for picking up the other half of that.

AND since you're not a citizen of Belgium, but lucky enough to have health insurance back in the States, you certainly want to keep paying your measly portion of that premium. Thanks again Employer for footing waaaay over half that.

Sooooo . . . just to keep it simple, let's say you have a salary of about $50,000 and you live in, say Shreveport.

To enjoy that SAME standard of living (no extras now) you would need to earn about . . .

$82,000. And frankly, most Belgians do not.

Did that surprise you?

Signing our life away?

So, what's that worth? Hopefully we'll find out today as we intend to sign on the dotted line.

I think we found a house!!

Finally.

After calling about close to 40 properties and visiting close to 20 of them, we decided on a house yesterday.

No, it's not perfect, but NONE of them are. They are too big, too small, too old, don't have a yard, the yard is too small, already rented, no parking spot, no pets allowed, the stairs are too steep, too close to the train station, too much traffic, too far from town, too close to town, the lease is too complicated, and on and on and on.

Soooo, no, this one isn't perfect either, but we are making it work and we are excited about doing it!

Yes, there are multiple staircases (don't seem quite as steep as our current ones, but stairs nonetheless)

Yes, it is old (but has lots of character with nice wood floors and some high ceilings)

Yes, it's waaaay too big for just the two of us - 3 bedrooms, 2 dining rooms and an office (but all houses are either really small or really big)

Yes, it has a little yard for Winslow (and a small pet is allowed)

Yes, it's in a desirable area close to town, and the best part ... see that green neon cross? That whole entryway underneath the bay window is the apotheek :)

We get to move in on my birthday!

You never really understand a person . . .

until you consider things from his point of view - until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.

Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird

Ever been black?

Me neither.

What about Jewish?

No, me neither.

How about . . . ?

Be the change you want to see in the world.

Mahatma Gandhi

These boots are made for walking

. . . or at least some of them are. You may remember I swore off high heels some time ago.

I would estimate 99% of the women in Hasselt own at least one pair of boots. And I may in fact be underestimating. I have never seen so many boots. Of course, it's no wonder because not only is it pretty chilly already, it's often rainy as well. So naturally, they are a "must have".

I am now in search of a pair of boots for myself which should to be a challenge with the diameter of my calves rivaling that of my thighs. Many women tuck their pants legs into the boots, but I can only imagine what Stacy would say about that in combination with my pear shape.

And it only makes sense for them to be black, right? But then no wearing them with brown. And buying 2 pair (black and brown) would be ridiculous, right?

So I went looking yesterday for the perfect pair:

black (of course)

stylish (trying to look European is sooooo hard)

low heel (but not too low - I do want to wear them out of the house, but don't want to catch the heel point in a cobblestone and have to sacrifice it)

large calf area (see above)

pointed toe (but not too pointed - no corner cleaners)

and above all, affordable (assuming this actually exists).

I had no idea how difficult this would be. Impossible maybe.

Here are fotos of just 2 winkels (stores), right next door to each other, of at least 25 winkels that carry boots and this is just what's in the window! I came home empty-handed, but haven't given up yet. Wish me luck.