Uneven Bounce

Mon 30 January

2012-01-30T14:09:00.002Z

Another general strike, another day off work, and another day of not getting paid.

Sat 14 Jan - Amiens

2012-01-14T13:50:00.002Z

Went with friends to the northern French city of Amiens. Don't go. There, that's my useful bit of advice.

An eerie ghost town, was what it felt like. Struggled to find anywhere to eat, to drink, or much to do. No idea where everyone was, but they need to come back and breathe some life into it.

This part of the world is so close to Wallonia that it's all regarded as 'Ch'ti' territory. A lot cleaner and less grubby than Mons, but lacking its warmth and vibrancy.

In doing my research for an article on high speed trains in the UK, I read that many French towns, such as Reims (to which I've also been, and was also left unimpressed by) and Amiens, have suffered economically as a result of not being served by the French high speed TGV trains. You can certainly see the evidence all around.

There is, however, the rather fabulous Jules Verne house; author of such famous works as Around the World in Eighty Days, and other books I haven't read, which is good fun, and the kind of place kids would love to explore and get lost in.

Thursday 22 December

2011-12-22T13:27:00.012Z

Had the usual palava trying to get home for Christmas. Thanks to a general strike in Belgium today there were no Eurostar trains running from Brussels, so had to rely on a friend to drive us to Lille, where we were able to catch a train (where they were all now starting) from there.

Actually, it wasn't really that much of a hassle. More of an irritation. I think this must be the 4th or 5th time, I've lost track, I or we, have experienced some sort of disruption trying to get home. Travelling around Christmas time should always be avoided where possible.

The strike itself was in protest against government plans to reform public sector pensions. However, even though the strike was scheduled for today, public transport had been affected since Tuesday, with wildcat, impromptu strikes, bringing parts of the network to a standstill for about four days.

Luckily, I was able to get to work on the Tuesday, but wasn't so lucky yesterday, with all train services in Wallonia being cancelled. I'm really not sure you'd be able to get away with wildcat strikes in England. Not the first time I've been on the receiving end.

The Eurostar train itself was virtually empty, with most people, I guess, opting to travel tomorrow.

Fri 9 Dec - Sat 10 Dec: Maastricht

2011-12-09T12:54:00.004Z

This was supposed to have been a two night stay, but due to being put in the wrong room (had to lump it once we got there, and couldn't be arsed to look for another B&B), which overlooked a noisy street (loads of very loud students all chatting in English, with foreign accents. The city's university is very popular with foreigners), and after a night of virtually no sleep, it turned into a one night stay.

Still, Maastricht, at night, all lit up and Christmassy was great. The Christmas markets (naturally) are meant to be the focal point at this time of year. Gave them a quick peak. The one in Mons was much better.

Another one of those small, compact, cobbled towns, lined with the cosiest and most inviting bars and restaurants you could hope for.

It's funny how close you are to the Belgian border: about a 15mins train journey away.

Had a superb Thai meal on the Friday night (Dutch food is about as appealing to me as Belgian food. You can add German food to that as well.): sushi to start, followed by the best Pad Thai I've ever tasted. I'm finally getting in to my sushi. Have always dismissed it in the past, but it's starting to really grow on me: so clean and fresh.

Our B&B owner was very laid back about us opting to leave a night early, and kindly gave us some money back from our first night, and didn't charge us for the second. I wouldn't have paid anyway, even if she had.

In the end, we only really missed out on an evening out, as we were planning on coming back straight after breakfast the next day. And being so easy to get home meant we virtually had two days here, anyway.

Thursday 8 December

2011-12-08T11:56:00.000Z

Went along to the Bruges Snow and Ice Sculpture festival today. Every year, in one huge room, they choose a theme, and let loose a load of ice sculpturers to do their thing.

This year Disneyland Paris was the theme. Lots of characters from well known films and animations carved out in ice, an ice slide, and even an ice bar, filled the room. The slide was my favourite bit. It was, naturally, rather chilly in there, not helped by the fact that it was also cold outside. Good, clean, fun for all the family.

Tuesday 6 December - We have a government!

2011-12-06T10:22:00.000Z

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you....a new government! 541 days it took.

Here, they've labelled it "un gouvernement papillon" (a "bow tie government"), because it's what Elio Di Rupo, the new PM and mayor of Mons, is always seen in public wearing. Usually, a red one. Although I did spot him wearing a rather fetching burgundy-coloured one recently.

What more is there to say. Except, hallelujah!

Now, time to make himself instantly unpopular by implementing a raft of much-delayed austerity measures.

Saturday 3 December - Day trip to Germany

2011-12-03T08:35:00.000Z

Went on a day trip to Germany today, thanks to one of the many tours C's work organises. The morning and early afternoon was spent in Monschau, and the rest of the day in Aachen.

The trip was billed as a chance to marvel at some of Europe's finest (ubiquitous) Christmas markets. Because me and C are so damn contrary, but more because we really have seen quite a lot of Christmas markets now, and to be honest, they're all much of a muchness, and sell the usual array of nothing particularly useful, we spent the whole day doing what we do best: wandering around, and stopping every now and again for food and drink.

Monschau is tiny and adorable, and seems to have been built specifically for tourists in mind, which of course it wasn't. It just feels like that. The weather was a shocker all day - heavy wind and driving rain, nice. - so we tried to limit outdoor time, and ducked into cafés more than even we would have liked to.

It was a bit like a fairytale kind of village: river running below, mini bridges, narrow side streets, inviting-looking cafés.

Enjoyed having a huge flapjack (surprisingly tasteless, even though it looked like it should have been delicious. Too dry) and coffee, whilst having a good natter with a group of middle-aged English women, sitting on the table next to us.

In the past, whenever I was away and heard English voices, I'd usually walk in the opposite direction. Since living abroad, I've begun to find the sound comforting and reassuring.

It was one of those very typical English conversations: lots of humour, lots of sarcasm, the odd bit of innuendo, a bit of a moan about the weather and how expensive things are in Europe (!), and how great it is to get away for a few days. All done without any kind of introductions, or any exchange of names or details about each other. Wonderful!

Aarchen was a lot easier to wander about in the rain, because it's an actual city and there was far more to see. The market was also quite big and actually had some good food stools.

The main cathedral was spectacular, sort of a mini version of the St Mark's Basilica in Venice. Really wasn't expecting something so impressive from the outside.

After having a decent meal at a trendy wine bar/upmarket bistro/restaurant (I always find it hard to categorise eateries in Europe) we went for a little wander in the cobbled centre (the rain had finally ceased), where we came across a small group of guys singing Christmas carols, in English and German. It was simply delightful, and one of those great moments that really make a day. I would happily have stood there and listened to them sing all evening, but after about 20 minutes they were done, packed up, and left.

It was also during this hour or so, before our coach was due to set off back to Mons, that we realised how much we were both beginning to miss England. More accurately, how much living in Belgium was making us miss England.

As I mentioned in my November 4th post, whenever we go away now, we feel like we're "re-entering civilisation."

C's new boss has said that he'd happily let us extend our stay (again) for a further year, and thus not return until December 2013, but we've pretty much made up our minds, and want to be home this time next year.

We want our culture back.

Wednesday 23 November - Pampered in Brussels

2011-11-23T08:27:00.000Z

To celebrate our ten-year anniversary (the one where we first got together that is), we decided to take the day off work and head to Brussels for some pampering. Not wanting to trust something like this in Mons, we booked ourselves a day in a spa right at the heart of Brussels' EU quarter.

And a fine way to spend a day it was too. Not cheap (surely, you can guess what I'd write here?!), but well worth it. Access to all the usual facilities: pool, sauna, steam room, jacuzzi, and then we both treated ourselves to an hour massage, which was just heaven.

There was a great spa place we used to go to in Bristol, in Clifton, so this was a little taster of what we've been missing.

Finished off the day meeting our friend, who was over in Brussels for a few days doing academic-type work, for dinner at a good Morrocan place. Raved about on Tripadvisor, but not half as good as our little place in Mons.

See, it's not all bad here!

Friday 4 November - 2 Years!

2011-11-04T15:14:00.000Z

And that's 2 years done.

Amazing to think that I've been living in Belgium, in Mons, for exactly two years. Before I began to write this post, I decided to re-read my previous summaries of my time here. After 3 months, 9 months, 1 year, and then 18 months.

It's funny looking back at them. They were so happy and optimistic and chirpy, almost innocently so. Most of the comments are the sort you'd expect someone to make who's new to a place, new to a country. And I stand by every word I wrote back then.

But, that doesn't mean my views have remained static. It's fair to say that whilst the gloss of living abroad remains intact, and the opportunities for travel that have come with it, my feelings about Mons and Belgium and Belgians have definitely shifted.

Whereas I used to enjoy not being rushed in a cafe or restaurant, with the waiters happy for you to take your time, in return for them to take their time in serving you, now it just annoys me.

I still like being able to spend a couple of hours sipping a lait russe, and like the nice little touch of a piece of chocolate or biscuit that accompanies it, but it does wind me up always having to wait so long to find someone to get the bill from, only to then wait another 10-15 minutes for it to arrive, and then a further 10 for your change to be returned.

But, mainly, it's the poor customer service that greets you when you enter somewhere. Or doesn't. You might get a nod or a grunt in your direction, but I've lost count of the number of times I've sat there waiting and waiting to be served. On a couple of occasions, me and C have just got up and gone elsewhere.

This also extends to the shops. I rarely find people working in them helpful or friendly. The service reminds me of all the things I used to loathe about customer service in England: the fact that you think you're putting someone out by asking for anything, or having to stand there and wait whilst they continue to chat with a colleague or friend.

The shops sell what I can only describe using a wonderful Yiddish word: schmatta. Basically, tat. Bits and bobs of nothing particularly useful. But, if you want your hair cut, or want to gorge on waffles, you're fine.

There's something quite socially inept about Belgians. They don't do day to day politeness.

I've mentioned this before but the lack of a thank you when you hold the door open for somebody, the not waiting until people have got off the train until you barge your way on, or the lack of apology if someone bumps into to you, whether deliberately or not, the inability to queue and then stay in one. All these things do grate, and maybe it's because I'm English and we're just so very different, but that's just how I feel.

I often think Belgians spend half their time with their head in the clouds. Almost slightly stoned, or just very vacant. They're the most placid people I've ever come across. Nothing seems to bother them. I'm not sure whether this is a good or a bad thing. They're champions at doing nothing. I guess with such a calibre of politicians for role models, who can blame them.

I still quite like Mons. It has character and charm, but there's very little to do here. And with winter round the corner, the sitting outside in the grand place routine will have to wait for a while.

I can't help but feel that a city like Mons in England would be far less shabby, better preserved, better kept. Some of the architecture is fabulous, but so much of it looks worse for wear.

The lack of culture is also difficult to contend with. I yearn for a trip to the theatre to see a play or a musical, or some live music.

A couple of months ago we actually went to see a friend of a friend's band play at a local bar. They were really good, but I just got irritated at having to find a table, where we were crammed in, and then having to wait about 20 minutes before someone took our order, and then who knows how long for it to arrive.

Something as simple as going to bar and getting a drink shouldn't be that difficult, but even the most basic of tasks seems beyond les Montois. This was certainly the night that I pined for a few drinks at a good ol' English pub, where you go to the bar and order. Save the table service for restaurants. You don't need it in a bar.

It's this kind of thing that wears you down eventually. I often ask myself: why is everything always so difficult?

I grew tired of Belgian food long ago. I came to the conclusion recently that it lacks finesse. There's nothing subtle about a diet which serves cream with everything. At least there are two places that do very good food, neither of them Belgian: the Moroccan and the Chinese. The former is actually a terrific restaurant, to which I've been numerous times.

And then there are the prices. I've got used to them, but that doesn't stop me having a grumble every now and then. I mean, how can you charge €18 for a starter, and then €20 for a main?

I think with every trip back to England, the more apparent the differences between the two countries become. I've now started to joke that when we visit another country, it's like re-entering civilisation.

Mons and Wallonia really are stuck in a 1970s time warp. Another year until I'm transported back to the future!.

Saturday 29 October - Durbuy

2011-10-29T14:12:00.000+01:00

To the Ardennes, at last. A beautiful, crisp, autumnal morning, giving way to a bright and mild afternoon, provided the backdrop to my first trip down south. Further south than I've ever been in Belgium.

Very hard to believe you're still in Wallonia. Such a contrast to the drab industrialism found in its cities. Went along with friends, and we really couldn't have picked a better day. The colours of autumn were in full bloom with browns, and oranges, and reds protruding from every vantage point. It really was a magical sight.

The village itself is attractive, without being prissy, and was relatively free of the usual hordes of tourists villages in the Ardennes are famed for. Although there was a lot of Dutch being spoken. Not the Flems this time, but Dutch as spoken by the Dutch. Didn't hear much French anywhere we went.

Having grown rather tired of Belgian cuisine, we settled on a picnic for lunch, and sat on a grassy bank alongside the main car park, but in front of the river. Seemed like the perfect spot for it, and I was surprised that others hadn't thought of the idea. We even had our picnic rug. "You can take the English out of England..."

Walking around the place reminded me a little of Luxembourg. Funny that, considering Durbuy is in the Belgian province of Luxembourg. Or maybe an archetypal English village, possibly Boscastle, in Cornwall, where I went a couple of years back.

Only here the valleys were a lot smaller, and without the dramatic drops down below. The forest in the distance, the small bridges, and the river running through it, all helped give it a special feel.

I've heard that this place looks spectacular around Christmas time, with all the lights on and decorations up. Even more so when the snow arrives. I can imagine.

Sunday 23 October - Villers La Ville

2011-10-23T14:34:00.000+01:00

Home of the ruins of a very famous abbey, not far from Charleroi.

Had to change trains here and hop on a two carriage jobby, which then chugs it way along a very small line, stopping every few minutes at the kind of train station that Network Rail would have loved to have consigned to extinction long ago. The kind where about two people get on, and either one or none get off. It really felt like a blast from the past.

When I got off the train you're immediately confronted by a row of houses and a street with about two shops on it.

The walk to the abbey led us through a small forest, running parallel with peoples' homes, and the obligatory barking dog every few hundred yards or so. It reminded me of being back in the English countryside: the purity of the air, the tranquility, the nature. I've been so starved of greenery these last two years that this really came as a welcome relief.

The abbey really is well worth the visit. For a while we were the only people around. It was one of those days where it was freezing out of the sun, but glorious in it. I kept positioning myself in its glare; the shade being far too cold for a wimp like me.

A huge place, where you're still able to see the scant remains of some of the rooms, such as the kitchen, dining room and servants quarters. I love these kind of things.

Yesterday evening there had been some sort of function, with the media in attendance, which explained the discarded tea lights scattered all over the place, and the remains of a few of those giant candles, and candle holders, still propped up against the walls. It must have looked amazing at night. Incredibly atmospheric, but ever so slightly haunting, out in the open, all exposed, with just the forest for company.

On a warmer day, a great spot for a picnic. Instead, we lunched at a bistro/pub type place, which from the outside looked like something straight out of Switzerland, with the building dwarfed by the forest around it. It was us, and dozens of bikers for company.

A lovely way to pass a few hours.

Tuesday 11 October - A Breakthrough (many of them)

2011-10-11T08:05:00.000+01:00

This is an article I've had published elsewhere which outlines some of the successes that have taken place over the last few weeks with regards to the forming of a new government. We're almost there! It doesn't go into too much detail about the successes, but acts more as a background as to why modern day Belgium is the way it is.

So, rather than repeating myself, I'll attach a link to what I wrote about it and which can be seen on my website:
http://benmitchellwrites.blogspot.com/2011/10/making-sense-of-belgiums-political.html

Thursday 6 October - Independence? No, thanks!

2011-10-07T07:37:00.000+01:00

Another one of those "do you want Belgium to survive?" type surveys came out today. And this time produced some unexpected results.

A poll of over a thousand Flemings found that three-quarters of them do not want Belgium to split up. Only 22% supported an independent Flanders. However, this figure rises to 56% for supporters of Flanders' far right party, Vlaams Belang (VB). Which, if you think about it, is still a lot lower for a party that advocates complete Flemish independence as its raison d'etre than it should be. Surely, it would be somewhere up in the 80s, or even 90s, otherwise why would you support such a party?

Its strong views on immigration (limit it. A lot) probably provide more of an attraction for its supporters than its call for independence. Hence, it represents something of a protest vote, rather than a deep-seated desire to see Belgium break up.

Only 37% of those who back Bart De Wever's Flemish nationalists/separatists, N-VA, also support independence, with 61% against. Another really surprising stat. A bit of a slap in the face to the Flemish nationalists I'd say.

30% of all those polled still believe, however, that Flemish independence is inevitable within ten years, with 66% saying it's not.

And, fully 73% of those quizzed said they were proud to be Belgian, rising to 80% for younger Flemings.

No matter what the nationalists may say, support for Flemish independence currently isn't there. Having said that, they are stil heavily backed by voters in Flanders, but probably not for the reasons they think.

Saturday 17 September - More Footy

2011-09-18T06:00:00.000+01:00

Not content with finally seeing my first bit of live football in Belgium, I decided it was right that I go along and cheer on my local team: RAEC Mons. They were playing the Flemish outfit, Yellow-Red KV Mechelen. I mean, what a name! And the who hell came up with it? Try getting that all into a chant!

Mons are bit of a yo-yo team in that they often find themselves in Belgium's top division one year, only to be relegated to the second division a year later. This season they're back in the big time.

Another good game of football, and another superb atmosphere. Les Montois behind the goal made an absolute racket for the full 90mins, with a wide repertoire of songs. As in England, they were all stood up, in spite of there being seats, which they used to stand on instead. This would never be allowed in England.

Mechelen also brought with them a healthy number of fans, several hundred, which is good for Belgium. I think their songs were sung in Dutch but it was impossible to tell.

What I looked forward to was the dynamic between the two sets of fans: the Walloons vs. the Flemish. Surely, there'd be lots of anti-Walloon and anti-Flemish chanting? My lack of fluent French and non-existent Dutch meant that this was hard for me to know. There was the odd bit of banter between the fans but it all seemed in very good nature.

A regular at Mons told me that their supporters are extremely well behaved and in particular tend to show a lot of respect when the big teams come.

Bizarrely, or not, you're not allowed to take food into the ground, but have to eat the stuff from the vendors outside before you take your seat. However, you can buy alcohol in the ground, and even though it's not permitted, several people were smoking. Again, the over-zealous stewards in England would come down on them like a ton of bricks, but this is Belgium we're talking about. Remember, rules are not made to be followed.

Fine evening's entertainment: Mons stuffed em' 5-1.

Thursday 15 September - Off to the Footy

2011-09-16T07:00:00.000+01:00

I have finally been to see a football match in Belgium. Shocking that it's taken me so long, but there you have it. The offer, from someone who works at the same place as C, of a free ticket in the press box to see Anderlecht vs. AEK Athens was just too good an offer to turn down.

Okay, so it was only a Europa League match, a competition English teams reluctantly take part in, but it was a cracking evening.

I've always been intrigued by football in Belgium. For example, Anderlecht, a team who plays in a Brussels suburb, a bilingual city, with a very Flemish-sounding name: would the supporters be French or Dutch-speakers, or a mixture of both? Which language would the chants be in? What would the quality of the football be like?

We arrived just over an hour before kick-off and headed towards the stadium. Just outside it, the usual mingling of fans, congregating by bars and downing several plastic cups' worth of Jupiler. I guess it makes sense not to serve the really strong stuff to a load of football supporters.

There were also several burger vans and even more friterie vans. If frites were ever designed to be eaten at a social occasion, a football match would certainly be it. Breaking with tradition, I had a couple of beers, and then had to satisfy the munchies with a portion of frites, absolutely smothered in ketchup, and against my better judgement, a burger.

Not the kind of thing I would ever normally eat, but I was feeling pretty peckish and the meat looked meaty enough to me. Wasn't too bad, actually.

As "press," we were of course entitled to go to the press room, where there were complimentary baguettes, soft drinks and coffee. Everyone got a press pack, which contained all the facts and figures about the two teams, and the head-to-head stats. We also got the team sheet printed out.

The room had a door which led straight out onto the press box: two long rows designated solely for journalists with space for them to put their laptops on, sockets, and free wifi. It was funny seeing rows of laptops with different journalists from various media outlets tapping away during the match. Reminded me that, for a while, this was the job I wanted to do. Until I realised that it'd take away my enjoyment from actually watching the match. Or until I realised that politics was far more interesting!

I have to say, it was one of the coolest ways to spend the evening. It was so much fun, especially as I was the only one not doing any work, and breaking protocol by secretly taking photos everytime a club official's back was turned. No photos allowed for the written media. Seemed a bit bizarre to me. And you know me, not one to follow stupidly made rules.

The match itself was a pretty decent game: 4-1 to Anderlecht. The Greeks were never really in it, and they didn't do justice to their several hundred fans, housed in one of the top tiers, and who sang continuously the whole evening. The homes fans also made a good bit of noise too.

Considering this was only the opening match of the competition, the atmosphere was amazing: almost non-stop chanting. Most of the Anderlecht songs were indeed sung in English. Nice. Find a happy medium. Avoid offending either French or Dutch-speaking supporters and stick to English. We after all do have all the best chants.

Announcements over the tannoy were however made in both French and Dutch. What a pain having to do that all the time. Before and after the game I tried to listen to what language was being spoken by the fans, and it was probably a 50-50 French-Dutch split.

You see, sport brings everyone together.

Thursday 15 September - A Breakthrough

2011-09-15T15:38:00.000+01:00

It had to happen eventually. Elio Di Rupo has announced that the eight parties (excluding De Wever's N-VA) have finally reached some agreement over the formation of the national government, a mere 15 months after the General Election.

One of the main issues had been a dispute over Bruxelles-Hal-Vilvorde (BHV), a district which is uniquely bilingual, rather than French or Dutch-speaking. I won't go over the controversies again as I've already done so before. This, however, is only one of several issues to be resolved.

This comes off the back that, hilariously, the out-going (although he never went anywhere), PM, Yves Leterme announced this week that he had got himself a new job at the OECD. Clearly bored with waiting and waiting, he's cheekily been applying for work, and finally landed himself a plum job in Paris.

This breakthrough is a start. A very good one, but there are still other issues to be wrangled over before everyone can finally see in a new government for Belgium.

Thurs 1 Sept - Mon 5 Sept: Bordeaux

2011-09-05T08:16:00.000+01:00

Yet another fabulous French city. I've wanted to go to Bordeaux for ages. Had heard great things about it. Also wanted to see how south west France compared to south west England, and of course my home city, Brizzle. And quite simply because I like the sound of its name, and of course its wine.

Bordeaux is stylish, chic, elegant, with wonderfully wide and grand boulevards. Because it's such a flat and spacious city, there are cyclists and cycle paths everywhere. Something you still don't find as often as you should. There's just no excuse not to have them in cities and towns. It's only a lack of political will, the irritating and pesky petrol-head lobby, and downright short-sightedness that stops them proliferating.

Apparently, as recently as a decade ago, Bordeaux was not much to look at, which is hard to believe when you see it in all its present day glory. The buildings all look beautifully preserved, and the main centre (which has had the most work done to it - not so much 'old Bordeaux' anymore, as new-old Bordeaux) is just terrific.

Mini square upon mini square dominate, filled with the prerequisite, numerous cafés and eateries. Each square had something special about it, and we spent many an afternoon/evening in at least one of them.

Because of the huge number of students there, it has a very youthful and lively feel to it. It's also full of some seriously attractive people. Rivals to those Flemish folk. So, you have the dark, sexy types of Bordeaux vs. the fair, wholesome, north Europeans of Flanders, or the blonde supermodels of Oslo. Tough choice. There's an academic study in there somewhere.

The food was mixed. Not a patch on the Cote D'Azur, although found something in common with Mons: poor, painfully slow, service. We did discover a great Asian street food place, serving the kind of stuff you can easily find all over England, but which is severely lacking in Wallonia. The "waiters" were those 'too cool for school' types, who are more interested in dancing to the funky beats that blare out across the restaurant, than in actually serving customers.

I also discovered white Bordeaux wine, which I didn't even know existed. The best white vino I have ever tasted: smooth, dry, and without that warm and sometimes sickly aftertaste that I often find with white wine.

Did a tour of a couple of the vineyards, which is a must in this region. Unfortunately, it wasn't a particularly good tour. The guide never shut up for almost the entire journey there. You're trying to admire the scenery around you, when all you can hear is her blathering away about something or other: the history, why the land is the way it is, who ruled the area.

We only got to sample three different types of wines, and nobody ever told us how to taste the wine, what to look out for, what flavours to expect. Surely, this is a must for a wine tour? In future, what I want is a tour which just deals with the wine, and involves sampling a (preferably) large number of wines, with explanations of what we should be looking out for as we taste it. I really don't care how wine is made. This was pretty much what the tour was about. I'm such a philistine!

In summary, Bordeaux just felt like somewhere that has a high quality of life. It's only 3 hours away from Paris, direct, on the high-speed TVG but, without a high-speed link to Nice, a 9 hour night train journey away from the French Riviera. Either way, I'd have no qualms about living there.

Sat 27 August - Sun 28 August

2011-08-29T07:55:00.000+01:00

This was Tanks in Town weekend. A procession of tanks pour into the centre of Mons to commerate the liberation of the city by the allies in 1944. It was a really nice and fun (if that's the appropriate word) occasion.

At first everyone is kept behind barriers whilst each and every armoured vehicle enters the Grand Place. Once they were all in, you were able to walk around and inspect and touch them. You could also chat to the people driving them. Judging by their appearance, safe to say that no one there was actually involved in the war. I guess there comes a certain age when driving a tank is probably no longer deemed safe.

Mon 22 August

2011-08-22T15:41:00.000+01:00

Summer has been a bit of a damp squib. Following on from what happened last year, August has been a pretty wet and unsettled affair. Although at least we had a scorching July last time around. This year, one day sun, then rain, then sun again. Has felt very English.

I heard the weather forecast the other day on Radio 4. It said "sunny spells, with occasional showers." That's pretty much how you could sum up an English summer.

Well, July was supposed to be the quiet month work-wise, but I actually had quite a bit of work in the end. It's been August that's been the quiet month this summer. Almost all of my students have at some point taken the obligatory 3-4 weeks off.

And if they're not abroad, they're doing up their house. Everyone seems to follow a very definite pattern throughout the year: January-February, go skiing. April-May, woodcutting(don't ask). And summer is time for renovation and/or painting and decorating. They're all at it.

Have been using my spare time to write, write and write. Have notions of becoming a freelance political writer/analyst, or whatever you want to call it. Partly inspired by my desire to try and do something other than a souless office job when I eventually get back to England. Of course I'll probably have to, for a while, until I find something else.

But, the writing gives me something else to focus on. And maybe a way out at some point in the future. And I like it. A lot. And I'm quite good at it. I think. In the name of cross-referencing/convergence, or whatever you want to call it, here are three articles that I've recently had published on the political blog Left Foot Forward, it being of the left/liberal persuasion. They were on: UK riots, the price of trains, and health and safety.

Have also found out that there will be no option to extend our stay in Belgium beyond our 3 year period. C will have to do a handover to her successor for a few weeks, which will mean moving back to England end of November/beginning of December 2012. Trying not to think too much about it at the moment. Have been in a bit of an anti-Belgium mood for weeks now. After almost 2 years here, you get a decent idea of how things work, or don't, as is usually the case.

Needless to say, I shall return to this familiar theme in the future. The thought of leaving behind our new wonderful friends though is not something I'm looking forward to.

There are however many, many things I cannot wait to get back to when I return. That's still a long way off, but another theme I'll return to - stay tuned!

Sun 21 August - De Panne

2011-08-22T07:14:00.000+01:00

Or La Panne if you're that way inclined. Second trip to the seaside after last Summer's day excurison to Oostende/Ostend. I imagine this is what the local tourist board would call the "Belgian Riviera." Like its sister resort, it's not much to write home about. Enormous beaches (a good point), sand (an even better point), and lots and lots of families, together with endless entertainment for the little ones: bouncy castles, merry-go-rounds, sing-a-longs.

Not hugely different to Oostende really. Maybe a tad uglier. The seafront is of course replete with high rise flats, hotels, and the kind of stuff you expect to see. The restaurants serving the same kind of grub I've seen everywhere else in Belgium.

The architecture does get a lot more interesting and diverse once you leave the seafront area. A mix of art-deco buildings, and the old sitting alongside the very modern.

That's all I can really say of De Panne. Lying on the beach for a couple of hours, listening to the cricket on my Roberts radio, was very relaxing. I guess the overcast conditions didn't make it too crowded, although its size helps.

What was interesting was that all I could hear were French voices. Now, I read a few months ago that the traditional Easter time "exchange" - whereby, Walloons flock to the Flemish coast, and the Flemings head to the Ardennes - never really happened this year. According to a report (I wish I could find the source), the numbers in both directions had fallen dramatically compared to previous years.

Reasons given vary from the economic climate, the good weather keeping Flemings on the Flemish coast, at least, to unofficial boycotts by both communities at visiting each others' regions. Either way, these reasons no longer apply. All I could hear was French. I did notice a large number of French numberplates on the walk back to the car, but a student of mine insists that De Panne is hugely popular with Walloons, and that most French-speakers here would have been Walloon. They certainly had the air of Wallooness. That's me being (almost) diplomatic.

Before heading home, we stopped off at a quaint little Flemish town called Veurne, and had dinner in their very sweet and compact Grand Place. There are meant to be dozens of towns like this dotted all over Flanders, but this was my first visit to one.

And I'll leave you with this, taken from an article in The Independent, written in 2003, and entitled: "In search of...The Belgian Riviera." This very accurately sums up Flemish seaside resorts:

"It's not the height of glamour, but the Flemish coast has miles of family-friendly sand...They're trying to promote their meagre 42 miles of coastline...as a major holiday destination. Well, it's not hot and it's not really stylish - but the good news is that the Belgian coast is one great sandy strip lined by a string of well-equipped resorts. There's a generally well-behaved atmosphere and it's a safe, clean place for children.

The bad news is that these resorts are modern, flat, windswept places, their promenades backed by concrete apartment blocks and hotels. The sands can extend for half a mile at low tide and become dangerously close to what you might call mud flats in places. Just don't expect Bruges-by-the-Sea."

Sat 30 July

2011-07-30T12:50:00.000+01:00

You can find out a lot about a place just by spending time waiting for a bus. In a 10 minute period I managed to see the usual bottleneck of traffic on the road of my favourite supermarket. The cause? A man getting out of his car in the middle of the road to have a chat with his friend in the car behind him. I also saw a big group of girl guides marching past and a young girl carrying what looked like a baby fox in her arms.

This carrying animals in their arms is a big thing here. You often see people walking around cradling their dogs, obviously oblivious to the fact that a dog can actually walk on its own.

But my favourite observation on this miserable, grey, damp Saturday afternoon, was the sight of two men tying rope around an armchair, which was then hoisted up in the air by just one guy in the flat above. As is the way in Mons when moving furniture in and out of buildings not on the ground floor, the window to the room in the flat had been taken out. The fact that the rope could have broken, resulting in an armchair toppling onto a passerby on this busy street, was obviously not uppermost on their minds.

Thurs 28 July

2011-07-28T10:46:00.000+01:00

Belgians are currently being quizzed on the radio about their knowledge of French grammar. That nasty subjunctive tense is catching most of them out. Nobody seems to have a clue how to use the past anterior, future subjunctive, or even the past historic tenses. Probably because they're rarely used anymore in everyday conversation, and because French grammar takes an age to master.

Thurs 21 July - Happy Belgium Day!

2011-07-21T09:25:00.000+01:00

Today, it's Belgium's National Day, marking 181 years since Belgium gained independence in 1830. However, King Albert, its current king, is not happy. The king used his traditional speech to express his grave concern at the fact that this current bunch of politicians couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery. Okay, he didn't really say that, but he may as well have.

He emphasised, once again, the fundamental importance of all parties working and negotiating together, and coming up with a workable solution for forming a government, a mere 404 days since the general election.

Bart de Wever's N-VA, the Flemish separatists, (although the media seem to conflate 'nationalist' with 'separatist') backed this time by the Flemish Christian Democrats, have once again proved the biggest obstacle in reaching any sort of agreement. On 7th July, it seemed that a compromise had finally been reached between Elio Di Rupo, leader of the Wallonian Socialist party, mayor of Mons, and most crucially, the man charged with forming a government, and all 9 (yes, 9!) political parties.

But, De Wever objected to several points in this 'compromise text.' For example, he found fault with the fact that Belgium would attempt to cut its deficit by increasing taxes (it already has some of the highest in Europe), whilst simultaneously barely cutting public spending. He complained that the text ignored many of the economic reforms recommended to it by bodies such as the IMF and OECD. He was also unhappy with many of the proposed structural reforms, in particular their effects on Brussels.

In short, we're back, once again, to where we've been for well over a year. Many have accused De Wever of being deliberately instransigent, playing to the Flemish nationalist lobby, and never having the whole nation's interests at heart. Just to remind you, his party were the biggest winners in Flanders in last year's elections, yet his behaviour hasn't impacted on his support up there, because recent polls indicate that he is more popular than ever.

What De Wever wants is increased autonomy for Flanders in everything from foreign policy to having its own judiciary. Separation is his ultimate goal, but he has been fairly quiet on this in recent months, knowing that no party is ever going to agree on this. Yet.

Six months after the general election, he caused a stir by proclaiming in an interview with Der Spiegel, a German weekly news publication, that "Belgium has no future." This is well worth reading, if only to further emphasise how difficult it's going to be to find a way out if this political impasse. The opening exhange gives you a flavour:

SPIEGEL: Mr. De Wever, how much longer do you think Belgium will last?

De Wever: I'm not a revolutionary, and I'm not working toward the immediate end of Belgium. And I don't have to do that, either, because Belgium will eventually evaporate of its own accord. What we Flemish want is to be able to control our own judiciary, as well as our fiscal and social policy. We feel that foreign policy is in better hands with the European Union. But the nation of Belgium has no future in the long run. It is too small for greater political ambitions, and it's too heterogeneous for smaller things like taxes and social issues.

The latest news is that the Flemish Christian Democrats, the CD&V, have returned to the negotiating table after Di Rupo agreed to a compromise in his 'compromise text' (well, if you choose to name it as such). So, we're now back to 8 of the parties at the table. The Francophones: socialists (PS), liberals (MR), Christian democrats (CDH), and greens (ecolo). And the Flemish: Christian democrats (CD&V), liberals (Open VLD), socialists (SP.A), and the greens (Groen!), with the N-VA grumpily sitting in the corner, refusing to take part.

I particularly like the wonderful use of punctuation in the names of some of these parties. We've got full stops, an & symbol, and even an exclamation mark.

But, none of this can happen just yet. King Albert has very thoughtfully told all parties to take a 3 week holiday after the draining exercise of not forming a government. They can then come back, refreshed, re-energised, and ready to not form a government for another 12 months.

Happy Belgium Day!!

Mon 11 July - The Accountant

2011-07-12T07:55:00.000+01:00

Try and find an accountant in Mons who speaks a modicum of English. Go on, I dare you. I tried, and failed. I worked my way through the phone book, spoke to dozens of secretaries, was promised that an accountant would call back later in the day (of course they didn't. They never do, and I didn't expect them to). In the end, I managed to get an email address, and the hope that this one spoke English.

As I've experienced several times, when people here say they speak English, they usually don't. Or if they do, they can understand far more than they can say, or just don't have the confidence to say very much. My French is usually a lot better than their English, so we end up chatting in French.

Which is exactly what I did with my accountant. Something I was hoping to avoid. Again, for things that are important, a bit technical, I just don't feel comfortable doing them in French. But, needs must.

It was one of those occasions where I could feel my whole body tensing up because I was concentrating so hard, trying to understand him. Here's a tip - I found repeating back to him what he'd just said rather handy. Something you can't really do in most everyday scenarios, but when you're paying for a service, why the hell not.

So far I've had two meetings with him, and all seems to have gone well. He'll sort out my tax returns and other relevant paperwork, find as many things I can avoid paying in tax, and I can now stop stressing whenever I receive a thick envelope every May with the incomprehensible tax return forms. To be honest, even if this was all in English, I'd still probably be clueless.

Sat 9 July

2011-07-09T08:17:00.000+01:00

On 1st July, Belgium extended its smoking ban to cover all bars, restaurants, cafés and clubs, irrespective of whether they served food or not. Obviously, I'm delighted. If I became dictator for the day (which is very possible), I'd ban smoking pretty much everywhere, especially where restaurants have an outdoors. You'd be hard pushed to find a public space where you could light up in my kingdom.

The wife and I decided to celebrate this by going back to the Cuban-themed bar, "Q Bar," we'd been to several months ago. How we felt smug and self-satisfied as smoker after smoker had to get up and leave his/her chair and traipse outside for a fag, returning looking shivvery and a little put out. You'd never guess it was July at the moment.

And then, two guys sitting by a table near us started smoking. So there we were, incredulous, making all sorts of disapproving noises. To ourselves of course. We muttered and cursed. Under our breath. We then did all we could to attract the attention of the barmen. Not by actually signalling for them, but by continually staring at them, and then staring at the two guys, hoping that they'd follow our eyes and work out what the hell we were doing.

We even ordered another round of drinks, and again in doing so, turned to face the guys. Another barmen even took their empty bottles away and returned with new drinks. And did nothing. Didn't say a word to them.

It's here that you're confronted with that most modern day dilemma: "should I say something?" You weigh up the pros and cons. For a scenario like this, do they look tough? And will they smack me in the gob if I say something? One of them was slightly mean-looking. He even had a tattoo! That settled in then. I chose to keep it schtum.

But, on leaving, C felt as if she had to say something, and so to one of the barmen she sarcastically said: "smoking's still allowed then?!!" Barman: "No." C: "but those two guys are smoking." Barman: "I know."

And that was that. I'm telling you, this place is anarchic.

Wed 6 July

2011-07-07T07:39:00.000+01:00

A couple of months ago, I was asked to fill in a questionnaire by Expatica, the website that has already published a couple of my blog entries. Every now and again they feature an expat and attach his/her answers online.

Far be it from me to have given them the dull, bland, inoffensive answers they were probably hoping for. And so they never published my responses. Swines. Therefore, for your own enjoyment, you can now see what they missed out on:

Questionnaire:

1.What was your first impression of Belgium?

That I was in France.

2. What do you think of the food?

A bit samey. Streak, frites, mussels. Not enough variety, and certainly not enough vegetarian options (I’m not one, but like vegetarian food). Then again, I think only Britain caters well for vegetarians in Europe. The desserts are great though. I do love my Crepe Mikado. But the coffee is dreadful, pretty much everywhere. Cream on everything! Belgians need to spend time in Italy and Spain to learn how to make a good coffee.

3. What do you think of the shopping in Belgium?

Better in Flanders in my experience. Find more of the kind of shops you’d get in England. Not much of it in Mons, but that’s not really a problem for me.

4. What do you appreciate about living in Belgium?

The pace of life. The general friendliness about people, the civility towards one another. The lack of a ‘yob culture.’ I also think Belgians have a very similar sense of humour to the English: very self-deprecating. I also like being in such close proximity to the rest of Europe. A 2 or 3 hour train hour journey and you could be in one of four different countries. Britain is so cut off from the rest of Europe, both physically and metaphorically.

5. What do you find most frustrating about living in Belgium?

It’s one big out of control bureaucracy. I have to say, at times, I think I feel like I’ve gone back in time. My feelings in Wallonia are very different to my views in Flanders. Wallonia is a region that feels like it’s stuck in the 1970s. What’s frustrating though overall? The fact that the arguments over whether Belgium should split are almost irrelevant. Belgium may as well already be two separate countries. A trip to Flanders and then Wallonia will highlight the enormous differences.

6. What puzzles you about Belgium and what do you miss since you’ve moved here?

Again, as I’ve said above. The political situation is fascinating if you love politics (which I do), but an absolute scandal for ordinary Belgians. The current crop of politicians are not fit for purpose. None of them.

Also, Belgians seem very polite and respectful, until they get behind the wheel of a car!! They’re crazy, dangerous drivers. All of them!

I miss certain types of food that I can’t really get in Belgium: Indian food (it’s just not the same here), good fish and chips, different flavour crisps (that aren’t paprika), being able to listen to live sports commentary from the UK. Being able to understand and take part in general day to day humour. My French isn’t good enough for this yet, although it’s getting there.

7. How does the quality of life in Belgium compare to the quality of life in other countries that you’ve lived in?

Have only lived in England. I think people in Wallonia seem happier than in England. Less obsessed with material things, buy less, want less, and don’t need as much. Belgians in general know how to enjoy themselves. Without the need to get totally drunk to do it. Life in England (whilst I love the country) isn’t always very relaxing.

8. If you could change anything about Belgium, what would it be?

Force every child from the age of zero to learn French and Dutch. Force both communities to mix, talk to each other, get to know each other. Just have one parliament. Failing all this, split the country up!

9. What advice would you give to a newcomer?

Don’t get annoyed when things take ages to get done. They’re not going to change, you have to. Enjoy the festivals, and for godsake, learn some French.

There was a 10th question but it was optional and asked if I wanted to add 'anything else,' which I didn't.

Mon 4 July - We're all going on a...Summer Holiday...

2011-07-05T07:32:00.000+01:00

Literally. They've all gone away. That's right, Belgians have packed their bags and left. This is, traditionally, the month everyone chooses to have off. Not just for a couple of weeks, but the whole month. Half of my students are away, and the other half will be taking all of August off.

It's not uncommon to wander around Mons and see shops, hairdressers, restaurants, with signs saying they are closed for a 2, 3, or 4 week period.

Tues 21 June - Sat 2 July: France and Belgium: Price Comparisons

2011-07-02T14:46:00.000+01:00

You often hear and read that everything is a rip off in the south of France: the food, the accommodation, the transport, even the beaches. Well, after spending 12 days there (my first visit to the south after having wanted to go for some time), I can refute most of these claims. And then qualify them by saying, "yeah, but I live in Belgium."

Nowhere is this better demonstrated than in eating out. So, yes, there are pricey restaurants out there, but more often than not, I found deals wherever I went. Offers that you'd expect to see in England: "3 courses for €25", or even just €18 in a couple of places. The price distinction between a starter and a main was, on the whole, respected. I rarely encountered €18 for a starter and the same for a main.

It's not just the prices of the food that impressed but the quality. I have to say I've always been distinctly underwhelmed by French cuisine: meat and potato heavy with few vegetables. But, I was on the Cote D'Azur and thankfully a Mediterranean diet dominates. Plenty of vegetables, lots of pasta, well seasoned but simply cooked fresh fish, huge salads, with bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar on every table. And free tap water!! Everywhere you went, une carafe d'eau was given to you without even having to ask. In fact, they regularly topped them up.

In Belgium? No free tap water, plain, white fish smothered in sauce, with everything else either too heavy or too rich. I got pretty bored of Belgian food a while ago. It was also a relief to see that the famed French cuisine does really exist. But, then you do need to almost be in Italy to sample it!

The other notable differences in price included free public toilets (although not everywhere) and only €1 for a bus ticket on any journey throughout the region (amazing value).

Again, Wallonia is one of the poorest regions in Western Europe, so why is it more expensive to eat out here than in one of the most touristy, overcrowded spots in Europe? I am, and always will be, at a loss to explain why. It can't be the high taxes, they're pretty high in France too.

As for the actual holiday? Well, it was wonderful. Nice was used as a base for a few days to explore places such as Antibes (which I really liked, felt classy and stylish), Juan-Les-Pins (tacky, faded glory, so I'm told), Menton (last town before Italy, with a stunning old quarter which had the colours and smells of Rome) and Villefranche (my favourite: small beaches, an old army barracks which provides great walks, with dozens of cafés and restaurants buried in the old town which sits high up on a slope and looks out to sea).

The next leg of the trip took us further inland and to Vence for a week, which also has a beautiful old town, with the kind of windy and narrow streets giving way to small, intimate squares, which I just adore. Managed to also squeeze in day trips to St-Paul de Vence (could have been in Tuscany, very twee looking, but delightful), Grasse (where they make lots of perfume) and Tourettes-sur-loup, which if it had been in England would have been packed with day tippers. However, as there are so many little villages like this in France, it was relatively quiet.

It also provided one of the highlights of the stay: a pot of tea and the best lemon tart I have ever tasted, whilst sat outside a café under a huge tree, in a small square. It was just heaven.

The south of France was everything I wanted from it. I'm already having cravings to go back.

Thurs 16 June - Sun 19 June: Re-doing Le Doudou

2011-06-19T13:53:00.000+01:00

It's that time of year again. Time for the streets of Mons to become one, big, outdoor party, with food and drink stalls, music blaring from every direction, marching bands, men chanting and dancing arm-in-arm, torch processions, live bands in the Grand Place, followed by Sunday's main event: the slaying of the dragon by St George.

This year we managed to persuade a couple of friends to join us for the occasion and to experience first hand the partying and sheer craziness of this ancient festival, and to witness how Belgians "do" carnival.

Like last year, it was just as much fun with well over 100,000 people flocking to the city to enjoy the long weekend. I won't describe it all again as it was pretty much the same goings-on as last time. Highlights this year included dancing in the street to a mixture of French and Arabic music whilst drinking champagne, and on more than one occasion dodging the many showers that dogged, but didn't spoil, the weekend.

It was good to see it though through the eyes of non-honorary Belgians. It really is one of those things that has to be seen in order to be understood. For me, a year on into my Belgian adventure, it just makes perfect sense. People outside, together, knowing how to have a good time, not really taking anything too seriously. The latter is certainly true of life here in Belgium.

Wed 15 June - Lazy-Arsed Flemings

2011-06-15T08:17:00.000+01:00

The headline in today's Metro proclaims that, contrary to popular belief, it is in fact Walloons who are harder workers than the Flemings. According to a study published in two Flemish newspapers no less, Walloons have more of a work-ethic, attach less importance to their families and hobbies, and believe that the possibilities of finding 'personal development' through their work is far more important to them than taking time off.

The study of around 1500 people, and carried out between April and July 2009, helps to undermine the stereotype of the 'hard-working and conscientious Fleming,' versus the 'lazy, welfare-dependent' Walloon. Well, at least it will in Wallonia. Some 95% of Walloons said that work was important to them, against 93% of Bruxellois and only 85% of Flemings. Even more shocking...the Walloons believed far more that they had a moral obligation to work, and took pleasure in it, not merely as something to do in order to earn money.

Flemings commented that work was merely a means to an ends. A means to be able to spend time enjoying themselves and time with their families. Mr Van der Linden, a psychologist quoted in the newspaper, doubts that just one finding will do much to dispel the long-held stereotypes the north have of the south. The fact that the papers felt the need to print such a story, and made it front page news, shows you how ingrained attitudes are in the two regions.

Whatever the study reveals, the facts tell a different story with regards to who is actually in work. It is Walloons who are more likely to be unemployed and in receipt of state benefits than the Flemings. One reason commonly mentioned is that unemployment is mainly cyclical in Flanders, but structural in Wallonia. And not having a government is surely going to harm the south more.

Tues 14 June - Music Quotas

2011-06-14T08:02:00.000+01:00

The Brussels metro is soon to have music quotas so as not to piss off the Flemish, whilst also hoping to keep French-speakers (i.e. the majority of Brussels' residents) happy. As I've mentioned before, it's not uncommon to hear music being played on the platforms of the Brussels metro. I really like the idea. This was first introduced in 2005, but the music played was limited to the instrumental (and bland) variety.

Commuters were then given a mixture of predominantly English, but also Spanish and Italian music. A few months ago, and knowing it was probably going to be controversial, they started playing French language music. "Quelle horreur," the Flemish screamed (I'm sure they didn't, but it would have been wonderful if they did). "How dare you play French music in a Flemish city (even though over 80% of people here are French-speakers)?"

Actually, the point of their anger was the lack of Dutch-language songs. And so now the latter are soon to be gracing the platforms of the metro. It does only seem logical that in such a multi-lingual and multicultural city, a whole variety of music is played. Even if Brussels' commuters are now going to have to endure Dutch as well as French language music. Something tells me their grievance had nothing to do with music.

Mon 13 June - 1 Year

2011-06-14T07:54:00.000+01:00

So, the one year anniversary came and went. I'm not sure even the politicians themselves thought they could be this inept, but there you have it. Exactly one year to the day since last year's general election and still no end in sight. Yves Leterme, the "outgoing" prime minister (they stopped using the word 'outgoing' long ago) doesn't think things will be resolved any time soon. October time has now been mooted as a possible date for a positive outcome. I don't think he really has a clue and is just saying something for the sake of it. What odds on it being a glorious second anniversary? Pretty short I'd say.

Mon 6 June - Tidbits

2011-06-06T14:04:00.000+01:00

It's only when you live somewhere that you notice that the trivial, seemingly insignificant, things can in some cases serve as a good microcosm of society at large. The following may help to illustrate this:

1. There have been problems with Mons' ATMs for several months now. Specifically, the Fortis bank and its disputes with the company that delivers money to its machines. This has meant that withdrawing money isn't as straightforward as it should be. For now, they seem to be dispensing money as normal, but I read that the problem may well reoccur again.

2. I mentioned a few months back that my local supermarket, Match, had installed four self-service checkout machines. What I forgot to say was that in typical, make things as toruously slow as possible, Belgian-style, you are only allowed to pack your things after you have scanned all of your items and then paid for them. Doing so beforehand (I have tried), i.e. after each item, only messes everything up, and risks being told off by the staff.

3. Smoking is technically banned at Belgian train stations, yet this doesn't stop people having a puff on the platforms. Even the SNCB (the ones who run the trains) staff (ticket inspectors, maybe even the drivers!) like to get in on the act and have a drag at the odd stop.

4. After being severely delayed on two occasions on the train over the last few months, we did what any self-respecting English person did: filled in a form, hoping to get some form of compensation. Have we heard anything from them? Have we bollocks. Even though we are actually entitled to some sort of refund.

5. Belgians can't stand waiting. They don't understand the concept of queuing. They push and shove their way on and off trains. Two locals even had the temerity to push in front of me at Match! As I was standing in line, I bent down and went to get something out of my bag, which the person behind me used as an invitation to sneak past me. I stood my ground on the second occasion as someone else, even more blatantly, decided that me being in front of him didn't in any way mean that I should be next in line.

So, what do all these things have in common? Well, not much, except that when they do happen, I tend to sigh and tut and think to myself: 'oh, how very Belgian.'

Thurs 26 May - Sun, Sun, Sun

2011-05-26T13:39:00.000+01:00

We've had weeks of the stuff. Very much like last year, the weather has been picture perfect since the beginning of March. Almost every day has had hours upon hours of brilliant, near unbroken, sunshine, accompanied by wonderfully cloudless blue skies. I'm in heaven. Can't ever remember having such a long, sustained period of fine weather in England. And this after being forewarned before I moved out here that it rains rather a lot in Belgium. Well, apart from my first month here (back in Nov 2009), it's barely rained in 18 months.

Indeed, it was confirmed yesterday that it has been the driest and sunniest spring in Belgium for 118 years with over 652 hours of sunshine recorded.

Wed 4 May - Half Time

2011-05-04T10:55:00.000+01:00

I've reached the half way stage. 18 months in Belgium and still standing. Living abroad really is rather cool. I'd recommend it to anyone. And it shows you that you don't have to be living in the cultural capital of the world to enjoy yourself. Yes, there's very little to do in Mons, but I'm really not complaining. I have my Grand Place, my friends, my European excursions, and the never ending journey that is learning a foreign language.

I can pretty much make myself understood in most scenarios now, but the comprehension part is still lagging behind. Sometimes I find myself understanding very little, other times I understand loads.

My view of Belgians hasn't really altered much: fun, friendly, helpful, down to earth, but the most unreliable people I've ever met. I do also think that there's something quite anarchical about this place. And I'm not just referring to the obvious government-less bit. I think laws and rules here are simply things passed for the sake of looking busy, as opposed to things to be followed. The police don't ever seem to be concerned by the dangerous and speeding drivers (often one and the same), or the drunks who piss in the middle of the street, or the guys who wander around smoking weed, or the people who hold up traffic whilst they unload furniture from their house on a main road.

These are just tiny snippets. It's not easy to describe, but when you live here, you really do get a sense of living somewhere where you could probably get away with doing most things. Not much seems to bother Belgians. They seem more than happy to live their lives at a plodding, almost comastose, pace. In that sense, what better place not to form a government.

(I should say that from now on, and in fact on most occasions, when I speak, and have been speaking, about Belgium and Belgians, I am referring to Wallonia and Walloons. From the moment I set foot in Flanders, and to this very day, I regard Flanders and the Flemings as a totally different country, with different people. And because I live in Mons, and most of my experiences come from Wallonia, this is the Belgium I'm talking about.)

Tues 3 May

2011-05-03T10:23:00.000+01:00

Had to pay a visit to my bank's main branch today as my bank card was swallowed up by one of the ATMs in Mons yesterday. The screen got stuck at the "one moment, please," bit. I actually managed to stay pretty calm about it. Even when I realised there was no one around to ask for help. It was of course 4pm. Why should anyone be around at such an hour? Even with a 90mins lunch break factored in at 12.30pm.

I did however catch a glimpse of someone working in the office at the back. So, I pressed the buzzer, but was told in no uncertain terms that there was nothing they could do, and to ring the number on the screen to report what had happened. There then followed one of those conversations that only someone who lives in a foreign country, and has yet to fully master the language, has: I start chatting away and think I've made myself clear. She asks me something which I don't understand. I repeat what I've just said. She then asks me something else which I only half understand. I then ask for help. She says no. I ask for advice. She repeats herself. This time I understand her. I say thank you. She hangs up. My card is still stuck in the machine.

So, I pressed the buzzer again, demanding that someone come out and help me. My main worry was what would happen should the machine eventually spit out my card. I'd be waiting for about 15mins now. I couldn't hang around all day.

The woman who came out was rude, unsympathetic, and no help whatsoever. We ended up having the same conversation all over again, only this time I was able to understand her. They can't access the machine themselves. Why should they? It's only a cash machine in the place they work in. I know that I would probably have got a similar response in England. Only more sympathetic, slightly condescending, a few sorrys, but equally as useless. Oh banks. There just aren't enough swear words.

In the end, my visit today resulted in me being given a temporary card whilst I wait 2 weeks for the new one to be posted. All pretty straighforward, and a bit bizarre, as I spoke in French, whilst the man behind the counter spoke in English. At least he understood me, and I certainly understood him.

Sunday 1 May

2011-05-01T10:22:00.000+01:00

No government. Who cares. Certainly not Belgium.

Fri 22 April - Published

2011-04-22T10:14:00.000+01:00

Those nice people at Expatica decided to publish another one of my blog entries. They went with my 7 February entry: "Generalisms." So, many thanks to them for doing that. I have been promised that more entries may well appear on their website in the not too distant future. Here's hoping.

Tues 12 April - Lazy-arsed Belgians...

2011-04-12T16:31:00.000+01:00

...Not my words, honest! Well, nobody's exact words, but a new survey has found that Belgians work less than any other country in the OECD, according to figures compiled by the Paris-based think tank, which researches various policies and trends throughout some of the world's wealthiest countries.

The report notes that Belgians work for an average of 7 hours a day, doing paid and unpaid work, less than any other of the OECD's 34 members. For the record, Mexicans came out on top (or bottom, depending on your perspective), working 10 hours a day. The OECD average was 8 hours.

You see, there are some advantages to being Belgian.

Wednesday 6 April

2011-04-06T21:00:00.000+01:00

Another impromptu train strike today. Coinciding with my journey home. From experience, they usually last about 2-3 hours. They start (often from Charleroi station) at one station and quickly spread around the region as word reaches depot after depot that their colleagues elsewhere have stopped working. Within an hour or so, the whole network has come to a standstill. All you can do is sit and wait, and hope that your train arrives at some point. The presence of a cargo train shooting past is always a good sign.

Where I wait for my train, there is no information board, ticket office shuts at 1.45pm, and occasionally, but not always, there is an announcement on the tannoy. Of course, this being a strike meant no announcements were forthcoming. Luckily it was a gloriously sunny day, so I sat and waited (for 1 hour and 20mins) and read the Metro from cover to cover. Not sure these kind of impromptu strikes would be allowed back home. They're a right pain to be honest.

Thursday 31 March - The Official, Official World Record

2011-03-31T11:58:00.000+01:00

And now that really is a new World Record. Today, Belgium surpasses Iraq's record and has now been without a government for 290 days. This momentous day has come and gone with barely a whimper. The odd murmur in the press, the odd grumble from the public, and the odd 'quelle surprise,' that anyone's surprised anymore. Or even cares for that matter. I think they did the grand celebrations back on February 18th and wore themselves out. So, that's that. Next target: June 13 2011, exactly one year since last year's election. Don't think you'd get much change out of a quid for that one down the bookies.

Thursday 17 March - Hospital Time (Part 3)

2011-03-17T18:11:00.000Z

And so onto the day of the surgery: today. I had to be at the hospital for 6.30am as I was scheduled to be the first appointment of the day. Lucky me. He'll still be half asleep when he does it. As it happened, I was put back to the second appointment which meant a 4 hour wait.

In this time I had my blood pressure taken (twice). Yes, it's very high, I'm nervous. Got asked various questions from the nurses (again, bear in mind this is all being done in French. My vocabularly doesn't extend to all things medical) which resulted in the first of many misunderstandings. I opened my mouth as the nurse pointed a thermometer in my direction. She laughed. Why? Oh, it was to be put under my armpit, not in my mouth.

Then she asked me something about how much salt I had taken. At least that's the word I recognised. I couldn't answer, she seemed surprised. With a little more explanation, and a quick consultation of my dictionary, I realised she was asking me whether I'd passed stools today. 'Passed stools!' How the hell am I meant to know that word in French? It would have been a lot easier if she'd just acted it out. And the word 'selles' (stools) sounds just like the word for salt, 'sel,' so I'm forgiven for that one. Although when are you ever asked how much salt you've taken?

Then came the humiliation: the shaving. I'd actually forgotten all about this part. Along came a nurse with a razor, ordering me to take my pants off. I made sure I'd understood this bit correctly (visions flashing back to that episode of Only Fools and Horses). Thank god it was an electric razor. I couldn't bear to watch. C found the whole thing hilarious. Yup, I was being shaved down below in preparation for my surgery.

The only thing I kept thinking was, 'please don't nick me.' I felt like a sheep being shaved in time for Spring. At the end of it, I merely resembled a plucked chicken. Oh, the dignity.

It was then off for a shower with an anti-bacterial gel and time to put on one of those lovely hospital gowns, which have been cleverly designed to come loose at the back, thus regularly exposing your bum to the outside world. They'd obviously read the anaesthetist's report, as I was given a 'calming pill,' shortly before the operation, to be 'zen,' as the nurse brilliantly put it in French.

I think the moment immediately before my operation was one of the most nerve-wracking I have ever experienced. Legs shaking uncontrollably, lying on my bed, waiting to be wheeled in to theatre. From my bed, I could see various surgeons (or their assistants) walking from room to room, chatting to each other along the way, looking relaxed. Someone making a bed, another person filling up a bottle with liquid. It's those big bright lights above you that make you think of all those hospital dramas you've ever seen. And just before I was due to go in I could hear the opening rifts of 'Scar Tissue,' by The Red Hot Chilli Peppers playing in the background. I smiled.

The next few hours were mostly a blur. Once finally into theatre I was greeted by the anaesthetist and his strikingly beautiful assistant. Before I knew it I was being injected, made to breathe into an oxygen mask, and then gone.

Not too sure what time I finally came round but I was groaning and complaining of pain once I did. To be fair, it just felt really sore, but the offer of morphine was too much to resist. Every now and again a nurse would ask me to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10 (they do this in England too. I find it really helpful). I kept saying 7. They kept on administering more morphine. Eventually they got me down to a 6 and a half, but by then had refused to give me any more. I think they also stopped believing that I was in that much pain. I wasn't really, but the morphine felt good!! I also noticed that I had various drips stuck in my arm, and something stuck up my nose. The latter was oxygen.

I found myself back on my ward by 3pm, sharing it with two other guys. I was dying of thirst but still wasn't allowed to drink or eat. I hadn't touched a thing since 7pm the previous evening. I was also given a bottle to pee in. I was told that I wouldn't be allowed out of my bed until the following morning, and just to ensure that I didn't try to get up, they'd put up the safety bars on either side of my bed.

Needless to say, I barely got much sleep. Spent most of the night being woken up by the old guy opposite, who needed rather a lot of bowel attention. All I kept hearing from him was "ooh la la, ooh la la." It doesn't matter how good my French is, I don't think I'll ever be able to utter these words and keep a straight face.

At 7am the next morning I was greeted by a very young looking nurse, a student nurse as it happens. She had a bowl, a towel and various bottles of things in her hands. I couldn't work out whether I was now supposed to wash myself, or whether she was going to wash me. To be honest, I didn't want a wash. Smelling was the last of my concerns. She left me with everything, wondering what to do. How on earth was I meant to wash myself? For a start, the water would go everywhere and I'd just end up soaking the bed. The drips in my arm also hindered my mobility, as did the pain in my groin.

When she returned it became obvious that I was feeling pretty fed up and a little bit helpless. So, she ended up washing me. More humiliation. I know, I know, being washed by a student nurse, every guy's dream. Not really. You just sit there feeling like you're being treated like a kid and looking like an idiot. The experience wasn't helped by her telling me that I might have to stay an extra night depending on what the doctor said. I wasn't happy. I told her I wanted to leave later today and that I felt like I was being kept in a prison by not being able to leave my bed. She smiled politely.

At this stage I was feeling thoroughly miserable but also determined that this really should be a one night stay only. I had mentally prepared myself for one night. Reassuringly, my surgeon came along to see me a couple of hours later to say that if I felt ready to leave, I could. Equally, if I wanted to stay another night I could. My face lit up. In between all this it made me think of my treatment here, and how it would probably have differed on the NHS.

Throughout my stay I had excellent care and was looked after round the clock. I know from my own reading that this type of surgery is usually an out patient thing in England. Here they were willing to give me 2 nights, maybe more. They seem to be far more cautious in the way they treat people, quite conservative in fact, but also a lot more thorough. So, whilst I was texting C and moaning that they still wouldn't let me drink or leave my bed, she was telling me to appreciate being looked after so attentively, and reflecting on the fact that this is what the NHS probably used to be like 30 or 40 years ago: where a new mum could expect to spend several days in hospital after giving birth. Where the nurses had much more time for you. And before this followed years of chronic under-investment and sapping morale in our health service.

It was this that got me through my last few hours before I was discharged at around 3pm. I spent my last couple of hours trying to get out of bed and dress myself. Not an easy task. My first steps were like the ones of a new born deer: all wobbly and unsteady on my feet. It felt like I was having to teach myself to walk again. It was great to finally be able to move (relatively)freely again, and once again pee into a proper toilet.

Thursday 17 March - Hospital Time (Part 2)

2011-03-17T17:49:00.000Z

As usual I disgraced myself. A blood test which should take a matter of minutes resulted in me sweating profusely and on the verge of fainting. Don't know what happens to me. All I know is that, at the moment, I just can't seem to control myself, and anything to do with blood and veins just doesn't go down well.

I did all the right things leading up to it: made sure I was really hydrated, and kept telling myself to relax and breathe in and out and think of something else. This being me, I kept thinking of all the brave anti-government protesters in Egypt, and comparing their struggle for freedom with my struggle to avoid passing out. Alas, my feelings of solidarity were obviously not strong enough.

I did manage to avoid fainting, but only just. And only after I had FOUR nurses fussing over me. One holding my hand, one wiping my face with a damp cloth, and the other two to wonder whether all 32 year old English men react like this when having blood taken. All I kept hearing them say was that they'd never experienced a reaction like this before. What utter rubbish. They must have done.

All the while this is going on, I'm having to explain to them (in French) how I'm feeling, apologise for being such a wimp, and get one of them to open that damn window so I can stop sweating.

After I stumbled out of there (I looked back to see the 4 nurses looking at me, almost sighing in sympathy), I made my way downstairs to have an ECG. This was, thankfully, nice and drama-free; just lots of wires and various things stuck to my chest to measure whatever it measures.

My trip to see the anaesthetist a week later was merely a quick appointment to find out my height, weight, and general health. I told her to make a note on my file ahead of the surgery: "doesn't like needles, or anything to do with veins. Handle with care. (May need to be comforted by lots of nurses)."

Thursday 17 March - Hospital Time (Part 1)

2011-03-17T16:13:00.000Z

After a few weeks of intermittent pain, I decided it was time to see my doctor and find out if it was, as I suspected, a hernia that was troubling me. As he wasn't 100% certain, I was referred to see a surgeon at my local hospital. I immediately found this odd. Not quite sure whether you'd see a surgeon at this stage in England for something as relatively minor as a hernia.

At the hospital you need to take a ticket, wait for your number to appear, and then go and see someone at the front desk. Makes you feel like you're waiting at the post office. I always have to go through the usual procedure of explaining to the puzzled receptionist that I don't have, or need, a Belgian Social Security card.

After a ridiculously long wait (1 hour and 30mins) to see my surgeon, he confirms that the Ultrasound scan I had taken the previous week confirmed the presence of a very small hernia in my groin. The fact that this was only going to get bigger over time meant that surgery would represent the most sensible option. This meant a general anaesthetic, surgery, and at least one night's stay in hospital. Not something I was particularly relishing doing. Even more strange for me was working out a suitable date with the surgeon, there and then. No letter in the post jobby.

But, before this I had to go and see someone else in order to make appointments for a blood test, an ECG, and a trip to see an anaesthetist.

Mon 14 March - If you thought Belgian politics was complicated...

2011-03-14T10:06:00.000Z

...just wait until I try and explain to you how their top division in football works! In England, Spain, Italy, just about in almost every main football league in the world, the team who finishes the season top of the table, wins the championship. Exactly how it should be. You play your 34 or 38 matches, have more points that the team in second, you're the champions.

Except, this is Belgium we're talking about. They like to over-complicate things. Make things as baffling as possible. Make things so convoluted and complex, that it induces a sense of despair, and ultimately, apathy, amongst the general population. The result: many Belgian football fans don't even understand their own league.

In their wisdom, the powers that be in the Belgian FA decided to alter the format of their top league (known as the "Jupiler Pro League" - Jupiler being a lager. The only lager I've tasted here that reminds me of the fizzy piss we're accustomed to in England. The one you see all the oddballs drinking in the street), in time for the 2009/10 season. The division was reduced from 18 to 16 teams. Okay, great. Less teams, less matches, possibly more competitive, more exciting, more time to devote to the national team. Yes? No. Instead the format has been designed so that the teams actually play more, not less, matches.

The Belgian FA had the national team uppermost in their minds when they introduced this new format. Belgium aren't a great football team (ranked 57 in the world as of now), and their inability to qualify for either the World Cup or European Championships since 2002 (i.e. missing out on the last 4 tournaments), was something that, naturally, rankled with the sport's governing body.

So what do we have? Well this how you 'win' the Pro League title:

1. There are 16 teams in the division.
2. They each play each other home and play, thus playing 30 matches. So far, so simple, and so normal.
3. Then, the 'play-offs' take over.

Play-off 1:

4. Play-off 1: consisting of the top 6 teams (after the 30 matches have been played). The top 6 then enter their own mini-league where they play each other (again) home and away.
5. And they take with them half of all points won over the course of the regular season. That's right, they then divide all their points in half. So, if you finished top, with 70pts, you begin the play-offs with 35 pts. If the team in 2nd had 60pts (i.e. were 10 pts behind the leaders), they start on 30pts, now only 5 pts behind.
6. The team who finishes top after this play-off league are finally crowned Belgian champions. After having played 40 matches in total, not 30.

That's play-off 1. Not a great way to become Belgian champions, distinctly underwhelming if you ask me, and utterly ridiculous for so many reasons.

Anyway, one assumes that's that then? Nope. Not content with mucking around with the top 6, the Belgian FA thought that it was only fair to mess around with the rest of the league. Ladies and Gentleman, I give you...Play-off 2

Play-off 2:

1. Whilst play-off 1 is going on, play-off 2 takes place.
2. Teams who finished 7-14 (after their 30 matches) during the regular season make up the 2nd play-off. Rather than entering one mini-league, they enter two.
3. Teams who finished 7th, 9th, 12th and 14th (even that just seems to have been selected at random) become Group A. 8th, 10th,11th and 13th placed teams are Group B. None of the teams carry over any points won over the course of the normal season with them.

I hope you're all following this. All of this was brilliantly explained to me by one of my students. It is one of the funniest things I have ever heard.

4. Teams in each group play each other twice.
5. The winner of each group plays each other (over TWO legs) to determine the winner of play-off 2.

Please tell me that that's play-off 1 and 2 done and dusted then (I hear you ask)? Afraid not. We've already complicated the league so much up to now, the odd tweak here or there can't hurt (so said the very wise men running Belgian's top football league).

6. The winner of play-off 2 then plays (home and away) either the team who finished 4th or 5th in play-off 1. (You can just hear them shouting, "leave us alone. Please, just leave us be. Please, don't make us play any more matches.). This match is to determine who enters the 'Europa League.'

For those not in the know, it's the crap Other European cup competition that no one cares about, as opposed to its big older brother: the brash and glitzy and overpopulated 'Champions League.').

7. The opponent for the play-off 2 winner depends on whether the winner of the Belgian Cup (another domestic competition) also finished in the top 4 of play-off 1. In other words, if you won the Belgian Cup and finished 4th in play-off 1, you have already qualified for the Europa League. Therefore, the 5th placed team will play the winner of play-off 2 in the two-legged final to see who wins the final Europa League place. If you finished 4th in play-off 1 and didn't win the Belgian Cup, you contest this match.

Just to make this clear: if you finished 14th (out of 16) in the league, there is still the possibility that you could be playing football in the Europa League next season.

By this stage, the Belgian FA were having so much fun, they just couldn't resist involving the bottom two teams in the end of season play-off finale. Nobody was allowed to miss out on their new play thing.

Play-off 3:

1. Teams ranked 15th and 16h (after 30 matches) enter 'the relegation play-off.'
2. They play each other 5 times. But, 15th placed team begins the play-offs with 3pts. 16th team with 0. And just when you thought the final league placings were irrelevant.
3. The loser of the relegation play-off is relegated to the second division. Bet they couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.
4. The winner then enters (I really am not making this up. I wish I was. I really do)...play-off 4.

Play off 4:

1. This play-off is also known as 'The Belgian Second Division Final Round.' It consists of the winner of play-off 3 and 3 teams from the Belgian Second Division.
2. These 3 teams are determined by...god, I don't even know if I have the energy to explain this. It's just so farcical, you really don't know whether to laugh or cry, or hunt down every member of the Belgian FA and demand that they, with a straight face, explain their rationale behind this nonsense.
3. The 3 teams chosen from division 2 are those 3 who have finished top of each "period." What they do in division 2 is divide their league season into segments. They break up the league and after every 10, 11 and then 13 matches (they have 18 teams who play 34 games a season in this league) they take stock. They reward a team who has most points after each period. Anyway, I've almost lost the will to live now, so let's just say, these 3 teams in division 2 enter play-off 4 with the winner of play-off 3.
4. They play each other home and away. The winner gets promoted (or remains) to the Pro-League.

And that's about it. If you followed half of that, give yourself a pat on the back. I for one (after I'd finally stopped laughing so hard it was beginning to hurt) was pretty much left dumbfounded when this was all explained to me. Of course I went straight home to look it up and see if it really is as my student says it is.

Alas, it is. And I thought the English FA were a bunch of incompetent wastes of space. And only a few weeks ago, Belgians top 4 most influential football clubs have voted to extend this format for a further 3 seasons. They believe they are benefiting from all the extra revenue the additional matches are providing. And of course the Belgian FA are only happy to oblige. Many other clubs are fiercely opposed to this. I'd love to know what Belgian football fans think of it.

So there you have it. How to take a very simple format, dismantle it, and rebuild it so it undermines the very nature of a football league season. Not content with their politics being the laughing stock of Europe, Belgium's football leagues can now more than adequately provide it with some company.

Tues 8 March

2011-03-08T09:15:00.000Z

Back to one of my favourite topics: kissing. I was told today that the tradition of men greeting each other with a kiss, is in fact a relatively new thing in Belgium. Apparently, it only started about 5-10 years ago. Teenagers have now always done it, but their parents and grandparents never did.

I wonder how all this comes about. When did a Belgian man first greet his male friend with a kiss? And what was his reaction? Did it start in a small village or town? And how did it then spread? Fascinating, the way that cultural mores begin and evolve; how some continue and are passed on, whilst others end gradually or even abruptly.

Mon 7 March - Faire du Ski

2011-03-07T08:47:00.000Z

It's carnival week throughout Belgium. Both Flemings and Walloons have just spent the weekend, and will spend the coming week, partying and drinking, dressed up in costumes of all shapes, sizes and colours, with events and parades taking place to mark the beginning of Lent. It's been just over a year since I sampled one of the most famous, in Binche, which this year, took place yesterday.

And for those who aren't off celebrating, they're off skiing. The schools and universities are shut for the week. Some will spend the week 'doing carnival,' others will be off skiing in France or Switzerland. In fact, judging by my work, most will be off doing one thing or the other. According to my students, most of the workers where I teach have taken to the mountains. The car park was probably only about a third full today. And this tradition will be replicated throughout Wallonia. Everyone takes the week off work, packs up, and heads for the slopes.

Now, we of course have half-term, where the kids are off school, and of course the teachers have a week off too. But, I just can't imagine a situation where for one week a year, office workers and factory workers alike, together, take time off, at the same time, and "go skiing." Something tells me they like to enjoy themselves round here; make the most of life.

My students can't seem to understand why I find this so surprising. Everyone I speak to knows someone who has gone skiing. Luckily for me, only some, but not all, of my students have joined them. Who says the Walloons are work-shy??

Thurs 3 March - Home Delivery

2011-03-03T14:55:00.000Z

They do home delivery. That is, my favourite supermarket, Delhaize (certainly not sodding Match), does home delivery. Or at least I thought they did. Until I read their website a little more carefully. What they actually do is allow you to go through the whole palava of ordering all your items online, where you then have to...go to the shop yourself and collect them. Brilliant. And they charge you €4.50 for the privilege.

Ooh, it's a long, tortuous process, as Belgium shuffles its way towards the demands of the twenty-first century. But, they'll get there. At some point.

Tues 1 March

2011-03-01T14:54:00.000Z

261 days.

But, who's counting?

Tues 22 February

2011-02-22T19:05:00.000Z

Another student of mine confessed today that he has also stopped going to Flanders in protest at what he, and I know many, many other Walloons, see as the way they're treated up north. He's the third student to have admitted this to me. I now make that six Walloons who I've spoken to who feel the same way.

He was telling me how he used to take his children when they were young to the seaside regularly, but hasn't been back for a few years. He tells me of two of his colleagues who recently got back from weekend breaks in Flanders, who recall how they were refused service in a café and a restaurant as soon as the staff working there found out they were Walloons. Discrimination. No other word for it.

I wonder if the politicians are aware at just how polarised these two communities really are. I guess the Flemish nationalists and separatists must be, otherwise they wouldn't exist. They use and exploit these divisions for political gain.

Interestingly, last year, on his way out of an ice-cream parlour (I think. Sorry, can't find anything about this on the net so am writing this from memory) in the Wallonian city of Liège, a Flemish politician was punched by a local and told he wasn't welcome down here. The response of the politician was wonderful. He said he was sorry that the man felt this way, but that he loved visiting Wallonia, he loved the people, and he would continue to come to the region. Now if only this could be replicated amongst his colleagues.

Fri 18 February - And that my friends is a 'New World Record.'

2011-02-18T18:50:00.000Z

Or is it. Today, as being reported all over the media, Belgium officially overtook Iraq as the country that has spent the longest period of time without a government. The press reports that Iraq's previous record of 249 days has now been beaten. But, some sources believe that the actual record is some 40 days off, at 289 days. As the BBC reports:

"Although it took 249 days before Iraq achieved an outline agreement on a government, approval was not forthcoming for another 40 days, and some have questioned whether Belgium has yet broken the dubious record."

To be honest, does it really matter? 249 days, 289 days, 2,889 days. This motley crew seem no nearer to forming a government than they were just after the general election on 13 June. Either way, Belgians decided to mark this momentous occasion by staging a series of 'celebratory' events. Several outdoor parties were held throughout the country, free chips and beer were offered, and dozens of students in Ghent kept to their promise by stripping to their underwear.

What is it with people and their need to take off their clothes in public? I put it down to peoples' desire to go back to man's roots. Removing the shackles of modernity from their backs, feeling free from the stresses of life. Something like that, anyway.

As much as I admire their very British approach to adversity, (i.e. reduce everything to humour, and just have a good laugh at yourself), I'm not sure I 100% approve. What's happening in this country is such a scandal that I get angry just writing about it. Many foreign observers have asked, quite naturally, how the hell does Belgium still function?

Well, the endless layers of bureaucracy help. They act as a buffer and allow life to continue as it always has done. It would probably take a generation to finally penetrate every sphere of federal, regional and communal government.

I used to believe that the breakup of Belgium was an inevitability. It was going to happen, maybe not now, but at some point. But, now I think I'm coming round to the view that it's its incompetent politicians and its country's baffling infrastructure that will keep this country together. In short, it'd be just too much hard work to split up.

And even if somebody, somewhere, were to start arguing that 289 days is in fact the proper world record, Belgians would probably just see this date as an excuse to have another party.

Mon 7 February - Generalisms

2011-02-07T08:31:00.000Z

A round up of a few things I've read over the last couple of weeks concerning Belgium, its people, and how they do things over here:

I've always suspected, but never had the stats to back it up, that the life expectancy in Flanders must be higher than Wallonia. And then along comes this (very brief) article to provide the evidence. The figures for 2009 show that Belgian men live on average until they're 77, whilst women go on until they're 82. (A recent study looking at why women in general live longer than men revealed it was simply down to the fact that men smoked more. Nothing more complicated than that. No doubt another study will soon come along with different findings).

And the key point states that Flemings live roughly 2 years longer than Walloons, which is actually less than I predicted. I expected it to be around the 5 year mark. No reason is given for this regional difference but the socially observant can easily speculate.

The Economist used its Charlemagne column to muse about Belgium's never-ending efforts to form a new government. Mischievously entitled "The Trouble with Flanders," when in fact the body of the article doesn't seek to attach blame to the north (except for the small fact that Bart de Wever's N-VA party, the Flemish separatists, were the biggest winners last June). Instead, as is widely known, Brussels is, and will always remain, the big stumbling block.

But, it was the readers' comments underneath the article that I found most fascinating. This being The Economist, you'd expect them to be made by an educated, relatively informed bunch. And for the most part they were. One comment in particular stood out. It also echoed something one of my students has said, and something I'm beginning to read more and more. It even sounds slightly ridiculous mentioning it because it seems so obvious: that the biggest divide in the country is political. Language is merely a red herring.

There are big ideological divisions within Belgium, with the north and south having very different ideas about which direction the country should be heading in. About two-thirds of Walloons voted for left-wing or left of centre parties at the last election, whereas almost three-quarters of Flemings voted for right wing or right of centre parties.

The south attach themselves firmly to a bloated, centralised state, with every facet of society being controlled by some governmental organisation. An over-generous welfare system is seen as par for the course. If ever there was such a thing as "socialism" in Europe, Wallonia would be the nearest thing to it. The north take a far more liberal, pragmatic view: less control, more market liberalism, and cut the deficit by tackling the burden of welfare.

Many other comments from Flemish readers expressed how incensed they are that the north is funding the indiscretions of the south. The same old arguments. I couldn't find anything from a Walloon. I guess not speaking English doesn't help.

I also noticed a startling fact, again in The Economist, that according to figures compiled by the OECD, the average homeowner in Belgium (and France) "has to find another 14% (one of the highest in the OECD) of a house's purchase price to pay for moving costs, including taxes, legal costs and agency fees." It continues, noting that "countries with higher transaction costs tend to have more rigid labour markets, as workers are less inclined to relocate to get a job."

For 'rigid labour markets' read "harder to sack workers."

Today, we're up to 239 days without a government. On March 30th, Belgium will beat Iraq's record. Seems a shame not to.

Wed 26 January - Trains

2011-01-26T15:13:00.000Z

Last year's stats are in and they make grim reading for Belgium's trains. Just over 14% of trains were late in 2010. By late, they mean reaching its destination 6 minutes late. I have a real problem with this. Isn't late, later than the time advertised? When I wrote a letter to every newspaper in Britain a few years ago complaining about the punctuality of a certain train in the south west of England, I was informed that a train has to be more than 10 minutes late in order for it to be counted as actually being late.

Now, if I turn up 5 minutes late to catch my train, it will probably have since departed. I missed my train because I was late. But, if a train departs 5 minutes late in Belgium, it is actually on time. I'd love to know what the Germans would class as late. I recently watched a report about the "Bullet" trains in Japan. They are rarely more than a minute late. In fact, they are delayed on average by as little as 6 seconds. Ridiculously efficient.

Belgium's trains fared even worse in rush-hour periods: 16% were late during the morning rush-hour, and 21% late for commuters coming home. I have to say, my own experience of them has actually been very good (this comment will curse me in the months ahead no doubt). I'd estimate that for the route I use, they've been on time at least 90% (possibly more) of the time.

And that concludes my geekiest blog entry yet.

Mon 24 January

2011-01-24T23:45:00.000Z

Tens of thousands (50,000 according to the organisers, 34,000 said the police) of Belgians took to the streets of Brussels yesterday in a march they'd labelled "SHAME." A chance for some people to vent their anger and dismay at the country's ongoing political inertia. By all accounts, it passed in good spirits. There were some rather amusing placards too: "We want beer, frites and a government." Sadly, only two of those were possible. And my favourite: "Blah, blah, blah, act now." Exactly.

What was most impressive was that this march was put together on the back of a Facebook campaign by 5 young people which gathered momentum in the space of just a few weeks.

What was also noticeable from the coverage in today's press was the number of young people present. Many of them knew that their actions were perhaps "a little naive, and unlikely to change much...but they felt they had to do something." Many let it be known that what was happening was having a damaging effect on both communities, be it French or Flemish. Yesterday, they stood as one to condemn the politicians who have so tragically let them and their compatriots down. The leaders of most of the main political parties were also in attendance. I'm amazed they didn't get lynched.

With regards to a possible solution, a student of mine recently told me that he believes that Belgian will eventually become a federation, split along linguistic lines. He believes the model it will emulate will be Switzerland. The latter being formed of several self-governing cantons, with either German, French or Italian spoken in each. Switzerland as a nation state still exists, but within it are the autonmous cantons who seem to do fine by themselves. I guess the set up of America also provides some comparison.

This way, Belgium remains a country, with each canton doing as they wish. The only (major) stumbling block is of course what to do with Brussels: part of the Flanders canton (remember, it is in Flanders, but with over 80% of people being French, and not Dutch, speakers, or to form a new one altogether.

It was the first time I had heard such an idea. Sounds pretty plausible too.

Thurs 13 Jan - The Belgians Strike Back

2011-01-13T16:00:00.000Z

Looking at the political stalemate in this country, one doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Or just be thankful I'm not Belgian! I've been a little surprised that people here have been so muted in their response to this charade. At the very least, I expected to see the odd march or two.

Instead, Belgians have begun to adopt a very British approach and poke fun at it all. Deal with it through laughter. A well known Belgian actor has urged his fellow citizens to stop shaving until a new government is formed. I expect to see a lot of beards very soon then. A few demonstrations have been organised in Brussels over the next couple of weeks, promising to be light-hearted affairs. A journalist's rant posted on YouTube has become a hit over recent weeks (only in Dutch I'm afraid, although there is a version with French subtitles).

And, rather magnificently, a website has been set up, which counts down the days left until Belgian officially breaks the world record for time taken to form a new government. The current holder at 289 days, and one known for having its own problems here or there, is...Iraq!!

Vive La Belgique!

Thurs 6 Jan - Sun 9 Jan 2011: Amsterdam

2011-01-10T02:06:00.000Z

Final leg of our mini-European tour. C and myself had been invited to lunch on the Sunday in The Hague by some Dutch relatives who she had never met before. So, we decided to combine it with spending a few days in Amsterdam. I've only ever been there once before, and that was for a friend's 21st. Needless to say, I didn't do any of the things I wanted to. Can you really see a bunch of 21 year old male students visiting Amsterdam and going to the Anne Frank House together? No, neither can I.

This was the chance to make up for that wasted opportunity. The weather was predictably crap (isn't winter in northern Europe so damn depressing. The sun just goes into hibernation from November until May), so we took advantage of the "I Amsterdam" pass which, for €49, allows you to visit a huge number of the cities finest museums, galleries, canal houses, have unlimited use on public transport, do a boat tour, and much more, all in the space of exactly 48 hours.

I think I worked out that we would have spent the equivalent of about €110 had we paid for everything we saw in this time, thus more than doubling the value of the pass. Never been to so many galleries in my life.

I finally got to appreciate what a wonderful and, damn right cool, city Amsterdam is. I wonder how many Brits who visit it actually pay any attention to its delights, or whether most never venture beyond the red light district (fascinating though it is) and the coffee shops. It does cosy, brilliantly. Everything seen from the outside looks so warm and inviting. You find this in Scandinavia too. Must be the weather.

The boat tour took in the many neighbourhoods situated alongside the canals. A proper, long, canal walk will wait until a return visit, and warmer weather. It really is one of those cities you just can't imagine being unhappy living in. And then you have the Dutch people themselves: tall, fair, handsome, and thoroughly lovely in every way. They also speak English (perfectly) with the best and most endearing accent by anyone I have ever heard.

A city to rival Paris? A couple more visits to both to come up with the definitive answer.

Friday 31 Dec - New Year's Eve

2011-01-01T01:15:00.000Z

Did very little this evening. Partly because I'm knackered from all the travelling we've been doing recently (for which I will and rightly deserve zero sympathy), partly because what exactly am I supposed to do on New Year's Eve in Mons? Our two friends who live here were away, and the other people we do know we don't know well enough. Or they have families.

And partly because New Year's Eve is another occasion when you're supposed to "do something," ideally, something big. And when I feel forced into doing and feeling something ("yeah, be happy, smile, it's New Year's Eve, let's party..."), I tend to react against it. Surprise, surprise.

Anyway, I did actually wander to the Grand Place to see how Les Montois like to celebrate it. Last year, I remember seeing fireworks coming from the Grand Place area so agreed (albeit under pressure from C) to see them this year. Fireworks. Another thing I just can't get excited about. How many bloody fireworks displays do you need to see in a lifetime? Yes, I've seen some amazing ones (in Spain), but I don't need to see them again and again.

So, there were around a hundred people milling about. Some with alcohol in their hands, some wearing sparkly things on their clothes, others with their faces painted. And then someone began a countdown (I made it to be only 11.56pm on my watch!). And then...nothing. A few kisses exchanged between friends. A few people shouting. A bit.

Everyone looking around, slightly embarrassed, thinking that maybe they missed something. Maybe something was happening behind their backs. Or in the next street. A few bangers were let off in the middle of the street. Bit of colour here and there. And that was that. The official New Year's Eve damp squib.

Mon 27 Dec - Thurs 31 Dec: Strasbourg

2010-12-27T16:40:00.000Z

And so on to Strasbourg. Located in north-eastern France and part of the Alscace region. It was French, then it was German, then it was French. Apparently, over a 75 year period in the 19th and 2oth century, it changed hands four times. Which explains a hell of a lot. I found it to have the beauty and style I'd expect from a French city, populated with many traditional German looking buildings, with many restaurants serving typical German food. Many road names are in both French and German.

Strasbourg is supposed to be France's most bicycle-friendly city, although the entire city was under snow so it was impossible to actually see any cycle paths. Their tram was reliable and cheap, and the city still had its famous Christmas markets dotted about all over the place. Two more things that made it feel more German than French. I have to say, I just don't see the appeal of Christmas markets. Every city now seems to have them. They do look nice and make you feel all Christmassy, but they sell tat, and how many stalls do you possibly need selling mulled wine?

Strasbourg actually reminded me of a bigger Ghent. It had the canals and the bridges amongst other things. I had a cold from pretty much the moment I got here which never went away. It was cold and traipsing around in the snow all day is exhausting stuff. I think this was the trip where me and C questioned whether we were both suffering from "travel fatigue." We did only get back from Cuba a few weeks ago and have been away quite a lot this year. I just think it's the cold, the endless grey and damp weather, the fact that the sun does seem to go into hibernation from December until May. Winter is pretty miserable in northern Europe.

But, I did really like the city and would definitely come back, but when it's much warmer.

Sat 18 Dec - Mon 20 Dec: Paris

2010-12-20T14:20:00.000Z

Have a few European mini breaks lined up over the next couple of weeks. Apparently, they call it 'un cite-trip,' rather than a 'vacances,' if you're only away a few days. (I stand to be corrected).

Went back to Paris for the 4th time. And the 4th time in Winter. Plan to go back again next summer, finally to see what this city's like when everything's bathed in sunshine and the cafés take over the streets. I love Paris. I really do. There's something about the place. I actually find it quite hard to describe. When I first went a few years ago, my initial impressions were that it was fairly shabby, a bit dirty and very run down in places. The amount of graffiti (and of course dog mess) also struck me.

But, by the end of my time there, I found myself liking it more and more. The same thing happened on my second visit. I'd forgotten what I liked about it, until its magic and charm did its bit once again.

It's such a traditional city. In many ways, deeply conservative. Like the French in general. Socially liberal but always clinging on to the past, whether it be in defence of its generous state welfare, pensions, or even in their vigorous efforts to safeguard the language itself. It's very hard to change things in France. Successive presidents have found this. Instead they like to portray themselves as the antidote to our individualistic, uncaring, unkept, Anglo-Saxon capitalist model.

It's also such an intimate city. It's not nearly as big as London and therefore very easy to walk around on foot. Because of old planning laws, no building in the main centre can be above a certain height, which certainly gives it a different feel to other capitals. Things are small in Paris: hotel bedrooms, bathrooms, flats. Their bistros and restaurants are so small that very often you find yourself virtually touching the person next to you.

And yet, I never find Paris overly crowded, providing of course you avoid the obvious tourist traps. I never find it stressful or claustrophobic in the way that London can be. At night it really is one of the most magnificent places in which to wander.

However, its conservatism is coming at a price. Its young are flocking to London to look for work. Alienating the younger generation isn't particularly wise. Its behaviour towards its immigrants, and outsiders in general, still leaves a lot to be desired. Its cuisine, which I have never been mad on, is ridiculously overrated (although it seems nowadays it's only the French who still rave about French food!) and very samey.

Have you ever been to a vegetarian restaurant in Paris? They're still churning out the kind of fare we served up 20-30 years ago: plates of vegetables without sauce or flavour and that stringy looking accompaniment (can't think for the life of me what it's called) as decoration.

But if it changed, it wouldn't be Paris. And to admit that it needed to change just wouldn't be very French.

Wed 15 Dec

2010-12-15T16:31:00.000Z

A lovely surprise at my local supermarket. They've installed self-service checkout machines. Cue lots of unsure and concerned looking locals, tiptoeing around them, scratching their heads, before deciding against Mons' latest forray into the 21st century. Most people seemed more than happy to join the usual enormous queues (and painfully slow service) that are standard in this shop.

I happily felt more than confident to give them a go. After all, I have had years of experience of using them at Asda and M&S, where they never seem to work properly and give the illusion of you saving time. In practice you spend most of the time trying to catch a shop assistant's attention because you have an 'unexplained item in the bagging area,' or you need someone's approval because at the age of 31 you've decided to buy a bottle of wine and they need to check you're not 15.

To be fair, when they first got introduced in England, I think most people (technologically sceptical by nature) stuck with the familiar and checked-out via a human being and not a machine.

Still, in the last couple of months we've had Sunday opening and now self-service checkout machines. Whatever next? "Le cash-back?"

Tues 14 Dec

2010-12-14T16:18:00.000Z

Bart De Wever, leader of the Flemish separatist party, the N-VA, has been universally castigated by politicians in Wallonia for 'talking down' Belgium. His crime? To say that Belgium was now the "sick man of Europe."

I'm surprised it took him, or anybody else, that long to realise. His comments were branded irresponsible, reckless and unhelpful. They forgot accurate. Sick man or not, this country doesn't work, and the bunch of clowns charged with fixing it are as clueless as ever. Maybe I should offer my services. I do weddings, barmitzvahs and hopelessly divided countries.

Mon 13 Dec

2010-12-13T16:17:00.000Z

That's exactly 6 months and counting folks. 6 months since the Belgian general election, and still no sodding government. What a way to (not) run a country.

Mon 6 Dec

2010-12-06T16:13:00.000Z

Back to work today. Nasty shock waking up (alone) in the pitch black. Walked to the station, half asleep, shivvering. Even felt overwhelmed by how busy the station was. It's always packed early in the morning with hundreds of students arriving in Mons by train from around the region. Curled up on the train and went to sleep.

Sat 4 Dec - Urgences!

2010-12-04T15:34:00.000Z

Less than 24 hours after getting back from Cuba, and we found ourselves in A&E, or 'Urgences,' as they brilliantly call it here. That's the name they give "ER" when it's on TV too. C's sore throat, which had been developing over the last 2 days of the honeymoon, got even worse in the night. It was revealed by the doctor to be an abcess on the tonsils, combined with a throat infection. Ouch. So bad, that eating or drinking anything was extremely painful.

Now, normally, you'd expect to see a doctor, get a prescription for some antibiotics, and be on your way. But, this is Belgium. They like to control everything centrally. And it seems, your health too is government property. C was told to expect to spend the next 3-4 days in hospital. They clearly don't have a bed shortage in Mons. In England they can't get rid of you quick enough. You have to be dying in order to get a bed. In fact, when C protested, the answer was a simple: 'either stay in hospital and have your antibiotics intravenously, or go home where'll you get no antibiotics and be in pain.' Nice bunch.

So, back to reality with a bang. Cold and snowing outside, wife in hospital bed with a drip coming out of to her hand, back to speaking incomprehensible pigeon French with strangers, and crazy of all, painful red-raw sunburn on my right shoulder.

Listening to C's account of her time in hospital, it seems that there's little difference between the quality of care between the two countries: unsympathetic/cold nurses, (all nurses and doctors really need to regularly attend 'human empathy courses.' You would have thought this would be a basic requirement if you worked in the medical profession. Clearly not), mixed wards, inedible food making aeroplane food look like fine dining, woken up every few hours in the night by nurses wandering in and out and turning the lights on, and a lack of doctors around on the weekend.

At least C got some free French practice. Can't imagine what it would have been like being there this time last year, considering our level of French then.

A surreal few days. All the street Christmas lights were now on but I couldn't have felt less Christmassy.

Fri 19 Nov - Thurs 2 Dec: Cuba

2010-12-03T02:28:00.000Z

Time for a 2 week diversion. Just spent the last fortnight in Cuba as part of my honeymoon. Had a terrific time. Cuba is a fascinating and unique place. Not the most relaxing way to spend your honeymoon, but me and C don't really do lying on the beach holidays so we're not complaining. I've never been anywhere like it and not sure I would have gone had it not been thanks to wedding gifts that helped pay for some of the trip. To be honest, I quite fancied spending 2 weeks in Italy (Sardinia, the Lakes, Tuscany) but we both felt that we had to go somewhere completely different; get out of our European comfort zone.

If moving to Belgium from the UK represents something of a culture shock, holidaying in Cuba is the Mother of all culture shocks. A flippin' earthquake. I'd done a fair bit of reading prior to going and knew quite a bit about the political situation there. But, it isn't until you actually visit somewhere and see it all for yourself that you're really able to have a grasp of what life is like in somewhere that, despite the global reaches and enormous influence of our liberal democracies, still manages to remain Communist in ideology, outlook and practice.

Of course I was only ever going to get a flavour of what life is like in Cuba. Being part of a small tour meant that you are, to some extent, sheltered from some of the grim realities of life here. Although you certainly get a taste when wandering around Havana. It is worth noting that before 2008 locals were prohibited from entering certain places/areas earmarked specifically for tourists, including restaurants, beaches and shops that dedicated themselves only to serving non-Cubans. Since a change in the law, locals and tourists have been able to mix and interact far more freely in these places and others, although within resorts such as Varadero, you can lock yourself away and never see a Cuban (except for hotel and restaurant staff). Indeed, many tourists used to prefer to see Cuba this way which strikes me as odd and rather pointless.

There were two things that hit me as I got off the plane: the humidity and the smell. A sweet, sickly smell. The smell of the Tropics. I could also see mozzies flying. Let me reassure you though that I only got bitten 3 times in 2 weeks. I've been bitten 3 times in a day in Belgium! You then have to spend almost an hour queuing at customs (2 hours on the way back). It did feel slightly intimidating. There are rows of small booths with someone sat in each one. As you approach, they look at you, look at their paperwork, look back at you and then spend a few minutes looking something up on the computer. They then take your photo and you are free (although no one else is in Cuba) to walk through a door which says 'Exit,' not knowing what the hell is on the other side. I had visions of one of me or C being left behind. I did actually see people on our arrival and when we departed being turned away. No idea why.

As we finally walked out of the arrivals area we were greeted by hundreds of Cubans, many of them standing on top of one another. We then had to exchange some of our Euros for Convertible Pesos (CUC), the currency used by all tourists (locals use National Pesos of which 25 = 1 Convertible), in order to afford to take a taxi to our homestay. I particularly enjoyed the sounds of Cuban hip-hop blaring out from our driver's speakers as part of our 45 minute journey. We chose to begin and end our stay in Homestays, which are basically their B&Bs. Cubans are allowed to open up 2 rooms in their house to guests and charge no more than 35 CUC a night per room, and they're a decent alternative to the overpriced hotels. You also get to chat to the locals, although most only speak Spanish. Fine for C, not for me.

Havana, a city of just over 2 million inhabitants, would have to be the highlight of Cuba for me. A bustling and lively place divided into 4 distinct areas of which we saw 3: Old Havana, beautifully renovated and restored with 4 wonderful, European-like squares as its centrepiece, and the most touristy part of the city. A few minutes walk away and without realising it, it then morphes into Central Havana, where you feel as if you have stumbled into a different city. This is more of the 'real Havana:' noisy, polluted, dirty, humid and crowded. All around are buildings which are literally falling apart before your eyes. Not where you find most tourists wandering but a must if you want to experience something more authentic. We actually had a private salsa lesson here, in a sweaty room above a theatre, with 2 Cuban ladies, who took great delight in giggling at my lack of hip movement and coordination.

Then there is Vedado, where we began and ended our trip. A far more spacious and greener part of Havana. It is here that you can try and begin to appreciate what Havana must have looked like before the Revolution. The streets are lined with the most magnificent post-colonial mansions, of which a huge number are now crumbling and dilapiated and in dire need of doing up, but lack of funds or political will means they have been left to ruin. The cities of Cuba were not a priority for Fidel Castro after seizing power as he sort to improve conditions in the countryside first.

We spent the first two days just wandering around as much of Havana as we could. Taking it in, whilst at the same time taking something else in: exhaust fumes. Classic, vintage, American cars are everywhere to be seen thanks to America's influence in the first half of the twentieth century where, according to the Rough Guide, they hoped to turn Havana into the "Caribbean Las Vegas." Gambling places proliferated whilst prostitution flourished. It became a paradise for the wealthy, with middle class Cubans also benefiting, whilst everyone else lived in poverty. When Castro arrived on the scene, the Americans left, leaving behind their cars. As it's been difficult for Cubans to buy new cars since the Revolution, and also as a result of the American embargo, Cubans have had to resort to looking after and maintaining the cars left behind.

The sights and sounds of pink, green and blue Chevrolets, or the yellow and black or purple Cadillacs, all help in giving Havana its energy and vibe. They also bellow out the most foul petrol fumes. A walk down a main road was not really a pleasant experience as you try and cope with the smell and the humidity at the same time.

Walking around at night is also an experience. Power cuts are common, and well over half of the street lights are never working. At times you are walking in almost complete darkness, trying to negotiate potholes at the same time. I felt Havana, and everywhere in Cuba, to be extremely safe. In fact, it prides itself on being a safe tourist destination. It doesn't suffer from the levels of violent crime or any other crime for that matter, that you find in other islands in the Caribbean. I imagine partly because the penalties are so severe for anyone commiting a crime against tourists.

Another reason may well be economic. It is rare to see anyone sleeping rough, or see the kind of abject poverty that you hear about in places such as India. The government has always promised to act as a safety net for its citizens. Everyone is housed, even if the houses are not in particularly great condition. The government claims that almost everyone is in employment. Employed by the state. Although Raul Castro has promised that from next April 500,000 Cubans will be forced to stop working for the state and set up their own businesses. This number is expected to rise over time. In this respect, this has helped in keeping crime to a minimum. That is of course if you accept the link between economic disadvantage and poverty and crime.

We spent most of our time in Cuba as part of a tour of 15 people. Our tour guide was a Cuban woman from Havana. As a guide, she was smiley, lovely to look at, but useless. As a weapon of state propaganda, she was excellent. She dismissed talk of Cuban being Communist instead preferring to call it Socialist. The most common words to come out of her mouth could be summarised thus: "Fidel, Che Gavara, Raul, hospital, hospital, hospital." I have never had a tour guide take so much pride and spend so much time pointing out the local hospitals. I guess to expect her to give us a social and political commentary, and one not authorised by the state, would be naive anyway.

Hospitals are indeed a source of national pride for Cubans. The country is credited with having a great health system, some of the best doctors in the world, and completely free for everyone to use. Their hospitals do however suffer from a chronic lack of medication and resources. One of the most eye-opening things I saw was a pharmacy which looked like the kind of shop you'd find in the 1950s. It was virtually empty.

Cuba also claims to have a 100% literacy rate, although the UN puts the figure at 95% which is still impressive. Education was also a Castro priority in 1959, the year of the Revolution, as he set about, extremely successfully, trying to eradicate illiteracy, particularly in the countryside. He did this by sending thousands of teachers from the cities to the countryside in order to achieve his aim.

There were many other things that you notice when you drive around the country (our tour took in only the central and western parts of Cuba). There are enormous billboards everywhere proclaiming state propaganda and reminding people of their duty to uphold the values of the Revolution and reject Western criticisms. The Venezuelan flag is also prominent, thanks to Cuba's close ties with Hugo Chavez. They have replaced the Soviet Union as the country's most valuable ally.

On the motorways we kept seeing people hitch-hiking. According to our tour guide, anyone working for the state (i.e. most people) who drove past and had space in their car had a duty to stop and pick people up. Those working privately were exempt. Anyone who failed to stop and had room would have their number plates taken (by a police officer who would be waiting alongside the hitch-hikers) and then contacted some days later by the authorities in order to "arrange a meeting." These were the exact words she used. How very sinister. Or a way of fostering (by force) solidarity between the people.

The Cubans I came across were charming and friendly and keen to know where you were from (most thought I was Italian) and what you thought of their country. They also wanted to know if you had any soap or pens or other things that are hard to come by for them. I had heard of this beforehand and am annoyed that I forgot to take a whole load of things with me to hand out. Occasionally in Havana people would come up to us, although far more in the city of Trinidad (another city I really enjoyed. A real party town with coloured houses and outdoor salsa clubs) and it did get slightly irritating at times. Especially as the city is even hotter and more humid than Havana. But, so I'm told by others, what we experienced in Cuba is tame compared to elsewhere. And on the whole, if you smiled and said no, people left you alone.

The Cubans working in hotels were nothing like their compatriots on the streets. I found them surly and often brusque. I even had my own (very) mini-drama. In order to use the internet you need to buy an internet card (6 CUC, or about €5 for an hour) from the hotel front desk. You then have to rub off two lines which contain your login details. Only it's impossible to rub off without rubbing off half your number. When I told the staff that I needed another card they refused, said I should be more careful and walked away. They wouldn't even look at me. I continued to complain and refused to budge. By this time, 4 security men had been called and appeared in the lobby (there are security people everywhere in Cuba, especially in their hotels) glaring at me. I didn't fancy a night in a Cuban prison so quickly shut up. They did in fact help me in the end after having rung up the company in charge to get the code for me. I should have known it wouldn't be a straight forward thing. Everything is controlled centrally by some government run organisation.

Speaking Spanish does really help you in Cuba. I don't but I have a wife who does and witnessed on a few occasions better service for us when C spoke in Spanish. In particular, trying to get a cab once we'd arrived in Havana, where you just have to fight your way amongst the crowd of other tourists vying for attention from one of the many attendants who would then find you a cab.

The food is dreadful. Depressingly awful. I did expect this though. The Rough Guide says there really is no reason why it should be so bad when you consider the wonderful climate they have and the amount of produce that they're able to grow. I imagine lack of contact with the outside world would be a big factor. Food in England was samey and lacking in imagination until several waves of immigrants made their mark and showed us all how to cook and introduced us to a whole new range of ingredients.

Rice with black beans and sauce, which was actually quite nice (at first, slightly tiresome after the 6th, 7th..time), is a speciality and they like their roast pork and chicken. They're also obsessed with eggs. I had omlette for breakfast everyday. Everything else is cooked to within an inch of its life. Rather that than undercooked, eh? Had a Chinese meal out one night which was average. Although we did discover a great Italian restaurant in Havana. So good in fact that we went back 4 times. My saviour.

The food in the hotels, as warned beforehand, was as bad as it got. A particular highlight was soup which tasted like the grease left over after you've cooked a roast (probably because that's what it was), and spaghetti so soft and overcooked that it dissolved in your mouth. Other highlights on the trip include: soggy pizza, rice pudding (how the hell did that make it into Cuba?) and a vegetarian paella which was basically a plate of vegetables in tomato sauce. They hadn't bothered with a crucial ingredient: the saffron.

This meal was eaten at one of the most entertaining and bizarre restaurants I have ever been to. After ordering a bottle of red wine, the waiter delivered it to our table where we then had to wait 45 minutes for them to open it. Every waiter we pestered assured us it would be open soon. I think as C pointed out, rather poignantly, they probably only had 1 bottle opener between them and were spending the time trying to find it. We were also treated to the delightful sounds of a (tone deaf) pianist, playing all the classics from Bryan Adams to Celine Dion, every now and again shrieking and sounding as if he were drunk. Memorable stuff.

As a cultural experience, Cuba is well worth a visit. It's not for the fainthearted and isn't always the most relaxing place to be, but I'm so glad I went. I often hear people say that now is the time to go. Before it changes, or more bluntly "before America gets their grubby hands on it." Which got me thinking. Surely the sooner Cuba changes, the better. Better for its people. Who cares what us tourists think and want. Because whilst Cubans on the surface seem happy and well looked after by the state, they're not free. They're not free to leave Cuba. There's no freedom of expression. There's no free media, with everything state run (we managed to catch clips on TV of Fidel droning on about something or other), there's no opposition party, no elections and no means to express dissent or dissatisfaction. If you do, you get locked up.

So, yes, of course Cuba will change dramatically if it ceases to be a Communist country (although Raul's recent reforms and his future plans might ensure it remains Communist for many years to come) but then we should rejoice, for Cubans will finally be free. Free to experience all the things we take for granted.

In my mind, there is definitely something to admire about some of the ideals of the Revolution: the free healthcare and education, the high life expectancy, the lack of abject poverty, the feeling of solidarity. But, it has all come at a price. Cuba is isolated and its people cut off from the rest of the world, prisoners in their own country. It doesn't have the power or influence of China to stay Communist (although China has embraced a mixed economy) and still succeed.

The American embargo imposed as Castro took power and kept in place for Cold War ideological reasons is despicable in my opinion and there seems little hope of it being lifted anytime soon. It has clearly had a terrible impact on the lives of ordinary people. Interestingly, there are hardly any anti-US slogans daubed on walls or displayed on billboards. Our guide told us many times that Cubans don't have a problem with Americans, just their government.

Cuba is certainly a destination if you're feeling adventurous and fancy seeing something new. It is a remarkable, colourful and vibrant country, and in spite of some of the positive things the Revolution has brought to Cubans, it is still a country run by a dictator with no political or social freedoms. Personally, I think this is always worth bearing in mind when you're there. I'm not sure I'd go back, and if I did, it would only be if there had been some significant political change.

Arrived back at Charles De Gaulle Airport on Friday 3 December (after a time difference of + 6 hours). Everywhere looks very white. And the temparture has plummeted by about 30 degrees since leaving Havana. It's nice to be back in Europe.

Wed 17 Nov

2010-11-17T19:05:00.000Z

Fascinating article in yesterday's Le Soir newspaper concerning Belgians and their bank accounts and what happens should they from now on go into their overdrafts. Well, from 1st December, banks will be able to block the accounts of anybody who goes into the red for more than 1 month. Currently, and from what I can make out, the law allows people to be €1,250 overdrawn over the course of 3 months. In return, customer rights will be further safeguarded and extended (not sure how) with a greater ability to be able to compare current accounts alongside one another. I'm guessing (just a guess, I might be wrong, but after a year of living here I do have a weeny little insight into the workings of Belgian society) that price comparison websites and consumer rights aren't big in Belgium. I can just imagine the amount of paperwork involved in trying to change banks. That's if they allow you to in the first place!

A further change will see banks penalised if they knowingly grant overdrafts to people who are obviously incapable of paying them back. I have to say, I can see nothing wrong with either change. This would seem alien in the UK where we're so used to paying for everything 'on credit,' but this is one of the reasons our finances are in such a mess in the first place. We spend what we don't have, aided by reckless banks and successive governments who never tire of urging us to keep on spending: "let's spend our way out of recession.." No, let's not spend what we don't have.

Sat 13 Nov - Look, no subtitles!

2010-11-13T09:10:00.000Z

Went to our local indie cinema this evening and saw a film "Quartier Lointain," a joint Belgian/French venture, in its original form, i.e. in French and without English subtitles. The first time I have ever done this. And, it was fine. I'd say I probably understood about two-thirds of what was said, and understood most of what was going on. There was the odd joke that I missed; when the whole auditorium burst into laughter and I just sat there thinking 'okay, I'm sure that was funny, but I have no idea why.' Although it wasn't too difficult to guess if you considered the context.

In fact, this was probably the ideal first film to see without subtitles. There wasn't a huge amount of dialogue which suited me just fine. Overall, I left feeling pretty pleased with myself and realised what huge strides I've made over the last year. The film itself was wonderful. I absolutely loved it. And there are very few films indeed that I have seen at the cinema and left thinking 'wow, that really was superb.'

It had such a lovely feel to it, was beautifully acted and shot, and paced perfectly. A film to truly admire and enjoy. The music also brilliantly complimented it from start to finish. In short, it's a film about a man who, after a fall near the grave of his mother, finds himself back in time and as a teenage boy again, transported to the small French village where he grew up. The difference being that even though he is back to being a teenager again, it is only his physical self that has changed. He still retains the mind and intellect and memories of his grown up, adult self of the future. A little bit like the film 'Big,' but in reverse. He soon becomes aware of a significant event in his life that is about to take place. He also meets old school friends (again), girlfriends and goes to school and does all the other things he would have done then, but knowing that he has already lived this life once before.

Well worth seeing, although you'd probably be hard pushed to find it, even at the artie cinemas in the UK.

Fri 12 Nov - The Bridge

2010-11-12T16:00:00.000Z

Today is what's known in these parts as 'Le Pont' (the bridge). As yesterday was a public holiday (being Armistice Day, which disgracefully is not one in the UK), many Belgians (if their employer agrees) have the option to 'faire le pont.' Literally, to make a bridge between the rest of the week and the weekend. In other words, take another day off when a public holiday falls on a Thursday and thus have a long weekend. How wonderful. How this would never happen back home.

Mon 8 Nov

2010-11-09T01:38:00.000Z

Christmas decorations have gone up all around Mons. The lights were switched on for one evening but have since been off. Must have been a practice run. Litte teasers. I don't actually remember the lights going on last year until December. Can't wait. Everything looked fabulous. Christmas: the only thing that gets us through the endless cold and wet weather.

Sun 7 Nov

2010-11-08T00:02:00.000Z

Saw 2 films over the weekend. "You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger", the latest Woody Allen to be tediously trailed as his 'return to form.' Of course it was nothing of the sort. Utter tosh. That man has completely lost the plot. It's astonishing to think that a man of his talent, the man who brought us gems such as "Annie Hall" and "The Purple Rose of Cairo" is now making garbage such as "Match Point", "Vicky Christina Barcelona," and this last offering.

The second film was much better: "Tamara Drewe." The kind of film that you can sense that Woody Allen is trying to make at the moment, but failing miserably. Still love going to the local arthouse cinema. Every month they always screen about 3 or 4 films in English complete with French and Dutch subtitles. Next Saturday we are doing a first: this time we'll be watching a French film, but without subtitles. Should be fun, or just really frustrating. But, it's free when booked a week in advance. And who said they don't do bargains in Belgium?!

Sat 6 Nov - No Money

2010-11-06T22:46:00.000Z

There is no money in Mons. Okay, so this statement could be interpreted in many ways. However, I'm being very literal when I say this. As of yesterday, many of Mons' main cash machines stopped dispensing any money. This includes the main Fortis branch on the Grand Place. The reason? A strike of course. Don't ask me to understand who exactly has gone on strike. The banks are still open.

The result was that at one point some machines were allowing you to withdraw only 50 Euro notes, which soon became only 100 Euro notes, and eventually no notes. Nuts. Unbelievable. No, actually, how very Belgian.

Fri 5 Nov

2010-11-05T22:41:00.000Z

We first came to Mons in September 2009, primarily to find ourselves somewhere to live. Naturally, the wonderful Grand Place made an immediate inpact on me and stuck in my mind. When we returned again 2 months later, this time as new residents, I couldn't wait to set eyes on it again. I had visions of coffee and cake outdoors (not realised for a further 5 months) and hours spent people watching. Instead, my beautiful Grand Place had been taken over by one of the tackiest and ugliest looking fairs I had ever seen.

Not that I'm particularly a big fan of fairs anyway, but I just couldn't comprehend why the local council/mayor had sanctioned such a thing to encroach upon the city's premier sight. There weren't even many rides bar the odd lame looking merry-go-round. Most of the 'fair' consisted of those enormous stalls that give you the chance to shoot at something in return for winning a huge cuddly toy or some other piece of tat. The terrible, shitty pop music that blares out at night topped it all off for me. And this monstrosity occupies the square for a whole 3 weeks.

I know, I'm probably not the sort of demographic that fairs tend to target, but why oh why would anybody allow such a thing to abuse their city's prize possession?

So, I was prepared this year when I walked into the Grand Place to be met by organisers of the fair setting up camp once again. A reason to avoid the centre for the next 3 weeks I think.

Thurs 4 Nov - 1 year!!

2010-11-04T20:58:00.000Z

Happy Anniversary to us! No, not that one, the other one. Today we celebrate being in Belgium exactly one year to the day. I won't go over and summarise again how things have gone over the last year because I already did that (somewhat prematurely in fact) at the 9 month stage. But, suffice to say that it's been an extremely enjoyable, unpredictable and culturally eye-opening 12 months.

Life here is at times tricky (the language, finding work) but never dull. I'm lucky to be working regularly (for now, although I take nothing for granted when it comes to being an 'independent.'), have met a whole range of lovely people (in particular a couple of Americans who have enriched our lives no end and become really great friends) and have relished the chance to be able to explore other cities in Belgium as well as neighbouring countries. Being part of an island doesn't half cut you off. I've also never felt so pro the EU, warts and all.

You'd never guess that Belgian's capital city is also the home of the EU. Their political system is just an unfathomable mess. How the country survives is beyond me. And how Belgian is still one country is just a mystery. I guess, for now, it's just harder to break up than stay together. But, in my view, the long term outlook for Belgium isn't great. And their politicians, from both sides of the linguistic divide, are quite frankly a bloody disgrace. Even for a political anorak, I've grown tired of the endless wranglings and never-ending negotiations. Just to repeat: there is still no government in Belgium. The general election was on June 13th, 144 days (and counting) ago.

Yet, Belgians as a group, and in particular the Walloons, are a really friendly, polite and respectful bunch (except when they get behind the wheel of a car). Well, all the ones I've met anyway. Bloody unreliable and never on time for anything. Happily let their dogs crap wherever they feel like it. And you'd never guess entrepreneur was a French word because it certainly doesn't apply in Wallonia. But, still, they've been good company and I've never yet had one laugh or snigger at my French. Although the 2 year old son of a Belgian friend did take it upon himself to tell me (more than once) how to properly pronounce the French word for frog ("grenouille"), and got slightly irritated with me when I wasn't doing it correctly.

It's not easy living abroad. Without learning the language it's even harder. But, life is far easier, more relaxed and far far less stressful than it is in England. And people just seem so much happier. Or maybe that should be content. Certainly less aggressive and rude. Post-recession UK sounds pretty hard for an awful lot of people. I think I've chosen the right time to escape it for a bit.

And, I'll be here for another 2 years. Besides, haven't seen nearly enough of France yet!

Sat 30 Oct/Sun 31 Oct - Halloween

2010-10-30T21:25:00.000+01:00

Wasn't sure whether Halloween was observed/celebrated in Belgium. Certainly didn't see anyone 'trick or treating.' But, there were an awful lot of kiddies dressed in witches outfits, carrying wands. Even some adults. Although they might just have been goths. The strange thing was that on the actual day of Halloween most of the costumes disappeared.

Nevertheless, a lot of the shops in Mons had decorated themselves for the occasion days before and after: fake bits of cobwebs, giant pumpkins, little witch and wizard figures in the windows. Les Montois certainly like to make the most of every kind of event, no matter how small. And good on them for that.

Mon 18 Oct

2010-10-18T16:00:00.000+01:00

As expected, full nationwide strike today so no work. Went out and had some Pommes Frites (in a cone, my preferred way of eating them) for my nutritious lunch, from one of the dozens of 'friteries' around town and ate them in the sunshine on the Grand Place. And, they were the best frites I've had so far in Belgium. Just that right combination of nice and crunchy on the outside, soft in the middle. Delicious. When you ask for your sauce, they squeeze out a huge dollop which engulfs almost every chip on the top. They manage to do it so that there's plenty of sauce to last you almost until the end. By which time you're stuffed and can't manage anymore. A skill indeed.

Mon 11 Oct - Blocked in

2010-10-12T03:15:00.000+01:00

Ahead of next Monday's official general strike on Belgian's trains, some swines decided to block anything going in to or out of the Charleroi area, the same direction my train heads to when I go to work. So, straight back home again. Taking into account next Monday's strike, these disruptions will lose me about €200 in teaching work. The reason for the strikes have been put down to disagreements over the transportion of cargo trains or something to do with that. Some union guys were left unimpressed after meetings with the top brass. To be honest, the explanations given in the national press are pretty vague. And so they've decided to bring the whole train network to a standstill. One word: bastards. Four words: get back to work.

I've always been, and will remain, a firm supporter of peoples' right to strike, especially public sector workers. But, the reasons have to be (in my view, anyway) valid. The reasons for the recent action in Belgium have been pathetic, needless and completely self-serving. Some would argue, aren't all strikes self-serving? Unions will claim to be working to protect the quality and sanctity of public services, whereas what many really believe is that they're merely interested in preserving their own jobs and couldn't give a damn about the public.

Whatever you may think, they don't give in without a fight in countries like Belgium, France or Spain. Unlike apathetic, moaning but do very little, Britain, if they feel they have a grievance in continental Europe, they take to the streets and fight for what they believe in. That's something I admire. It's one of the reasons their public services are so much better than ours and why we are seemingly happy to settle for the most expensive train network in Europe, poor state schools and a health service, whilst a hell of a lot better than it used to be, that's still short of the quality it should be. So, whilst I'm pissed off about losing money, that's part and parcel of life around these parts.

Sat 9 Oct - Champagne in Champagne

2010-10-10T02:50:00.000+01:00

Went on a tour of the Champagne region of France today. Began with a visit to the city of Reims (pronounced as if you were saying the word 'rinse') and the home of Taittinger. We had a tour of their cellars where the temperature must remain at either 10 or 12 degrees at all times. As it was such a beautifully sunny day outside, none of us were suitably dressed and it was rather chilly down there. They store about 95 million bottles of champagne.

After the explanation of how it's made, its consistency, and how the weather determines whether it'll be a vintage year or not, we got to have a drink of the stuff. I was expecting a bit of a tasting. Maybe of about 3 or 4 different varieties. And as I'd only recently watched Sideways for the 4th or 5th time, I was really looking forward to this bit. But, disappointingly, we were only given 1 glass to drink. No vivid explanation, no champagne-induced lingo, no beautiful alliteration. Still, it was fantastic stuff. Definitely the best champagne I'd ever drunk. Far less fizzy than the plonk I'm used to and extremely smooth.

We then had a couple of hours for lunch where we both had the usual typically crap meal I've come to expect in France. C's steak was far too fatty and tasted like something you'd get in a gastro pub in England. The chips were anaemic and tasteless. You can't beat a Belgian steak-frites. But, the sun shone and it was lovely to be in short sleeves in the second week of October.

Our tour then took us to Hautvillers, birth and deathplace of one Dom Pérignon. An absolutely adorable and quintessentially French little village with stunning views in all directions. Nothing like a tour party and their huge noisy coach to spoil the tranquility.

We ended with a tour of the cellars of Mercier in the town of Epernay. This time our tour took place on an electrically powered little train. The kind of thing you see kids riding on in theme parks. Again, no tasting, but a glass of Mercier instead. We bought 3 bottles of the stuff. Half the price of Taittinger and not as sweet.

The tour whetted my appetite for future excursions in France. I just love the place.

Fri 8 Oct

2010-10-09T01:22:00.000+01:00

We were out having a drink this evening on the Grand Place when a procession of about a hundred or so people joined us. They were carrying flaming torches, some dressed in red or black costumes, with strange pointy masks covering their faces, and one person carrying an enormous wooden cross, upside down. Surely the Ku Klux Klan don't operate in Mons?

They then stopped and gathered around the steps of the town hall and began chanting and singing. Some swayed from side to side and waved their hands backwards and forwards. Maybe it was some kind of amateur dramatics performance. C persuaded me to go and ask one of the policeman who was watching what the hell was going on. He mentioned the words 'architecture students', ' new level', 'celebrating' and 'university.' And so put together: "they're architecture students who are celebrating passing their recent exams and so are now able to progress to the next level at university." Probably.

There's always something going on in Mons. One of the reasons it's such a nice place to live in.

Sun 3 Oct - Sunday Opening

2010-10-04T01:06:00.000+01:00

So why is Sunday 3 October 2010 such a noteworthy date I hear you ask? Well, it's the first time that 'Match', my favourite supermarket (!), will be opening on a Sunday. Yup, rampant consumerism, 'I want it here and I want it now' culture, has finally come to Wallonia. Sort of. I've always been a fan of Sunday trading, simply because most people work during the week and it gives them more time to do all their chores, rather than cramming everything in to one day.

Went and it was as busy, and slow, as ever. I have never spent so long queueing as I do everytime I visit this place. Nothing happens quickly in Mons. Smiley, friendly, but painfully slow service. Still, bit of progress in my mind.

Wed 29 Sept - Quick, strike!

2010-09-30T01:00:00.000+01:00

A wildcat strike by air traffic controllers closed down all of Belgium's airports today. The reason? To protest against the jobs of "two" (that's two) members of staff being relocated from one city to another. This what I read anyway. And out of solidarity the country's airspace closes. Apparently, the unions never supported this action. Now there's a first.

Mon 20 Sept - Sat 25 Sept: Oslo, rip-off capital of the world?

2010-09-20T21:33:00.000+01:00

Time for an entry away from the comfort of Wallonia and to a week spent in Oslo. As C was here for work, I decided to take advantage of the swanky hotel and other perks and join her. My previous visit to Scandinavia was to Copenhagen a couple of years ago. I left distinctly unimpressed. Clean, safe, efficient...dull. I came away wondering what you're actually supposed to do in Copenhagen.

A lot of this certainly applies to Oslo too, except I enjoyed myself here far more. The main boulevard in the centre of the city, Karl Johans Gate, is very grand indeed, lined with expensive looking restaurants, and ornate cafés. Although there is also a Hard Rock Café and a TGI Friday so it's not that posh.

Oslo is the second smallest Scandinavian capital city, after Reykjavik, although trying to actually find the definitive answer to what actually constitutes Scandinavia is not altogether that simple. I've read that it includes: Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Finland. Others seem to include Iceland, and even Greenland. Our travel companion guide book, Rick Steve, even mentions Estonia, which is bizarre considering it was part of the Soviet Union. Who knows.

One thing I never knew, simply because I've never really paid much attention to Scandinavia when I'm staring at maps of the world, is that Norway actually borders Russia, as well as Sweden. The country hugs itself around Sweden and the further north you get, the more it bends to the right, until it dips down again and touches Russia. Apparently and unsurprisingly, the border crossing isn't the easiest to negotiate. You can imagine being met by some very stern and angry looking Russians as you get within touching distance.

My initial impression of Oslo was that it's not a particularly pretty city. There are some very salubrious areas and lots of small or larger parks (the park attached to the palace was my favourite. Very atmospheric when lit up at night) which adds greenery to the place. But, the main shopping district and the area around the docks are actually quite ugly. You get a good perspective of the city when you walk to the top of the newly renovated Opera House (which I really liked. Extremely white and extremely bright. Must be blinding in the snow). It's one of those funky designs that allows you to walk on the actual building by means of huge ramps that soar up from the ground. From a distance, it looks a bit like an iceberg.

The view out to sea would have been even more spectacular had it not been overcast. There are several little islands within view. You can actually travel by ferry all the way to Germany from Oslo, which I found impressive. And on the metro map there is a route which takes you all the way to Stockholm. I guess all these things just have added resonance when you're from a little island, cut off from mainland Europe.

During the day I had time alone to wander and get a good feel for the place. I think it's only when I was out and about with C that actually started to like Oslo. But, I managed to see the Resistance Museum which I really enjoyed and which chronicles Norway and most of its peoples' refusal to surrender and side with the Nazis, even though the country itself was occupied for most of the war. Throughout this time, its King and many members of his government fled to Britain where they operated as a government-in-exile. In fact, Britain had a significant influence over military tactics employed by Norway throughout this period, with the good ol' BBC using its reach to communicate with resistance groups.

Back in Norway, in the absence of the king, a man by the name of Vidkun Quisling had set up his own governing party, Norway's very own Nazi party, and hoped to rally the country round the invading army, but to little avail, both to his and the Nazi's immense frustrations. In fact, 'The Resistance' is also testament to the Norwegians' refusal to be dictated to by the Quisling government. The museum itself was small and compact and managed to fit in plenty of information. There were also displays to look at where they have intricately recreated some of the main battle scenes using toy soliders and other props. I particularly liked the way they showed billowing smoke coming from bombed buildings: lots of blackened and dirty bits of cotton wool spreadout everywhere. Overall, a really inspiring little place to visit.

On the Tuesday, the only day of really good weather, I spent the morning in the Vigeland Sculpture Park. An enormous place adorned with over 200 bronze and granite sculptures. The work of the Norwegian Sculptor, Gustav Vigeland. Almost all (in fact, it might be all) of the them are of people in various poses: man lifting up woman, man comforting crying woman, man holding up children. You get the picture. Not bad, not bad. The deep blue sky made for some cracking photos.

Also visited the Viking Museum, which has the world's best preserved Viking ships. As a friend rightly pointed out, the words 'raped and pillaged' are synonymous whenever anybody happens to mention the Vikings.

Oslo also has a fine array of free, yes that's right free, museums and galleries. These include the Design museum which showed various chairs, phones, computers etc. through the ages. The contemporary art gallery is well worth a visit. But, the real treat is the city's national gallery, home to Edvard Munch and his Scream. There is a whole room dedicated to some of his work and I, uniquely for me, loved each and every one of them. The Scream's not even his best. Not even in the top 5 of this one room. It's funny how some works of art have become so famous whilst others never do. I wonder how this happens. It's clearly not based on quality.

There were also other really wonderful paintings to admire by artists such as Picasso, Matisse, a typically brilliant Modigliani, and a whole other selection of Norwegian artists, one of my favourites being Christian Krohg. Knew absolutely zilch about Norwegian art until I came to Oslo and I left being extremely impressed.

And so to (one of) my favourite pastimes, whinging about the cost of everything. You've not experienced expensive until you've been to Oslo. First things first, Norway isn't in the EU and of course not in the Euro either. That aside, when it comes to ripping you off, this city does it in style. A small glass of wine or a beer £9-£10, a main course at a café (not even a restaurant) £20-£25, a single bus ticket for a 15 minute journey, £5. I could go on, you know I could, but you get the idea.

The place is so dear that not even the locals can afford to go out and have more than one glass of wine. Most people prefer to drink at home first and then go out and nurse a solitary drink for the whole evening. Something I struggled with was finding somewhere cheap(ish) to go for lunch. It seems that what most people do is just buy snacks from the numerous '7 Elevens' or similar type places. Everywhere are signs advertising calzones, wraps, noodles, for only £6 each!

The most common sign is a McDonald's (which are everywhere) one. Only 10 kroners for a cheeseburger, which is about £1.20. The city is in the grip of a cheeseburger obsession. Wherever you look, someone is eating one. Some were even eating two. Heck, why not just buy five and call it dinner? I was hoping to find somewhere offering lunctime deals or similar. In the end, I settled on chicken and noodles from a takeaway place (£8, bland, tasteless), a calzone (same), and even more noodles from a corner shop (£6, tiny portion). Unsurprisingly, there was a huge queue outside said shop where they were offering free samples of a new range of a thai chicken and rice dish they were selling. Of course the queue was enormous. Full of starving tourists like me, wondering where our next meal was going to come from. I went back 3 times for my samples, bowl in hand.

What I don't understand, in relation to their pubs (many have that same warm and cosy feel you find in traditional English boozers. They're certainly well set up for somewhere with their kind of climate) and bars, is how they manage to stay open. Yet, incredibly, I've read somewhere that there's still a problem with binge drinking, and even alcohol-related violence. How is that possible? To be honest, the cost of pratically everything in Oslo really does leave a sour taste in your mouth. One of the things I love to do wherever I am abroad is find a nice café, get a drink and people-watch for a couple of hours. Just didn't happen in Oslo. £4.50 was the cheapest I could find for a coffee. At least it was a decent cup.

Norwegians are also a ridiculously beautiful bunch. Too much so, if that's possible. Just a sea of blonde wherever you go. Not a hair out of place. Much more in the way of blonde as opposed to the fair types you see in Flanders and also Copenhagen. They're also dressed so elegantly and tastefully that you'll rarely much in the way of exposed flesh, although I guess the weather puts paid to that. Not that that's ever stopped our lasses in England. And I've been out in the Bigg Market on a Saturday night in Newcastle. In December. Not a coat or jumper in sight.

It's unlikely I'd ever return to Oslo, and were it not for my wife being desperate to see the Fjords in the north, as well as the elusive Northern Lights, that'd probably be it for Norway. Definitely a nicer place than Copenhagen, but if you don't find yourself at some point screaching "how much?," you're a far more tolerant person than I am.

Tues 14 Sept - La conversation avec un gosse!

2010-09-15T01:20:00.000+01:00

So there I was, minding my own business, reading my Metro on the way back home from work, when a kid (must have been about 11 or 12) from the seat in front of me, gets up and pokes his head over, stares at me and then begins chatting. And grinning. And laughing. I just do what any normal, self-respecting English person would do. I ignore him and continue to read my paper. In fact, I pretend not to see or hear him and start listening to my iPod. Not that he gets the message. So, all I can see now is some Belgian kid miming and pointing in my direction.

I decide to try and talk to him and figure out what the hell he's saying. We exchange pleasantries. I mean, what are you supposed to talk about to any young kid, albeit in French or English? I ask him the dull stuff about school (and why he's not there. Says he's off ill. We both smile. A knowing smile. Neither of us are that stupid. Although he looks too young to have bunked). When he finds out I'm English all he can say is "Mr Benn, Mr Benn!!!" Which he finds hilarious. He meant Mr Bean. Either he's saying I look like him (it has been said), or it's the first thing that he can think of when he thinks of England.

He looks shocked, almost mortified, when I tell him that Mr Bean isn't the actor's real name. Another child's imagination shattered. He must have used some great slang, some I picked up, but most of it was beyond me. Still, it's all useful innit? He got off about 15 minutes later. I'm not sure what else we would have spoken about for the rest of my journey.

Thurs 9 Sept - More Politics

2010-09-09T23:17:00.000+01:00

Because it's necessary and absolutely fascinating in a country like Belgium, especially for a political animal such as myself.

A few stories that caught my eye in the papers this week. The first was a short article proclaiming that despite all the political differences in the north and south, both Walloons and Flemish still maintain a healthy respect for each other. Unsurprisingly, the Walloons are far more likely to express an attachment to the state of Belgium.

A study has found that Wallonia would actually cope rather well, rather than implode, if Belgium ever was to split up. The biggest economic obstacle would be in tackling its stubbornly high rates of unemployment. But, the report finds that there exists good levels of productivity and innovation amongst current and up and coming businesses and companies. Wallonia also has a much younger population than Flanders, which places a lesser burden on things such as state pension, and means a potentially more active workforce, in relation to its size.

Meanwhile a French politician, Nicolas Dupont-Aignan, has said that his country must show solidarity with its cousins from across the border, and be prepared to welcome its compatriotes from Wallonia and Brussels. The articles doesn't expand on this or say what the reaction amongst the French to this would be. But, you can probably guess! Either way, I found his comments to be very poignant.

Tues 7 Sept - The "Divide" up close and personal

2010-09-07T23:38:00.000+01:00

Evidence of the political divide in Belgium translating itself into the behaviour of the ordinary man and woman on the street can be found in a lengthy and animated conversation I had today with a French-speaking Belgian. Because of everything's that's gone on, and because of the attitude of Flemish politicians, he now refuses to set foot in Flanders. In fact, he told me that he hasn't visited the region for more than a year.

And it's not just him, but many of his colleagues, and friends and family, who have made a similar decision and are staging their very own mini-boycott of the north. If he wants to go to the beach, he travels to France. Various reasons were offered for this, notably the refusal of staff in restaurants and cafés to respond to him when he's spoken in French. He says he does actually speak a little Dutch and makes the effort when he can, but his Dutch isn't good enough to get into anything beyond pleasantries or ordering food. So, when he wants to ask for something else, naturally, he switches to French.

Throughout this conversation I felt slightly amazed to be hearing what I did. Someone with a real genuine dislike of anything Flemish-related. Hard to tell how widespread this view is, especially when recent reports say things to the contrary and point to supposedly decent relations between the two communities. Crazy, just crazy, but not particularly surprising either. When you hear stories like this, you really do end up despising politicians. Some make a living out of pitting one group against the other, and then sit back and watch whilst their grand vision unfurls in front of their eyes.

Sat 4 Sept - Leuven/Louvain

2010-09-04T22:43:00.000+01:00

Took a trip to the Flemish university city of Leuven today. A very vibrant and lovely place it is too. Beautiful squares, endless array of restaurants and trendy looking cafés and bars. And a general sense of orderliness and elegance. Something I always find when visiting Flanders. God, I've said it before and I'll continue to say it, it really does always feel like being in another country. As far as I'm concerned, it virtually is.

I know it's very hard to compare the two because Wallonia is so much poorer, but not everything is about money. It's an attitude, a culture. Why, for example, is there is so much less dog crap in the north (to return to a favourite topic of mine!)? The choice of shops is also far more impressive. It's like going from the developing to the developed world. I know that probably sounds harsh, but if you can't immediately spot the glaring differences between the two regions in Belgium, you're either blind, not particularly perceptive or just being stubborn. Or probably a Walloon politician.

Had a terrific and rather filling lunch of Coq au van, frites, champers and beer. Felt uncomfortably stuffed for the rest of the day. But, the food was so good I had to eat the lot. A nice, easy day trip, which can be reached in 90mins direct on the train from Mons.

Thurs 2 Sept - The Political Impasse

2010-09-02T22:23:00.000+01:00

The more you learn and read about Belgian politics, the more you realise how utterly dysfunctional it is. The system is bankrupt. Stalled. The country pulled in different directions: the Socialists of Wallonia who want to preserve Belgium as it is: complete with its generous welfare system, overwhelmingly state-funded public services, and a desire to keep Belgium together as one country. Although I'm not sure even they believe they can transfer this north of Brussels in the minds of the Flemish electorate, but they still like to put the case for a united Belgium. And then you have the nationalists of Flanders. Desperate for more and more powers so that Flanders becomes an even more autonomous region. It is argued that they won't yet brazenly shout the case for the separation of the country this instant because they know many in Flanders are still hesistant and uneasy about this, with the South outrightly opposed. But, the long term goal of most parties in Flanders is the end of Belgium.

As far as the Flemish nationalists are concerned, a disproportionate amount of their taxes goes towards funding the work-shy, benefit-happy south, of which roughly 14% are unemployed. Although this figure is actually rather low when compared to some parts of Wallonia where it's not uncommon to find unemployment rates of up to 30% in some towns and cities. I've always been told that in Mons the figure stands at between 25-27%, and remember, Mons is one of the more desirable places in the south.

In comparison, unemployment in Flanders is about half what it is Wallonia. The Walloon politicians will counteract this argument about the south living off the north, by saying that there are more pensioners in the north who require a larger slice of state aid in helping to pay for their pensions. I'm not sure I particularly buy this argument. The pensioners are most likely people who have worked their whole life, paid their taxes, and are therefore entitled to receive their pensions. Spending years on state benefits, whether justified or not, doesn't exactly help the public purse.

In Wallonia, there is a generation of people out of work who remain so because it's far too easy to. But the rebuttal would go something along the lines of: isn't it the job of society as a whole to care for its most vulnerable and needy? For those who are either too sick to work, or unable to find any. And this help is equally available to those in the north. Personally, I'm not sure it's either physically or mentally healthy to be able to shun work so easily, knowing that the state will always come to your aid. Of course state benefits don't last forever, and there are steps taken to get people back into work, but there are also those who will have, valid or not, excuses as to why they can't work, long term.

This is of course without even getting into the lingusitic divide which I've mentioned before: the Dutch-speaking north and the French-speaking south. I still find it confusing as to know whether it's right to say the north speak Dutch or Flemish. Flemish is officially a dialect of Dutch and some people tell me that the two have many differences, whilst others say that they're virtually indistinguishable. I'm going to stick with saying they speak Dutch.

The main reason for the general election back on June 13th centres around strong disagreements over the functions of a Brussels district, Brussels-Halle-Vilvoorde. Like all parts of Brussels, it is officially bilingual. But, the local Flemish authorities want to split it into two, along lingustic lines. They have also started to refuse publishing their own local government material (whether in written pamphlets or on the web) in French. And now some landlords in the Flemish area have refused to allow non-Dutch speakers the right to rent or buy property there. Sounds like discrimination to me. This naturally had an impact on politics at the centre, with the liberal (and Flemish) Open VLD party quitting the coalition government in protest at its inability (for which, read incompetence) to resolve the issue. Merely, a microcosm of something bigger.

And so after Elio Di Rupo, leader of the victorious la Parti Socaliste in the south (and mayor of Mons) and Bart de Wever (what a great name), leader of the Flemish N-VA, a separatist party, and most successful party in the north, emerged as the 'winners' in their respective regions after the general election, they were charged with coming together to form a coalition government, involving several other parties from across the two regions. This was back on June 13th (a great piece in The Economist, from its previous European correspondant, neatly sums up the ramifications of the election result).

And today, after weeks of wrangling, political bidding and supposed compromises, Di Rupo, the man given the (thankless) task of bringing a new government together (they call him Le Préformateur, which I'm told is a term unique to Belgium, presumably meaning 'chief negotiator' or mediator) told the King of Belgium that he had failed in his role and that a new government for Belgium is still a long way off.

Naturally, the Francophone parties blamed the Flemish ones for refusing to agree to their 'generous' terms of compromise, and the Flemish ones in turn responded by saying that the Francophones just don't understand their northern counterparts, both literally and metaphorically, I would guess.

And so, it's now up to two new politicans to try and sort this mess out.

Fri 27 Aug - Sun 29 August: Back to Antwerp

2010-08-28T07:35:00.000+01:00

Spent the weekend in Antwerp with our good friends to celebrate both their birthdays. Our second visit here. Liked the place as much as I did the first time round. Just has that feel of a place that's comfortable and satisfied with itself. And so it should be. Whenever I see somewhere new I always like to ask myself: "would I be happy living here?" And, for Antwerp, I certainly would. We took our friends out to the same Indian we'd been to last time. Not quite the standard of curry you'd get in England, but still pretty damn good. Although god knows what they'd done to the onion bhajis. They'd been coloured light red and flattened. Tasted nothing like a bhaji. For a start, there was no crunch factor as you bit into them.

So, 2 visits to Ghent, 2 to Antwerp. And the winner is...Ghent! I like my cities pretty do I, without being prissy. Ghent is just a lot tidier, but not overly so, and better laid out. But, it is a lot smaller than Antwerp. I'm sure I'll be back to both a couple more times yet.

Mon 16 August

2010-08-16T08:09:00.000+01:00

"Day 64 in the 'Mess' that is Belgian Politics and still no government." I wouldn't worry though. The last coalition government only took 284 days to form so there's plenty of time left!

Tues 10 August

2010-08-11T07:56:00.000+01:00

As mentioned previously, the place I travel to twice a week because of teaching (Jemeppe-Sur-Sambre) has a rather bare and run down train station. When catching the train home, I'm usually the only person on my side of the platform heading back towards Mons. I'd always wondered what would happen if there were any long delays as there is no electronic information board, and a ticket office which never appears to open. However, recently, someone somewhere, has been starting to make train announcements. I therefore feel in the rather privileged position of seemingly having the announcements made solely for my benefit. Now, if I could track down the person who was making them, maybe they could start personalising the announcements: "Salut Ben. Ça va? Donc, ton train est à l'heure. Super, eh? Bonne journée et à jeudi, Ben!" That would be nice wouldn't it?

Thurs 5 Aug - 9 Months in Belgium

2010-08-06T01:10:00.000+01:00

And so, a round up of how things have been in Belgium, 9 months on.

As back in February, I can proudly say that I'm still thoroughly enjoying my time in Mons. I've now experienced the famous 'Doudou,' and well and truly had my fill of coffee sur La Grand Place during the glorious Spring and early Summer weeks we've had. Everything really does look and feel better when the sun comes out and you finally stop shivvering for another few months.

The Grand Place looks wonderful when it's packed (not uncommon this during the working week here!), and even better at night when lit up and people are out late for dinner or just out for a drink and dessert. It is worth saying that without the Grand Place my experience of Mons wouldn't be nearly as good. It really is the focal point; its pièce de résistance. Without it, the city would have few redeeming features. But, it does and it makes me and thousands of other locals and honorary locals very happy indeed.

And so, to revist my 3 themes from 6 months ago: language, work and general society.

Language:
My French continues to improve. A lot better than it was 6 months ago, and unrecognisable from the day I arrived. The language paranoia thing ("I'm sure they're all talking about me") is way behind me now. I've even given directions to people in the street. Why oh why do people still persist in asking me for directions? I'm useless trying to give them in English, let alone French.

I'm at the stage now where I can go out with a local for coffee and spend 1 or 2 hours chatting in French, and able to understand a good two-thirds of what is said to me. Maybe sometimes half on a bad day. I still have to concentrate incredibly hard and after an hour or so I feel exhausted, but it's invaluable practice, and has always been, in my mind, the best way I was going to make real progress. I've so far shied away from the chance to have structured French lessons in favour of basically teaching myself, whether that be via one-to-one chats with Belgians (who have since become friends), watching a bit of anything on TV, or even a whole film, clips from the internet, to reading the Metro, which has been and remains a godsend in widening my vocab.

Watching TV or listening to the radio is a fascinating exercise. I've got to the stage now where I can recognise the words but it takes me a while to convert these words into sentences. It's almost as if my brain is lagging behind. I have a jigsaw of jumbled up words in my head but I need to be able to put them together, in the right order, quick enough to form whole sentences. And by the time I manage this the conversation will be 4 of 5 sentences ahead of me and I've missed out chunks. It's a very different, and harder, experience to chatting to someone, and I'm reassuringly informed by my wife that it's the one area she struggled with in her year living in Madrid, even though her Spanish was virtually fluent at the time.

There are also the occasions when I'm not having a relaxed chat with someone over a coffee, but have to for whatever reason chat with strangers. This is when my French really gets tested. Often I will have to say 'pardon' because they've either just spoken too quickly or I just want to double-check that I've heard what I think I've heard. I often end up feeling hurried and flap a little and give a mumbled and confused response. I know what I want to say but it just takes a while to say it. And then once the exchange is over I curse myself for not saying what I know I can and should have said. Speaking under pressure is a great barometer of progress in my eyes.

French for me is still something that requires a lot of effort and concentration. But, it brings me a lot of pleasure. In fact, I love it. Nothing quite beats the satisfaction of being able to understand another language. There is always the temptation to ask people to slow down when they speak, but this just isn't realistic or how life works. And in not doing so, the satisfaction of understanding is that much greater. I have a feeling that eventually my understanding will soon be better than my spoken French. I'm still making loads of grammatical errors and running out of the necessary vocab when I speak. When you hear it, you're hearing it without these problems. Or so you think!

The next part is to work even harder on my pronunciation. I used to think my French accent was quite good, but again, speak under pressure and it goes to pot. And it really is key to whether people can understand you. The thing that really distinguishes the natives from everyone else are the little flourishes, what I'd call the decorations, the extra bit, that gets added to the end of their sentences. Often the intonation of their voice goes up as at the end, a little bit like the way Australians, or every teenager, now sounds, but far less irritating.

Work:
Ah yes, work. What does one do when one isn't drinking endless cups of coffee and people watching all day? Well, I'm still working as a freelance English teacher. I see a few students for one-to-one classes twice a week at the same company I've been going to since mid-March. It's been decent, regular work. Not nearly enough for what I want but at least I've been able to do something.

I've also started to take on a few other students who work nearby and hope that there'll be more to come once new enrolments begin for language courses in September. A few months ago I also placed an advert on a handful of Belgian websites that a friend had told me about. I've had a fairly decent response but trying to get hold of people again once they've sent you a speculative email asking about your qualifications and availability has proved rather elusive. I've become rather accustomed to Belgians and their wonderful unreliability. I must have replied to over 20 people via email or phone call and only one person ever got back to me. To say that he'd now found another teacher.

Still, as things stand I've actually got my first couple of students coming to see me next week, thanks to these websites. There is hope yet!

The working in Politics in Brussels option, the thing I really want to be doing, seems a long way off. I soon discovered that even trying to get an internship is nigh on impossible. There seem to be well over a hundred applicants for every post, no matter how dull. Trying to get anywhere near the offices of the European Commission is another herculean task. Open applications take place once a year, where I'm told this year, over 45,000 people applied for only 100odd posts. This is a process which involves submitting your application form then, if successful, sitting 4 tests in things such as numeracy and verbal reasoning (all to be done in your second language), then more interviews, group exercises etc. etc. Nope, I didn't bother applying. The language barrier has been far more of a problem than I was lead to believe. 'Oh you're a native English speaker. Everyone's desperate for native speakers.' Nonsense. Speaking English and French fluently is a must, with German and sometimes Dutch also required. I blame the British education system. "No, who needs to bother learning another language. Let's no longer make languages compulsory in our schools." (The Labour Government, 2004).

I've met various contacts for advice on other work, such as working for think-tanks and NGOs, but nothing has come of it. Without a network of contacts and someone in the know it really is extremely difficult. Still, I really am not that bothered anymore. I enjoy my teaching, a lot. I get to meet people which I love doing. I have a laugh with my students. I teach them English, they teach me the odd bit of French. Everyone's happy!

General Society:
There's not much more to add to what I've already said about living in Mons. The pace of life here... hang on! There is no pace of life here. It's all done at a very gentle stroll. No one's in a rush, people say bonjour to you in the street, customer service is excellent. It's a very easy life here. Well, easy for an outsider. Probably not that easy for the 27% of people who are unemployed. Although the rather generous state handouts must certainly ease the pain.

I think there's a general politeness and civility about Belgians in general. Even the hoodies, and people we'd definitely signal out as chavs, are courteous and respectful. The trips back home only emphasise the difference between how we speak to each other in England and here. I've always wondered whether the fact they have two words for you, 'tu' and 'vous,' depending on who you speak to, serves to accentuate this respect for one another. Strangers, speaking to someone older than you who is not a friend or family member, anyone in authority, will all be spoken to using the 'vous' form. Everyone is greeted with a 'sir' or 'madam' in shops or restaurants or anywhere you go. I guess in England we've settled on the informal 'guys' which is used when addressing pretty much anyone, and which I just hate.

When going out for a meal, I'll usually settle for steak frites. Have what they do best. Their desserts are divine wherever you go and the beers the best I've ever had. Yup, the things they're famous for are worth their fame.

I'm even starting to get used to the price of everything. I'll still never get over paying to use the toilet in so many public places but then if I did I'd have nothing to moan about. And that wouldn't be very English would it?

Wed 4 August - 9 Months

2010-08-05T03:40:00.000+01:00

Just got back from a week in England to see family. And back in time to celebrate 9 months of living in Belgium. I already did a summary of my time here at the 3 month stage, and will briefly return to some of these points to see how things have changed 6 months on. But before then, I think it's time I wrote about the things I've missed and still miss from back home since living out here (excluding the obvious, such as friends and family.).

I think it's probably fair to say that my life isn't exactly poorer for not having these things, and not having them (for the most part) hasn't in any way made me unhappy. Nevertheless, I'd rather I had them in my life than not. Some of these are rather trivial things, others less so. The list below is not in any particular order.

1. BBC Radio 5 Live.
Now I know I can listen to it online, and sometimes I do (although rarely), but it's just not the same as having it on my radio. I love this station. It's always on when I'm home, even in the background when I'm not particularly paying any attention to it. But, in particular, I miss the live sports coverage, notably the football. Due to certain rights issues, whenever live sport is broadcast on 5Live, its online coverage (outside the UK) cuts out and replays old shows instead.

I followed virtually the whole of last season's football through the BBC's online text commentary, as well as via the reports in the papers online. Now, as I support Bristol City, there would be very few, if any, instances of their matches being broadcast on 5Live. But, I still take an interest in the Premiership and have always loved 5Live Sport on a Saturday afternoon. I grew up listening to it and it's usually on to this day almost every Saturday during the season. The same goes for the midweek games.

2. My digital radio.
Completely redundant in Begium. Unless you enjoy round the clock coverage of the Tour de France and the goings on of the Belgian football Championship. I don't. Almost as bad as having to cope with Scottish football.

Again, I could listen to various digital stations online, but it's just not the same for me. I'm a traditionalist (okay, some would say philistine). Having a laptop has obviously made it easier, but I still prefer to listen to the radio, on the radio. For a start, it's far louder! And I think the sound's better too.

Luckily, I own a very old radio which was given to me by my uncle on my 10th or 11th birthday, I think. And it has longwave. This means I still get to listen to my other radio love: Radio 4. And it really has made a huge difference to me. Not only do I get my morning fill of the Today programme, but I still get to listen to all of my other favourite shows (You and Yours, Start the Week, The Culture Show etc...). And of course, Test Match Special. Where on earth would I be without Aggers and Co. and the live commentary and banter of Test Cricket?

3. The Sunday Times
I love Sundays in the UK. I love the tradition of millions of people buying their Sunday paper and settling down over breakfast or brunch, or when out in cafés or parks, and rifling through (or binning) the endless (useless) supplements, the news that often sets the agenda for the week ahead, the TV guide (where we can moan at there still being nothing worth watching on TV). Now I know I shouldn't really buy The Sunday Times, being a Murdoch paper and all, and me being a bit of a Lefty, but I do, and I like it.

You can buy your Sundays over here, but in Brussels not Mons. And without the glossy supplements. Not the same. C can't be doing without her Style section! In fact, half the paper is missing. You would have thought that considering there must be well over a million Britons living in Europe, they would publish it in full in various capital cities.

Again, reading it all online just isn't the same. Reading the free guide to the forthcoming season online isn't quite as good as having it all in your hands.

4. Breakfast Cereals
That don't cost 2 or 3 times as much for half of what you get. No, I'm not bitter (still).

5. Walkers Crisps
They're obsessed with paprika flavoured crisps. Now, I don't mind them, but give me a bag of Salt 'n' Vinegar or Cheese and Onion any day of the week. They don't do the same flavours. Ketchup or Bolognaise flavour??

6. Corner Shops
They have similar type shops, but I've yet to find one when you can buy your paper, crisps, milk, chocolate bars in the same place. Often, these kind of shops are also found towards the town centre amongst the other shops, rather than isolated in the middle of residential streets. They also have ones with mini-deli counters. Far too posh for a corner shop.

7. Curry
Probably in my top 3 of things I miss the most. God, how much do I love my curry? Rather a lot is the answer. There's nothing like being a Brit abroad and becoming a complete curry snob. They just don't do curry the way it's done in its home country! Has no one told these people that a Chicken Bhuna should cost between £4-£7? Not €15-€20. And samosas and bhajis are snacks that cost about £2.50, not €10.

Add to this, the Thali cafés in Bristol that serve superb vegetarian curries, or Masala Zone in London. Both adhere to the idea that curries need not always be heavy and unhealthy. They serve their curries on large metal trays which are divided into several small sections. Each section contains a different kind of curry (meat and/or vegetarian), as well as the rice, naans and chutneys. I'm salivating just writing this.

8. Vegetarian Options in Restaurants
What is it with mainland Europe and its aversion to all things vegetarian? They seem to confuse vegetarian with vegetables/anything's that's green. "You want vegetarian? Of course, here's a plate of cold carrots and green beans." A starter I had when we first moved here.

It's all just meat, meat and more meat. Basically, when you go out for a meal in Belgium, you order steak. Order anything else and you're just asking for trouble.

9. Bristol City
I know, number 9, but if this list was in order, it'd be number 1. Listening to the matches online doesn't come close to watching this shower up close. Yes, we lose more than we win. Yes, we have no creativity in midfield whatsoever, and no clue in attack, and we're unlikely ever to reach the Promised Land of egos, bling and overpaid wankers. But, you just can't beat an away trip to Plymouth on a wet, wet, night in January. It's just so frustrating, and quite upsetting, to be following the mighty Robins from afar. If we return to Bristol in 15 or 27 months time, renewing my season ticket will be one of the first things I do. That and finding a job of course!

10. General chit chat
My French is certainly a lot better than it was 9 months ago, but still not good enough to be able to engage in general lighthearted conversation, be it with strangers waiting for a bus, in a queue at a supermarket, or even waiters in a restaurant. So much of British culture revolves around witty banter, having a good ol' moan with your fellow Brit, making the odd sarcastic remark about the state of our public services. Basically, almost everything can be and is made into a joke in Britain. Note to foreigners: understand this, and you'll understand what it means to be British. For further reading, please see: "Watching the English," by Kate Fox. Bit wordy, a bit academic, but great fun and deadly accurate.

The other day, we were round some Belgian friends' flat for the evening and the guy made a joke (in French of course) which went completely over my head. I interpreted what he'd said so literally, rather than seeing his comment it for what it was, a joke. When I'm listening to French, I'm concentrating so hard that any comedy will always be lost on me.

11. The City of Bristol
A wonderful, beautiful, trendy, city. It took a while, but Bristol now feels like home to me.

12. Supermarkets
Just generally prefer the things they stock in England. Much more variety. And (of course) at reasonable prices.

13. Bargains/cheap things in general
Yup, back to money again. Belgians wouldn't know a bargain, a 2 for 1, if it landed on their moules frites. I'm sorry, but things are just so much cheaper in the UK.

14. The Pound
Which I guess links in to my next point. There's nothing quite like living in mainland Europe (I always keep wanting to just say Europe, conveniently, or not, neglecting to realise that Britain is in fact also in Europe. Damn our eurosceptism) and using the Euro to make you support the keeping of the Pound. Probably forever. Before we came out, I was all for joining the Euro. Now, after seeing how much everything costs, forget it.

15. The Smoking Ban
Possibly the finest piece of legislation to be passed in the last 100 years. Maybe. They like a smoke do the Belgians. Fortunately, it's not allowed in places that serve food, but everywhere else is fine. Including train stations (nothing quite beats the waft of cigarette smoke at 8 in the morning), and hairdressers. Yes, my barber likes a fag before cutting my hair. Lovely.

16. The English
I like the English. We're a damn fine bunch in my opinion. Bit too introverted and ever so slightly aggressive when we drink for my liking, but still a great people.

17. Fish 'n' Chips
Farrows, on the Wells Road in Bristol. The best place I've ever had fish and chips.

I think in general I like the variety of food you find in British restaurants, pubs, cafés. There is usually something for most. We do choice very well. Here, you want variety, go to a Moroccan, or a Chinese restaurant. Somewhere 'foreign.' They don't mix and match. I think Britain has been great at adopting the foods of immigrants and making them staples in our everyday diets.

That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure there are plenty of others which I will add as and when I can think of them.

I guess, in the name of fairness, very briefly:
Things I don't miss about England:
Gastropubs, price of public transport, British TV (not that I watched much of it), yobs on Friday and Saturday nights making Bristol city centre a not particularly nice place to be, general lack of respect/civility to our fellow man/woman, lack of places to sit outside and drink coffee (cafés on the side of main roads don't count), and the lack of beautiful squares in which to do it, customer (mis)service.

I'll end it there for fear of this being a grumpy old man post, and that's not my main purpose.

So, there you have it. As this has been a pretty long entry, I'll save my summary of how things have been in Begium, 9 months on, for later in the week.

Sun 11 July - The World Cup, Hooting and an Identity Crisis

2010-07-12T01:05:00.000+01:00

For the past 4 weeks, since the World Cup began, we've been occasionally treated to the sound of various car drivers racing round and round the outer Mons ringroad, hooting their horns and waving their flags in celebration of their respective teams' victories. This has only really been noticeable when there have been victories for Spain, Germany, and to a lesser extent, the Netherlands. In particular, Spain. After each and every victory, always seeming to come around 10.30 at night, hordes of Spain supporters (I won't call them Spaniards. Will explain why in a bit) get in their cars within minutes of the full time whistle and seem to take great pleasure in driving around and honking their horns for a good hour. Or until the whole of Mons has got the message.

As Spain progressed further and further in the tournament, the hooting has got louder as the number of Spain supporters has increased. It's almost as if they've been picking people up on the way. What's been bizarre has been trying to work out why there has been such strong support for the Spanish team. There are Spaniards in Mons, thanks to the presence of a certain international military organisation here, but many live outside the city. I've also never heard a single Spanish voice in all the time I've been living here.

What's even more puzzling is that it's actually Italy who would understandibly be getting a huge amount of support from Les Montois, due in small part to the fact that about 41% of foreigners who live in Mons are of Italian origin, as a result of the steady influx who were invited to come after the war to find work in Wallonia's booming coal industry. Unfortunately for them, Italy fared even worse in the World Cup than England. No mean feat.

Instead, it seems that the residents of Mons have adpoted Spain as their 'home nation.' This was no more evident than in tonight's final against the Netherlands. We went to the Grand Place to watch the final on the many (small) screens that had been erected outside several restaurants/bars. There were hundreds and hundreds of people there, crowded around the screens, decked out in Spanish football tops and draped in Spanish flags. Almost everyone was wearing something in the colours of Spain.

And then you move around from vantage point to vantage point, and continue listening, and quickly realise that you can't hear a single Spanish voice. Not even someone speaking English with a Spanish accent. Everyone was a French speaker, probably from Mons. I've asked a few people to try and explain the reasons for this. A Belgian friend who also lives in Mons told me that she thinks it might be partly down to the fact that thousands of Belgians flock to the Spanish coast every summer and therefore have a real affinity with the country. Or it might also do with the fact that Belgium failed to qualify for this tournament and the locals have decided to pick someone else to follow. Admittedly, the rise in support seems to have been based solely on the good fortunes of the team. Hardly genuine fans eh?

But, another explanation (from my good wife, C), and one that I find the most plausible, if only because it's a rather political and ever so slightly controversial slant, is that it's no surprise to find, in a country that suffers from an identity problem (to say the least), so many people more than happy to throw their weight behind another nation. And not just half-hearted support, but deep and fervent support. When Spain scored and eventually won, you could be forgiven for thinking you were actually in Spain.

I found this slightly bizarre, a little irritating (how the hell can you cheer on another nation??) but also poignant at the same time. Especially as Spain itself is hardly a country basking in national unity. This kind of thing just would not happen in England. You'd never get a huge number of English people getting behind another team and cheering them on with such passion. And we also have an identity problem of sorts!

The behaviour of the locals during the World Cup does also perhaps back up what C has started to believe about the character and people of Mons. At first, I always used to think, naturally, I was in France. But, the more you observe, the more people you speak to, the more you realise that Les Montois remind you more of the Spanish than the French. Of course, it is worth stating that Belgium used to be ruled by the Spanish in the sixteeth century. Although I'm sure that that no longer has too much of an influence on its present inhabitants!

The number of festivals in the region echoes the Spanish love for them. Like the Spanish, the Walloons like to party. They also seem to take great pride in being as loud as possible when celebrating big occasions, such as a wedding, or a hen/stag do (where they ritually humiliate the future bride or groom in public by making them dress up in the most outrageous costumes possible. In the case of the men, some are forced to sit down whilst their 'friends' hurl food and other things at them.). The hooting of the horns takes place after a wedding as a convoy of cars drives through the centre. I guess, (without wanting to fall into generalisations, but hey it's necessary for my argument to stand up!) the unreliability we've found with many people, and the 'manana' attitude to most things could also be factors. Who knows. Just loose theories for now.

Fri 9 July - Sun 11 July: Ghent Revisited

2010-07-09T18:59:00.000+01:00

Second trip to Ghent. Love the city even more this time around. I'm now desperate to go back to Antwerp as I have to decide which one I prefer. "Why can't you just really like both?", C wonders. Like both? Yes, I do, very much, but there must be a favourite. One I can proudly proclaim to be the best city in Belgium. It's in my DNA to have a best (and worst) of everything!

But yes, Ghent was wonderful again. We had 30 degree plus weather the whole weekend (save for the Saturday evening thunderstorm) so sweated and baked, rather than be forced to make the most of the 2 hour window of measly sunshine we had back in December. At night it looks magical, with all the buildings lit up and seen again through their reflections in the canals. Wherever you are you always seem to be able to hear the sounds of the bells of the tram. Ah, the tram. The presence of a tram system most certainly makes it into my 'civilised society' list.

Spent our first night here getting slowly, but unintentionally, sozzled at a gay bar. We had no idea what kind of bar it was until we went in, but were attracted to it by the tiny balcony it had which overlooked the canal. We were on the opposite side of the canal when we noticed a couple leaving and quickly dashed across to grab the free table. There were only 2 tables on the balcony, such was its size. The disco music that they played all night was naturally camp and dreadful. And not even in an ironic way.

Part of our visit here was to attend the Saturday night at the jazz festival which I'd mentioned last year. Unfortunately it turned out to be a distinctly underwhelming evening. The site with which it is held was much smaller than I had expected, but actually nice and compact. There were large marquee/gazebo type things dotted all around the site, which was handy considering it decided to bucket it down for most of the evening.

It cost €30 each for a ticket in advance, but that didn't stop the organisers charging you 50 cents everytime you wanted to use the toilet. I know, I know, I could moan about this all day and night, but it really does piss me off. A lot. It happens all over the country and people obviously think it's okay to have to pay to use the loo, whether it be at a bar, outdoor event, sometimes a restaurant. Just crazy. Charging to use the loo, anywhere, should be illegal. So that annoyed me right from the word go. The food was also overpriced, tasteless garbage. Had the worst, and most bland Thai chicken curry I have ever tasted.

There were 3 acts on over the course of the evening. Each given about an hour and a quarter. The first was not my kind of jazz at all. Too much showboating for my liking. No idea what kind of jazz they call it. 'Nu-jazz??' I guess I'm used to seeing very traditional, let me see either a saxophone or trumpet but preferably both on stage, and not forgetting that sultry female singer, kind of jazz. The second act were a lot better, especially when they were playing their up-tempo stuff. The female Japanese pianist, with the cool name of Hiroma, was superb and strange at the same time.

I mean, all of the most talented folk have something odd about them don't they?
What is it with jazz musicians and the faces they pull when they're performing? I guess they're just feeling and being at one with the music, and all that.

We didn't bother staying for the final, and main, act. We thought we'd take advantage of the fact that it had finally stopped raining and head back to our B&B, but not before we had taken another stroll along the canals, pausing every so often to admire the diners and drinkers who looked rather splendid as they sat outside one of the dozens of restaurants, on candle lit tables, looking at us, looking at them.

Quick correction from my comment about Ghent last time. The menus can be in English, and many are. They do not have to only be in Dutch. And they still haven't finished rebuilding their main city squares. Something that doesn't need correcting: the women are still ravishingly beautiful, elegant and stylish.

Sat 3 July - Oostende/Ostend

2010-07-03T17:37:00.000+01:00

Took a trip with friends to the Belgian seaside today, Ostend, in Flanders. We managed to have picked the only day in the last few weeks when it was overcast and then wet by the afternoon. Still, I'm not sure Ostend would look any better in the sun. God, it's ugly. Reminded me of a tacky, run down resort in England. The buildings on the promenade were tall and imposing and clearly designed at the height of Communist fashion (possibly the biggest oxymoron in history?). The shops around them sold the kind of tat you expect to see at the seaside. The beach itself is enormous but not particularly beautiful. Functional more than inviting. Does the job it was meant to. The sea was really warm though which was nice. Well, warm in comparison to the sea on the Isles of Scilly.

Before we left Bristol and moved to Belgium, and after years of saying we must go there, we finally succumbed and visited its nearest seaside resort: Weston Super-Mare. Ostend had a bit of a resemblence to Weston in my view. Couldn't see any crazy golf though. Or any Bristol City tops.

Fri 25 June - Tax Office

2010-06-25T17:25:00.000+01:00

Been away the last week and a bit. To get married. But anyway, today was the day I'd earmarked for going along to the tax office, merely a few hundred yards from where I live, with my end of year tax return form to ask for advice. Preferably for them to fill it in for me. The Belgian tax year runs from January to December and everyone has until 30 June of the following year to submit their forms.

I was clearly not the only one in need of help. There were already about 50 odd people queuing outside at 9am. Everyone clutching hold of their forms. I assumed this was the queue I wanted to be in so I joined it and listened in on peoples' conversations so see how much French I could understand. Apparently, the forms this year have been the hardest yet to complete. Few people could understand them. Their family couldn't even help them with it. They had no choice but to come to the tax office. "Bof, what else am I meant to do on a Friday morning? Work? Please!"

I eventually got to the entrance to be given a ticket like everyone else. I asked the young guy handing them out if anyone spoke English inside as this kind of thing was far too technical to manage at my level of French. Yes, of course he said. Absolutely. Of course there wasn't.

I followed some people who (seemed to) know what they were doing up some stairs, to be greeted by another queue. Once I got to the front, a woman took my form, took out all of the additional sections from it, the how to fill in your form bit, binned them and told me sit and wait outside one of the offices. This procedure was done for everyone.

I quickly learnt that the tickets did in no way correspond to an order for who is to be seen when. It really was a free for all. So, it was a question of let the people I thought were in front of me go in first, then follow them afterwards. When it was eventually my turn (probably) I looked around me, got a couple of nods of approval, which I took as my lead to go in, and entered an office with two people, one of whom was playing patience on his computer.

After waiting for a few minutes a woman came and spoke to me and after realising that I was in Belgium working as an independent/freelancer, told me I was in the wrong office and directed me to another one. Luckily, there was only one person in front of me so it was easy to work out who was next. Even for Belgians. Over the last couple of months I've been mentally compiling a list of things that I believe are imperative as part of a 'civilised society.' Queuing, British-style, is definitely one of them. The Belgians struggle with this.

My chat with the very friendly and smiley woman in the tax office lasted a matter of minutes. She quickly worked out that I had been posted the wrong form all those many weeks ago, saw the invoices I had received for the very little work I actually did in Belgium in 2009, filled in the correct form for me on her computer, and I was on my way. Easy. They may not be able to queue, but they're a damn friendly and helpful bunch these Walloons.

Thurs 10 June

2010-06-10T23:45:00.000+01:00

The radio stations keep playing an advert promoting the fact that Prince is coming to Belgium sometime this year. In the background you hear segments of various Prince tracks, one of them being 'Sexy MF.' Except, they're not playing the radio edited version, but the full album one with swear word intact. Brilliant. I wonder if English swear words really have the same shock value in the French-speaking part of the world, though? I know I can say the few French swear words I know and not think they have much impact because they don't really mean much to me.

The Metro's main story today leads with a study by a Belgian academic that an independent Flanders is unrealistic. In his analysis, Vincent Laborderie explored three possible scenarios leading to independence: an armed conflict (highly, highly unlikely. In fact, so unlikely, god knows why he wasted his time even entertaining such a prospect.), an amicable separation, or a unilateral declaration of independence.

The second scenario is also dismissed because Loborderie doesn't believe it would ever be sanctioned by Brussels. It would also saddle Wallonia with enormous debt, which it would never be able to pay off. Therefore, Wallonia is never likely to agree to it. The third option is also ruled out as it would be strongly opposed by many EU states, pointing to the example of Kosovo. In other words, many member states would fail to recognise Flanders as a state in its own right. And without much international support, Flanders' dynamic and open economy would suffer.

He ends by saying that the majority of Flemish people are also opposed to independence. I'd like to see other studies and surveys to see if this can be backed up. I'm not so sure. The impression I get from what I've read and seen is that a rather large number of Flemish people favour separation. Who knows. More will be revealed after this Sunday's general election, especially if Vlaams Belang, the Flemish separatists, win a significant proportion of the vote at the polls.

By the way, the Belgian political system is as complicated and baffling as it gets and will be explained another time. When I've fully understood it myself. Just to note, the populations of Wallonia and Flanders have their own parliaments and so vote for completely different parties. And they still maintain they're one country!

Thurs 3 June - Drunk Man in Subway...Almost.

2010-06-03T23:05:00.000+01:00

We were both looking out of the kitchen window and having a good laugh at a very drunk man on the other side of the ringroad, stumbling and falling all over the place. But, when he then tripped, and fell down the stairs leading to the subway I knew this wasn't good. My vivid imagination and knowledge of this kind of thing, coming only from watching various TV programmes, meant that I now associate falling down the stairs with being something potentially fatal. Well, it often is in the movies, anyway. Man and woman have argument at the top of stairs. Man grabs woman's arm, woman loses her balance, falls, and dies.

We both raced out of the house and across the road to see if he was okay. Or dead. He had actually only, miraculously, fallen down the first four stairs and was still breathing. He was clearly absolutely plastered. He had also, impressively, managed to prostrate himself on his front, spread across all four steps, so that he had his feet, legs and arms all on different steps. The kind of thing that you'd probably fail to recreate when you're sober. He was face down, and barely moving. His huge nose looked like it had the texture of plasticine and was squished against a step. It didn't looked like it was broken. In fact, I couldn't see any blood or scratches on him at all.

I gave him a good shake and slapped his back a few times but he didn't stir. C meanwhile tried getting help from the neighbours but nobody appeared to be in. Instead, she then flagged down a car and asked for help from a young couple. All done in French of course, but she said her French somewhat failed her at this time of emergency. What she said translated as something like this: "Please. There is a problem with a man. In tunnel. Over there. He is fallen down. Can you call an ambulance?"

Within 10mins an ambulance and another car had arrived and 5 people were helping to pick him up and load him in. He didn't really seem to know what had happened and just kept repeating the words "je suis tombé." Yup, you certainly did. Before they left, I made sure the crew didn't forget the crucial accessory that had fallen out of his pocket: his packet of fags.

And so, conclusive proof that we have what language experts would call 'survival French.'

Le Doudou: Fri 28 May - Sun 30 May

2010-05-28T16:41:00.000+01:00

Actually, it officially lasts 8 days, but all the good stuff happens on the first 3. Bit like Passover. The 661st Doudou came to Mons this weekend, and with it the city's population virtually doubles in size (from around 91,000 at present). This festival, or carnival, orginated in 1349 as a way of helping the local Montois fight off the plague. The procession, which forms an integral part of the festival, was said to have been successful in banishing the plague from the city, and hence thanks to this it continues today.

As part of the Doudou, the Friday night traditionally sees a free concert in the Grand Place, the Saturday is a day of drinking, eating, dancing, and the torch procession, and the Sunday (the most important day) is the procession of St Waltrude's shrine (she being the patron saint of the city), through the centre of the city, followed by the reenactment of the slaying of the dragon by St George. This St George figure seems to find himself as a lot of people's saviour.

It's one of the most well known and revered festivals in Belgium. Well, in Wallonia anyway. My first sight of 'doudou fever,' was the steady flow of cars into the city, gradually occupying any bit of pavement, road or grassy-bank they could find in which to park. I was certainly taken aback when I also saw several portable urinals lining many streets. I never in a million years thought I'd see those same, nasty, grey things in Mons, of all places. The last time I saw them was almost 7 months ago. On a Friday night in Bristol.

Apparently, Mons does turn in to one big public toilet over this weekend. Indeed, I can vouch for this. The walk around the centre on the Monday morning, a very warm Monday morning, wasn't pleasant: stale beer and sticky floors galore. The stench you'd associate with that of a music festival.

So, I wandered around Mons on the Friday afternoon to get a feel for what was going on. Lots of the bars, restaurants and cafés had erected their own mini-gazebos outside their premises. Many had hired their own DJs, some preferred to stick huge speakers outside with dance music playing. Almost every gazebo came complete with a food and drinks stool, selling anything from the usual pommes frites, to burgers, noodles or filled baguettes.

The restaurants and cafés that live in the Grand Place had put out special long benches in place of their usual tables and chairs. By early evening, the party spirit was up and running. Indeed, by mid-evening, as me and C tried to make our way to the centre to see the concert, it took us almost 40mins to walk somewhere that would normally take only 5. Almost every street off the main square was completely rammed with revellers.

The concert itself was bizarre to say the least. Rather than the DJ I thought we were getting, we had to make do with an old Belgian act (with an old codger for a frontman) from the 80s. Needless to say, we had never heard of them, and yes, they were pants. Making our way back home involved avoiding the steady flow (I kid you not) of piss that trickled down many of the side streets. But, as outdoor parties go, this one was great! Just a lot of people drinking a lot of alcohol, dancing, and enjoying themselves. And not the hint of aggression, or sinister atmosphere, that you'd expect to see and feel had this festival been going on in England at this time of day.

Saturday pretty much continued in this vein, complete with dodging the rather heavy downpours that fell in the afternoon. During the day, a service is held in the cathedral to mark the point at which St Waltrude's shrine is taken down from its altar, ready for the main procession the next day. To mark this occasion, in the evening a torch procession, starting from the train station, is lead through the city. We caught up with it once it had made its way out of the Grand Place. Following on behind the torches are various large groups of men (many topless) who run manically, stop for a moment, and then continue running like mad. I have no idea why this happens but it just does. With the aid of a local Belgian we know, we also had various local chants translated to us. One of them amusingly being directed at the outgoing PM: "Yves Leterme, enculé," which means something very rude indeed. Good to see even a festival can't bridge the north/south divide.

Sunday morning was an early start. Up and out by 9, round to our friends' flat for tea, croissants and cakes, where because of the great vantage point of their flat, we were able to look from their window and see a stage of the procession of St Waltrude's shrine below us. The shrine is the last thing to appear. Before this, there are various groups of people of all ages dressed in medieval frocks who slowly walk through the city, accompanied by music and applause from the crowds who line the streets. We even caught a glimpse of St George himself.

The next phase of the day is the horse and carriage, carrying the shrine, being pushed up the very steep hill adjacent to the cathedral, by several dozen men and women. This is supposed to be done seemlessly and in one go. If the carriage fails to be pushed up the hill, a great misfortune is supposed to fall on the people of Mons. And of course, legend has it that they failed this task in 1914 and 1940. And apparently in 1803 as well, so I read. Luckily for us, they succeeded!

All this time, the dragon waits patiently, perched up against the wall of the cathedral. Not the fiercest-looking dragon you've even seen it has to be said. In fact, quite lame looking. It looked like something that had been put together by a year 7 art class.

At this point, the dragon is then carried aloft and marched towards the Grand Place, with hundreds of people in tow. I decided to join the throng but could only get as far as the edge of the Grand Place, such was the size of the crowd. The square is literally heaving with tens of thousands of people, all waiting for the duel, or the lumeçon: St George, complete with weapons, 3 different guns, versus the papier-mâché dragon! You can barely see a thing, although there is a big screen for those with 20-20 vision.

The fight takes place in a specially constructed ring with a huge sand pit in the middle. On the perimeter, hundreds and hundreds of men wait, expectantly, ready to do their best in attempting to grab some (horse's) hair which forms part of the dragon's tail. The latter is then held in the air, slowly walked around the ring, and every now and again dangled above the heads of the group of topless, sweaty, men. They then fight, charge, wrestle, and do all they can to get hold of a hair from the dragon's tail which is meant to bring good luck.

This goes on for about 30mins and looks rather crazy to be honest. Inevitably, the dragon gets his comeuppance and is slayed/shot by St George, who succeeds after using his 3rd pistol, the other two traditionally failing to work.

Once this is over, the ring is left to the public to trawl through the sand, and disgarded garments of clothing (I saw t-shirts, socks, shoes), and find a hair for themselves. The rest of the day continues much as the previous two: more singing and dancing, and lots of drinking and eating.

It really was a wonderful experience. I had no idea really what to expect, but I enjoyed every minute of it. I love the way that many of the streets off the Grand Place turn into mini-discos, so you may have about a dozen different sounds coming from one street, with different groups gathered around their own gazebo. Now that I've seen it and know what to expect, I'll treat next year's doudou more as a local, and less as a tourist.

Thurs 27 May - Train Strike(ish)

2010-05-27T20:20:00.000+01:00

Got caught up in an impromptu train strike on my way back from work this afternoon. Had heard mutterings from people as they got on at various stops and managed to work out that the train was terminating at Châtelet, still 40mins short of Mons. This was confirmed by the train manager who reassured us all that a bus would be waiting there, ready to take everyone onto Charleroi, the next stop. He lied. There was no bus. Or any intention of there being a bus.

I listened in on a conversation between someone and the guy working at the station's ticket office. La grève. Strike. Train drivers and staff had staged an unannounced strike, which had started over an hour ago. No one knew why, or for how long. The ticket office worker just greeted every enquiry with that great, stereotypical gallic shrug. The face, the eyebrows, all go up, the shoulders too, and the bottom lip sticks out. It means: "who knows." But, it could also mean: "I don't know, I don't really care, now leave me alone."

I ended up chatting to a couple of people at the station, asking them whether they had any idea how long these things last, and what I should do. They told me just to stay put for now as the whole network had come to a standstill. One of them was on his way to Paris for the French Open the next day. I found out that it's not just us Brits that jokingly take the view that, 'when he wins, he's Britain's Andy Murray, and when he loses, he's Scotland's Andy Murray.' The Walloons do it too. But, when talking about Kim Clijsters. When she wins, she's Belgium's Kim Clijsters, and when she loses, she's Flanders' Kim Clijsters. The same joke is used in the north about Justine Henin, I imagine.

Him, and his partner, also had a good moan about life in Wallonia. About how nothing works, there are always strikes for no reason, it's corrupt, and everyone is stuck at home all day living off state handouts. In fact, they were not the only people I've spoken to from this region who share this view. Two of the students I currently teach, and 2 or 3 before them, have similarly echoed this view. The common theme is envy and anger that Flanders is so far ahead of Wallonia, in virtually every way, and that there's very little good about living in Wallonia. At least two of my past students even told me they were actively looking for ways to emigrate as soon as possible.

I guess one glimmer of light is to be found in a news story which reports that actually last year more foreign businesses chose to invest their money and resources in Wallonia than Flanders.
A reason isn't given in the article, but I imagine it must be cheaper to set up projects in the south, although that must be offset by the excessive bureaucracy and tax burden.

I only ended up waiting just over an hour for the strike to end. Just before 4.30, everything was up and running as normal, as if nothing had happened. And I'm still none the wiser as to why the strike happened in the first place. Reading the Belgian press didn't shed much light on the matter either. That's 3 impromptu strikes since I've been here, I think. Not a patch on France, yet.

Sat 22 May - Namur

2010-05-23T01:33:00.000+01:00

The place I always struggle to pronounce correctly. Now, I think of how we you say manure and it makes it a lot easier. If you're not from or live in Belgium you will have no idea what I'm talking about.

Spent the day here. A wonderfully warm late Spring's day. I found Wallonia's capital to be a very chic and stylish looking place. The main shopping street could have been any street in any British city, but the narrow, windy ones were a delight. Endless boutique shops and cafes, and the place generally looking a lot wealthier and smarter than Mons. Less dog crap on the pavements too. Ahh, the things I look out for!

Had a walk around the citadel too; one of its main attractions. It was okay. Nothing to write home about.

Definitely somewhere to return to, with a view to paying the museums and galleries a visit next time.