WANNA DEVENIR BELGE? NOT SO FAST!

Bureaucracy Eternal?

In my previous life, that is, up to nine months ago, I had frequently complained about such exotic institutions as CEDOC or Tresor. This was a long, long time ago (nine months have taken a toll) and I really did think nothing more complicated than Gabonese bureaucracy could stand in my way to a peaceful and happy life of an expat. After all, Belgium is the heart of Europe, home to hundreds of thousands of foreigners and if things don't work in the heart of Europe, where would they? No, seriously, where? Because if this is how the heart works, I reckon some arteries are seriously blocked.

In any case, enough of the mediocre medical metaphors, let's move on to the gist. For today I will introduce to the intricacies of the Belgian Bureacracy, the mother of all bureaucracies, the ultimate challenge for an immigrant. Here goes.

Fact 1: In order to make your stay in Belgium legal, you must register at your respective commune (district of Brussels). Each district has its own office, closely modelled after Kafka's Trial, where you can enjoy the pleasures of queuing for hours and hours on end.

Fact 2: After a visit in the above mentioned establishment, a policeman must come by your house, unnannouced, in order to check if you actually live where you boldly claim to live. If the policeman is satisfied with the visit and states that you are not trying to trick the city of Brussels into believing that you live in one place but actually live somewhere else for an obscure reason only known to yourself, you will be issued a paper, which after three months will entitle you to kindly ask for a resident's ID card, please. Yes, the famous carte de sejour is back in the game!

Fact 3: In order to be able to ask for the said ID card, you need: a) a job; b) insurance; c) a lot of patience.

Fact 4: If you ever decide to change flats in Brussels... well, don't. The whole procedure will only start again, featuring a different commune and policemen who never come by and yet are happy to report you don't live under the given address.

I have now been trying to officially change addresses for two months. The first way round, back in October, the policeman didn't manage to get hold of me (I go to work and stuff, instead of just staying at home for a month) and so the commune cancelled my registration. When I went there, furious, I found out from a nice lady that a) I had been issued a wrong number, she could not help me and so I had to wait in a different queue for another hour and b) the whole procedure had to be re-started. I have tried calling the police but was only informed that "if the policeman doesn't find me at home it means I don't live there". What can one say to such twisted Belgian logic?

To some up, I am waiting for the police again. Then I only have to be summoned to the commune a  couple of times and this should be it. About a year after my arrival in Belgium, I will officially be registered. I will also become a proud owner of a valid electronic ID card. Life can't get much better than this!

Only will you believe me when I say that this is actually more complicated than Gabon? 

IL FAIT BEAU IN OOSTENDE!

- What is it? Why are there so many people on the train?
- Mais, madame, il fait beau! It's warm and sunny!

Il fait beau!

This simple explanation did not occur to us, however, when we boarded the train to Oostende, in the north of Belgium, and had to fight for seats with dozens of middle-aged men in white socks and sandals. Yes, il fait beau, and this unusal, unexpected gift from nature forced even the laziest Belgians out of their comfy flats, pushing them towards one of Brussels' three train stations, when they got on our tain, took our seats and put their crying children within close vicinity of our peace-craving ears. Oh, and it gets better: during the trip, which, due to traveaux, took half an hour longer than planned, we got to participate in such activities as folding and unfolding of a pram, picking a baby off the floor or looking for a lost ball on the floor. But no complaints - as opposed to a large number of our fellow travellers, we were actually seated. 

The idea was to get to Oostende and embark on a picturesque 12-kilometre long hike along the beach towards the beautiful village of De Haan or, in other - English - words, The Chicken. For reasons such as moving, work, sickness and buying furniture, we hadn't been out for what seemed like forever. Our hopes and expectations were high enough but, according to the abundant wisdoms of the internet, The Chicken would prove satisfactory. Well, things did not exactly go as planned.

Error 1: Kasia is the guide

Who was I kidding? I can't even read a map, so why did I convince everyone involved (i.e. Jandro and, amazingly, myself) that I could actually memorise one? Result 1: we walked the wrong way for about 20 minutes, after which we turned back and walked towards our starting point. Result 2: Jandro nodding wisely and giving me the amused "I so new this would happen!" look.

Error 2: Internet knows it all

The views at the beginning of our hike

Well, actually, I didn't really double check the information I stumbled upon on the internet. Result 1: what seemed a promising hike, turned out to be the industrial zone of Oostende for the first 5 kilometres or so. Yes, then it got beautiful, but I don't suggest you follow in our tracks. Result 2: after an hour we managed to find the coast-tram stop and, after an exasperating wait, we boarded one. If we had known that our hike would include exciting views of warehouses, we would've taken the tram right at the train station.

Error 3: No bathing suits

This, at least, is not exactly my fault. Nobody could've expected the North Sea to be warm enough for us to bathe at the beginning of October. And yet it was. Result 1: my very first time as a nudist. Result 2: an intersting study on human body. Yes, I looked! But I will say no more.

No Chicken but so pretty!

Unfortunately, we have not managed to reach The Chicken. Instead, we took a very long walk along the beach and bathed naked and drank coke and beers and laughed a lot. We even managed to find seats on the train back home, and slept profoundly for about ten minutes, until a baby started crying, just to continue for the rest of the trip. All in all - big success!

A beach day in October... Who would have thought?

And one final piece of advice: if you ever want to hike around Oostende, take the coast-tram from the train station to the beach and then continue on foot to De Haan, Knokke or even Denmark - just make sure you steer clear of the warehouses. Really not worth the effort!


More pictures available here.

THE PERFECT PIE

Warsaw is full of pie...

My goodness, can you believe this weather?, the butcher said, handing over my chicken breast, his resigned voice giving the impression of someone who has been tricked by cruel life into living in Brussels, the one city in the world Summer Fairy has entirely forgotten. I know, it's unbelievable!, I nodded my head in understanding, thinking I myself was one of those people. Yes, it's been rainy and grey forever, and I have already given up hope that things would get any better before May 2012. Worse still, Jandro is away right now, going to the beach (yes, to the beach, my friends!) and generally enjoying the fiesta, while I have to put up with 13 to 17 degrees, and work. 

Now it is clear to you that anyone in my position would have resigned themselves to sobbing into the pillow. And yet I have more spirit than I myself imagined. Obviously, I am a fighter, a survivor... a warrior, if you will. I decided not to give in to the omnipresent Weltschmerz. I picked up my new Paul Auster book, an umbrella and some cash, and hopped on the bus which was supposed to take me to our newly-discovered paradise on earth: Tea for Two, also known as The Absolutely Best Pie in Brussels. They have a wide range of teas as well of course, but who cares about the tea when there is Pie. The Absolutely Best Pie in Brussels, mind you.

15h43. I get off the bus. I ignore the infernal drizzle (I'm not entirely sure there is drizzle in hell... but you know what I mean), skip happily towards the house of pie and... find out it's closed for the long weekend. My smile fades, the drizzle becomes annoying, and I utter an unbecoming word. I stop skipping and start thinking. I notice I'm much better at the former.

16h00. I arrive at Le Pain Cotidien, not far away from my original destination. Even though it's a chain, it has always looked cosy to me from the outside, and the pies are generally well-reputed. I walk in, the place seems awful, and so I decide to keep looking. My friend the drizzle envelops me in a welcoming cloud of dampness.

16h25. After wondering aimlessly around Ma Campagne, hoping for a Tea for Two twin to magically appear, I arrive at rue de Bailly. Surprised to see a place I recognise, I stand on the corner, trying to figure out which way is more pie-probable. I turn left, check out an ice-cream place for pies (none), and then walk right, towards Louise. I become hopeful upon noticing a big sign which says Le Chocolatier, but it turns out to be a chocolate shop. Drizzle drizzles and I continue my search.

16h40. I stumble upon another Pain Cotidien. This one looks much better, and, feeling desperate, I enter, pushed in by the rain, which is becoming stronger now. I'm not convinced but I sit down, take out my book and order a green tea and a cherry pie with crumble. The place seems all right but I get a chain feeling from it. The tea is fine but the pie is mediocre. I eat it anyway because it will cost me a lot of money. Disappointed, I leave soon after I finish the pie, even though the original plan was to spend a lazy afternoon, having tea and enjoying the goodies and the atmosphere of a nice tea house. No goodies and even less atmosphere push me back into the rain.

17h45. I get back home and hang out my clothes to dry. The only thing that can save me now is jasmin tea, chocolate biscuits and a good film. The steaming cup of tea is already waiting. Do excuse me, I really must go and watch Singing in the Rain to stop myself from getting a clinical depression.

And who says only pregnant women have cravings.

POLISH CUSTOMER SERVICE - A CASE STUDY

Oh glorious Poland!

Chapter 1: Introduction and background information

Nice Polish girl as I am, I've always seen my country as a warm, welcoming place, full of polite, helpful people. During my time abroad, this idea grew stronger and stronger, while This would never happen in Poland! became one of my favourite reactions to life's unpleasant twists and turns. Obnoxious waitress in a Gabonese café? Why, this would never happen in Poland! Very expensive public transport ticket? No, this would never happen in Poland! Policemen refusing to speak any other language but Flemish? Clearly, this would never happen in Poland. But still. You get the idea. Oh glorious Poland, the land of the brave, home to pierogi, where the sun always shines except from November to March!

What comes next? Life itself, my friends. Ready?

Chapter 2: The argument

Last week, we went to Warsaw on a short visit. On the plane, I was daydreaming of all the pleasant things I was going to experience: family, friends, food, the overwhelming company of my compatriots (what do you think of my propensity for producing alliterations? Alarming?). I was brought back to reality by a loud Galician Ha! and a poke between the ribs, inevitably coming from Jandro, who was frantically going through his Polish conversations book. I looked at him askance (whatever happened to people using the word askance  in their writing?) and he provided me with the following quote:

During your time in Poland, you might come across unfriendly or even unhelpful service. Do not get discouraged. This happens frequently in Poland, and is a remnant of the communism, when what we now understand as "customer service" was practically nonexistent.

- This would never hap... - but I was interrupted.
- We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? - my boyfriend definitely didn't see eye to eye with me when it came to marvels of Poland but I would prove him wrong.

Chapter 3: The case studies

ONE: The holiday didn't start very well. Jandro got sick almost immediately and so, instead of having a nice pierogi lunch, I trotted off to the nearby pharmacy. The pharmacist was a young girl, completely unsympathetic to my boyfriend's sufferings. She was impolite, impatient and wouldn't even respond to my thank you at the end of our transaction. For a brief moment, I thought Jandro might have had a point. But then again, an exception proves the rule. Or something.

TWO: We were on our way back to my parents house, trying to catch a bus. I approached a bus driver, who was sitting inside the vehicle parked at the bus stop, visibly waiting for his departure time. I was extremely polite and asked if he could please tell me please what time he was please leaving please. According to the schedule, he barked. I went away to check the schedule, while he turned on the engines. The bastard was going to leave at that very moment and we nearly missed the bus! Jandro 2 : Kasia 0. But I was still hopeful.

THREE: The final blow came where I least expected it - at the airport. I will allow myself to quote the whole conversation I had with the check-in lady upon our departure:

Jandro (making the effort of speaking Polish): Dzien dobry!

Lady: ...

(We proceed to weigh the suitcase.)

Lady: You must take out 400 gramms.

Me: Really?

Lady (sniggering): Really. If anybody breaks their back moving the suitacase, it will be your fault.

(My passport and Jandro's ID are lying on the counter.)

Me: Can I take the documents, please?

Lady (sarcastically): Have I checked in the gentleman?

Me: I don't know, have you?

Lady: I haven't. Not with your hands on the documents anyway.

(I start to feel desperate. What have I done wrong?)

Me: Thank you, goodbye.

Lady: ...

This counts as at least five points for Jandro. I lost miserably at the "Who has a more realistic vision of Polish customer service?" game.

Chapter 4: Final conclusions

You all know my analytical mind, so it will come to you as no surprise that this experience led me to several conclusions. One: Polish customer service is much worse than your European average. Two: Polish customer service is at times similar to your African average. Three: Kasia living abroad tends to idealise every single country she lived in (don't even get me started on the wonders of Gabon!).

Epilogue

While catching a bus from the Charleroi airport to Brussels, I observed the following scene: a foreigner wants to board the bus without a ticket. The bus driver explains that they must get a ticket first. The foreigner doesn't understand and tries to get on the bus. The driver laughs good-naturedly, explains again, shows the guy where the ticket office is and gently pushes him towards it saying Hurry up, we'll be leaving soon! And there is really only one thing I can say: This would never happen in Poland!

For more photos from Poland, click here.

FIRST DAYS, LAST DAYS AND ALL THE DAYS IN BETWEEN

Working in Brussels

Last night, as I arrived home slightly tipsy after a few drinks with my colleagues, I smiled and thought to myself: it's gone far better than expected, the job thing. I have to admit that, new and surprising as this realisation might seem, Brussels has actually treated me quite well job-wise. Now that things are finally falling into place, I will try to explain why.

I seriously started looking for a job in Brussels at the beginning of February. I wasn't sure what kind of job I wanted but I was positive that the kind of job I didn't want was teaching elementary school English. No more maîtresse. No more wheels on the bus, little ducks who went swimming one day, no more sit down jump up high high high. A new career please, and make it interesting. 

My assets, I figured, were: languages, working experience (even if not in the areas I was aiming at) and enough attitude to win my audience at the interview. My weaknesses: no work experience in the areas I was aiming at and not enough attitude to lie about the latter. With the fierce Brussels competition, I could only start my non-teaching life by doing two things: applying for internships and crossing my fingers. I did both, full time.

After what seemed like ages but was indeed less than two months, I got my first interview and then a second one, on the very same day. The first job I got, the second one - I didn't, but I felt relieved: all I needed was one job, after all. I took it, even though it was an unpaid (yes, by "unpaid" I mean "unpaid" as in "working for free") internship and decided to make the best of it. 

Today, on my last day, which came sooner than expected, I can tell you that it was a good choice. I learned a lot, met some lovely people, and had a very comfy and pleasant plunge into the job market in Brussels. I am now moving on to something which seems more intense, more stressful but slightly more challenging, too. However, I feel sad to leave behind the fantastic work environment (not to say "work in environment", hope some of you will get the pun!) I was lucky to become part of. 

Today is not about my future job. Today is about saying goodbye when you wish you didn't have to.

Today I can't stop thinking that the first day may have been tough, the last day is sad, but... all the days in between were great. Thank you.

NOT SO BORING BELGIUM OR TOP FIVE OF BELGIAN CURIOSITIES

Belgium: so many surprises in store!

You'd think Belgium is a boring country. It's small, it's full of European institutions and...? Few average non-Belgians know much more about this country. Still, it has proved to be anything but boring so far. Brace yourselves. Today, the Top Five of Belgian/bruxellois curiosities. Here goes.

5. Belgian weather

Yes, I tend to end up in places with rather extreme weather conditions. After the notorious Galician rain and the infernal heat-slash-humidity of Central Africa, I have arrived in what seems to be the most unstable country in the world. Weather-wise. I'll get to politics later on. The seasons in Belgium change every day, twice a day, and you pass from an extremely hot summer in May to rainy/sunny spring in June to autumn cold and windy days in July. By now, I am half expecting snow in August, closely followed by high temperatures and falling red leaves. For all I know, it might happen. A final piece of advice: just in case, always wear layers, don't invest too much in summer clothes and have an umbrella with you at all times. And don't give up on an activity just because the weather is not perfect for it - you might end up not ever doing it in the end!

4. Belgian national dish

Belgian national dish is called chips in British English but French fries in American English. Now, most people on the planet - including the French - consider chips their own nation's invention. But the Belgians have taken it one step further: they actually think that fried potatoes are a dish! And so you can buy them in the street, in enormous quantities with your sauce of choice, while the crockery stores offer special porcelain cones for chips, if what you're planning is a fancy fry feast. I'm sorry, Belgian friends! Fries are a side dish to the real food. Simple as that.

3. Belgian budgerigars

The first time we saw a parrot peacefully perched on a branch, we thought it was someone's pet who was enjoying a few stolen moments of freedom, having escaped from its cage. And then there was another one. And then a different park, and more parrots still, and a Polish girl looking at them in disbelief. Finally, I read that several kinds of exotic birds were set free when a ZOO was closed in Brussels, and - did they not see this coming? - many of them died. However, some proved to be immune to the weather craze described in point 5 and today form part of Brussels wildlife as much as pigeons do. Fascinating stuff.

2. Belgian political situation

The country has not had a government for 13 months (ever since the elections on 13 June 2010) and... well, nothing. The king is doing his best to urge the politicians to do something about it. The politicians are doing their best to ignore the king. The right-wing Dutch-speaking nationalists remain the right-wing Dutch-speaking nationalists. The left-wing French-speaking socialists remain the left-wing French-speaking socialists. And the Belgians, who, by the way, are obliged to vote by law, just don't care anymore. The country has been working for the past year, in the end. So let the politicians be. We'll have some fries instead. In a fancy porcelain fry cone!

1. Brussels job market and the intricate world of internships

When I first came to Brussels I was excited. I was beginning a new life and hoping to recycle my professional career. I was young, motivated, spoke several languages, had lived in three different countries and felt I could take over the world. How hard could it be? In one word: very. Of course, I was young, motivated and proficient in quite a few languages but... I was also one of many. Exactly how many, I didn't know at the time but I soon started to suspect we were millions.

It took me two months to find my first internship (luckily, I'd never fooled myself I could get a job other than teaching straight away), and, even though from these four months' perspective I think it was an excellent experience, it must be said that the job turned out to be unpaid. In total, I must have answered around 60 ads, which resulted in several breakdowns, three interviews and two job (internship) offers. In the case of the second one, which is paid and which I will be starting in August, I was informed that I was chosen out of a staggering number of 560 applicants.

I have heard horror stories of eternal interns, who seem to be a phenomenon typical of Brussels: they are currently doing their sixth internship, and still cannot find a proper job. This kind of broken European dream scares me a bit. Hopefully, I'll beat another 500 people when applying for an actual job (this is my newly-regained confidence speaking). All in all, I think I'm still suffering for the job-hunter's trauma: it's enough to say that in my little world Brussels' job market is actually more disturbing than the lack of government. How self-centred can you get, eh? I am slowly regaining my balance, though: the government did beat the budgerigars after all!

Disclaimer: This list is highly subjective. If you think that Madame Pipi (i.e. a typically busty lady dutifully guarding public toilets and collecting the toilet fee), omnipresent in Belgian establishments, should have been included, leave a comment and I will consider your claim.

LOW COST TRIPS AROUND BRUSSELS: KASTEEL VAN GAASBEEK

Kasteel van Gaasbeek

Here's some basic Flemish for you: Kasteel means castle. Gaas stands for gauze, while beek means brook. To this we add the common-knowledge fact that van is the same as of, and we arrive at a perfect translation of the whole name. Yes, my friends, Kasteel van Gaasbeek is no more than the Castle of Gauze Brook, and who needs Dutch classes anyway if such excellent toponym translations are available with just some good will and a bit of google. There we went a few weeks ago - to the Castle of Gauze Brook, formerly home to one weird lady, today a real door to the past, which miraculously made us look under 26, so that we could pay the reduced fee.

Destination: Kasteel van Gaasbeek
Transport: DeLijn bus 142 from Midi to the Gaasbeek stop.
Equipment: picnic, walking shoes and a camera.
Cost: DeLijn ticket (1,50 € one way) plus 7 € entrance fee (unless you are - or look - under 26, then: 5€).

The bus conveniently stops right next to the castle park entrance which, in case you still have doubts in spite of its grandeur, is clearly marked with enormous signs informing that you have indeed reached Gaasbeek. The park is huge, very beautiful, and features several lakes, lanes, paths, bits of forest, meadows and lawns - perfect for any outdoor activity from hiking to biking to picnicking.

Any way you go, you will eventually arrive at the castle itself, which, placed on a hill, towers over the park and its lakes. Now the tricky part: do your best to look under 26 and the nice ticket lady will give you a cheaper ticket even if you admit that your real age is 27, while for some people even 33 (I'm sure some people won't mind this indiscretion). For the price of 5 € you are handed an audioguide and off you go... to the garden, where you await a human guide as well.

Gaasbeek park

The two guides complement each other - human giving you the number in three to four languages, audio chirping into your ear in your language of choice. Effect: human guide smiles with appreciation when human non-guides in unison and complete silence turn to a painting or piece of furniture described by the audioguide whispering in their ears. Human guide then answers non-guides' questions, while the audioguide patiently waits until a new number is announced by its human counterpart. In this happy way you take a tour around the castle and you find out that:

• the castle's last owner, Marquise Marie Arconati Visconti, was a very strange lady;
• the castle's last owner, Marquise Marie Arconati Visconti, liked dressing as a boy in her 60s.;
• the castle's last owner, Marquise Marie Arconati Visconti, constructed several secret passages and hiding places, so that she could a) meet her lovers and b) spy on the other people in her household;
• the castle's last owner, Marquise Marie Arconati Visconti, had a relative who liked dressing as a Turkish prince (or something to that effect);
• in the middle ages people washed twice a year - a general remark which caused a lot of giggling;
• people used to sleep in a sitting position, as lying was reserved for the dead;
• XV-century toilets looked like thrones.

Horses in Groenenberg

Enriched by this knowledge, you proceed with your visit. Upon appointment and having paid an extra fee, you can also take a stroll in the French garden, which is still kept in a traditional, XVI-century way and thus very fragile. Apparently, very beautiful, too. Appointment-less, however, we explored the park instead, and found a picturesque chapel, as well as - wait for it - a "Pavilion of Pleasure", whose purpose, sadly, remains unexplained.

If all this is still not enough for you, leave the premises, cross the street and wander off to Groenenberg, another huge garden (although a bit less well-kept), full of old trees (including three sequoias) and horses. In addition, it is nearly deserted, and will be perfect if what you're looking for is a secluded spot. 

All in all, an excellent trip within 30 minutes from Brussels, perfectly doable once you've dedicated three to four days figuring out your itinerary on the DeLijn page, which might just be the least user-friendly website ever created. Apart from that - Gauze Brook rules!

BIG, BIGGER, EU

The European Parliament

I think that the best way to start writing again is to just pick up exactly where you left, no excuses, no explanations. What excuses could I give, anyway? That my life has become a kaleidoscope of changes, that I keep bumping my head on the bunk bed, that I'm constantly taking decisions I'm not sure I want to take? No, no excuses. Instead, let me tell you about heart of the heart of Europe: the European Quarter in Brussels. 

Big, Bigger, EU

The very centre of the European district is the Schuman roundabout. You can get there straight from the airport, and from every part of the city by train, bus and, of course, the tube. The underground station is by all means the ugliest one in Brussels (believe it or not, they tend to be quite pretty), which does not cease to amaze me, as this is the very station that receives all the VIPs. The Commission and Council are right there, their huge buildings waiting to impress and intimidate you as soon as you leave the underground. Fancy men and women, speaking every language you can possibly imagine, move around quickly, expertly, sporting their suits and dresses, never taking off their badges. They have quick coffees and croissants, and disappear behind the big doors of important buildings, inaccessible for regular, badgeless, mortal individuals like yours truly. It's big, it's bigger, it's EU.

Ghost town

The European district in the morning is absolutely bustling with life. The crowded underground spits out thousands of people (the Commission alone employs 25 thousand!), who hurry in all directions, chat animatedly, stop for a quick breakfast at one of the many cafes... All in all, your typical morning in the busy city centre. Go to the very same places after 6 pm or on a day when the Commission in closed, and you will be shocked at how the hustle and bustle of this neighbourhood gives way to something completely opposite - the streets seem abandoned, the cafes and restaurants don't even bother opening, all is calm, all is quiet... Strange, cold and unsympathetic. The big buildings tower over this ghost town, patiently waiting for the holiday to end.

Go green!

Le Cinquantenaire

Contrary to what you might be imagining by now, this area is not ugly. There are many beautiful old buildings which have been adapted for offices, and if you feel like a stroll after work, you are very close to two lovely parks: Parc Leopold and the famous Cinquantenaire. They are both worth a stroll, and they both boast more than just trees and grass. Parc Leopold is home to the Museum of Natural History, while Cinquantenaire hosts the Autoworld (car museum) and the Royal Museum for Art and History. You can also go up the Triumphal Arch (built by king Leopold II for the fiftieth anniversary of the creation of Belgium - hence the name of the arch and the park) and enjoy very nice views of Brussels. I personally like having lunch in the park - a very nice change from the monotony of the office.

Night life or Networking?

Although basically everything in close vicinity of the Commission closes around 6 pm, you can also go out in the European district. In order to do this, however, you must take a walk towards the Parliament and visit the famous Place Luxembourg or, for the ones in the know, Place Lux. The many bars there (including a shabby Polish one) open their doors to all kinds of Eurocrats, ranging from the very bottom of the food chain (les stagaires or interns) to prominent officials. Place Lux is the place every Thursday, and it is also considered a good place to meet the right people and work on your career. So if you're in need of some good nightworking, I mean, networking, make sure you pass by.

Apparently, the city of Brussels now insists on animating the European district. People are invited to buy flats in the area, shops are encouraged to open, new European buildings are being placed in different parts of the city - all in all, Brussels is trying to change this strange European ghetto into a normal neighbourhood. As I get out of the underground at Schuman every morning, I tend to think that they are still very far from it. But that's okay. This way, I have a story to tell.

LOW COST TRIPS AROUND BRUSSELS: LA MAISON D'ERASME

The Erasmus House in Anderlecht

You open your eyes. It's a sunny Saturday morning in Brussels. You feel like going for a walk. The old town? Oh my, the tourist crowd is unbearable at the weekends (Why is Manneken Pis so small? Why do they make me choose between a Brussels waffle and a Liege waffle when all I want is a decent Belgian waffle? Where do I buy the best French fries?). A park? Yes, nice, but you've been to all of them already, haven't you? Ardennes? Too far away. Walk around your neighbourhood? Too close. And then an illumination: why not the Maison d'Erasme (House of Erasmus) - a museum and park/picnic spot combined?

Destination: La Maison d'Erasme.
Transport: bus 49 or underground 5, get off at Saint Guidon stop.
Equipement: walking shoes, change for coffee and a camera.
Cost: public transport ticket plus 1,25 Euro entrance fee.

Yes, you're right, there is a bus stop right next to Maison d'Erasme, which saves you a few minutes walking from Saint Guidon. But these few minutes are very much worth devoting to a nice stroll through the most beautiful part of Anderlecht, a usually frowned-upon and not very touristy neighbourhood.

The Beguine convent

So make sure you take a good look at the pretty Place de la Vaillance and its century-old houses. I recommend a coffee on one of the terraces - just sit down and take in the view of the majestic Saint Guidon church. The church itself is only a few steps from the old Beguine convent (Beguinage), built in the XIII century and serving its original purpose for five centuries. A very welcoming ticket lady will tell you all about the Beguines and their habits: apparently, they were women who were widowed, unmarried or whose husbands were doing their duty and dying in a war somewhere; they would live together for protection and peace, in a semi-religious order (but they could leave whenever they wanted), providing the local community with small services, such as taking care of the sick. Their two houses are now available for tourists and host a splendid exhibition of... stuff. From a bicycle to child's high chair to tiny furniture made from feathers - you will find lots of XVIII and XIX century things that belonged to the people of Anderlecht. However, apart from the chairs in the little chapel, no original Beguine belongings have survived to this day. Oh, and you get in on the same ticket you buy for the Maison d'Erasme.

The latter is within a two-minute stroll from the Beguinage. Surrounded by a high wall, it is a XV century house, which was built to accommodate the church's most prominent guests. One of those - for the period of five full months - was Erasmus from Rotterdam. Apparently, if you're famous enough, they will name a house after you even though you only spent a few months there. The museum inside is sort of a tribute to Erasmus and his work, with an impressive collection of first editions of his books, many interesting paintings and a disturbingly large cartoon-like figure of the man himself in the hall. 

The garden

But the real treat is the garden or rather - the two gardens (entrance is free, by the way). The first one plays with the idea that the great Erasmus was a bit of a hypochondriac. It thus contains all the possible curative plants that could've helped the poor man to cure all his supposed ailments. Each plant is accompanied by a little figure of Erasmus, on which the affected body part is indicated. The benefit of the visit is thus triple: you learn about the man's brilliance but also about his weaknesses and, finally, you get to know the plants!

The other garden is lovely, if a bit small. The original benches beg for a photo, and so do the Latin phrases, surrounded by water and translated into three languages. This part of the garden is called philosophical, and, I must say, it does inspire silent contemplation (ours was limited to What are we doing for lunch? but at a different time of day something more philosophical might enter your head in view of both the scenery and history). 

Sounds interesting? What are you waiting for then? Go and enjoy your Saturday morning at the House of Erasmus!

For more pictures go here.

MOOD FOR MOROCCO

Moroccan pastries

Having discovered Africa, I thought few things in my life would be nearly as exotic as that, especially in a place like Brussels. How different can Belgium be from Poland? And even though I'm still not sure about Belgium, I already know that there is something amazingly new in stock for me in Brussels. For here I am, in the heart of Europe, getting to know the ways of... Morocco. Strange? Not if you think that 20% of people in Brussels come straight from Morocco or were born into a family of Moroccan immigrants. And so, I give you my Subjective Quick Guide to Moroccan Pleasures. Enjoy!

Tea - the ultimate drink

Throughout my life, I have drunk a lot of tea. But there is nothing, nothing like Moroccan mint tea. Of course, alcohol being off limits, it's not surprising that something tasty to replace it be invented. However, Moroccan tea is not the next best thing - it's better! It's very simple to prepare: green tea, fresh mint and a generous amount of sugar. It goes with everything from breakfast till dinner, it can even act as a refreshing beverage on a hiking trip. Only drawback - calories. Frankly, I've stopped caring. Note: the tea is best when drank in a Moroccan tea room. Be careful, however, as women typically stay away from such places, and even though this rule does not apply to Western women, it's always better to come with your man. Sexist as it may seem, it might save you very curious (not to say "hostile") looks from the usual tea room crowd, consisting of middle-aged men in long frocks.

La crèpe marrocaine - as good as it gets

Moroccan pancakes

I have already mentioned in one of my previous entries that the famous Marché du Midi has introduced us to one of the world's perfect dishes: the Moroccan pancake. It is not a typical pancake (the dough is not sweet) but what they call semen (really, no pun intended!). It is made right in the middle of the market, behind a big olives stand. Just localise the stand and take your place in the long queue (don't get discouraged, it will advance very quickly). I always ask for the simple combination of honey and Moroccan cottage cheese, which really is something to look forward to at the end of the week (Marché du Midi springs to life only once a week: on Sundays). But you can put anything in your pancake - from olives to pickled artichokes to dried tomatoes, together with the omnipresent cheese and honey. So good!

Moroccan pastries - the word is "yummy!"
Have you ever entered a Moroccan bakery? I bet you couldn't take your eyes off the colourful, artistically shaped pastries, whose main ingredients include such delicacies as almonds, pistachios, hazelnuts and dried fruit. Each bakery typically offers several types of such cakes, and displays them proudly in their window, in neat stacks, which somehow look absolutely irresistible. Again, full of calories, which maybe explains why so many Moroccan women are plump under their loose frocks... But who cares! As far as I'm concerned, keep the pastries coming!

Molenbeek

Markets - live from Morocco
 We have recently stumbled upon yet another market (Brussels is virtually full of them). If we had thought that Marché du Midi was full of Moroccan people, crowded and noisy, our new discovery proved us wrong. Once you get used to the familiar hustle and bustle of Midi, make sure to visit Molenbeek. Just walk towards the canal from the central Bourse area, and watch the shopping windows change along the way. Posh clothes shops become cheap kebab restaurants, elegant drink bars turn into buy one get one for free shops. Europeans disappear from the busy streets. This is the neighbourhood of women dressed in African pagne, women in veils, a quartier of different standards. Cross the canal and enter the huge market, a buzzing street, where you can buy Moroccan clothes and fabrics, tea pots and about anything you might need. Hungry? No problem: all along the market street thare are several stands with grilled meat and fish, accompanied by tea and sweets. Working language: Arabic. Of course, people might stare. But so what - that's the closest I've been to Africa in months!

And there is only one problem. Now I simply must go Morocco!

BLOG WRITER'S BLOCK

Yes, I know, I have neglected my blog. For the first time in two years I have stopped writing regularly. The blog, the Polish website about Africa where I'd been submitting articles, e-mails, so many e-mails I have yet to answer... Truth be told, it doesn't feel good. I have come to like sorting my life into short pieces, making sure nothing is going to disappear, nothing will be forgotten. Turns out I need it. And so I have come to my senses.

The reasons for my self-imposed silence were many. I started working over a month ago, and, among other things, I have learned that not being a teacher requires spending a large part of your day in an office. Enjoy it as I might, not much time is left for living during the week. I am an intern now, which, apart from constantly making me wonder if I'm too old for that, allows me to take a - I must say secure and pleasant - plunge into the ocean of the Brussels work market. The competition is fierce. The pays are low. What else could I ask for?

Secondly, I might have been a bit down lately. Things have yet to take the right course for us, and it's not always easy to stay positive when you start making comparisons which you'd probably better avoid. Sitting in our rented room, I let my mind drift off to our Gabonese terrace, where we would stand for hours, staring at the sunset. How come you only remember the great times? Why can't I see our stay in Africa rationally? Why is it suddenly Paradise Lost? And do I have to be this dramatic? I know the beginnings in Gabon were very difficult and that, exactly as I do now, I spent a lot of time sighing the deep sigh of goodness-me-am-I-in-a-pickle-now! But I seriously can't remember this. And so I don't let myself think about Africa too much.

Finally, probably as a result of the previous two reasons, I have lately been suffering from a kind of blog writer's block. I wanted to write but it just wouldn't come out. Consequently, a patient girl that I am, I gave up trying altogether after about a week. Until the big breakthrough - last week, all of a sudden, I produced a new article in Polish. Yesterday I answered several e-mails (don't worry, yours is surely on its way). I'm back. Live from Brussels, especially for you. Stay tuned.

LOW COST TRIPS AROUND BRUSSELS: LES SERRES ROYALES

 There is one tourist attraction in Brussels which only opens to public once a year, for three weeks. It is not exclusive and it is not expensive. Very well-reputed, it attracts big numbers of people every year. Do you wish for a day under palm trees? Or maybe you feel like smelling countless species of colourful flowers? Believe it or not, all this is possible in Brussels. Between 15 April and 8 May 2011 make sure you visit Les Serres Royales or The Royal Greenhouses.

Destination: Les Serres Royales in Laeken.

Transport: underground line 6, get off at Bockstael and walk for about 10 minutes.

Equipment: a camera and a partner for a romantic walk.

Cost: 2,5 euro admission fee.

Brussels has been treating us extremely well lately. Weather-wise. The sunny, warm weather is just the kind of spring I was hoping for. We have thus been exploring the parks and walks of the city, waiting for the rainy days to give us incentive to go to the museums. Last weekend, upon several colleagues’ recommendation, we decided to visit The Royal Greenhouses. In spite of a significant number of people who had apparently come up with the exact same idea, we were not disappointed.

The Greenhouses (yes, in plural) are situated next to the Royal Palace in Laeken and occupy an enormous terrain. The buildings are vast and beautiful, built in the XIX century by Alphonse Balat for no other than king Leopold II, with whom I have already become acquainted at the Museum of Africa, its “Colonisation, Slavery and Brutal Tyrants” part, to be specific. As opposed to colonizing Congo, however, the Greenhouses seem to have been an excellent idea. They were built in glass and iron, and until today house thousands of plants, some of which are said to have been ordered to be brought from Congo by our favourite king.

Having paid the 2,5 euros, you follow a pre-defined path (sadly, there is no possibility of getting off the beaten track), and wait patiently as the people ahead of you take their pictures. You then proceed to take the exact same pictures, while making the people behind you wait. All this takes place in a relaxed and positive atmosphere, with several people offering to take romantic pictures of you and your boyfriend surrounded by pink flowers. Bliss.

The walk is long; you go in and out the greenhouses, and as you go out you can admire the amazing grounds, neatly marked as “off limits”, as they belong to the Royal Family and so only Royal Family are authorized to stroll gracefully, royally and in complete solitude in those grounds. Is it the communist legacy that makes me question monarchy?

This and many other questions of similar importance, such as When’s lunch?, ran through my head as we approached a very strange item on our itinerary: the Japanese tower. Perplexed at first, later we found out that both the tower and the nearby Chinese Pavilion were ordered – surprise! – by Leopold II and were designed by French architects. The Museum of Far East gives them a purpose today. Why they were built in the first place remains a mystery.

Having taken the tour of the Greenhouses and the oriental monuments of French origin, which inspired us to have lunch, we made a final stop in the park opposite the Royal Palace. There too Leopold II left his trace: a huge neo-gothic monument of his progenitor, Leopold I. The latter looks rather morbid but the park is definitely worth a stroll. 

Drawbacks? Maybe the fact you can't just wander around king's grounds. But a lovely day altogether. Hurry up! You're running out of time!

DAMN YOU THIN PLASTICS!

So, my computer crashed, and then died, putting me in the very uncomfortable position of having to use an azerty Belgian keyboard long enough for me to be now confusing my w's and z's on the normal Polish - thank goodness for that! - keyboard. As my laptop inexplicably sprang back to life, however, my fingers seem to have momentarily forgotten where the a really sits, so some of my words may come out in strange spelling. You'll hqve to deql.

Even though I would gladly spend more time complaining about the horrors of Belgian keyboard, this is not the point of my new entry. Some of you may know, while many remain ignorant on the subject, that I am on my way to become a waste management expert. How, where and, most interestingly, why it is so, I will inform you in due course. Back to the point. This post, believe it or not, has been inspired by a blue garbage bag sitting happily on my kitchen floor. Why is it on my kitchen floor? Because it was returned to me by the garbage collectors with a big red sticker. Why was it returned? The sticker, through an enormous STOP sign, politely lets us know that the bag contains waste which was not destined for this particular bag. Kindly please remove the surplus irrelevant waste and let us collect the bag again. Thank you.

For the first time ever, I know that my garbage has been looked through and - in this particular case - frowned upon. I feel ashamed. My waste sorting skills are not up to Belgian standards. Damn you plastic yoghurt pots!

How does it work? I find the whole system rather amusing. First of all, you must buy special garbage bags. Not just regular plastic bags, they won't do. Blue bags for plastic, yellow for paper and, I think, white for non-recyclable waste. Then you fill your bags with carefully selected garbage (don't think that all plastic is plastic, you'll be highly disappointed). Finally, you just put the full bags outside your door, as there are no containers to store them until the garbage man comes. Moreover, the paper garbage men come on Thursdays, plastic garbage men on Wednesdays (I think), and so on and so forth, so unless you follow the waste calendar closely, you might miss your day and have to store your garbage for another week. Result: plenty of garbage bags in the streets. The restaurants gain a special appeal on garbage day, I assure you.

As I've already explained, only specified types of waste can go into the bags. And so the plastic bag, cannot contain - seriously! - other plastic bags, thin plastics, yoghurt pots and the like. This is not a joking matter: if unsuitable plastic is discovered, and discovered it will be!, the bag is packed up again and delivered onto your doorstep, so that you remove the undesired plastic yourself. Obviously, it would've been easier if the person who initially goes through your rubbish did the removing bit as well, but then we would all miss out on the educational value, which makes us learn from our own mistakes. Eco-education at its best.

And so, I shall now don gloves and sort through my already-sorted-through bag of plastic waste, so that the Belgian authorities are happy with my conduct. 

Damn you thin plastics and yoghurt pots!

Stay green.

Picture comes from here.

TERAZ POLSKA OR POLAND COLONISES BRUSSELS

Apart from my week-long stay in the UK, I've never really spent time in the country where most Polish people feel at home. I've never been to Ireland either. Of course, I have heard many shocking stories of the "second Polands" somewhere abroad but I've never really stopped to think what it really meant. Both in Galicia and in Gabon, meeting a Polish person in the street (or having them turn up uninvited in the middle of your party, for that matter) was rather unlikely and usually led to striking up a conversation and making new acquaintances. Brussels? A whole different story.

As soon as we moved to the charming neighbourhood of Forest, where, as far as I can tell, no Belgian people reside, we discovered a "Polski Sklep Polsmak", which - for those of you who do not get the subtle hint in the name - is actually a Polish shop, fully equipped with fresh Polish bread, all kinds of Polish foodstuff, a stack of magazines and two original Polish shop-assistants. I would've been shocked at this discovery, if I hadn't spent a significant amount of time in the neighbourhood of Saint Gilles, where Polish shops seem to be particularly abundant.

Very well then, Polish bread in the vicinity is always good news. It wasn't the shop, however, that triggered this entry. Nor was it the Polish people whom I spot on a daily basis, sometimes thanks to the - not always appropriate - language, sometimes because of the Polish beer in their hands. I am becoming an expert in Polespotting, too. But again, that's neither here nor there. The event that made me tell you about the strong Polish presence in Brussels was this: I had my hair cut. I had my hair cut by a Polish girl in a Polish hair salon.

The number of leafllets available at the salon opened my eyes to how many Polish services there actually were. Let me give you a list of what I have found so far:

• Polish shops, on every corner
• Polish hair salons (oh yes, in plural!) and beauty salons
  
• Polish IT specialist
• Polish dentist
• Polish schools
• Polish restaurants
• Polish bars
• Polish beauty products catalogues and consultants
• Polish language school

Most probably, I haven't even listed half of what's really out there. The thing is, a Pole can pass a whole day (month? year?) without uttering a word in French or Dutch, and get nearly anything done in their native language. Cool!, my first thought was. And then the sad reflection came: the only people I ever see in the Polish shop are Polish people. One of the shop-assistants doesn't even speak French. What does it say about our intergration in Belgium? Does an average Polish construction worker mingle with other nationalities?

Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about the availability of Polish products and services. It is an excellent way to battle homesickness, broaden our menu and let Jandro get closer to my Polish side. I do hope, however, that my compatriots try to learn from the cultural richness of Brussels, insead of limiting themselves to Polski Sklep, Polski Fryzjer and Polski Friend. I for one embrace it all. I have Polish bread with the typical Belgian speculoos paste and drink some Moroccan mint tea, while chatting to my Galician boyfriend. Unity in diversity. Cliche but works.

LOW COST TRIPS AROUND BRUSSELS: LOOKING FOR THE SPRING IN FORET DE SOIGNES

Day after day, we dutifully spend hours and hours on end writing covering letters, updating CVs, reading through tonnes of job ads and attending interviews. But when the weekend comes, and no new adverts are published anyway, we stretch our limbs, put on trekking shoes and search for a suitable place to enjoy the lovely weather we've been blessed with lately. Thanks to our friends we have just discovered the place to go in Brussels: La Forêt de Soignes, a huge forest just outside of the city, where bikers, trekkers and joggers will all find something pleasing.

Destination: La Forêt de Soignes.
Transport: tram 94, from Avenue Louise (destination Musée du Tram), get off at Coccinelles stop.
Equipement: walking shoes, picnic, comfortable clothes and a camera.
Cost: public transport ticket.

Thanks to our savvy friends, we got to the forest quickly and without any trouble (really, it's only a few metres away from the tram stop). The day was beautiful, and it was exactly 20th March, the first day of spring. We have thus decided to look for the signs of the latter, and were not disappointed: cute green buds were springing up from just everywhere, saplings were timidly pushing their way out of the ground, closely followed by yellow and white flowers, forming a soft, colourful, living rug.

Woodpeckers pecking, flowers flowering and joggers jogging, everything seemed in its place, unanimously announcing that the spring has come. Do you doubt it?, a robin, perched on a branch just a few centimetres from our very noses, appeared to be asking. If in doubt, listen to me!, and he sang a robin song as if composed for our benefit, indisputably heralding the arrival of the warm season. The forest was coming back to life.

We enjoyed our sandwiches in an isolated spot, listening to the sounds of the forest (and, to be completely truthful, some sounds of the nearby road). After lunch, we continued towards the Arboretum Groenendaal, where all kinds of (sometimes exotic) trees were planted, all of them bearing their name. This is actually how I discovered that Latin is easier for me than Dutch! I also saw my first living sequoia, and was very pleased with the experience.

Bored with the hustle and bustle of Brussels? I advise you to simply get lost among the paths of Forêt de Soignes for the whole day, and get in touch with the nature, the spring, your inner self or whatever it is you need to get in touch with. It's relaxing, good for your health and costs absolutely nothing. No better way of welcoming the spring. Big thanks to A & E, the authors of the equinox forest trip idea!

AFRICA ISN'T HERE OR A DAY IN OUR BRUSSELS LIFE

I wake up to the inevitable sound of Serrat singing Tu nombre me sabe a hierba, a love song which used to make me cry, and which has now become the welcome-to-yet-another-day tune. I sit up, trying not to smack my head on the ceiling. Yup, sleeping on a bunk bed can be a tricky thing, especially if you're rather tall. I climb down, sometimes smashing my right leg just below the knee - always in the same precise spot - on the little ladder. I tend to slip in a funny way, which makes me slide rather than gracefully descend. Very well then. I've reached the floor level. Yet another day of our Brussels life is about to begin.

I wash, get dressed and go downstairs, where the kitchen is already buzzing with life. Actually, I'm the one who gets up the latest (that is, around 8 am). Upon entering, I am welcomed by a loud Au revoir!, coming from Eddie, our youngest flatmate and the most cheerful two-year-old I've ever seen, who seems to think that au revoir works the same as aloha. His ten-year-old brother is usually either gone or leaving for school, and kindly bids me goodbye while I get my cereal. Jandro has been in the kitchen for the past hour (the annoying habit of getting up much earlier than myself) and all three of us have breakfast - that includes Eddie, who continuously informs us that his brother is not there and that he - or anybody else in the room, depending on the circumstances - is in fact wearing shoes. When our breakfast companion leaves for nursery, we get down to business.

For the lack of a desk in our room, we usually set up the headquarters in the kitchen. We make tea, stop talking, and look for jobs/prepare interviews. The busy time stretches out to around 1 pm, when we have lunch and take a break. We resume our search around 2:30, if no other arrangements have been made. We also tend to visit the Polish shop, where Jandro puts his knowledge into practice, by asking for chleb ze słonecznikiem (sunflower bread) or, creatively, mały chleb (small bread, which means a roll). I make a point of going there with him, because his Polish is so cute that the shop assistants might be tempted to flirt. Never too careful.

In the late afternoon it's swimming pool/gym, also known as the attempt to stay fit and sane. We have dinner accompanied by the family we live with, chatting with both kids and their parents. Sometimes we tell African stories. Sometimes we show a few pictures. The kids are impressed. We are nostalgic.

Our African life was different. But it was, not is, and I think we're doing a decent job coming to terms with this fact.

Our Brussels life is only beginning. Let's give it some time before we start evaluating it. For now, we just take it for what it is. As Eddie would put it: Africa isn't here. More Nutella, please.

The picture is of... our new life!

LOW COST TRIPS AROUND BRUSSELS: CARNAVAL DE BINCHE

Another entry in the - somewhat unchronological - series of posts documenting our little trips. I promise to keep it up to date from this weekend on, so that there is no jumping in time. I don't think you care, really, it's more for my comfort: I like things neat and ordered. Having said that, I also like a bit of chaos in my life. And this is why I like carnival, when everything is upside-down for just a few days, and you can become whoever you want to be and no-one will judge you. Yes, carnival is fun, and I strongly believe we don't celebrate it enough in Poland. In short, Carnaval de Binche, ladies and gentlemen. Off we go.

Destination: Binche, a town in the Wallonian region, about an hour train-ride from Brussels.
Transport: Train, destination Binche.
Equipement: picnic, comfy shoes and mimosa flowers. If you don't have any, you can get them there.
Cost: return-trip to Binche: 9,60 euro/person. Beer (not obligatory): 3 euro/person.

Binche is a nice medieval town, well worth a visit even if it's not Carnival time. The town hall, built in 1555, is just lovely, and the International Museum of Carnival and Masks (Musée International du Carnaval et du Masque) is charming and will teach you all about traditions from different parts of the world. It even boasts a photo from Poland, which I felt was a nice touch. However, the town's greatest attraction is the Carnaval de Binche, which has even made it to the UNESCO list of Cultural Heritage of Humanity, and thus it is best to visit it on Shrove Tuesday (the famous Mardi Gras) or at least on one of the two preceding days (we went on Sunday, as I had a job interview on Tuesday).

The Carnival tradition in Binche reaches back as early as the fourteenth century. During the Monday and Sunday celebrations, groups of people dressed up in elaborate costumes parade the streets of Binche, accompanied by the noise/music of drums. People follow them around the town, always ending up on the main square, where, if they manage to squeeze into one of the many bars, they might get a sip of the Binchoise, the local beer. It's all party party party, although, as opposed to Galicia, only the kids dress up (and the adults belonging to the formal groups). Most people do, however, decorate their hats or coats with mimosa flowers, whose gentle smell is hovering in the air at all times.

The real celebration... we missed (work more important than fun, apparently). It is on Shrove Tuesday and on Shrove Tuesday exclusively that the Gilles - men born and raised in Binche - put on their traditionasl costumes, clogs and green-eyed masks. In the morning they dance with sticks to ward off bad spirits, while in the afternoon they wear plumes and - for a reason unknown to yours truly - throw oranges at the (un)lucky observers.

According to my guide, this tradition dates back to pagan times, but

the Gilles were probably inspired by the fancy dress worn by Mary of Hungary's court at a banquet held in honour of Charles V in 1549; Peru had recently been added to the Habsburg Empire, and the courtiers celebrated the conquest by dressing up in (their version of) Inca gear (The Rough Guide to Belgium and Luxembourg, 2008, p. 328).

I'm really disappointed to have missed it. Already a plan for next year!

Clearly, the colourful drinking crowd becomes still more colourful and drunk as the time passes. I recommend not to bring any valuables with you, and, unless you want to overpay dreadfully, think about packing your own picnic. Binche will be bustling with people, so if you feel like seeing a bit of the town before the real party starts, get there early. All in all, it really reminded me of Galicia. The costumes, the music, the party people... Yes, Poland might just be short of one tradition. Here's my postulate for 2012: let's celebrate Carnival big time!

LOW COST TRIPS AROUND BRUSSELS: TERVUREN AND AFRICA MUSEUM

The truth is we are still jobless. Oh, how I miss being jobful, you've no idea! For now, however, we dedicate our days to a frantic job hunt, contacting every and any place which is vaguely connected to our professional experience. This means we spend a large portion of our time in front of our computers, locked up in our tiny little "I will survive" room. Life's tough but we'd expected this. Our goal: to find jobs and stay sane in the process. What do you need to stay sane? Little pleasures. Since there is only a limited amount of waffles you can eat without getting sick, we needed an alternative. This is how we came up with the Low Cost Trips around Brussels programme. Implemented two weeks ago, it has been working perfectly well until this day. Our three destinations so far: Midi market, which I've already told you about, Binche Carnival, which I will tell you about soon, and Tervuren. Which I will tell you about today.

Destination: the suburb of Tervuren, the Park of Tervuren and the Royal Africa Museum of Tervuren.
Transport: tram 44, destination Tervuren, from Montgomery station.
Equipement: picnic and comfy shoes.
Cost: transport around Brussels (but we have a monthly ticket) + museum admission: 4 euro/person.

We needed to get away. And, to be completely honest, even though we like Brussels more and more, we still feel exteremely nostalgic about Africa. We thus made up our minds to visit the famous Africa Museum. The fact that it is surrounded by a beautiful, enourmous park was a bonus. We'd felt like hiking for a while now, so walking in the woods seemed like an excellent idea. Bus 54, bus 27, tram 44 and there we were - in Tervuren, which, as the monolingual bus timetable informed us, is in Flanders, actually.

Musée Royal d'Afrique Centrale was ordered to be built at the beginning of the XXth century by king Leopold II. It goes without saying that the building itself is truly magnificent, and if I knew anything about architecture, I'm sure I would give you a lengthy explanation as to its structure and style. Unfortunately, you will have to content yourselves with my layman's statement that it's extremely pretty to look at.

Originally, the idea behind the museum, fashioned by the king (and, accidentally, the sole owner of Congo between 1885 and 1908, when the country was taken over by the Belgian government), was to show the good people of Belgium what a fun colony the king possessed in distant Africa. It presented handcraft, fauna and flora, together with pictures of proud Belgians standing next to chained Congolese. Times have changed, however, slavery was abolished, the Europeans lost (at least formally) their influence in Africa, and the museum became a well-reputed haven to Central African artefacts.

Most of the exhibits were assembled during the colonial period... and you can tell. The fauna rooms are full of stuffed animals, testimony to the glory of illimited hunting in Africa. The anthropology section, full of masks and the like (mostly from Congo, but two or three from Gabon, too!) would be much more interesting if the explanations, clearly coming from the seventies, were more detailed or - in some cases - simply present. On the other hand, we were happy to learn that a lot of space was dedicated to the colonial times. The story is told in a frank, truthful way, without trying to skip the shameful details. A big plus.

To sum up: the museum is not perfect but it is definitely worth a visit. It is huge, diverse, and offers many activities apart from the permanent exhibition inspected by yours truly (temporary exhibitions are more expensive, though).

One final note: don't forget to bring a picnic! The museum grounds are definitely worth a stroll. The park is enormous, with formal gardens, a bit wilder woods, several lakes, small paths and wide alleys... We wandered around for at least a couple of hours but you can easily spend a whole day just getting lost in the Tervuren park.

So here it is: my first tourist recommendation in Brussels. I can't help myself, it has to do with Africa. Next in the series: the Binche Carnival, check back in a few days!

Oh, and I've just been contacted for a job interview.