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.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

I have not yet had enough time to walk around Brussels peacefully, visit the numerous museums and simply enjoy the city. Most of my walks were related to flat (or, more specifically, room) hunting, but I must say that what I see, I like. And since the spring is just around the corner, I'm looking forward to discovering the various charms of Brussels. If the job thing goes well for both of us, and we manage to get installed here for a few years, I believe I'll be happy.

Later on, I'll tell you about the sights of Brussels (I believe I should see them myself before I make recommendations). First impressions are never about the sights, though. It's rather the vibe your new home gives you, the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling of discovering something new and exciting. What is it that I have learned about Brussels, then? That it can be home to everybody. The real melting pot. The heart of Europe.

Let's start small: with our own street. Walking down Chaussée de N., you pass all the possible nationalities - people from Africa, Morocco, Liban, Brasil, China, Poland, Spain, Belgium (probably)... the list goes on. Consequently, the street is full of relevant shops and restaurants. There are several Moroccan/Libanese butchers, a Moroccan tea room, a Polish shop and bakery, three Chinese restaurants, a Moroccan/Libanese/Turkish (forgive my ignorance!) snack bar and a pizzeria of the same origin (!), followed by an African shop and several Belgian bars (one of them run by a Russian lady).

Upon leaving our neighbourhood, it only gets more complicated: Spanish shops and Polish hairdressers appear, not to mention Portuguese and Italian restaurants. Finally, there are whole thematic parts of the city: the Moroccan district with its wonderful tea rooms and delicious cakes, the African neighbourhood which I have yet to visit, the Turkish one, the Spanish street, the European district, the crazy international Marché du Midi... It really makes your head spin.

I like it, though. In Brussels, I'm not weird, I'm not special. Here everyone is different, which actually makes you feel you belong. The linguistic and cultural chaos in the streets of Brussels is very similar to the one in my head. I thus embrace it as my own; I feel I can find myself within this diversity.

First impressions: positive. Let's see what comes next.

STAYING FIT IN FOREST

Still nothing to brag about jobwise. Instead of complaining about the fact that, for the time being, nobody wants to employ such a fab professional as myself, I'll tell you about another aspect of getting a life in Brussels. Namely, the gym.

There are some good points about leaving Africa, you'd think. For one thing, you can find a cheap gym close to your home, which will offer BodyCombat courses to your heart's content (and a swimming pool for your boyfriend, ideally). Well, not so fast. I'll have you know that most gyms are located in the distant land of far far away, they are expensive and, to top it all off, they offer neither BodyCombat nor swimming (am I too demanding? Try BodyCombat first and then judge me).

And thus I had to settle for the next best thing. My new fitness club is very close to our house in the lovely neighbourhood of Forest, and it's relatively cheap. Cheaper than the other ones anyway. And as staying fit (or, let's not fool ourselves, shall we? - getting fit again) is as important for my mental health as work, I decided to invest my precious euros in the abonement.

The reception desk is usually empty. If you lean over the counter, however, you'll notice a huge enormous gigantic dog, whom the owner dismissively refers to as ma Fifi. I've been there twice so far, and the dog did not seem to move during the time I was absent.

The first class is free, so I decided to check out what is interestingly called Aerosteps. I walked in and the room was already filled with girls. They all know one another, as it often happens in small gyms, and they were in the middle of a lively conversation on whether the course instructor (who turned out to be the receptionist and owner of the big enormous dog, by the way), would appreciate their way of distributing the steps. Apprehensive, seeing that the instructor was ten minutes late, they invented several excuses for him, and were not at all indignant at the light way in which he takes his responsibilities. Instead, they commented on how busy he must be. Are they paying customers?, I asked myself.

But here he comes, he enters the room, energy in every move, the obvious star of the show. No apologies for his tardiness are offered. All the ladies, apart from me, the innocent new girl, automatically start doing semi-sit-ups, as if it were a ritual greeting they performed every time they saw the instructor. Too busy trying not to burst out laughing, I don't notice that the instructor is already frowning in my direction, to make me join in the fitness ritual. I have no choice, and I start bending my knees in the same ridiculous way. When the half-god, half-fitness instructor has seen enough, we move on to the actual class. It's schematic, rather boring but I must admit it's an honest effort. I have been in pain for two days.

The problem is that the instructor didn't really do anything during the class. He just shouted a lot, played with his mobile and made fun of us (probably his way of motivating girls). He didn't show one single move, and the other ladies were so well trained that they knew exactly what came next. Not to mention the looks of utter admiration they directed towards the lazy instructor...

All in all, I have found my gym. The pro&con list says I have no other option for now. Staring at the dog is an obvious pro, of course. And the fact that I felt I'd worked out. If only I could solve the mystery of the instructor's popularity, though... Oh well, I'll keep you posted.

The picture comes from here.