Lions Language Barrier: Travel Writing

The Leuven Lions were playing the Brussels Bulls this past Sunday morning and it was one of those bitter cold Belgian mornings. Luckily, I came prepared fully covered in long johns, mittens, ski socks, and just about every football players jacket once they suited up in jerseys. I was supposed to attend the game the previous weekend, but unfortunately was feeling under the weather, so promised to attend the following weekend. Of course, it was a morning game so none of the other Americans were interested in waking up at 8am on their Sunday morning, so I attended the game as the only American fan.

I drove to the game with T.O. one of the Dutch players both Duke and Justin had grown close to. It is such a rarity to be in a car in Belgium for us that I sat perched at the window the entire hour and a half ride while listening to the boys pre-game play list. The repetoir included everything from hard core rap to country western. T.O had studied abroad for a year in America, in Missouri to be exact, what a strange state to choose, but he absolutely adored his experience, hence the country western tunes.

Once we arrived we met up with all the other Belgian players, and with Belgian players comes Belgian fans. Loud dads screaming profanities to the referries in Dutch, moms and girlfriends drinking hot chocolate all bundled up conversing in Dutch and little kids running around playing tag, yes, you guessed it in Dutch. As soon as Justin and Duke left my side I was thrown into the Belgian cheering squad. From the little that I could understand of Dutch from some of the female spectators I could hear that they most certainly didn’t understand the concept of American Football, a rather new sporting event introduced in Belgium.

I used this as my place to slowly enter the conversation, first in Dutch introducing myself and ask how they were doing and explain my situation, then next figuring out who spoke English to help them understand American football. They were so impressed that I had attempted to speak Dutch that they swept me under their wing for the rest of the game and absolutely loved hearing about my home town and experience thus far. One of the ladies had a daughter who was five and completely captivated by my speaking of English. Evidently she had never heard English before and was most certainly confused at the concept of a foreign language. I imagined my little sister, now 8, hearing a stranger speaking a language she couldn’t understand to her. She would be so confused, so I got down to her level and broke out my elementary level dutch for the second time that day asking her her name, age, and favorite color. She began giggling and babbling some more dutch words to me I couldn’t make out and her mom told me she was saying, “the lady who spoke like an alien was really nice mommy.” Of course we all broke out hysterical laughing.

The boys sadly lost horribly, the other team was really dirty and we began counting how many times the medics had to run out on to the field instead of how many points each team had, but regardless it was a great day. Post game all the players and fans of the Lions went inside to the bar to share some beers and hamburgers, at this point the little girl was sitting on my lap, the team was amazed at her comfort level with me after just a few hours. The camaraderie between this team had obviously transcended into the fans as well and I was now part of this bond. I can’t wait to go back to my next game, it is a home game, and meet up with the other female spectators, and my favorite new little Belgian friend, Marie.

Lion or Dog?

Humble Hospitality: Travel Writing

“Hospitality, n. The virtue which induces us to feed and lodge certain persons who are not in need of food and lodging.” ~Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, 1911

Having the opportunity to travel to Spain and indulge in tapas, Ireland for Sheppard’s pie, and France for crepes has been delightful for my taste buds but the dining experience, which has blown me most away, was a dinner party thrown by a 17 year old Belgian high school student and his family.

I suppose I should start from the beginning, Justin and Duke, two of my fellow Loyola peers studying in Leuven joined the Leuven Lions Football team back in September. The house was and has been very supportive of this cultural experience. With time, they have become very close with their fellow teammates and have begun inviting them to our residence, one of the teammates being Sam. The Lions are a semi-pro football team that has players ranging in age from 17 to 30, Sam, also known as “mini,” is the youngest of the group.

When I say he loves Americans, America, anything that has to do with the US I am not in any way exaggerating, the kid has dollar bills framed in his room and had us bring him fruit loops because he saw it on “How I met your Mother,” his favorite American TV Show. I rest my case. A few weeks back I was cooking dinner and Sam came in with his bright smile and funny laugh conversing with Justin and that is when I met someone who has become a close friend. I was asking Justin if he had any suggestions for ski attire for my trip to Switzerland seeing as my snowsuit didn’t fit in my luggage, nor did I intend on bringing it in the first place. But, when this opportunity of skiing in the Swiss Alps arose, I of course jumped on it. Sam nonchalantly chimmed in “I got ya covered,” two days later a beautiful winter jacket, snow pants, ski socks, hat, and waterproof gloves were carefully delivered to my door step along with some homemade waffles he had prepared for myself and my roommate Erika to try. Talk about ask and you shall receive, or mention and you shall be showered with gifts.

Sam started hanging around the house more frequently coming over after to school to play football with the boys, play cards, grab a bite to eat, he became the little brother figure in our household. He mentioned having a few of us over for a “real” Belgian meal and to meet his family, a few of us soon turned into eleven of us at his front door. It was the first time any of us had been in a Belgian house other than our professors, his parents and sister seemed intimidated by the amount of us and our fast paced English-speaking conversations. Sam on the other hand greeted us with the biggest smile all dapper in a button up shirt and ready to give us the grand tour of the house. The last stop being the loft that was fully equipped with a foosball table, pinball game, and various other games and toys. Laughter roared from the loft as all of us re-winded back to the days when we would invite our friends over to play. It was so comfortable being in a home again.

Sam’s mom soon called us down for appetizers and drinks and dinner followed soon after. Eleven of us sat around their long dining room table and Flemish stew and fries were served. The highlight of the evening being the automatic salt shaker complete with flashlight and stainless steel, everyone has now added that to their must have household appliance list. Sam’s Dad, Luke, found that and our dinner conversation in general absolutely hilarious and that is when his parents really opened up. Luke was exactly like his son, outgoing, hysterical, and hospitable. He loves beer and was sure to pick out one for each of us that matched our preference and that we had never tried before.

Following dinner we all gathered around the tv where the boys were playing playstation, grand theft auto to be exact. Soon grand theft auto turned into sing song, a voice competition via play station. The microphone was passed around singing Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” in unison. It was the smallest thing, but for whatever reason that moment got me a little chocked up. Everyone was all smiles, hysterical laughing, while Luke video taped the eleven of us singing in their living room. It is one of those moments I will never forget, I felt so at home. Midnight rolled around and we finally decided it was time to say goodbye. Sam of course came back to our house with us to spend the night with the boys, his “big brothers.”

As we departed his parents hugged each of us, saying goodbye to every single one of us by name. Then Luke said, “Next month when you come over for dinner, you’re cooking us American food.” We laughed, but he wasn’t joking. The hospitality and sense of friendship and fun touched me. It was one of my favorite evenings in Belgium thus far, it will be hard to beat.

Brigette and the Chocolate Factory: Travel Writing

Chocolate completely filled the air in the Jacques chocolate factory, one of Belgium's most well-known chocolate producers and distributers. Each of the senses were stimulated beginning with smell, it was so potent that upon first whiff it almost stung your nose, but in a good way. After taking a few big breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth my lungs were filled with chocolate so much so that I almost tasted it.

After the tease of smell, we were greeted with a wafer drenched in warm chocolate from the fountain. The tour guide Kenith, who honestly did look like Willy Wonka and was dressed in a white lab coat and top hat had us all line up and on cue dip our plain wafers in the fountain which was producing hot chocolate flowing, of course I drenched my wafer. The chocolate was so smooth and still moist when it touched your tongue. I had always raved about the desserts at the Melting Pot Restaurant, but they have nothing on Jacques.

A tour of the factory followed where we could see the hundreds of conveyer belts which produced, molded, wrapped, and boxed the chocolate candies all you heard was the swishing of completed bars being dropped from the conveyer belt through the funnel and properly into the boxes to be shipped to their retrospective grocery stores. The longevity of the conveyer belts just covered in chocolate bars amazed me as the conveyed belt attendees strategically removed every 100th candy bar to be tested. So much so that they would take the 100th bar off break it into pieces and hand count how many hazelnuts for example were in that bar and if it didn't meet protocol that conveyer belt line was shutdown and rebooted to return back to the appropriate standards. It was incredible. As many machines as there were there, most of the work was still done by hand.

The gift shop was strategically placed at the end of the tour right outside of the factory where you had been surrounded by the smell of fresh chocolates all day and now just wanted to buy everything in sight. I purchased some milk chocolate with banana cream filling (it tasted like an ice cream sundae) and chocolate beer, which I have yet to taste but it seems like Belgium's two finest tastes beer and chocolate combined has to be delectable. The broken chocolates that had been strategically counted or removed for tiny defects were sold for incredibly cheap prices in huge bags- it was a steal. Almost everyone bought two or three of those discounted bags to munch on or use as shavings to melt in hot milk to make homemade Belgian hot cocoa.

It was funny the moment we all departed the factory our noses had been so accustomed to the divine smell of chocolate that the outdoor air of Eupen, Belgium (one of the only German speaking towns in Belgium) seemed to smell a lot more unpleasant then when we had entered.

Leysin, Switzerland

Upon landing in the Geneva airport and hoping on the train towards Leysin I thought to myself okay, this is pretty, nothing to write home about quite yet. Then the train transformed into a cable car and began creeping up a 2,048 meter mountain (The Berneuse) at what felt like close to a 90 degree climb. We swerved in and out of the mountain and upon arrival I was literally standing in a cloud, thats how high we were. It was one of the most breath taking natural landscapes I have ever seen, if not the most mind blowing.

The first night we went snow tubing, not just any ordinary snow tubing, the tracks were labeled per difficulty much like the mountains (blue, green , red, and black). The black snow tube track was so high you had to wear a helmet and it ended by shooting you off a ramp into a huge moon bounce like structure. Next to the snow tubing was a restaurant completely made out of ice: tables, chairs, inside an igloo, blankets made of fur, too cool.

The following morning we woke up early bundled up, even though it was close to 45 degrees and sunny at the top of the mountain it was windy. We rented skis and hit the slopes. It had been about 5 years since I went skiing, Erika has only ever been once, and it was Nayha's first time, so naturally we wanted to start with the bunny slopes. Surprise, the Swiss Alps is not the place for beginners, bunny slopes didn't exist so we went up even higher into the mountain and practiced, I soon moved onto the blue slope and it all came back fast, then later went down a steeper blue alone because the girls were wiped, which turned into a red, very scary, but completely exhilarating.

Valentines Day was our last full day in Leysin and we spent the day hiking down the mountain to the towns center Feydey it was pretty steep and hard to balance, but it was a beautiful day. Then we went to dinner and dessert at a cute cafe nearby where we could take in the views.

Now it is back to normalicy for a little while; classes start today... until next time, Brigette

Mom in Europe

This past week I had the opportunity to travel with Mom and Uncle Ed through Cologne, Stuttgart, and finally to Dinkelsbuhl, Germany. For years I had heard how beautiful the town was they used to spend their summers visiting their grandmother (my great grandmother) in Germany. They were absolutely right, this quaint town tucked back in the countryside of Germany on the romantic highway was full of charm and memories. I saw the church where my grandmother and grandfather got married, the house of my great grandmother, and met family that had I not been studying here, probably would have never been lucky enough to form ties with. It was most certainly something I will never forget.

After we returned home from Germany we spent a few days exploring every crevice of Leuven from showing her where my classes were, the post office, grocery store, parks, town hall, shopping, and of course, trying a Belgian waffle.

On her last day, we went to Brussels and did a bus tour that was narrated in 12 different languages. It was pretty interesting to see some parts of Brussels I had even yet to see such as the atomium, which was built during the Worlds Fair in Brussels and Parliament. The first few days were 50 and sunny, but by the end of the week she got to experience the true Belgian rains. It was a fantastic week.

Journal 1: Travel Writing

I am and have always been a people person. I think the small-town feel of where I grew up instilled that quality deep within me. It is one of those “everyone knows everyone towns”- Crofton, Maryland. You can’t possibly go to the grocery store, for a run, or to the post office without it being a long ordeal because you run into five or so people who want to chat.

For years I loathed people who grew up in the hustle and bustle of NYC or Washington, DC. I was convinced that is where I would go to college, a huge city that could fulfill the craving for sky scrappers and business people in suits with sneakers rushing to their big wig jobs. I went to NYC at least twice a year growing up, but mid-way through high school something changed. All of a sudden the glitz and glamour turned into loud, annoying taxi drivers beeping and this ungodly stench of cheap hot dogs. That night when we drove home and I stepped out of the car I smelt the fresh air of Crofton, said hello to my neighbors who were bringing out their trash bins, and waved to the ice cream man, Charlie, the same man who had delivered popsicles to my door since age four. I was never happier to be home. That was me; I was a small town girl.

Upon searching for where I would go abroad I didn’t want to go to Paris or London. Though they seemed amazing and lavish, I wanted that small town charm. That was where my heart truly was. Conversations with locals in pubs and being able to walk down the street or go to the grocery store and say hello to my classmates and neighbors was an important component of the study abroad experience for me. Five months into my eleven-month encounter I can say I have accomplished that image of small town charm in Leuven, Belgium.

Almost every other city I visit the conversation goes as follows:

“Oh you’re a yank, what brings you to Ireland? Scotland? Spain? Germany? France?”

“I am studying abroad in Belgium for the year!”

“Belgium” (laughter) “Why, Belgium, it’s so…. Small”

“Exactly, that’s what I love about it!!”

I spend a lot of time explaining to individuals why I am here and what I am doing with my time in dreary, Belgium for an entire year. Yes, I will admit it rains a hell of a lot more than anyone told me, and days with blue skies are far and few between. But, the way I see it, I am not just on some vacation for a semester; I live here. I call Leuven home. I go to the grocery store, post office, do my laundry, go to the gym, go to the movies and go to school. All the other places I have the opportunity of traveling to while conveniently located in the center of Europe, that’s my traveling. Belgium, Belgium is my home away from home. Leuven is my Crofton right now. I have a routine, my life is here.

Grace is the kind woman who cleans the building I live in. Grace and I always see each other at the grocery store on Mondays. She always shops on Mondays. Sharon is a lady at the market who sells the biggest grapes I have ever seen. Evelien is a kind Belgian student who is like the head elf; she always knows the best restaurants and places to go out each night. Harold is the man at station 6 that I always hope to get when I go to the post office because he has the funniest jokes and Stein is the lady at the bank who bless her heart helped me replace my ATM card that the machine ate the other day while simultaneously helping me practice my Dutch. Grace, Sharon, Evelien, Harold, and Stein are just a few examples of people that I personally know who live in the town of Leuven. People I say hello to when I walk down the street. People who know my name, who I am, not just that I am an American. It is small, everyday connections that I have made that make me feel at home. Crofton doesn’t seem so far away in moments like that.

I will admit, saying goodbye to Crofton at Christmas was a little harder than I thought. I loved Leuven, why was I sad to go back? The daunting thought of exams? Perhaps. Or was it the thought that this feeling of visiting home, Crofton, was more reality for the near future than I had realized? That plane ride back to Belgium was a sleepless night listening to my John Mayer play list over and over again. Eight hours on a plane in the dark gives you a lot of time to think.

This was a really good time for me to spend a year away from home, from my family, from my friends, from my boyfriend, and from my daily life for one main reason: it further proved to me that it doesn’t matter where I am in the world I can remain as close to them as ever. Thanks to technology and the strong bonds I have formed over the years my family, friends, and boyfriend have remained incredibly supportive of this year. Crofton is the place where I grew up yes, but it is the people there that have made me who I am. That will never change, no matter where life takes me.

Leuven will always remain a place I lived for a year, but the friends I met and people I encounter daily here is what will remain a part of me. Yes, the places you go do shape you to be who you are, but even more so are the people who you come across and touch your life. If there is anything I hope to further get out of this astounding experience it is to form closer bonds with my Belgian and international friends. To continue to travel and taste the foods, see the sights, and photograph them as to capture the moments I once felt. But, more importantly, never forget the meaningful conversations you have over a Bulmer’s apple cider with an old Irish grandpa in Galway, an immigrant from Nigeria living in Paris selling postcards, or a woman selling grapes the size of peaches in the Leuven market. The people to people connections will forever shape me into the person I am continuing to become.