No, I haven’t left Brussels.

Not really. I did leave XL though. For a while I lived in a big maison in St. Gilles. It had 4 floors, 1 cinema, 1 jacuzzi and garden and terrasse. Then I moved back to XL again. Although it is barely XL, as close it is to Etterbeek. Or maybe I should call it the ‘European District’. I am deux pas (two steps) away from the European Parliament. In fact, I am so close I walk through the whole of the Parliament square to reach half-way to work every morning. It’s quite a breath-taking walk. Literally.

Although I haven’t left Brussels, I did leave Brussels occasionally. As the visitors came and left. I went to Oudenaarde near Ghent for a festival called Feest in het Paark. It was all because of LAMB. It was even worth it to listen 10 hours to Dutch techno. I also visited Kiewit with a tent and a  friend and a pair of wellies. What a magical experience. Hot hot sun and thunder. Beirut, the Get Up Kids, Moderat, Ellen Allien, Paulo Nutini, Arctic Monkeys, Devoschka, the Whitest Boy Alive, Fever Ray, Vampire Weekend… and of course our dear friend €0.50. Apart from the music, I did have sea too. Testing out a tent near the nudist beach of Bredene, and drinking home-brewed genièvre at a Flemish belle epoque festival was quite the experience.

But summer is over, and welcome September the traffic jam starts. It’s time to go back to school, but for some there is no school to go back to. This is normally the time when routines start shaping, when you settle into a busy life. Go back and meet all your friends, catch up over all the things you missed out over the summer. But those changes won’t happen this time. I have my own place now. I have a job. I have a poisonnerie that sells fresh gambas just around the corner. I suppose I am well prepared to enter into a adult type of life. I suppose I should be old enough. And yet, here I am missing school already. Quel bordel.

Visitor

It’s always nice to have visitors. Especially one that does the dishes,buys the grocery and prepares gorgeous picnics with my favorite white wine (yes, the wine was still there a year later at the wine shop beneath our old residence). I had a visiting housewife for a week, but he has left me now for a better place – China! Having been spoiled for a week, now that I’m alone I feel slightly traumatized. But it’s getting better already. By tomorrow I will be just fine.

With a visitor here there was much more to enjoy about Brussels. First of all, Fin de la Siècle. We had dinner there twice in a week. The first time we had dinner, we went to Gecko afterwards and then Beursschouwburg for a free concert on their terrace. An intense rock band in the summer heat, and the front row seat was a couch. Then there was a lot of Place Flagey. After the renovation, this square has become the beat of the heart of Bxl (or at least XL). The Brussels Film Festival started on Sunday, so Belga was packed. And outside Belga was packed. The queue outside the famous Frites guy was even more packed. 

We caught a Festival movie on Monday. ‘Somewhere between here and now‘ – a Belgian low budget movie about a girl coming back to Bxl and a guy about to leave Bxl and a random night walking around the city. It caught some nice aspects of the ‘randomness’ of the city. It was the first public showing, so the whole team was there after the movie and the audience asked some funny questions.  

One day we discovered the area between the waters of Etangs d’Ixelles and Bois de la Cambre. There was actually an abbey (Abbaye de la Cambre) with some really nice grass, big tree shades and old stone walls. So, another day we went back for a picnic.

On Friday, the Swedish presidency was celebrated on Place Flagey (again). Coinciding with Brussels XL Flagey Summer Festival and the film festival. There was a big stage where some swedish bands played (incl. Soundtrack of our Lives, slight disappointment actually) and a movie screen that showed Tillsammans. Suddenly you could hear swedish everywhere.

Yesterday, my visitor departed. I waved goodbye at the security gates before heading back into town and catching some fries and a movie. Nearly alone in Actor’s Studio I watched Coco Avant Chanel loosing the love of her life… but with such style and such lovely boyish clothes. I was tormented between the loss and admiration.

Yesterday at Fontainas

20:26 23 July, 2009 @ Fontainas

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So here I am back in my old spot at Fontainas. The same one I sat at while I wrote my cover letter for MLex nearly two years ago. I remember the afternoon while I had time off from ULB and decided on doing some intense internship hunting. All that intenseness really only amounted to MLex, but look how far that has got me. Here I am, lured back to Brussels after one year of absence. Living in the past and a present that hasn’t altered too much. The electronic music playing at Fontainas right now is as good as it can get (I assume they leave their infamous opera for the midday). The real difference is that instead of drinking a bière blanche I’m having a kir, and instead of my 7kg heavy Dell I now sit here with a Macbook. To sit in Fontainas writing on a Macbook must have been a subconscious dream of mine, because together with the electronic music and the environment I feel that this is exactly how it should feel if I was to write. For some reason the wireless doesn’t want to connect today, but maybe it is for the best. This way I can really have a go at the writing. A part of me feels a bit numb and handicapped after such a long absence from creative writing. The academic essays have probably gotten the better of me during this year. But now that I’m free, I’m free to write whatever I want. Free to listen to whatever I want and go out dancing to whatever I like listening to. What’s more, I can even read whatever I want, i.e. those girly teenage books such as Twilight which I have just bought for myself to indulge in. Once work is over, suddenly there is this freedom. It’s slowly creeping on to me the unlimited possibilities of what I can do with my free time. Do I ever want to read the Economist again – really? I’m not going to pretend to be pretentiously intelligent for a while, I’m going to do the things I like.

 

This next song is getting more hardcore. Being by myself has allowed me more time to observe the world around me. Sometimes I feel like a trespasser, hiding in the shadows making as little noise as I can. When I came into town I had made a list of practical stuff I needed to do. I managed to unblock my Belgian simcard, buy a bra, a H&M top and a book. The book came in handy when I went back to Tabouleh for my long-awaited belgian frites. The chubby guy was still around, but with a his hair dyed to funky brown. Perhaps it was always funky brown, I guess I wouldn’t know for sure because in my memory he always wore a hat. His fryer wasn’t working properly today but there were a few people loitering around his shop chitchatting. He welcomed me as his regular guest and said if I wanted to wait it would take 20min. It all happened quickly and in french so I guess I didn’t really realize the extent of the wait before I sat down and opened up my book. It was literally 20min, or more. I overheard a bit of the funny conversation that the chubby funky brown haired man and the young magrebs that were hanging out there held. At one point Mr. Chubby asked me what I was reading. When he saw it was Twilight it sparked off an unasked for enthusiasm. It turns out he’s seen the movie and read all the four books. Suddenly he was recommending me to read the second book because it was much more exciting – getting carried in his excitement but not wanting to reveal any of the exciting content to me. Then he caught himself slightly embarrassed by pointing out that Twilight was really some for ‘les filles’, but oh how he enjoyed it just as well. Can you imagine? Mr. Chubby churning over vampire romance in Paris (which was apparently where he read all the books). It really is a romantic image. 

 

I can’t wait to go out in Brussels (or Antwerp for that matter). I would not mind at all to go somewhere and dance the night away and get absorbed in the technical universe of beats and extravaganzas. All I need now is a friend or two who can share my excitement with these type of things to accompany me. There’s a limit of independency of a girl. As much as I can roll and push my yellow suitcase friend all over the cobbled stones of Brussels, I am very unlikely to go out clubbing alone. Which reminds me, it is probably time for me make my way back to Schuman… the grey boring district of Europeans. Before the night comes and the slegs of Brussels take over town.

Le grand retour

Yesterday I arrived back in Brussels, slightly more than a year since I left. With a huge backpack and a huge yellow suitcase I ventured down into the metro only to get stuck at Art-Loi trying to change lines. Of course there was no lift. But there was manpower. That helped me until Schuman where I got stuck again. Just my luck, the side I was on had no lift but the other direction had! Again, manpower came to hand (this time an old one). Once above ground though, it was all girlpower. Off I went rolling my yellow friend now the cobbly streets to find the flat I was going to stay for a week. To my dismay, after the longer-than-predicted walk to the flat only housed the key – to another flat another 10 minutes away. Sweaty little girlpower started nearly bursting out crying. But she bit through and pushed with her last remaining power her yellow friend all the way to the flat where to her relief – there was a lift! So, that’s how I arrived to my current residence on a street overlooking the Berlaymont building.

Today I started my first day of work as a graduate. Quite an exciting event! A bit of a travel back in time as well as one forward. Still have my old desk spot with my old computer, but many things around me have changed.

In a way I still haven’t felt like I’m really back in Brussels because I haven’t visited the centre yet. The European district of the city is a bit stale and institutional… and I don’t know it well at all! All the streets are foreign to me… Tomorrow I think I will go into ‘my part’ of town and finally return to Brussels. Most likely I will go have a nice frites with the Tabouleh boys (if they’re still there).

Paris

[My stay in Paris was between 10-13 April 2008]

Paris to me is not the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Champs Elysées, nor the Seine, or the Sacré Coeur of Montmatre. As much as these symbolic images suit with the idea of Paris, in my mind, my Paris consists of the few experiences I have had with Paris without ever being physically in Paris. The most important one, is perhaps, my favourite author who remains to be Anaïs Nin. Her diaries and novels have shaped the more important part of me: the emotional, sensual, untamed side. I had always felt a sense of belonging when I read her diaries. A symbiosis with her style. It could eventually one day become me, if it was not already dormant within me. It was linked with my sense of belonging with anything related to Bohemia. Irresponsible good life of artistic creations. Writers in poverty. Living in cheap hotel rooms, drinking on street side cafés, the meetings, the discussions. The meaningfulness in the meaninglessness. George Orwell, Henry Miller, Hemingway… They were all there. It was Paris during the Lost Generation. The Paris of 1920s and 30s. If I was ever to cultivate the writer in me, it would be because of this Paris.

When I visted Shakespeare and Company. The weight of all this history hit me very hard. I wrote the following notes whilst standing -stunned- outside the bookshop:

I am so overwhelmed I can cry. Am I an reincarnation? Did I posses a lifetime in the heart of Paris? Déjà vu or imagination? George [Whitman, owner], the remnants of ancientness was “best buddy” with Anaïs Nin. He said hello to me. He asked if I was staying here? I feel I belong here. There is a magical timeless sensation. My eyes watered. I cannot walk. I want to stare at this bookshop. Something the past has left me. Perhaps a gift from my former life.

Shakespeare and Company provides me with a link to the next importance that Paris brings to me, which is Before Sunset. The first time Jesse and Celine reunite was again at Shakespeare and Company. The two movies Before Sunrise and Sunset have contributed many aspects to how I see relationships. What it means to truly “connect” with someone. The importance of moments. The reality of fate. I followed bits of their path in Paris, taking me through nice calm streets in le Marais and surroundings.

Thirdly, privately, I had always wanted to see Palais de Tokyo, the famous gallery. A year ago I considered applying for an internship there, but this idea was lost somewhere along the line, so imagine my wonder when I could finally be able to visit the place after much thought and contemplation. The location and the building was more than I had expected. The feeling of space. The relaxing air that only when ununderstandable, yet supposedly important, art surrounds you while watching the Eiffel Tower was rather heavenly.

I did my Paris in one day really. I was later joined by my family and spent two or three more days doing the “touristy stuff” which was pleasant, but easily blurred in my memory. The one day I had to myself, on the hand, will remain for quite a long time in my mind. It remains to be my personal romance with Paris, and not the generalized “Paris – city of love” that most people will think of when they sit in a restaurant viewing the Eiffel Tower in sunset.

Gabriele Vintage

On one of my favourite streets in Brussels, Rue des Chartreux, hidden in back of the street if you’re walking from Bourse, is the best vintage shop in the world. Having never ventured past the midpoint of this road, the shop’s existence did not exist in my knowledge. Once, at night, towards the end of my stay, we walked past it, and as I saw the beautiful dresses in the shop window I thought to myself that this is a place I can’t miss to not visit.

The day I closed my bank account at ING, with hard cash on me to survive my next two last days, I somehow felt an urge to go there. I browsed the hangers. Dress after dress after dress. All beautiful, all with character. I didn’t find anything. There was too much. Gabriele (the owner), who had been silently sitting aside, listening to her soft fifties music, then came up to me and asked if I needed help with anything. ”I need a pretty dress for a ball” was the intention of going there. She wandered off into her world of thoughts and started rummaging. She pulled out one nice dress after another, each looking like they could potentially suit me perfectly (not an easy job in second-hand, where you wonder how huge were the women back in the days anyways?). But here was masterpieces. Fragile pieces of art. Reasonably priced. Gabriele made you feel very comfortable, like she was just your best friend picking out the dresses for you. When I then took my 8 dresses and started trying them on I couldn’t help but show it every single one to her. She shared the happiness when the dress fitted and became a part of me. And for the ones that were new, she just enjoyed seeing how it fit on a body. It was a matchmaking process. Finding the dress that finds you. In my case, the two dresses. Swallowing my entire two last days allowance (with even minus 10 Euros), I was a happy girl with two more dresses in my wardrobe.

I still owe Gabriele 10 Euros. One day I hope to go back and return the favour. I would suggest every girl with dreams of dresses and dreams of another era (before modernism) to go visit her once in a lifetime and buy a dress. It’s your princess dream coming true – vintage style.

She has a website as well here.

Sortie

As I have physically left Brussels, I assume that this blog should be terminated soon (or now). My exchange year has come to and end and so I say goodbye to this very enriching ten months spent in the Heart of Europe. It has by all means been a surprise journey, discovering many things about my surroundings (culturally and esthetically) and in towards myself. Growing as a person as people say, whatever that entails.

Actually, I’m not entirely ready to let go of Brussels just yet. I seem to have missed many important little tidbits that I should’ve included in this blog for future reference. It will be my project for the next few weeks to collect these in my memory and write about them. Once this blog is complete. Once it has covered the gaps and filled the holes of the cobblestones covering central Brussels, only then, I think I will be able exit.

So, let me just find the green SORTIE sign.

Fontainas

Where I used to live, there was a old church. The old church lay on a small square called Place Fontainas. I wouldn’t really call it a square, it was more like an open space where a few pedestrian roads crossed. Guess the name Fontainas comes from the metal water pump in the middle of this square. The metal pump is not really a metal pump as one would imagine when one heard the name Fontainas in association with a metal pump. It was more like a metal tap. Nothing extraordinary. I believe it is only used my the cleaning people to wash the cobblestoned roads in the neighbourhood. Practical.

Place Fontainas has a café/bar named Fontainas. It might be my favourite café/bar in Brussels. Once we played a game where each of us had to name their favourite café/bar in Brussels. Cora said Café Belga (Place Flagey), Kenneth said Bizon (Place St. Géry), Jennifer said Delirium and I said Fontainas. So, I guess it must be my favourite café/bar. It is the kind of place which looks pretentious but is not. The drinks menu is cheap. The clientèle a mixture of trendy young people, gays, lesbians, occasional tourists and old couples. During the day time it is packed with Mac laptops. During the evenings it is packed with people seemingly into intelligent conversations. The background music is mainly electronic. Occasionally classic (even opera). It is the kind of place you would love to go alone, or with friends, anytime, any occasion.

On tuesday I went there alone. With my pink Miranda July book “No one belongs here more than you.” I fit right into the interior design. It is exactly the type of book (semi-artistic, semi-intellectual) that matches well with the type of atmosphere Fontainas gives. I could melt in like a piece of portable furniture. Unfortunately, melting in does not happen with a bright pink book. A bright pink book attracts attention. The two british women sitting beside me struck up a conversation, which led to an hour long intense advice session about multinationals, manipulation and maturity. One of the woman was an ex-business journalist analysing the petrochemical industry for six years in London before finally breaking off from the entire industry and moved to Brussels. To take a break. She had learnt a lesson and she felt like sharing. So I listened. Attentively.

For many different reasons, lately, I have felt an inspiration to write. I haven’t done much yet, productively speaking, but the inspiration is there. Due to my lack of training, it appears that I’m heavily influenced by what I’m currently reading. Imitation is the first step to creation. If you ever read Miranda July’s stories, maybe this entry will have a familiar ring to it. But, without the weird-ness, the taboo-ness, and…

It is really happening. Right now. Right here. Right this moment.

It’s summer time…

To steal a change.

Lørenskog, 30km from Oslo, Norway.

-10 degrees. Snow. Scandinavian winter. Easter weekend calmness. Visiting Kenneth’s childhood. 11 Norwegian boys and vorspiel. That sounds dodgy. Oslo centre on Saturday, discovering the trendy neighbourhood of Grünerløkke. Fancy Oslolites with their cool branded sunglasses sitting outside in the sun, pretending they are in south Spain. If it wasn’t for the freezing cold, it might as well be.

Few big changes in my life in the past week. As always, changes seem to so hasty. Like stealing. It just happens. I decided to move out of my room in Rue de la Gouttière 3, to allow a guy at work take over my contract. This saves me a lot of trouble. Now I don’t have to find someone for the summer months (as my 12 month contract ends in September). Suddenly I was busy negotiating practicalities and packing up my belongings. Kenneth will be my new coloc. I think it has worked out quite well.

However, speaking of stealing. The metaphor is in this case the case. The change, it happened. This time to my brand new camera. It was on Saturday night in a nightclub in Oslo. One second it was in my bag, the next gone. The loss hit me quite hard. It has been difficult to melt down the news. When something disappears it is like death. I feel like I’m in mourning. Is it my fault? It must be. I miss it so much. And all the photos I took during the day, all the glimpse of memories I still can feel at the tip of my hand.

Now that I write about it, it is real. It has really happened. These changes has taken place, and now I have to move on to more new changes. Hopefully postive ones. Lesson learnt, no longer trust me with expensive things. I’m just so unlucky with physical property.