Armistice Day

Today is Saturday, and, like most students, I have left a number of errands that should have been run during the week until today. Now, I've already learned the hard way that EVERYTHING in Belgium is closed on Sundays, and so anything that needs to get done needs to get done on Saturday. I must admit that my purchases for this week are rather negligible--shampoo, a box of cereal, a candle, a bottle of wine to take to a friend's for dinner--and aren't really life-threatening should they go unfinished. But, still, I think that I might be able to forge ahead more happily with my work (yes, for those of you who are losing faith in ever seeing a post about my research, I am hard at work!) if I have these little things taken care of. But this morning I stepped out the door and found out--again, the hard way--that everything is closed. No, I didn't sleep through two days. Today is Armistice Day.

Now, rather than complain about the fact that my hair and my breakfast will have to wait a couple of more days, I thought I would say a few brief words about Armistice Day in Belgium. World War I was devastating for much of Belgium. The country was a battleground for five straight years, and the people who couldn't escape faced starvation and disease. In fact, our own Herbert Hoover, before he became president, ran the Commission for Relief in Belgium (CRB) and was perhaps single-handedly responsible for saving the lives of millions of civilians. Today signs of Hoover's restoration is visible throughout the streets of Leuven: the Hooverplein, for example, sits next to KUL's Centrale Bibliotheek, rebuilt from utter ruin with funds provided by the CRB. The CRB was also responsible for establishing the prestigious Belgian American Education Foundation. And while most of WWI's veterans have passed away, many in Belgium's older generations still clearly remember the difficult times of WWI.

Now, having said this, I don't think I would have known it was Armistice Day if I hadn't attempted to run my errands. Aside from a note from our Fulbright Director in the monthly newsletter and the fact that there is a little more Vaughan Williams on the classical radio station today, I don't recall any mention of the Holiday. But this is, I think, the way of the Belgians: introverted and humble, even when it comes to such a meaningful celebration. So I am certainly happy to purchase my bottle of wine at the local convenience store if it means I am reminded of the day's importance to the people in my new home country.

In Nederlands--deel een

Dit is mijn eerste post in Nederlands. Het is een beetje ruw maar wilt mijn lerares ons beoefenen.

Het is vandaag vrijdag, de tiende november. Het is een gewichtig dag omdat is vandaag mijn elfde verjaardag samen met mijn man Z. Op de tiende november negentienhonderd vijfennegentig (1995) gaan Z en ik aan ons eerste afspraakje. Wij zijn op "Lowry Dining Hall" gegaan. Blijde verjaardig Z!

Deze week zijn andere verjaardigen geweest. Op de achtste november zijn drie verjaardigen: mijn schoonbroer G, mijn andere schoonbroer J, en mijn vriend D. Het is een week druk!

Vandaag ga ik met mijn vriend A en haar schoonmoeder op lunch eten. Den studeer ik in the centrale bibliotheek. Vanavond zal ik thuisblijven.

Bedankt voor jouw geduld. :)

Mozart vs. Salieri

This year marks Mozart's 250th Birthday, and as a tribute to him musicians from all over the world have spent much of the year performing his music. This is, of course, just fine by me since I think that Mozart was an exceptional genius and just can't get enough of his music, especially when it is performed well. So I was very excited to find out that even polyphony-saturated Flemish musicians know how to lighten up and dance their way through a good classical fugue.

Sunday evening two local choirs combined efforts to present the Requiems of Salieri and Mozart, back to back, in concert at the St.-Jan-de-Doperkerk here in Leuven. Now, everyone has an idea of the rivalry that (perhaps) existed between these two Viennese-based composers, but though Mozart's music is immediately recognizably to most, Salieri is little performed today. And if you do want to give Salieri a fair shot, do NOT put him alongside Mozart in a concert, on your IPod, in your stereo, or even on your CD shelf. Salieri will not stand a chance.

Though I planned on going to the concert alone, I was lucky enough to run into my friend D at the entrance. D is one of a small group of us that drives up to Bruges every Monday night for choir rehearsal. As a Belgian native he has a passion for architecture and history, the perfect combination for an evening at one of Leuven's most interesting churches, especially when one has a 20-minute intermission and no chance whatsoever of using the church's one bathroom. As a tenor, D is also keenly interested in sharing opinions regarding music and musicians. We exchanged ideas regarding European and American choral performances, conducting technique, and various other nerdy topics. Our verdict of the evening was the same: despite Salieri's lackluster piece, the performance was magnificent (old instruments, original key, superb musicianship.) And having the opportunity to hear Mozart's Requiem, one of my all-time favorite pieces, in Europe is one I will not soon forget.

A Morning in Mechelen

On Thursday I got a letter from the Belgian post office saying that if I didn't come to pick up my package they would send it back to the sender. Nevermind that this was the first notice I had received, I also had to go to Vilvoorde, a 45-minute train ride away, in order to get it. Now, I could probably start a separate blog and fill it with my copious complaints about the Belgian postal system! But I am learning to Belgian--patient, humble, inventive--and so I decided that I would make my visit to the completely-forgettable city of Vilvoorde more exciting by stopping off in Mechelen.

Halfway between Antwerp and Brussels, Mechelen (Malines in French) is a medieval city rich in musical history. And although one may never know it when stepping off the train today and walking straight into a row of seedy cafes (I am developing a discerning eye) and cheap clothing stores, but beyond Mechelen's suburban roads lies the well-maintained reminders of the city's rich past. In the late 15th-century Mechelen was chosen to be the home of the wealthy Burgundian court, and by 1500 the ruling ladies Margaret of York and her daughter-in-law Margaret of Austria had built up an impressive collection of music and musicians. Pierre de la Rue spent most of his working life here, and the famous printer Alamire had close ties with Mechelen. (There, after five-and-a-half blog entries I've included my first "academic adventure.") When the younger Margaret died in 1530, the Burgundian capital moved to Brussels, and Mechelen was never quite the same.

Walking through Mechelen's Grote Markt is like walking into an open-air museum. The Stadhuis (shown above) is an amazing example of unfinished architectural business. The original building, seen on the right, was severed in half by Margaret of Austria. She knocked down the part on the left and had it rebuilt in the more popular Gothic style (seen on the left.) I guess nobody thought much of her idea, because when she died the project was abandoned. Thus, what remains is one of Belgian's more striking buildings. St. Romboutskathedral is a similar hodge-podge of architectural design: the clean medieval lines of the interior is (in my opinion) marred by the tacky inclusion of Baroque statues and altars. The centerpiece of the St. R, however, is the wonderful square tower with its beautiful long and slender windows.

Een "Klein" Wandeling: Autumn in the Ardennes

A couple of weeks ago my friend J invited me to accompany him and some friends on a hike in the Ardennes. I had been getting a little stir-crazy and wondering when I might be able to experience Belgium's beautiful Southern mountains which are, for the most part, inaccessible by public transportation. So his invitation came at the right time, and for the next two weeks I whipped myself into shape. My last significant hike had been over two months ago on Mount Ranier, so I didn't want to embarrass myself. I hit the gym, I widened my stride on Leuven's cobble-stoned streets, I broke in my shoes with a long walk down to Zoet Water. Then earlier this past week J e-mailed with last-minute prep: we would drive down early in the AM, embark on our "little, hilly stroll through the woods," and meet up with another group later for dinner. I breathed a little sigh of relief. 32 kms, 5 mountain crossings, and 36 hours later, I am still recovering!

The Ardennes are a lovely, green spot in southern Belgium. It is as a region most famous among Americans for the role it played as a battleground in World War II. Unlike similar regions in the US, the Ardennes are not a nationally-protected area. So it is very often that its well-worn paths cut through small villages, down paved roads, and across private back yards. Our particular hike wound along the Semois River, a very picturesque region most famous for its beer breweries (both the villages of Orval and Ciney are here) and just a stones-throw from France. The mountains themselves are very old, and early on a misty, chilly November morning they created the perfect backdrop for a taste of "Old World" Belgium.

For me this was an opportunity to stray "off the beaten path" and see how the Walloons live. We passed an old tobacco farm that had been turned into a bed and breakfast. We encountered a large hunting party replete with baying dogs (many beagles!) At one point we began passing several signs saying things like "Keep Out! Hunting Season!" and "Do not enter--hunters ahead." What would most people do in such a situation? Turn around and take another path. What do the Belgians do? Break the rules, of course. J, who is a very funny guy with a particular fondness for Americans (he and his wife L spent three years in Boston), thought it might be a good idea to put me in the middle of the group. "If a hunter accidentally shoots an American, who knows what your American president will do!" There were laughs all around, which immediately ended at the close sound of rifle fire. Ah, Belgians. :)

And at the end of the day we stopped for local beers in a cozy pub, complete with roaring fire and filled to the brim with other Flemish hikers getting a taste of the mountains. We ended the evening with an excellent five-course meal and good conversation, most of which was in Flemish. Tired as I was, I was happy to sit and listen.

(A note on pics: I haven't been able to attach any of my own to my blog entries. Apparently the files are too big. If anyone has any thoughts as to how to reduce them please let me know!)

Beer in Belgium

Belgium is often described as the "culinary capital of Europe." Perhaps much to the chagrin of their French neighbors to the west, Belgians have rightfully taken this title to heart, producing some of the finest food in its many restaurants, cafes, and pubs. When I recently asked a friend to recommend a good lunch spot, his answer was that it was nearly impossible to make a bad choice. If a place is poor then it won't be open for long: Belgians have a very low tolerance for mediocrity when it comes to food.

While I have been happily sampling the cafe culture in Leuven, I have been slow to truly experience the art of drinking Belgian beer. Perhaps a drink here or there with a meal (when the water and soda costs just as much as the beer on the lunch menu, then, well, why not?) but nothing too intense. So when a friend asked me to join her and her partner last night for "a drink," I didn't hesitate: absolutely!

Well, I should have known that Belgians don't go out for "a drink." And when one of the party is a British guy high off of Chelsea's recent football victory over Barcelona, then the drinks just keep on comin'. And I like to think that I have a pretty high tolerance, especially coming after a heavy meal of rice-vegetables-and-peanut-butter-in-a-pot surprise (don't laugh, it was actually very good!) Oh, how foolish I was. At 12:45 PM I am still padding slowly about my little studio, dressed in my flannels and wishing I had said "no" to that generously-offered fourth beer. I should have remembered Bill Bryson's experience drinking beer in Belgium. The good taste comes in part from a high alcohol content, a fact he leanred the hard way. If memory serves he was forced to attempt the pedestrian-swerve over uneven cobblestone streets on his way back to his dimly-lit hotel room which, of course, was on the top floor of an old, elevator-less building. My own post-drink experience was uncannily like his!

Bad decisions aside, I really enjoyed my sampling of beers last night. There is a great variety of Belgian beer. They are divided between blonds and darks, lagers and abbeys, heavily alcoholic and more-heavily alcoholic. They are often served in specific glasses which, according to my Belgian friend, are meant to reveal the unique attributes of each beer. According to her British boyfriend it really doesn't matter, they are all good and, hey, while we're at it, why can't they serve them in a heavy, thick, British-style pint glass and not these little 25 cl. servings? I may have been inclined to agree with him last night, but today I am happy that the Belgians are so thoughtful towards those of us less-informed about the strength of their beer: smaller, in this case, is definitely better.

Brace Yourselves . . .