Me, waiting to order my first coffee, am joined in my waiting by an English speaking man who clearly thinks himself quite the intellectual - the similarity only now strikes me.
He tries to slip in his word before me, but I am not to be daunted. I calmly yet assuredly order my beverage of choice.
The waiter nods, acknowledging my request, and turns to the other, still clearly out-of-sorts by my audacity mere seconds earlier.
Do you have a bottle of white wine. He asks. He is assured that they do.
As the waiter turns around to procure my coffee and the oddly ordered bottle of white, a second enquiry erupts from the - most assuredly not Anglo-Saxon - luscious lips of the aging gentleman besides me.
What kind of white. He asks.
The house white is a Chardonnay.
Disappointment.
We also have a more expensive white, though also a Chardonnay.
But I assure you that the house wine is really quite good.
The most expensive one.
Exit man to join a younger - though not by much - blonde woman in a - slightly too short - red dress.
--- Some time passes in which I realise the presence of 3 Swedish girls & engage one of them in a short conversation ---
A second bottle of white has been ordered and opened and the two have decadently consumed it with pain et fromage. The man has - rather obviously from where I was sitting, two tables away - started caressing the viciously long, slightly fleshy and rather too tanned legs of the red-dressed woman in front of him.
She is obviously delighted by his undoubtedly witty conversation (a "sexy shrimp" seems to feature quite heavily in one of his many anecdotes)(I hope to all that is right and just in this universe that this shrimp was not a thinly veiled metaphor for something else) and his exquisite taste in wine. Expensive. White.
zaterdag 4 september 2010
Browsing Through Brussels
I encountered five Swedish-speaking persons. I cannot but find this a tad ominous.
The first two I met in a shop, where I, minutes later, decided to buy a low-necked t-shirt. Blue. A guy & a girl, alternating between - what I presume was - their native tongue and English. They did not purchase.
The last three I met in a bar, where I enjoyed my usual cup-a-coffee & a cigarette, plural. Unlike the couple, these three females where more obviously of the Nordic persuasion. Blue-eyed & blond, medium height.
Two of them left on what I fathomed was a cigarette errand, based on the fact that they had just run out of their little sticks of death. I could no longer restrain myself. I addressed the remaining one.
Amanda & her two friends were backpacking through Europe. She liked Brussels and had spent a week here yesteryear. I like Brussels too. The connection was immediate, completely imaginary and, as connections are so often want to be, fleeting.
Turns out my accent was quite good.
The first two I met in a shop, where I, minutes later, decided to buy a low-necked t-shirt. Blue. A guy & a girl, alternating between - what I presume was - their native tongue and English. They did not purchase.
The last three I met in a bar, where I enjoyed my usual cup-a-coffee & a cigarette, plural. Unlike the couple, these three females where more obviously of the Nordic persuasion. Blue-eyed & blond, medium height.
Two of them left on what I fathomed was a cigarette errand, based on the fact that they had just run out of their little sticks of death. I could no longer restrain myself. I addressed the remaining one.
Amanda & her two friends were backpacking through Europe. She liked Brussels and had spent a week here yesteryear. I like Brussels too. The connection was immediate, completely imaginary and, as connections are so often want to be, fleeting.
Turns out my accent was quite good.
zaterdag 28 augustus 2010
Berlijn
As you well know, I have an opinion about everything. Even - or especially - about the things I know hardly anything about.
Thus, despite never having visited Berlin, I could participate in conversation on this German Capital. Berlin, I used to say, was more like Brussels. The Tale of Four Cities. You had Paris and London on the one hand, glamourous & rich, decadent & gorgeous, and Berlin and Brussels on the other, hodge-podge eclecticism, an assembly of a convoluted history and a bustling present.
Like they say, even a broken clock is correct twice a day.
So guess what, turns out I had an actual point.
Berlin Is like Brussels. Be it a lot bigger.
You have ugly buildings wedged in between temples of the past. You have gargantuan squares surrounded by fake reconstructions. You have a troubled past.
You have, in short, a city to fall in love with.
And I think I did. Like so many before me, I have grown to really like Berlin, despite the shortness of my visit.
This liking grew gradually. The overcast skies did not prevent us from seeing some (for it would be preposterous to think we saw even a glimmer of the wealth of Berlin) of the highlights.
The click however, came in a moment of unplanned queasiness. I passed on a museum visit my entourage was to engage in, and instead elected to wander around a bit. I sat listening to some street artists (violin & guitar playing, amongst others, the schlinder's list theme), I walked around, I wandered. I roamed. I was at peace.
I will be back.
Thus, despite never having visited Berlin, I could participate in conversation on this German Capital. Berlin, I used to say, was more like Brussels. The Tale of Four Cities. You had Paris and London on the one hand, glamourous & rich, decadent & gorgeous, and Berlin and Brussels on the other, hodge-podge eclecticism, an assembly of a convoluted history and a bustling present.
Like they say, even a broken clock is correct twice a day.
So guess what, turns out I had an actual point.
Berlin Is like Brussels. Be it a lot bigger.
You have ugly buildings wedged in between temples of the past. You have gargantuan squares surrounded by fake reconstructions. You have a troubled past.
You have, in short, a city to fall in love with.
And I think I did. Like so many before me, I have grown to really like Berlin, despite the shortness of my visit.
This liking grew gradually. The overcast skies did not prevent us from seeing some (for it would be preposterous to think we saw even a glimmer of the wealth of Berlin) of the highlights.
The click however, came in a moment of unplanned queasiness. I passed on a museum visit my entourage was to engage in, and instead elected to wander around a bit. I sat listening to some street artists (violin & guitar playing, amongst others, the schlinder's list theme), I walked around, I wandered. I roamed. I was at peace.
I will be back.
zondag 22 augustus 2010
Festivals
De Morgen (Flemish News Paper) claims that Pukkelpop has gotten a lot stricter in its policy on drugs... hehe.
'nough said.
Sun. Dust. Sunburns. Sweat pouring down, slowly taking on the colour of the surroundings. Free hat, head is grateful. Music. Atmosphere. Rhythm. Bouncing beats crashing our sense of self & direction.
It seems we have gone back to the most tribal (most human?) form of dance. Rhythmic swaying back and forth. Head bouncing, shaking. Arms flaying wildly.
The only thing missing is fire & body paint.
Music.
Rhythm.
Sounds.
Sun.
'nough said.
Sun. Dust. Sunburns. Sweat pouring down, slowly taking on the colour of the surroundings. Free hat, head is grateful. Music. Atmosphere. Rhythm. Bouncing beats crashing our sense of self & direction.
It seems we have gone back to the most tribal (most human?) form of dance. Rhythmic swaying back and forth. Head bouncing, shaking. Arms flaying wildly.
The only thing missing is fire & body paint.
Music.
Rhythm.
Sounds.
Sun.
vrijdag 13 augustus 2010
Happiness
What is happiness?
Happiness is not something commonly experienced in the "active" sense. More often it will be a vague realisation, more often than that a sense of loss. Happy is usually something that you were, the lack of which is felt more clearly than the presence ever did.
On those few occasions, however, that the happiness is realised, it is to be seen as a sense of contentment.
It is acceptance.
You look at the world around you - your world - and feel at peace with it.
True happiness isn't anything world shattering - to the contrary, in fact -, it is a sense of inner peace.
Inner Peace is the - very personal, intuitive - idea that you have not committed any sins that you have been insufficiently punished for.
Sins are not to be seen as a Christian, Muslim, Jewish or any other religious concept. The sins in our mind are those mistakes we have made in the past that we are sorry for. Things that we feel we shouldn't have done. These may, and often will, be dictated by the society we live in, but are first and foremost a product of our own values and worth. Killing a man to obtain bread may not be a sin, whereas looking at your wife's sister may. Not being able to buy the special addition Barbie (c) for your baby girl may be a torment.
The important thing is that You, individually, feel that you have done wrong.
The same logic works for the Punishment. This does not have to be - and usually isn't - a physical form of punishment. It may come in the form of self-abasement, of self-denial, of fast, of donating vast amounts of money to people who will never know who their benefactor was. The ways of punishment are as vast as there are humans. For every human being, there are sins, for every sin, there's a punishment.
Inner peace is achieved when the sins and the punishment are in balance. You do not owe a debt to anyone, anything, and least of all to yourself.
Happiness is that easy. And that Difficult.
---
Truly happy people will not be remembered. For they will not be the ones doing great deeds. Great deeds are a clear example of punishment. People pushing themselves to the brink of life, striving for the greatest, are seeking Inner Peace. The moment they have achieved it - though, don't worry, they rarely will - their momentum is stopped. The Perpetuum Mobile that is Sin & Punishment will have come to a standstill.
It isn't surprising that the most active, reactive, creative, productive people are teenagers. Who else could be less at peace?
A society where everyone is happy - the society mankind has officially strived for for ages - is doomed. Luckily - how ironic a word - this will probably never come to pass.
Happiness is not something commonly experienced in the "active" sense. More often it will be a vague realisation, more often than that a sense of loss. Happy is usually something that you were, the lack of which is felt more clearly than the presence ever did.
On those few occasions, however, that the happiness is realised, it is to be seen as a sense of contentment.
It is acceptance.
You look at the world around you - your world - and feel at peace with it.
True happiness isn't anything world shattering - to the contrary, in fact -, it is a sense of inner peace.
Inner Peace is the - very personal, intuitive - idea that you have not committed any sins that you have been insufficiently punished for.
Sins are not to be seen as a Christian, Muslim, Jewish or any other religious concept. The sins in our mind are those mistakes we have made in the past that we are sorry for. Things that we feel we shouldn't have done. These may, and often will, be dictated by the society we live in, but are first and foremost a product of our own values and worth. Killing a man to obtain bread may not be a sin, whereas looking at your wife's sister may. Not being able to buy the special addition Barbie (c) for your baby girl may be a torment.
The important thing is that You, individually, feel that you have done wrong.
The same logic works for the Punishment. This does not have to be - and usually isn't - a physical form of punishment. It may come in the form of self-abasement, of self-denial, of fast, of donating vast amounts of money to people who will never know who their benefactor was. The ways of punishment are as vast as there are humans. For every human being, there are sins, for every sin, there's a punishment.
Inner peace is achieved when the sins and the punishment are in balance. You do not owe a debt to anyone, anything, and least of all to yourself.
Happiness is that easy. And that Difficult.
---
Truly happy people will not be remembered. For they will not be the ones doing great deeds. Great deeds are a clear example of punishment. People pushing themselves to the brink of life, striving for the greatest, are seeking Inner Peace. The moment they have achieved it - though, don't worry, they rarely will - their momentum is stopped. The Perpetuum Mobile that is Sin & Punishment will have come to a standstill.
It isn't surprising that the most active, reactive, creative, productive people are teenagers. Who else could be less at peace?
A society where everyone is happy - the society mankind has officially strived for for ages - is doomed. Luckily - how ironic a word - this will probably never come to pass.
The Favourite Feeling
Though perhaps it would be better to call it the absence of feeling, more than the presence of one.
Sitting in a bar
coffee and tobacco
close at hand
book in
There's no future
There's no past
And most importantly
perhaps
No present
http://hotguysreadingbooks.tumblr.com/
Sitting in a bar
coffee and tobacco
close at hand
book in
There's no future
There's no past
And most importantly
perhaps
No present
http://hotguysreadingbooks.tumblr.com/
zondag 1 augustus 2010
On Fate
When facing questions, who do you turn to?
Do you turn to your parents, your brothers, your family?
Do you turn to your friends or lovers?
Do you turn to yourself?
Who of those should you trust the most? If any?
Your family, for they can not but love you and will support you in all your endeavours, however grudgingly? Or are they to be mistrusted, because they may attempt to live through you, realize their half forgotten dreams of splendour through their offspring; or even begrudge you your shot at those dreams, where they blew it? Are they not human?
Your friends, for they love you because they can; and they stick to you because they want to? Will they be willing to let you go when they realize they should? Who’s to prevent them from subconsciously attributing their own reasons to you? Are they not human?
Yourself? That treacherous wretch that has to turn to others, even imaginary meta-others, for salvation, for solutions? That weakling who is incapable or unwilling – which one is worse? – to make the choices posed upon him as a member of society, as a participant of the eternal rat race? Are you not human?
When things go wrong, when they go right, who will you blame or thank? Why blame or thank someone who did not consciously do wrong? Why those who are only human? Do they or you control the tempestuous whims of life? We did not, could not, do not, will not affect the events that occurred, occur and will keep occurring.
Why turn to the helpless?
Is it not much better to let the fates decide? To let them spin the yarn of time, measure it, and cut it at will? Is it not much better to float the tides, being thrown hither and dither like the flotsam we truly are?
We are but actors, playing out the roles set out for us. The most the atheist can hope for, is that he won’t forget his lines. The most the believer can hope for, is that the prompter does remember them.
The Dancer by Otto Dix
Do you turn to your parents, your brothers, your family?
Do you turn to your friends or lovers?
Do you turn to yourself?
Who of those should you trust the most? If any?
Your family, for they can not but love you and will support you in all your endeavours, however grudgingly? Or are they to be mistrusted, because they may attempt to live through you, realize their half forgotten dreams of splendour through their offspring; or even begrudge you your shot at those dreams, where they blew it? Are they not human?
Your friends, for they love you because they can; and they stick to you because they want to? Will they be willing to let you go when they realize they should? Who’s to prevent them from subconsciously attributing their own reasons to you? Are they not human?
Yourself? That treacherous wretch that has to turn to others, even imaginary meta-others, for salvation, for solutions? That weakling who is incapable or unwilling – which one is worse? – to make the choices posed upon him as a member of society, as a participant of the eternal rat race? Are you not human?
When things go wrong, when they go right, who will you blame or thank? Why blame or thank someone who did not consciously do wrong? Why those who are only human? Do they or you control the tempestuous whims of life? We did not, could not, do not, will not affect the events that occurred, occur and will keep occurring.
Why turn to the helpless?
Is it not much better to let the fates decide? To let them spin the yarn of time, measure it, and cut it at will? Is it not much better to float the tides, being thrown hither and dither like the flotsam we truly are?
We are but actors, playing out the roles set out for us. The most the atheist can hope for, is that he won’t forget his lines. The most the believer can hope for, is that the prompter does remember them.
The Dancer by Otto Dix
donderdag 29 juli 2010
On Trains
How people can sit on a Belgian train alone & not be moved to higher thoughts, I do not understand.
I mean, sure, there’s the exception where you’re wedged between two other people and you are barely able to move – I suggest a trip to india to put this in perspective, by the way. But apart from that, people who travel the railroads of our glorious country alone have no excuse not to be soaked in metaphysical slumberings.
You see the houses zooomming past. If you’re aimed in the “forward” direction, this will give you a sense of the future speeding up to you and flashing past. You will see new vistas loom on the horizon, rapidly approach and be history already. A history of which you will not have to think about, when sitting in the “forward” direction, unless you are of an exceptionally gloomy mind. No; when sitting in the “forward direction”, your thoughts will go to future expeditions to the north pole, to the moon, to that girl you fancied in that pub once. You marvel at the colourful shapes present in the skies, as they are in the daring expressions of youth, the graffiti. You witness growing fields, strong trees and the current almost leaping of the electricity poles in delight at your approach. You are in anticipation.
When sitting in the “backward” direction, however, you will be confronted with your past. It will, fittingly, be too painful to turn your head to the future, your eyes will remained locked up the things zooommed past. People and houses getting smaller, churches and pitiful clumps of shrubberies are receding in the distance. Your mind will wander towards those things both ancient and recent past. Thoughts might meander in the realms of the dead, thinking about a loved or hated one, they might take a stroll towards the trip you took yesteryear, with all those funny people that you vowed to see again and haven’t heard from since. You’ll witness the ugly building sites, the cranes looming over them, not as storks carrying the new born, but as vultures patiently waiting to pick the carcass of its last shivering flesh. Already the meat seems pervaded with fungus and crawling bacteria, the tribal art and its producers.
Of course, there is no need to let the mind wander outside the confines of the train space. The train in itself, the moving vehicle, snaking through the country and through the cityside, always moving, always still. We’ve all witnessed the station slowly leaving our train behind. The unmoved mover.
The train is like a log, slowly braving a quick-witted river, playfully nibbling at its haunches. The passengers are the small animals, the vermin, temporarily seeking shelter from the bristling brook, only to realize, after a while, that the nature of the log is defined by the water they seek to evade. They will then cast themselves back into the water whence they came; jettison we are and to jettison shall we return.
This little peninsula of temporary peace is generally inhabited by other members of our lustrous race – I refer, of course, to the more general human race, not to any Caucasian or Negroid subspecies - and are thus somewhat comparable to an early 20th century Zoo. Think : big Iron Fences. Think : observing the Other from a safe distance. Think : being equally observed by this distant other.
The human species is a relatively interesting one in comparison to most of the living world, especially when you are not in possession of a microscope and a vivid imagination – which I, coincidentally, happen to have, but I dare not presume that to be the case for you. It will talk with unrelentless passion, despite not having anything to talk about – yes, pot, kettle, haha –, it will gesture wildly when on the phone, seemingly unaware that the recipient of those movements isn’t, in fact, receiving them. It will gaze ponderously outside, thinking about imminent past and former future.
When observing the myriad examples of our species, these fellow participants of the great marathon called life – in which you gallop towards the finish whether you intend to or not –, how can one not be moved to deeper thoughts, as I am, on the social, the political, the economical, the psychological and everything? One, unless one is blessed by the absence of a conscious mind, can not.
dinsdag 27 juli 2010
Welcome Back
Back in Belgium.
For realz this time.
Realz².
Arrived in the Ghent station at 17 past 1.
Was met by a friend of Italian/German/Belgian descent. We had agreed to meet there, at that time (though, perhaps, slightly earlier) in order for a transaction. She was to give me the keys to the apartment of my brother and to that of my parents - I wouldn’t have said no to answers to the fundamental questions of the universe, but she, apparently, wasn’t up for that - without which I would have been doomed to roam the earth aimlessly for years to come; or spend the night in Brussels, whichever came first.
After the transaction was conducted, we boarded a tram. “boarded a tram” does not at all convey the last minute rush we experienced when perceiving the tram in the distance, considered the weight of my (rather heavy) bag, and then turning into a pair of scrambling fools; but it will have to do. We boarded the tram. It, however, did not follow the usual route, as I was soon, to my great horror, to discover. It took a left instead of a right (a bit like socialism, but different, I guess). This meant we were not headed towards the apartment of my brother (conveniently close to the station) but instead towards the centre of the city (not particularly conveniently close to anything but big crowds of drunkards). We were stranded on the Island of civilization with nothing but the need to get home quickly and safely. Which isn’t much, considering. We didn’t even have a personal servant named after one of the days of the week.
We harassed a couple of potential carriers. Not the medical kind. Carry a 30 kg bag in exchange for three beers & three cigarettes. They weren’t convinced, however.
After finally dropping the bag at the parents’ place (and take a shower and get changed) we headed out into the city. It didn’t sleep. So neither did we.
We talked to people. We did knock-knock-jokes with random strangers (who, for some reason, found the concept enormously difficult to grasp, so we were forced to enact both knock-knock-roles by ourselves. Needless to say, we did very well).
We
basically
had a lot of fun.
At about 9 AM (Monday morning, Belgium time) we decided to head home and, after, perhaps, a night cap, go to bed. The night cap was oddly enough accompanied by deep discussions on metaphysical questions, on potentiality. Is, or isn’t, there a pregnant man in the box? And is the cat in the box a metaphor for the repressed femininity of the European female? It is possible.
After a few refreshing hours – four to be exact – we headed out again. I was reunited with long-lost friends (Mr. Chilly & Mrs. Hangover) and I also met up with Flore, which I hadn’t seen for a few months. This last day of the Gentse Feesten ended earlier (at a ridiculously early 7AM (Tuesday, Belgium Time), I am shocked to admit). We had breakfast on the street. I had my first chocoladekoek in ages.
It’s not at all easy to imagine a better welcome to Belgium. Rather difficult, in fact. I’ll keep you posted if I come up with something.
For realz this time.
Realz².
Arrived in the Ghent station at 17 past 1.
Was met by a friend of Italian/German/Belgian descent. We had agreed to meet there, at that time (though, perhaps, slightly earlier) in order for a transaction. She was to give me the keys to the apartment of my brother and to that of my parents - I wouldn’t have said no to answers to the fundamental questions of the universe, but she, apparently, wasn’t up for that - without which I would have been doomed to roam the earth aimlessly for years to come; or spend the night in Brussels, whichever came first.
After the transaction was conducted, we boarded a tram. “boarded a tram” does not at all convey the last minute rush we experienced when perceiving the tram in the distance, considered the weight of my (rather heavy) bag, and then turning into a pair of scrambling fools; but it will have to do. We boarded the tram. It, however, did not follow the usual route, as I was soon, to my great horror, to discover. It took a left instead of a right (a bit like socialism, but different, I guess). This meant we were not headed towards the apartment of my brother (conveniently close to the station) but instead towards the centre of the city (not particularly conveniently close to anything but big crowds of drunkards). We were stranded on the Island of civilization with nothing but the need to get home quickly and safely. Which isn’t much, considering. We didn’t even have a personal servant named after one of the days of the week.
We harassed a couple of potential carriers. Not the medical kind. Carry a 30 kg bag in exchange for three beers & three cigarettes. They weren’t convinced, however.
After finally dropping the bag at the parents’ place (and take a shower and get changed) we headed out into the city. It didn’t sleep. So neither did we.
We talked to people. We did knock-knock-jokes with random strangers (who, for some reason, found the concept enormously difficult to grasp, so we were forced to enact both knock-knock-roles by ourselves. Needless to say, we did very well).
We
basically
had a lot of fun.
At about 9 AM (Monday morning, Belgium time) we decided to head home and, after, perhaps, a night cap, go to bed. The night cap was oddly enough accompanied by deep discussions on metaphysical questions, on potentiality. Is, or isn’t, there a pregnant man in the box? And is the cat in the box a metaphor for the repressed femininity of the European female? It is possible.
After a few refreshing hours – four to be exact – we headed out again. I was reunited with long-lost friends (Mr. Chilly & Mrs. Hangover) and I also met up with Flore, which I hadn’t seen for a few months. This last day of the Gentse Feesten ended earlier (at a ridiculously early 7AM (Tuesday, Belgium Time), I am shocked to admit). We had breakfast on the street. I had my first chocoladekoek in ages.
It’s not at all easy to imagine a better welcome to Belgium. Rather difficult, in fact. I’ll keep you posted if I come up with something.
maandag 26 juli 2010
Back
On being back in Belgium.
The people speak my language. Small thing, yet rather significant. Especially considering that I’m getting less and less certain to what “my language” is exactly. Not for the first time either.
On the plane from London to Brussels there were some people from Antwerp. Trust me, you can tell. I really felt like going up to them and asking them, in English, to shut the f*ck up. I restrained myself. They really weren’t that annoying. But there could have been more pleasant ways to ease me back into my mother tongue.
In the Brussels airport, I was confronted first with a bunch of irritating f*ckwads who didn’t know how to use the bloody ticket machine. After waiting for ten aggravating minutes (I had to catch that train) it’s my turn. My turn to fail, it turns out. The machine had given out.
Combine this with a fortunate lack of Euro’s, I was f*cked. I had spent my last 5 euro’s in London on two espresso’s (I got change in extremely useful derivatives of pounds... which I kindly gave as a tip).
Luckily for me the trainconductress was the friendly assisting kind. And she spoke my mother tongue too. My luck knows no boundaries, turns out. With the use of my SIS card (national heath card with chip. You gotta love Europe) I got a temporary ticket, to be paid within 14 days.
I arrived in Brussels South (Bruxelles Midi) (Brussel Zuid) to find out I had missed a train by less than five minutes.... lo-ve-ly.
I then bumped into a Canadian I used to hang out with last year in Leuven. He had just gotten back from (the) Gent(se feesten). The world in small indeed. I presented him with a pack of clove cigarettes. He was sufficiently grateful and we proceeded to smoke a cigarette on the platform. He then took a train to leuven and I took off to my own platform where I intended to spend the next three quarters in quiet contemplation of my fate. On the platform I encountered a couple I had spoken too in Brussels Airport (yes. The f*ckwads). They turned out to be a nice couple from Bruges and were taking the same train as I was. They had just come back from Rhodos. I had another cigarette with the lady.
The social-cementing-skills of cigarettes are heavily underrated. Sure, they may kill, but they will provide you with some entertainment on the way there.
There was a huge gathering of people of the black persuasion in the train station. I heard on the platform from some drunk people that they had just shaken the hand of the Senegalese king/president. Me being the clever chap I am, I put two and two together (I arrived at pi for some reason) and concluded that that was what the gathering was about.
The drunk people were from Denderleeuw, I have just found out. I would have never guessed.
1:02 AM, Belgium, 26th of juli
The people speak my language. Small thing, yet rather significant. Especially considering that I’m getting less and less certain to what “my language” is exactly. Not for the first time either.
On the plane from London to Brussels there were some people from Antwerp. Trust me, you can tell. I really felt like going up to them and asking them, in English, to shut the f*ck up. I restrained myself. They really weren’t that annoying. But there could have been more pleasant ways to ease me back into my mother tongue.
In the Brussels airport, I was confronted first with a bunch of irritating f*ckwads who didn’t know how to use the bloody ticket machine. After waiting for ten aggravating minutes (I had to catch that train) it’s my turn. My turn to fail, it turns out. The machine had given out.
Combine this with a fortunate lack of Euro’s, I was f*cked. I had spent my last 5 euro’s in London on two espresso’s (I got change in extremely useful derivatives of pounds... which I kindly gave as a tip).
Luckily for me the trainconductress was the friendly assisting kind. And she spoke my mother tongue too. My luck knows no boundaries, turns out. With the use of my SIS card (national heath card with chip. You gotta love Europe) I got a temporary ticket, to be paid within 14 days.
I arrived in Brussels South (Bruxelles Midi) (Brussel Zuid) to find out I had missed a train by less than five minutes.... lo-ve-ly.
I then bumped into a Canadian I used to hang out with last year in Leuven. He had just gotten back from (the) Gent(se feesten). The world in small indeed. I presented him with a pack of clove cigarettes. He was sufficiently grateful and we proceeded to smoke a cigarette on the platform. He then took a train to leuven and I took off to my own platform where I intended to spend the next three quarters in quiet contemplation of my fate. On the platform I encountered a couple I had spoken too in Brussels Airport (yes. The f*ckwads). They turned out to be a nice couple from Bruges and were taking the same train as I was. They had just come back from Rhodos. I had another cigarette with the lady.
The social-cementing-skills of cigarettes are heavily underrated. Sure, they may kill, but they will provide you with some entertainment on the way there.
There was a huge gathering of people of the black persuasion in the train station. I heard on the platform from some drunk people that they had just shaken the hand of the Senegalese king/president. Me being the clever chap I am, I put two and two together (I arrived at pi for some reason) and concluded that that was what the gathering was about.
The drunk people were from Denderleeuw, I have just found out. I would have never guessed.
1:02 AM, Belgium, 26th of juli
vrijdag 23 juli 2010
These are my last days in Mumbai.
This is probably my last post in Mumbai (unless I decide to throw in a quicky before leaving towards the airport).
It's like the end of an era. but less so.
My taste buds have finally gotten to the point where they don't flinch in terror when sensing the approach of garlic or peppers. My stomach has grown used to the fact that, no, there won't be any real meat to digest today. My skin has embraced the continuous humidity and dust, though still suffers under the buzzy presence of mosquitoes. When crossing the street I look first left, then right. Instead of nodding I do the curious head-waggle so common to Indians. When mumblingly agreeing to something, I find myself saying ha ha ha.
Oh Well. It'll pass.
This is probably my last post in Mumbai (unless I decide to throw in a quicky before leaving towards the airport).
It's like the end of an era. but less so.
My taste buds have finally gotten to the point where they don't flinch in terror when sensing the approach of garlic or peppers. My stomach has grown used to the fact that, no, there won't be any real meat to digest today. My skin has embraced the continuous humidity and dust, though still suffers under the buzzy presence of mosquitoes. When crossing the street I look first left, then right. Instead of nodding I do the curious head-waggle so common to Indians. When mumblingly agreeing to something, I find myself saying ha ha ha.
Oh Well. It'll pass.
donderdag 15 juli 2010
dinsdag 13 juli 2010
vrijdag 9 juli 2010
Books I have Read in India
1. Brave New World, Huxley : umpteenth time I read it. classic. Like it less than before. (mine)
2. The Consolations of Philosophy, de Botton : haven't finished yet. (mine)
3. The Jungle Books, Kipling : classic. surprising variety of animal stories (mine, bought in India)
4. A Thousand Splendid Suns , Hosseini : nice. not my usual cup of tea though
5. Blind Willow, sleeping woman, Murakami : liked it.
6. Infinite Justice, Roy : collection of essays, didn't finish because slightly too repetitive after while.
7. Innocent Erendira and other stories, Marquez : liked it
8. The Fountainhead, Rand : really liked it. Disagree with philosophy though. (mine, bought in india)
9. Beatrice & Virgil, Martel : liked it. in a different way than Rand though. (mine, bought in india)
to read, ao, : Atlas Shrugged, Rand (mine, bought in india)
2. The Consolations of Philosophy, de Botton : haven't finished yet. (mine)
3. The Jungle Books, Kipling : classic. surprising variety of animal stories (mine, bought in India)
4. A Thousand Splendid Suns , Hosseini : nice. not my usual cup of tea though
5. Blind Willow, sleeping woman, Murakami : liked it.
6. Infinite Justice, Roy : collection of essays, didn't finish because slightly too repetitive after while.
7. Innocent Erendira and other stories, Marquez : liked it
8. The Fountainhead, Rand : really liked it. Disagree with philosophy though. (mine, bought in india)
9. Beatrice & Virgil, Martel : liked it. in a different way than Rand though. (mine, bought in india)
to read, ao, : Atlas Shrugged, Rand (mine, bought in india)
dinsdag 6 juli 2010
a little me-time
Every day, after work, between 6 and 8 PM, you can find me in Costa's for as long as it takes to drink 2 double espresso's (and read a bit too). I sometimes splurge on a piece of Chocolate Melange too. It doesn't contain eggs, so I figure I'm safe. (see also : the (v)eg(g)atarian Indian)
When I come in, the waiters wave. When I sit down, I don't have to order. They know.
When I come in, the waiters wave. When I sit down, I don't have to order. They know.
The Weekend
This weekend I was told, by an Indian girl (aka Rashmi) no less, that I was "skinny". Skinnier than I was when I arrived, that is. I don't know if I should be happy or not by this development (though I assume most people would)(know, that is).
This weekend I "hung out" with Rashmi and Abhijit.
We had an almost-film-like experience on Sunday night. We had decided to have something alcoholic (an occurrence involving heavy planning in a country with strict social expectations).
After dinner, however, we realised (on my part)/remembered (on Abhijit's part) / forgot to mention (on Rashmi's part) that the shops close around 11. (note to reader : "after dinner" means around 10 , 11 PM in India)
We hailed a rikshaw and made him drive around nearly deserted streets on the quest for some bottles. After having finally acquired them. We headed home. There we realised we were not in possession of any munchies, nor were there any available at the appartement. So we embarked once again.
We ended up, almost 2 hours after dinner, with 3 small bottles and a couple of packets of Maggi (the Indian Equivalent of Aiki Noodles).
I then proceeded to fall asleep while watching a movie.
good times.
There are 4 compartments in the train.
1st class, 2nd class, women and handicapped.
Romance in the train station.
This weekend I "hung out" with Rashmi and Abhijit.
We had an almost-film-like experience on Sunday night. We had decided to have something alcoholic (an occurrence involving heavy planning in a country with strict social expectations).
After dinner, however, we realised (on my part)/remembered (on Abhijit's part) / forgot to mention (on Rashmi's part) that the shops close around 11. (note to reader : "after dinner" means around 10 , 11 PM in India)
We hailed a rikshaw and made him drive around nearly deserted streets on the quest for some bottles. After having finally acquired them. We headed home. There we realised we were not in possession of any munchies, nor were there any available at the appartement. So we embarked once again.
We ended up, almost 2 hours after dinner, with 3 small bottles and a couple of packets of Maggi (the Indian Equivalent of Aiki Noodles).
I then proceeded to fall asleep while watching a movie.
good times.
There are 4 compartments in the train.
1st class, 2nd class, women and handicapped.
Romance in the train station.Monday I didn't have to go to work. National/regional strike. "Against Inflation".
White Rabbit
I was standing on the roof of our office building, enjoying a mild rain and some Beirut.
I saw a white, dangly eared rabbit on the roof of the building next door.
Somewhere a butterfly is flapping its wings.
I saw a white, dangly eared rabbit on the roof of the building next door.
Somewhere a butterfly is flapping its wings.
woensdag 30 juni 2010
today the nice, friendly, smiling night guard (though sometimes he's there during the day), who always waves in a nice, friendly, smiling manner, halted me today when I was coming home from the mall.
He smiled in his nice, friendly manner and asked me for a hundred rupees while I was waiting for the lift to arrive.
I asked why, so he proceeded, smiling, to fetch a pen and wrote "100" on the palm of his hand.
I repeated my question, telling him I understood the "100"part of his question/request very well, but that I wanted to know why.
He then fetched, smiling still, the other night guard. This night guard (though of a less smiley nature) then confirmed the earlier mentioned "100 rupees" whilest indicating the first night guard's palm.
I then, again, repeated that I understood the 100 rupees part, but that I wanted to know why they were talking about this. And, if they wanted / needed the 100 rupees, why they did so.
They both smiled, in a friendly, unassuming manner, and the nice night guard indicated, with the very hand that had the number "100" written on it, that I could go.
Oh, the joys of being caucasian in the financial capital of one of the up-and-coming countries of the world.
He smiled in his nice, friendly manner and asked me for a hundred rupees while I was waiting for the lift to arrive.
I asked why, so he proceeded, smiling, to fetch a pen and wrote "100" on the palm of his hand.
I repeated my question, telling him I understood the "100"part of his question/request very well, but that I wanted to know why.
He then fetched, smiling still, the other night guard. This night guard (though of a less smiley nature) then confirmed the earlier mentioned "100 rupees" whilest indicating the first night guard's palm.
I then, again, repeated that I understood the 100 rupees part, but that I wanted to know why they were talking about this. And, if they wanted / needed the 100 rupees, why they did so.
They both smiled, in a friendly, unassuming manner, and the nice night guard indicated, with the very hand that had the number "100" written on it, that I could go.
Oh, the joys of being caucasian in the financial capital of one of the up-and-coming countries of the world.
zaterdag 26 juni 2010
maandag 21 juni 2010
Laptop
mijn laptop is tijdelijk beschadigd door een heftige regenbui.
mijn internetgebruik zal dus tijdelijk beperkt zijn tot kantooruren.
mijn internetgebruik zal dus tijdelijk beperkt zijn tot kantooruren.
donderdag 17 juni 2010
Chums and Stuff
Lately I've been hanging out with Rashmi (The Ice Cream Girl) and her buddies.
Rashmi
Abhijit
Buddies
(these are actually not Rashmis friends. They are random guys that I saw on the street and that I took a picture of because they walked in this typically Indian fashion)
Rashmi
Abhijit
Buddies(these are actually not Rashmis friends. They are random guys that I saw on the street and that I took a picture of because they walked in this typically Indian fashion)
The whole "lets go out for a beer" thing doesn't really exist here. On the other hand, the "let's take a rik, a train, another rik, another train, another rik to get to your place" thing is Very popular. Especially at noon. Especially when it's sizzling hot. Especially when you're so close to other commuters you can feel the shape of their cell phones.
They haggle here. Which is why Abhijit is a very handy fellow to have around. Because he's actually quite good at it. I still stare ahead of me in shame whenever the haggling starts. Silly Western soul....
I've been trying to spread "our music" a bit. People seem quite partial to Stromae - Alors on Dance. My other attempts have been less successful.
They haggle here. Which is why Abhijit is a very handy fellow to have around. Because he's actually quite good at it. I still stare ahead of me in shame whenever the haggling starts. Silly Western soul....
I've been trying to spread "our music" a bit. People seem quite partial to Stromae - Alors on Dance. My other attempts have been less successful.
The Rain
It rains relatively often now. It almost feels like home.
When it rains, however, it's of the slightly more "downpoury" variety, with slightly more thunderous thunder and lighteningy lightening than I'm used to.
The fact that my unnamed road is barely finished also adds to the fun : dodging riks with puddles on all sides is about as fun as it sounds. (which is actually relatively fun) (or at least would be if you weren't wearing leather shoes and nice pants for work)
Those puddles, by the way, are deeper than they seem. Trust me on this.
Another nice example of the rains is the little open-air-incineration-facility we have behind the garden behind our building. (aka : a dumping ground in which they regularly burn the waste).
I took a picture of it a couple weeks ago. and did the same yesterday. the difference is.. noticeable.
When it rains, however, it's of the slightly more "downpoury" variety, with slightly more thunderous thunder and lighteningy lightening than I'm used to.
The fact that my unnamed road is barely finished also adds to the fun : dodging riks with puddles on all sides is about as fun as it sounds. (which is actually relatively fun) (or at least would be if you weren't wearing leather shoes and nice pants for work)
Those puddles, by the way, are deeper than they seem. Trust me on this.
Another nice example of the rains is the little open-air-incineration-facility we have behind the garden behind our building. (aka : a dumping ground in which they regularly burn the waste).
I took a picture of it a couple weeks ago. and did the same yesterday. the difference is.. noticeable.
The Sky
The heavens seem to be slightly more outspoken here than they are at home.
Slightly more vibrant, anyway.
I've picked up the habit of taking a picture of the sky from (an attempt at) the exact same spot as often as possible. This has produced some , I think, nice results.
Slightly more vibrant, anyway.
I've picked up the habit of taking a picture of the sky from (an attempt at) the exact same spot as often as possible. This has produced some , I think, nice results.
zondag 13 juni 2010
Verkiezingen
Ik ben amper een maand en half weg
en het land ligt al ondersteboven.
Wat krijgen we nu, een Old-School-Socialistische Pro-Vlaamse regering?
Dat belooft.
Ik hoop dat de vlaggenzwaaiers nog een maandje of twee wachten voor ingrijpende veranderingen aan te brengen aan het land, kwestie dat ik geen problemen wil met een "Belgisch" paspoort ipv een Vlaemsch of Brusselsch.
en het land ligt al ondersteboven.
Wat krijgen we nu, een Old-School-Socialistische Pro-Vlaamse regering?
Dat belooft.
Ik hoop dat de vlaggenzwaaiers nog een maandje of twee wachten voor ingrijpende veranderingen aan te brengen aan het land, kwestie dat ik geen problemen wil met een "Belgisch" paspoort ipv een Vlaemsch of Brusselsch.
zaterdag 12 juni 2010
Varia
Today I have officially stopped counting cats, cows and goats. there are too many of them.
3 chickens (amongst which one very pretty rooster who happened to crow exactly when we passed).
All this, of course, should be read with the knowledge that I haven't actually left Mumbai yet, nor ventured in the really backwards areas...
Apart from that,
nothing really new...
I hung out with my colleague & a friend of hers this weekend.
Fun.
More travelling by train, rik and taxi.
Getting used to it.
Had some stomach problems.
Nothing I couldn't handle.
Increased my daily amount of Muesli though. Just to be on the safe side...
3 chickens (amongst which one very pretty rooster who happened to crow exactly when we passed).
All this, of course, should be read with the knowledge that I haven't actually left Mumbai yet, nor ventured in the really backwards areas...
Apart from that,
nothing really new...
I hung out with my colleague & a friend of hers this weekend.
Fun.
More travelling by train, rik and taxi.
Getting used to it.
Had some stomach problems.
Nothing I couldn't handle.
Increased my daily amount of Muesli though. Just to be on the safe side...
maandag 7 juni 2010
In Memoriam
And seeing that some members of my small audience seem to regard my stories with a ... critical eye. I hereby feel obligated to add a picture of the former mother-of-two.
We miss you girl...
We miss you girl...The Weekend
Friday, I didn't do anything really. Stayed home with the intention of catching up with some sleep. Didn't really work out as planned. Stayed up watching silly movies till 5 am.
Saturday, as usual, I was abruptly shaken from my sleep by the Cleaning Lady.
The very same CL that got rid of the Pigeons Nest.
And potentially my awesome pink lighter as well.
At least, it is gone and she IS the usual suspect. After all, isn't it usually the Butler that is guilty of all crimes? And, lacking a butler, isn't the CL the next in line?
Personally, I think it was the CL, in the Library, with the candle stick.
Though how the candle stick helped in the theft of the Lighter, I can not fathom.
Back to Saturday.
After being rudely awakened by the Dustman (to quote a nice song)
I saw that Rashmi had attempted to contact me several times.
I then proceeded to call her back in order to arrange a meeting.
I took a rik to the Malad Station, where I purchased a 2nd class ticket and embarked on the perilous quest that is taking-a-second-class-train-by-yourself. It turned out to be quite feasible.
I went to my first Indian McDonald, where I feasted on a McMaharadja. A Massive Burger, worthy of the name. I felt quite decadent indeed.
The Mc Maharadja
Afterwards We proceeded to a Mall. Where we (Rashmi and her Roommate Shwetta) hung out a bit. Or, as they would put here "roamed around".
I was then picked up by a Brazilian Chauffeur and driven to the Four Seasons Hotel, which sports a lovely roof terrace. Thirty floors high & a lovely loungey atmosphere.
Afterwards I went to the Blue Frog for the birthday party of Sjoerd, one of the Dutch guys I met at the Dutch/Flemish meeting.
It was Delectable, Delicious, Delightful Decadence all over.
I met an Indian Girl who proved that Queen & Tarantino aren't entirely unknown on this continent after all... I also met a fellow from Brughes whose accent and dancing style made me feel arrogantly superior.
Sunday I was sick all day. Probably due to the first-rate hamburgers I had eaten in the Four Seasons. A month of almost-veggyness has turned my body against the goodness of Meat.
My very being is being corrupted by this continent. The Horror.
Saturday, as usual, I was abruptly shaken from my sleep by the Cleaning Lady.
The very same CL that got rid of the Pigeons Nest.
And potentially my awesome pink lighter as well.
At least, it is gone and she IS the usual suspect. After all, isn't it usually the Butler that is guilty of all crimes? And, lacking a butler, isn't the CL the next in line?
Personally, I think it was the CL, in the Library, with the candle stick.
Though how the candle stick helped in the theft of the Lighter, I can not fathom.
Back to Saturday.
After being rudely awakened by the Dustman (to quote a nice song)
I saw that Rashmi had attempted to contact me several times.
I then proceeded to call her back in order to arrange a meeting.
I took a rik to the Malad Station, where I purchased a 2nd class ticket and embarked on the perilous quest that is taking-a-second-class-train-by-yourself. It turned out to be quite feasible.
I went to my first Indian McDonald, where I feasted on a McMaharadja. A Massive Burger, worthy of the name. I felt quite decadent indeed.
The Mc Maharadja
Afterwards We proceeded to a Mall. Where we (Rashmi and her Roommate Shwetta) hung out a bit. Or, as they would put here "roamed around".
I was then picked up by a Brazilian Chauffeur and driven to the Four Seasons Hotel, which sports a lovely roof terrace. Thirty floors high & a lovely loungey atmosphere.
Afterwards I went to the Blue Frog for the birthday party of Sjoerd, one of the Dutch guys I met at the Dutch/Flemish meeting.
It was Delectable, Delicious, Delightful Decadence all over.
I met an Indian Girl who proved that Queen & Tarantino aren't entirely unknown on this continent after all... I also met a fellow from Brughes whose accent and dancing style made me feel arrogantly superior.
Sunday I was sick all day. Probably due to the first-rate hamburgers I had eaten in the Four Seasons. A month of almost-veggyness has turned my body against the goodness of Meat.
My very being is being corrupted by this continent. The Horror.
They have started.
As I speak,
the waters of the heavens are coming down.
Outside, it is cool and pleasant, be it a tad wet.
the waters of the heavens are coming down.
Outside, it is cool and pleasant, be it a tad wet.
vrijdag 4 juni 2010
The Cleaning Lady
There was a pigeons nest on my balcony.
One bird, two eggs.
The little bird tolerated me. I read Murakami to her.
Until today.
The nest is still there. But the bird's gone. And so are the eggs.
A damn shame.
I blame the cleaning lady. Decent woman, no doubt about it. But no heart.
One bird, two eggs.
The little bird tolerated me. I read Murakami to her.
Until today.
The nest is still there. But the bird's gone. And so are the eggs.
A damn shame.
I blame the cleaning lady. Decent woman, no doubt about it. But no heart.
zaterdag 29 mei 2010
The Two-Faced Whore that is Mumbai
For the last week I've been writing an e-learning version for CDM. A potential new product for GV.
Interesting. Does take quite a lot of time though.
Friday I went to the Prince of Persia. Okay, as films go, cute cast. Stood up during the anthem and had a Kulfi icecream.
Saturday started of slowly. Went for breakfast at Greens (local veg restaurant) with Krish and Som. Had a Dosa Massala with some Sweet Lassi. Then went for a Doppio Espresso in Inorbit.
Then I went home and hung out a bit.
At six thirty I was picked up by a grey Toyota, licence plate MH 04 DE 7866.
I was taken to the Churchgate area, close to the Queens Necklace.
I was dropped off at a hotel.
then I was taken to a wine tasting in an exclusive hotel. The Oberoi. In this hotel, tens of people were killed in the attacks a few years ago. The only thing to remember them by is a red piano. symbolic of the shed blood of innocents.
The Wine Tasting was pretty cool. First time I've done this. Started of with three whites, then three reds. The third white tasted vaguely like Marmelate & Marmite. It was a hate-it-or-love-it kinda wine. I liked.
The three white ones. The middle one really nice & soft, the right one a hate-it-or-love-it.
Then I had a 4-course dinner. With, amongst others, Wild Boar. De Lish.
Very decadent.
Then went to a private club and was able to do some dancing for the first time in weeks. Made a vague attempt at showing Tectonic & jumpstyle. My tectonic was slightly more popular with the wider public. for obvious reasons.
Then I was driven back. Was home by 3 something.
There are advantages of meeting Brazilian ambassadors at meetings of Dutch & Flemish people.
Interesting. Does take quite a lot of time though.
Friday I went to the Prince of Persia. Okay, as films go, cute cast. Stood up during the anthem and had a Kulfi icecream.
Saturday started of slowly. Went for breakfast at Greens (local veg restaurant) with Krish and Som. Had a Dosa Massala with some Sweet Lassi. Then went for a Doppio Espresso in Inorbit.
Then I went home and hung out a bit.
At six thirty I was picked up by a grey Toyota, licence plate MH 04 DE 7866.
I was taken to the Churchgate area, close to the Queens Necklace.
I was dropped off at a hotel.
then I was taken to a wine tasting in an exclusive hotel. The Oberoi. In this hotel, tens of people were killed in the attacks a few years ago. The only thing to remember them by is a red piano. symbolic of the shed blood of innocents.
The Wine Tasting was pretty cool. First time I've done this. Started of with three whites, then three reds. The third white tasted vaguely like Marmelate & Marmite. It was a hate-it-or-love-it kinda wine. I liked.
The three white ones. The middle one really nice & soft, the right one a hate-it-or-love-it.Then I had a 4-course dinner. With, amongst others, Wild Boar. De Lish.
Very decadent.
Then went to a private club and was able to do some dancing for the first time in weeks. Made a vague attempt at showing Tectonic & jumpstyle. My tectonic was slightly more popular with the wider public. for obvious reasons.
Then I was driven back. Was home by 3 something.
There are advantages of meeting Brazilian ambassadors at meetings of Dutch & Flemish people.
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