Wots dat?

Posted on December 8, 2008 by Hails

I’ve recently found myself back in touch with a large number of old schoolfriends thanks to the modern marvel that is Facebook.

It’s great, apart from the fact that most of them are now married and have children, which is decidedly disturbing when your last memory of someone is as a slightly irresponsible and giggly 18-year-old. They sort of freeze in your mind and stay exactly as they were then. Then, nearly a decade later, you find each other on Facebook and realise that they’ve become adults. You see the wedding photos, and the pictures of the kids. You see comments from other friends about motherhood and work and making the packed lunches. It’s awfully disconcerting, because in your head you’re still bunking off RE class with one of them to drink coffee in the prefects’ room, and passing silly notes to another one in English Lit., and thinking another one is just soooooooo cool because she has her own car and can drive a group of you to Portrush for the day.

Anyway, despite the weirdness of it all, it’s lovely to be in contact with my old friends again. Which is why I thought it might be fun to take it a step further and see if there are any past-pupil sort of groups for my primary school, now that I’ve become reacquainted with my Cambridge House buddies. Got to be even more bizarre to find out someone’s married, or a teacher, or a parent, or all three, when your last memory of them is as a gangly 11-year-old, right?

Unfortunately, things went rapidly downhill at this point, and I found myself on my primary school’s Bebo page. It was apparently for past and present pupils to join, which in theory is a nice idea. In practice, it turned out to be run by a pupil of the more “present” variety, and it is this that has plunged me into head-in-hands despair.

so tel me, if u cm 2 dis pg o mine ere n i woz wrtin lik dis wud u kep redin or wud u giv up n gt outta ere?

That “sentence” just took me five full minutes to compose, as it is in a language in which I am not (and shall never be) fluent – I had to keep referring to online resources such as the aforementioned Bebo page. It is, however, the way the majority of people (ppl) aged about 25 and under seem to speak these (dez) days, and I do not understand why it has been permitted to (2) take over in such a horrifyingly widespread way. I’m completely serious about this (dis). This is not English, kids (kidz).

I have given up pretending that I am not turning into my parents or grandparents or whatever, and so I’m just going to come out and say this: in my day, people were expected to use proper spelling and punctuation in their written English, and to follow a set of rules known as grammar. If you stuck an apostrophe in the wrong place, or structured a sentence in an awkward way, or made a spelling mistake, your errors would be circled in red, usually with a scribbled explanation if it wasn’t obvious. And what’s more, you’d be expected to correct it!

Apparently teachers aren’t allowed to use red pens any more. Pointing out mistakes is so last century – think of the poor child’s self esteem! This attitude makes me want to knock heads together and do some shouting. How is a child supposed to know if they’re getting something wrong? What is the point of letting them make the same mistake over and over again, for the sake of being encouraging and not denting their confidence? It’s perfectly easy to say “This is a great essay, with some very good points, but you need to take more care with your sentence structure – see examples”. This was the sort of comment our teachers made, and as a result, the majority of us know basic English. The same cannot be said of the kids coming behind us. They get mobile phones at the age of six, and as a result think that txtspk is actual, proper, written English. Argh! Arrrrrrrghhhh!

Txtspk is a great invention in the context of mobile text messages – where, of course, you have a limited number of letters per message, and so obviously want to write in some form of shorthand in order to save space (and therefore money). I get it, right? I ‘dig’ it, even. I use it myself when necessary. But a large percentage of children and teens now seem to think that it’s acceptable to write like this in any context! It horrifies and appalls me. Spelling mistakes and clumsy grammar are one thing (well, two things, actually), but consistently wrtin lik dis n tinkin its gr8 english isa nuder! Never mind the fact that I was one of the last few to make it the whole way through school without ever owning a mobile or sending a text message, and so am now seeing people only a few years younger than me (who spent their schooldays communicating in txtspk) becoming qualified as teachers.

I cannot convey how distressed I am when I see these people – people who are responsible for the education of the kidz, people whose job it is to set an example and maintain some level of literacy amongst the youth of today – exhanging Facebook comments along the lines of lol yea i love you’re photos!!! and your lookin gr8 wots da craic?!?!?. It physically hurts me. These are teachers. Teachers!

I have much more to say on this subject. I could rant for hours about the txtspk “language” itself, and how for something that is meant to be convenient and quick, it’s incredibly difficult to understand endless lines of vowelless “words”, many of which turn out to be absolutely nothing like the original. I could also wax lyrical about how it’s causing kids to have no understanding of how words are supposed to sound, since double letters seem to vanish (see how “another” becomes “a nuder”, which is probably pronounced “a nudder” – and shouldn’t be). I could ask numerous pained questions about the pointless nature of some translations, such as changing “OK” to “kk” (This one makes precisely zero sense to me).

However, I’m far too wound up now, so it’ll hav 2 w8. lololol! (That’s another one – if “lol” is “laughing out loud”, why in the name of sanity would you emphasise your laughter by saying “laughing out loud out loud out loud”?!)

Yes, I am old. I accept it. Then again, this sort of thing would have upset me just as much when I was 10 years old, so maybe it’s got nothing to do with my age, and more to do with the fact that I’m a bit of a geek…

Filed under: apostrophes, childhood, complaining, confusion, culture, foreign languages, freak-out, laziness, rant, sad, school, sheer silliness, stress | 8 Comments »

Dancing In The Streets

Posted on November 21, 2008 by Hails

Riho and I took a stroll down to the Old Town last night, having heard something about a parade that was taking place.

Apparently there’s a Winter Tropics Festival going on this week, complete with Samba dance workshops and traditional Brazilian jamming sessions. I have no idea what it’s all about, but thought it might be fun to check out the Samba Parade that was scheduled to go from the Viru Gate to the Town Hall Square at 9pm.

dsc01912The parade turned out to be a bunch of dreadlocked guys playing instruments as pretty, exotic-looking girls with long dark hair danced around them. There was a trumpet, a drum, maybe some kind of flute and a couple of those shakey-ricey thingies. That was it. Most were wearing colourful garlands and waving balloons, and it was Silly Hat Central (I fitted right in). Everyone was smiling broadly, and it was nearly impossible not to join in with the whooping and dancing.

Amused, we stood at the edge of the road to watch them cavort past. It was at this point that it became apparent to me that it wasn’t actually the sort of parade you go and observe, but rather the sort you’re expected to become part of. I made this realisation when a balloon was thrust into my hands and suddenly Riho and I were swept into the midst of the singing, dancing swarm. Alarmed, I watched as someone performed some sort of martial art style dance at my feet. Then I shrugged, waved my balloon, and danced cheerfully along the streets with everyone else. No one seemed to mind that it was freezing cold, or that the majority of people in the parade were just innocent passers-by who’d become entangled in the procession and didn’t really have a clue what was going on.

Merrily, we proceeded through the Old Town. A little old lady watched from her window, drinking her tea and nibbling on a biscuit as if she was simply curled up on the couch watching Corrie. An unfortunate car drove into the procession and slowed down, the driver looking utterly bemused as people Samba-ed their way around his vehicle.

There was no police presence whatsoever, and no obvious parade route. We Norn Ironers just aren’t used to this sort of thing.

After a “concert” in the Square, which involved everyone stopping, blattering happily on drums, and dancing around madly some more, there was a loud cheer signalling the end of the parade, whereupon everyone promptly piled into the pub to start the aforementioned jamming session and stave off frostbite.

I love this place…

Filed under: culture, Estonia, fun, laughter, parade, strange | 2 Comments »

Isn’t it Christmas yet?

Posted on November 19, 2008 by Hails

It’s very, very strange to be this far through November without having I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day stuck on a constant loop in my head.

Christmas in the UK starts in October, approximately one week before Halloween, when the shops start getting rid of all their pumpkin displays and replacing them with twinkly lights and large Santas that scare the living daylights out of you by suddenly starting to wave or laugh or something when you’re standing right next to them. The festive season creeps a little further forward every year, making slow but steady progress towards the inevitable time when the entire year will be a countdown to Christmas, and our daily lives will be concerned solely with buying presents, putting up decorations and planning the turkey dinner. My mum will be leading the way, as a champion of Christmas Planning who, in January (after a week off), puts last Christmas behind her and starts thinking about the next one. I often think that it must pain her to have a daughter who is generally to be found rushing madly around the shops on Christmas Eve, trying desperately to think of gift ideas. (I mean The Sister, of course. I myself am always calmly sipping mulled wine and roasting chestnuts on an open fire by Christmas Eve, having bought, wrapped and delivered all my gifts in late November.)

Unlike most people, I don’t mind the earliness of Christmas, nor its commercialisation. I love Christmas – as I explained in this post last year. It has troubled me slightly, therefore, to realise that Christmas in Estonia does not even appear to have started yet, never mind being in full swing. There are no Christmas tunes playing, no houses covered in twinkly lights, no Christmas adverts on TV. I’ve only seen one shop selling Christmas trees! However, I am waiting patiently and with childlike anticipation for December, in the hope that Christmas will begin then.

dsc01888And indeed, I have been greatly encouraged by the recent presence of the Coca Cola Santa in my fridge – a teasing hint, I believe, of good things to come.

Just yesterday I saw a poster for the Tallinn Chistmas Market, and I am unable to contain my excitement. The website fills me with joy, as it describes a magical winter wonderland set in a place that already feels slightly like a quaint little fairytale. There will be little cabins, warm drinks, story-telling elves, gingerbread cookies and Christmas trees. And just to make my innocent little heart overflow with festive delight: “Tallinn Mayor will proclaim the Christmas Peace, reading the Christmas declaration from the window of the Town Hall to the townsfolk and visitors below on the Square.”

I can’t help but feel that this more than makes up for being without Starbucks and the seasonal Gingerbread Latte…

Filed under: Christmas, culture, Estonia, fun, happy, sentimentality, warm fuzzy feeling | 7 Comments »

May we live here, please?

Posted on November 12, 2008 by Hails

Estate agents in Estonia are a funny bunch.

Riho and I have finally moved to our new, city centre apartment, but for a while there it did look rather as if we were going to have to check into a hostel or something when the lease of the old place ran out.

Riho wonders if we are doing something wrong. But really, even taking cultural differences into account, can the apartment hunting process differ so greatly that we’ve completely flummoxed all the Tallinn estate agents just by asking to view a few flats? Firstly, you’ve got the ones who just don’t reply to the initial email enquiry. They just ignore you. This could, of course, be because they don’t speak English, which is perfectly understandable (I don’t mean that they should be able to speak English because it’s perfectly understandable, I mean that it’s perfectly understandable that they don’t speak English, but you got that, right?), although I did bravely put together a little “Please excuse my poor Estonian language skills…” sort of email as well, just in case. It was unsuccessful.

Then there’s their apparent lack of interest in shifting any of their available housing. A short reply will say something along the lines of “Sorry, this apartment is no longer available”, without the “…but here are some others that might be of interest to you” that I’ve come to expect from estate agents throughout my life as a renter. I always found it difficult to get rid of estate agents; here, it seems that they simply want to get rid of customers. In frustration, we called in to the office of one of them to ask about an apartment listed on their website. “It is no longer available,” said the incredibly disinterested-looking man behind the desk. We looked expectantly at him in the hope that he might follow up with “I have some others that might be suitable”, but he went back to his newspaper and we walked out quite dejectedly.

When we do manage to arrange a viewing for somewhere, the agent tends to be also seeing it for the first time. They’ll let us in and then stand there texting someone on their phone or looking impatient as we show ourselves around. There is no sales pitch, no enthusiastic attempt to make mildew on the shower curtain seem like a positive thing. And when asked questions about the building, the area, or anything to do with the apartment in general, the answer is usually “I don’t know”.

And the worst part of all is when we  do manage to get that far along the process, and find somewhere we actually want to rent, and send an email to inform the agent. This has happened no less than three times. They just don’t reply! And it’s not that they took an instant dislike to us, because one of them did get back to us several weeks later to confirm that yes, certainly, we could have the apartment. Of course, by that time we’d already viewed about half a dozen others, enquired about twice as many again, and agreed to take the first one whose agent we managed to tie down and hold at knifepoint until he gave us the lease to sign.

It’s been a very strange experience. However, we’re now in the new apartment. Getting internet access appears to be as problematic as getting somewhere to live, but for the moment I don’t really mind – I do, after all, have quite a lot of knitting to be getting on with, which means I can’t be sitting around wasting time online all night. Plus, when I want internet access I just have to go across the road to the Viru Centre, where I can order ridiculously large mugs of coffee and lounge around on comfy chairs.

It ain’t so bad.

Filed under: coffee, confusion, culture, customer service, Estonia, foreign languages, homelessness, knitting, Moving house, strange | 3 Comments »

The Devil and Big Things

Posted on October 21, 2008 by Hails

It’s amazing what you can learn in the course of a day’s work.

I’m in the middle of writing a series of articles about tourist attractions in Australia, and I have to say I’m very much enjoying it. Not least because I’ve only just discovered, to my genuine surprise, that the Tasmanian Devil is actually a real thing. I was previously unaware of this, and am now starting to wonder what other apparently fictional characters might be Actual Animals, too. I’d love to hear about a small colony of Fraggles living in the Outback, for example.

The real life Taz is, it seems, the size of a small dog. The pictures I’ve seen, however, indicate that it looks like a very large and scary black rat. I would not like to meet one of these things, delighted as I am to find that they really exist. They’re aggressive-looking devils, and it’s not surprising when you hear the story of how they come into existence. The mother gives birth to about 30 of the critters, but they have to attach themselves to a nipple inside her pouch for a hundred days before they start to properly grow and develop. A thirty-nippled creature would be a little bizarre, one would imagine; and indeed, the Taz ladies only have four. So, into the pouch tumble up to thirty gross little slimey things, somehow instinctively knowing that they have to claim a nipple as their home for the next hundred days, and also that they have to fight all these other gross slimey things in order to have a chance of finding said nipple and actually surviving. What a great introduction to the world.

Obviously the four that survive are going to be the strongest and most vicious of the litter. Add to that a set of teeth that keep growing throughout their entire lifetime, alarming screeching and screaming noises, a skunk-like defence system, and the ability to dispose of an entire animal carcass in one sitting (bones, fur and all), and you’ve got a creature that you really wouldn’t want to mess with. They’ve also just become an endangered species because of Devil Facial Tumour Disease: they actually have their own fatal disease, and I didn’t even know that they existed!

I realise that only a very special type of person will appreciate my enthusiasm on the subject of Tasmanian Devils: the existence of, and so I wish to share with you my other favourite thing about Australia. It is a Wikipedia page entitled Australia’s Big Things. I had previously been introduced to this phenomenon by a friend whose travels in Australia led him to several Big Things, most notably the Big Mango of Bowen, Queensland. The Big Things are basically, well, big things. No real reason. Oversized sculptures of everyday objects, scattered all over the continent, which tourists will happily set off in search of, often driving for hundreds of miles just to get their picture taken beside something like the Mango.  While I’ll admit to being slightly alarmed by the Big Mosquito, I have to say that I am generally in favour of the Big Things. The Big Prawn, for example, is nothing short of a work of art; the Big Wine Bottle is mightily impressive, too, with the neck forming a chimney for the open fire inside. I can’t find pictures of the Big Macadamia Nut or the Big Paperclip, but I have no reason to doubt that they are every bit as impressive as the Big Cow, say, or the Big Scotsman.

My job is more of an education than school ever was. I love it!

Filed under: Australia, Big Things, culture, strange, Tasmanian Devil, tourists, travel, work, writing | 1 Comment »

Tired and Hungary

Posted on September 12, 2008 by Hails

I was utterly unprepared for my trip to Hungary.

For a start, I completely failed to think about the fact that there might be a severe lack of English-speaking people here – probably not such a relevant issue if I’d been going to somewhere like Budapest (that’s still a few days away), but as it was, I flew into a little airport in the middle of nowhere, near Lake Balaton. The hostel’s website had apparently simple instructions for getting there – take the airport shuttle either directly there, or to a town called Keszthely. Since the airport wanted to charge me €40 (!!!) to go directly there, I chose the latter, “where there is regular public transport to the hostel”.

You can ask at that building for information, said the driver, pointing towards a desolate booth before leaving me standing at the dusty roadside, sweating profusedly. I trundled somewhat dubiously up to the booth. Excuse me, do you speak English? I gave the man my usual conversation opener. No, he said. We looked at each other for a moment. I was uncertain of how to proceed, given that the usual response to my question at such places is either “yes” or “not very much”, making it possible to proceed, however long the conversation might take with a few French/Dutch/Estonian words thrown in for good measure.

Erm… I battled on, showing him my scribbled hostel directions, train? Bus? I looked hopefully at him, and he shrugged. OK, I concluded with a weak smile. Thank you. He slammed shut the window, leaving me staring at the rather misleading “Information” sign.

I had an emergency cigarette under the ineffectual shade of a leafless tree, and located the train station. Nervously, I approached the woman behind the desk.  Excuse me, do you speak English? That’s going to be the name of my book, by the way.

No, she said.

Once again I waved my bit of paper, and once again I got a blank stare and a shrug. Defeated, I slunk off to a corner to open my laptop and check for WiFi availability. Of which there was, of course, none whatsoever. Seriously alarmed now, and picturing myself having to live forever at the side of this road in the arse end of nowhere, I used my phone to google the hostel, and found more specific directions. Trying to breathe deeply, I returned to the desk. Here? I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

She looked as relieved as I did when whatever was on the page made sense to her, and she wrote out the train changes for me, and sold me a ticket (for 900HF, which I believe is something like €4, as opposed to €40: ha!). Rather naively thinking my problems were over, I went out to the platform. Nothing was marked, and it was one of those train stations where, if you wait for a few hours and are lucky enough, you might just see a train.

It was 29°C, I’d been up since 6am, I was at a train station somewhere in Hungary with absolutely no idea where to go or how to get there, and nobody spoke any English. I’d actually like a huge big round of applause for the fact that I didn’t curl up in a corner and burst into tears. And that I managed three changes of train all by myself, each with at least an hour of a gap in between them and nothing to indicate that they were the right trains. I slept for a long, long time last night.

It was, however, worth all the trauma. Just you wait till you see where I’m staying…

Filed under: airport, changes, confusion, culture, disorganisation, Fear, foreign languages, hostels, Hungary, sun, tiredness, travel | 8 Comments »

The Guli Guli Church

Posted on September 9, 2008 by Hails

On Saturday I took a trip to Haarlem with Tobias and Claudia, my Noordwijk dorm friends.

What a gorgeous place. It’s like stepping back in time! I said in wonder, as we walked past canals and through the old streets lined with thatched cottages and majestic churches. We found ourselves inside the most beautiful church I’ve ever seen, where the lady at the entrance told us that we were welcome to come back for a special service with the choir later on.

I’ve never experienced a church service quite like it. A large part of this is probably due to the fact that it was in Dutch and therefore made no sense whatsoever to me. But it was so much fun! We found ourselves laughing along with the rest of the congregation, not understanding the jokes but genuinely appreciating the humorous tone and warm expressions.

The church was absolutely enormous, so the sound of the four part choral harmony was a treat for the ears as the voices soared and mingled to fill every inch of the building. Abba, Vader was particularly moving. I closed my eyes and let the voices wash over me in the familiar tune; opening them again, I realised that my companions were doing the same thing. The serious pieces were followed by a bouncy rendition of Jacob’s Ladder (in English, so we could sing along with less confusion than during the opening hymn – although I must say that the three of us gave that a fairly admirable attempt, too!), towards the end of which a few choir members started spontaneously clapping. Before long, everyone was doing the same. There was swaying and dancing, smiling and clapping. You couldn’t help but smile and clap along.

The pièce de résistance, however, was the rather bizarre finale:

I have no idea why. Even more amusing was the fact that it was kind of like “rounds”, with the choir breaking into A Ram Sam Sam* as the rest of us sang Pease Pudding. It did not fit at all with the rest of the songs, and yet it blended perfectly into the fun-filled atmosphere. We loved it!

Leaving the church, Claudia and I happily hummed Jacob’s Ladder. An elderly bearded man in a suit was walking behind us, and he interrupted us when we got out on to the street. Excuse me, he asked politely and seriously, you did see the choir? We nodded. And, he continued in earnest tones, may I ask did you like?

Oh, yes, we chorused happily, it was fantastic!

The old man smiled in delight. Then I am happy! he said proudly. He gave us a gracious little bow, and walked away looking pleased, singing softly to himself.

* I don’t know if it’s just me, but when I hear “A ram sam sam, a ram sam sam, guli guli guli guli guli ram sam sam” my brain automatically launches into an immediate “McDonald’s, McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken and the Pizza Hut!”. Which only made things even stranger, really…

Filed under: church, culture, day trip, foreign languages, friends, fun, Holland, humour, laughter, lyrics, singing, songs, strange | Leave a Comment »

Tot ziens, België!

Posted on August 26, 2008 by Hails

The house owners have returned, and my hideaway in the Belgian countryside is once again full of noise and life. It was quite nice to be greeted with the same hugs and kisses as the friends of the family – they’re very warm and affectionate with their greetings over here. I’m now sitting nervously in a corner of the living room as chaos happens all around me, just waiting for someone to exclaim in horror about how sad and droopy the house plants look, and feeling a bit out of place. Yep… it’s time to move on.

Belgium has been a nice experience. Mostly, it’s been seemingly endless days of tranquility, peace to do my work, long walks in the forest, and more mosquito bites than can possibly be my fair share. The occasional lunch in the village with a strong, rich Belgian (coffee, that is), excursions to a few cities, trips to the local market, and a couple of nice leisurely dinners and drinks with new friends. The wildlife is varied: I have witnessed the awesome power of mosquitos, been stung by two bees, patted a deer that came right up to the garden fence from the forest, been attacked by large, armoured bugs, had my finger almost severed by a parrot, and most recently discovered a family of moles – in addition to the bees – under the lawn.

I’ve seen a real Waterloo sunset, taken in the carpet of flowers at Brussels’ Grand Place, observed a Manneken Pis parade, eaten Belgian chips whilst walking down sunny cobbled side streets, driven on the right hand side of the road, been to a pool party with an international flavour, and learned to listen out for complicated train announcements and then scream for help. Unfortunately, my attempts to learn the language have been futile. I can now make the throaty sound that is required for the letter “r”, although I suspect that I sound like I’m choking when I do so, and I must leave my efforts at that.

Next stop: Rotterdam. If you have any suggestions about where to go, what to do, things to see, leave a comment – otherwise, be prepared for me to miss all the apparently obvious things and report back with stories about small, peeing statues again. Your choice.

Personally, I like stories of the small, peeing statues variety…

Filed under: Belgium, changes, culture, travel | 1 Comment »

Oh, boy!

Posted on August 17, 2008 by Hails

I’ve seen so many statues and monuments now that I was getting a little bored with them, to be perfectly frank.

My enthusiasm was rekindled yesterday, however, during a visit to Brussels. I’d heard about this statue; I’d read about it; nothing, however, could have prepared me for the memorable (and slightly surreal) experience of seeing it for myself. It is a very famous tourist attraction in Brussels – and indeed, when I wandered down Rue de l’Etuve, hoping that I hadn’t missed it, it was the sight of a large crowd of tourists jostling for photographs that told me that I was in the right place. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… Manneken Pis.

In case it’s not self-evident, that’s Flemish for “Little Man Peeing”. You wouldn’t think that there’s much more to be said about it, would you?

This tiny bronze statue is something of a Belgian celebrity. Nobody seems to know why he’s there, but they’ve had great fun making up so many stories and legends about his origin that it’s now completely impossible to know which one (if any) is true. The most official one seems to be that, in 1142, the troops of the two-year-old Lord Godfrey III of Leuven placed him in a basket and hung him from a tree as a means of encouraging morale. The baby lord peed on the enemy troops below, and the statue is a memorial to the grand victory that followed.

The story I prefer, however, is the one about a rich man whose son went missing. Heartbroken, the wealthy merchant organised a huge search party and vowed that if he ever got his son back, he would celebrate by making a little sculpture of the boy doing whatever he was doing at the moment he was found. A neighbour found the child cheerfully peeing in a garden… and so Manneken Pis was created.

I was very amused by the constant crowd of tourists that surrounded it, and even felt sorry for these sad individuals, until I realised that I was one of them.

There’s a lot of hype surrounding the statue, for all the size of it. It’s usually dressed in costumes, donated by celebrities and organisations, and changed at special ceremonies. Honestly. I accidentally wandered into one of these grand ceremonies as I was taking in the atmosphere at the Grand Place, and it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There were costumes… banners… a full, marching brass band… and a replica of the statue, on a mobile podium, randomly “peeing” over the delighted and squealing crowd.

It was my favourite part of my visit to Brussels. I’m not even being sarcastic or condescending. I was tempted to buy a small, chocolate Manneken Pis as a souvenir, but I don’t know that I could have brought myself to eat him.

Filed under: Belgium, Brussels, chocolate, culture, day trip, fun, humour, Manneken Pis, peeing, statues, tourists | 4 Comments »

The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself

Posted on August 14, 2008 by Hails

I’ve just been trying to plan some interesting activities for my remaining time in Belgium, as – oh, joy! – my new bank card finally arrived and I can now afford to treat myself to a few train tickets.

I have no real interest in going to Brussels, to be honest. I know little about it, and what I’ve learned from my research doesn’t really grab my attention. However – I am in Belgium, a return ticket to the European Capital only costs €6, and it would be a bit embarrassing to say I hadn’t even spent a few hours in Brussels during the course of a month. So, I’ve picked out a couple of things that look interesting, including the Main Square and a flea market (so that I can pick up a few more insects, because I haven’t got enough here)*. However, what really got me enthusiastic was discovering that the Waterloo Battlefield is only 20 minutes from Brussels.

I’m not great with geography. Until approximately 15 minutes ago I had no idea that Waterloo was in Belgium. I know bits and pieces about the battle, and about Napoleon, and – most importantly – all the words of the Abba song. But quite often I can accumulate lots of information about something without ever thinking to ask the most basic of questions: in this case, Where is Waterloo?. Still, I know now, and I’m going there this weekend, because -get this! – they’re doing a battle re-enactment! This sounds so much more fun than looking at EU headquarters and stock market buildings. I hope they play the Abba song while the battle’s taking place. I expect that they will. Abba was probably Napoleon’s favourite band.

I was also amused to note a piece of advice on the Brussels Wikitravel page. All the oral information in the train stations is only in French and Dutch. Do not hesitate to ask someone if you do not understand what has been said. It’s a bit late for that. How was I to know that the message I heard at Bruxelles-Midi on my way here from Paris was to inform me that my train had been changed to a different platform? Oh, this is a pretty language! was my only thought as I listened to the lilting but incomprehensible Dutch words. Train arrived, I got on.

Upon my arrival at Brussels Airport, at the end of the railway line, I looked at the man beside me in some confusion. Why are we at the airport? Why didn’t we stop at Diest? I asked him. Because, he explained politely, this is the train for the airport, and not the train for Diest.

I had to take three different trains to get to the place I’d originally wanted to be in, which was not fun in 30°C and with all my worldly possessions on my back. Still. If I was keeping a little notebook entitled “Lessons Learned”, then “always ask someone if you don’t understand what has been said” would now be in there along with “don’t carry a purse” and “never trust a parrot” – and when you’ve learned something the hard way, you don’t tend to repeat the mistake.

It’s very educational, this whole travelling thing.

*Right up until my mid-teens, I really did think a flea market was a place to purchase fleas. No, I don’t want your pity…

Filed under: advice, airport, Belgium, culture, day trip, fighting, foreign languages, fun, tourists, travel | 7 Comments »

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