Belgium, Land of the Fry, Home of the Rain

I awoke on the morning of the 31st in a strange land - even stranger than the already strange land I have come to inhabit over the last three months. Belgium. Neither bellish nor gummy, but somewhere in between. My first order of business in the morning, after attending to my toiletries and such, was to meet my Montpellieraine friends who were in Brussels along with me. We were going to hang out for a bit in the morning, then split in different directions for the afternoon, and possibly meet up again in the evening.

Our first destination, I cannot remember, because it's now been about two weeks, and I failed to note it in my notebook-based travelogue. However, we eventually wound up at the daily flea market in Brussels, a collection much like the one in Montpellier, only with a far more visible bent on "All Things Congolese". The Democratic Republic of the Congo, formerly Zaire, formerly the Congo, formerly the Belgian Congo, was just that - a colony of Belgium. It is quizzical that one of the smallest countries in Europe had one of the largest colonies in Africa, and one can only muse at what it means that Belgium's former colony is also perhaps the most problematic country in modern Africa. Even today, civil war and rebellion threaten the stability of an already terribly unstable state. It was, after all, King Leopold II's private playground, and he was not a share-and-care sort of kid. He is known for cutting off the hands of those who did not support him, plundered the region, and was laughing all the way to his grave. He is to the DRC as Cecil Rhodes is to Zimbabwe. However, to quote my tourist map, "Whatever history's verdict on Leopold's role in the Congo was, one thing is undeniable: he made Belgium look better." It's true. Belgium is itself a country barely able to stay together. Like Spain or Thailand, it relies on a symbolic but well-respected monarchy to sort of, hold everything together. A clandestine adjective for the Belgian's might just be, well, robber-baronesque. The grand boulevards, fine museums, and diverse architecture would hardly be possible for a country of its size were it not for the historic stuffing of the coffers by returning ivory merchants, mineral prospectors, and the aforementioned robber barons.

So, at the flea market, like I've found elsewhere in Europe, it's hard to actually get anything reflecting the fact that one is in Europe and not Africa. In fact, two of the items I got at the flea market were a wooden elephant and a green stone figurine. I also bought a handful of interesting coins, including a 2 Mark coin from East Germany, and a penny from the British Federation of Nigeria in 1959. I did have to opportunity to buy an ivory figurine, but... well, a) it's illegal to purchase ivory, and b) that would be ethically gray to say the least. I decided not to incur the wrath of the elephant spirits and leave it there. I have also learned to get better at bartering. For instance, feigning disinterest will usually get the seller very interested in getting you interested as well. And it never hurts to be like "What? What did you say? Did you say 4 euros?" when in fact they said fourteen or something like that. And of course, there is the tried and true method of underbidding. For instance, "I'll give you ten for it." "No, fifteen." "Okay, seven." "What?!" After the flea market, we saw one of the key attractions in Brussels - the Mannekin Pis. Yes, it even sounds like what you'd think it is. It's a little statue of a boy, peeing into a fountain. Along with the pigeon, Belgium's national bird, the Mannekin Pis is widely associated with Belgians, much as the Statue of Liberty is associated with us. Only... Lady Liberty is about a couple hundred feet tall, stands at the entrance of one of the greatest cities in the world and is a symbol of hope and freedom for all the world. A little boy peeing into a fountain... well... I'm not emigrating any time soon.

After lunch, I broke off from my compatriots and made my way down to the Park du Cinquantenaire, a big park designed in celebration of the 50th anniversary of Belgium's existence in 1880. It's crowning feature is an arch whose name I know not, but it is extremely imposing. Much like the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, only not a circulatory nightmare, it is an imposing structure that looks out over the city and no doubt commemorates the victory of Belgium over... wait. Who? I'll have to get back to you on that. But, to the left of the arch is the enormous Military Museum, whose contents include a vast array of arms, suits of arms, and a zeppelin hanger filled with full-size planes. Big, jingoistic and not at all subtle about how war is glorified, it is nonetheless interesting and most importantly, free to the public. At this point, and because I was walking everywhere, it was nearly dark, and I had to start thinking of getting back. I decided to swing past the European Commission on my way - an ensemble of buildings that is to Europe what all those unknown bureaucratic and lobbying offices in Washington are to our own system of government. Only, at the end of it all, there is no imposing neo-Classical capitol building, just more office buildings. European officials have been famously quoted noting that many of them don't know what half of the people employed by the Commission even do, and it is little surprise that the barely-elected, heavily lobbied, and immensely bureaucratic European Commission makes almost no sense to me. If understanding how a bill gets through Congress is hard, at least it is all in English. The European Commission respects each of the 23 languages of its member states. I am certain that if they didn't have a word for 'red tape' before joining, they do now.

The evening saw me eat a very nice and hospitable meal care of my host, Damien, and enjoy the company of he and his French friend, whose name is now permanently lost to me. After dinner, I went to join my Montpellier friends at a bar, only to wind up in a series of debacles that kept me out for far too long and in far too noisy conditions, and the story of which is really only amusing to the three of us. That being said, and that I have class in 45 minutes, I shall leave you with the promise of more later!