Belgium and Holland (part 1 of 4)

"Scatter my ashes in beautiful places
Offer the blue skies the glory of your faces
... It's the last gift I can give you
Beautiful places"
 - Beautiful Places, by Andrew Osenga 



Three months ago, at the end of July 2018, I was in Belgium and Holland. Even now, looking back, I find myself thinking, "What is my life?" (mostly in an amazed way, yet one also has to note the merits of staying home when making a three-flight, 31-hour trip to a time-zone seven hours ahead.) It was a trip long dreamed of, and which finally came together. My dear friends Miguel and Desi and their kids had moved there a year before. Miguel, who is from Ecuador, was studying to obtain his Masters in Theology in Belgium, which is very close to Desi's family in Holland. During my visit, I realized: never have I been able to imagine myself living in a place quite as well as when I get to stay with friends. There's something about sitting at their dining room table, buying groceries, and just seeing their daily lives which makes me think, "I could live here. I could call this place home."

It was a beast of a trip to get there. Up at 3:00 am on Saturday to get to the airport in time for a 6:30am flight. A quick 50-minute hop over to the city of Guayaquil (where I was called over to have my luggage searched before boarding) and then the long, 11-hour flight to Madrid. Naturally, my feet were swollen by the end of it and I was so tired, having only been able to sleep in small snatches. I passed through customs and spent some time changing clothes, washing my face, and trying to look awake and alive. It’s become my custom to always keep a change of clothes in my carry-on, so I can change before my final landing. The Madrid airport is huge: I walked for ages to my gate, then continued walking, restless, changing some money into euros and buying water. Finally, I boarded the final flight, a 2.5-hour swoop to Belgium. It was Sunday morning when I arrived, though was actually 7 hours ahead of my time zone back in Quito. I collected my luggage and scanned the crowd for Miguel. When I saw him, he was waving his arms in the air, a big grin on his face, and I waved back and walked quickly over through the crowd. We laughed at how he had been expecting my hair to still be short, and how I hadn’t seen his since he cut off his long dreadlocks. 

Since Desi and Miguel don't own a car right now, instead biking everywhere or taking a public bus, Miguel had a friend drive him to the airport to pick me up. When we arrived at their house, Desi and the kids were waiting outside. Desi was radiant as ever, one of the most beautiful people I know in every way. We sat in the living room and I opened my suitcase, which contained so many gifts it felt like Christmas. Gifts from friends back in Ecuador, a hammock which I’d purchased at the market for them at Desi’s request, and a ton of snacks. The week before, I had so much fun going to the grocery store and picking out the most Ecuadorian treats I could find.  

That day we walked to the park, pushing the baby in a stroller while their almost-three-year-old ran around, jabbering in Dutch. (their oldest child was in Holland for a few days with her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins). Miguel and I spoke to him in Spanish, which he understands yet doesn’t often respond in, preferring Dutch. Miguel can speak some Dutch but can get by in English, which he is fluent in and which most people there know pretty well. Desi and Miguel and I would switch between Spanish and English, sometimes mid-sentence to clarify a point. I love it. I love the easy flow of three different languages all in one home. 

The next day we walked to a favorite spot of theirs for Belgium waffles. I wore shorts, and it’s such a little thing yet made me so happy. In Ecuador, I can’t wear shorts without being harassed. Men openly stare and whistle. Except for at the beach, shorts aren’t seen much in that culture. Having grown up in Texas, this still feels odd. There are days when I’m walking uphill in jeans in the baking sun with my groceries and wishing for a car with air conditioning, wishing to be able to wear shorts without it being a big deal. (and people wonder why I wear so many dresses – they’re cooler!). 

We ate Belgium waffles from a sidewalk vendor, in the shadow of a grand cathedral. The buildings there are so ancient and stately. Afterwards, we hoisted the stroller onto a bus and went to Miguel’s university. I met a couple of his classmates and we walked around the stately grounds. 

Miguel thought it’d be nice to show me Brussels, which is famous and touristy, so we took a quick train there. The grand squares of the city were bustling with people. There were more shops displaying fruit-and-chocolate-laden waffles, cafes advertising the apparently famous Brussels French fries (double-fried, I believe), street art scattered between the magnificent architecture, and the famous statue of a little boy peeing, whose origin has many tales yet who is decidedly a representation of the humor of Belgium. They are very proud of it; miniature representations could be seen in most shop windows. Miguel and Desi took me to see it, warning me that it was very small and therefore possibly a bit of a letdown in real life. Sitting up on a ledge away from curious hands, the tiny stature looked gleefully down on the large crowd of tourists pressing close for a good picture. Desi and I snapped a selfie with the statue and crowd in the background. 

My favorite piece of street art was a mural of Tintin running down a staircase with his faithful dog, Snowy. I read the Tintin comic books over and over again as a child, my siblings and I checking them out from the library multiple times until we finally began to purchase our own copies. 

Because of the heat and the kids, we stopped often, first for lunch, then for drinks and finally for ice cream. I couldn’t pass up the Hagaan Daas shop when I saw it. 

I bought one souvenir that day: a small drawing of one of Brussel's city squares. There was so much beauty and grandeur in the architecture, and so much whimsy in the murals and sculptures. Even so, I preferred the city of Leuven, where Desi and Miguel live. It is smaller, far less touristy, yet beautiful. Cathedrals and cobblestone streets, like where we sat in the shade and ate Belgium waffles sweet with syrup and satisfying after the walk to get there.



Day 1 and 2 of my week there!

Leuven:

Brussels: