Things I have become used to

The other day I made a quick stop at the local grocery store.  On the way in I realized that without thinking about it I had automatically grabbed my reusable grocery bags which led to me reflect on all the things I have become accustomed to since arriving in Belgium.  So here's my list...

1.  Carrying my own shopping bags into the store.  I have a bunch of them that ride around in my back seat.

2.  Round-a-bouts.  Not only am I used to them but I really do like them.  Stop signs are rare here.  Standard practice at intersections is to slow down, make sure traffic is clear and keep on going.

3.  Speaking French.  I'm not great but I'm proficient and comfortable navigating my daily life in French.

4.  Seeing cows (and smelling them).  Our street is in the midst of several small farms.  When the roads aren't muddy Dobby and I walk by a particular herd's pasture on a daily basis.  The calves are really cute.

5.  No garbage disposal.  I don't like not having one, but I've figured out the work arounds now.

6.  Length of time it takes to do laundry.  Once again, I will welcome larger capacity and faster cycles when we return to the US, but I've figured out the rhythm of keeping up with the laundry.

The list isn't exhaustive but I think captures the highlights of the things that took me some getting used to when I first arrived.  Unfortunately one of the other things I've become accustomed to as of late has been sunshine.  The weather has been lovely here and I have to keep reminding myself that standard Belgium weather is gray and rainy.  Not sure if that will ever make the list of things I have become used to.

I Miss Buffa's

Recitals are a major production.  There are multiple classes, types of dances and ages to mix into a performance of reasonable (ish) length.

Schedules for rehearsals need to be worked out.  Decisions must be made about make-up, hair, costumes, the color of tights and various accessories.  Space and time have to be set aside for rehearsal and performances.  There are many many moving pieces.

By the time we left the US, I had the Buffa's Dance Studio recital mostly figured out.  I had all the necessary equipment - brush, gel, hairnet, bobby pins, hair pins and all important safety pins.  I knew which brand and color of tights to buy.  Kyra was in the right place at the right time with the right stuff.

Now we are a bit of a mess.  We have to learn the recital routines of two studios - in French.  To add to that neither studio is helping us out with clear communication.  At the beginning of recital season Buffa's would mail out the recital packet - about 8 pages of color coded information - everything a mom would need to know to successfully navigate the craziness.  These studios provide us with a sheet of paper with some information on it every now and again.  Some information is announced orally in class in French behind closed doors (Kyra doesn't speak French).

I'll have Kyra in the right place at the right time.  She'll have a costume (rented - much cheaper - I like that).  She will know her dance and be able to perform it.  After that all bets are off - her bun might not be at the right height, her make-up will probably be different and tights and shoes who knows?

Kyra and I will both be glad when this is over.  It stresses us out to just see how things go but without information we can't prepare so things will be as they will be.  No matter what Kyra will dance beautifully and her mom will be proud.

French

Last week was kind of full, which is why this blog was not.

For the past semester I have been very fortunate to be in a French class that had only three students who showed up for class regularly. That meant that we could practice our French quite a bit.  The down side is that now that is time for re-enrollments we don't have enough students for the class to continue.

At the beginner level students can pick and choose between instructors, days and times for their classes.  At the intermediate level there is only one of each class.  When your class is discontinued, well that is it.

My teacher recommended that we give the advanced class a try.  So, a week and a half ago I did.  I was a bit afraid, but figured my other options were no French class or repeating these last few months.

In the advanced class I found that I could understand what was going on.  My speaking and grammar aren't quite up to the level of the other students but I'm not overly behind either.  What that class is doing, I was doing in college, so in theory, my brain could do it once, my brain can do it again.

I did not however wish to fall further behind so for the last week plus I have been attending both French classes to make the transition.

This week I don't have class and then next week, I start the advanced class.  Wish me Bonne Chance!

Who is Bob?

This isn't the best image but the only I could find and copy.  Look at the car it says "I Bob You."

We've been seeing this on billboards since we arrived.  It makes no sense even though it is in English.  That's because it is Belgian.

In French class today I learned this Belgian expression.  Any guesses?  As I read billboard signs that said "I Bob you" I tried to make sense of the other words and images.  The images included cars and/or car keys.  My guesses were auto insurance or maybe some sort of auto loan.

They are a public service ad campaign for designated drivers.  Bob is the guy who doesn't drink and drives everyone safely home.  In English we would ask at the beginning of the evening - Who's the designated driver?  The French would say (in French) - Who will not drink alcohol and drive us home?  In Belgium (in French) they ask - Who is Bob? (Qui est Bob?) Either that or the aim of the campaign is to get people to volunteer to be "Bob"

So now the mystery of the billboards have been solved and I know a uniquely Belgian expression.

Automobile Troubles

A piece of advice - bring a well-functioning maintenance free car to Europe.

Why - because cars are triple the pain to maintain here.

Case Study - December 26th Kyle and Allen departed for youth group trip to ski in Austrian Alps.  Kyle drives his car to SHAPE and leaves car in church parking lot.  Later that morning Kyra and I get in my car to go to church.  My car won't start.

In order for Kyra and I to take our planned trip to Paris (I know life is rough) the next day, I need a functioning car.  I still have to take dog to boarding place in Flanders.  The car at the house doesn't work, but the car at SHAPE does.  So, I begin my 90 minute plus walk through the snow to SHAPE to get the functioning car.  This achieved I drive home and take dog to board and pack for trip.

My car is still sitting useless and non-functioning in garage.

Upon Kyle's return he attempts to jump start car.  No luck.  As with most things in Europe we can expect that towing a car will be significantly more of a hassle and more of an expense than in the US.   Kyle had attempted to find a AAA equivalent here but without success.  With a renewed sense of purpose he tried again and found one.  He joined.  Then we had to wait a day to call for service.

We waited a day.

I called.  The company came.  I attempted to explain what was wrong with the car (difficult enough in English) in French.  The guy attempted to jump start the car.  It worked and my car now works.

I haven't yet tried to start it again this morning, so keep your fingers crossed for me.

Directions

Last Friday I was driving Kyra home from dance when the car next to me rolled down the window and the driver asked me for directions.  I gave him directions and we both continued on our way.

Not a very remarkable occurrence, but it made my day for the following reasons -

1.  the request for directions was made in French

2.  I didn't have to ask him to repeat the question

3.  I knew where he wanted to go and the direction to send him in

4.  I replied in French

Know your Flemmish

Belgium is a multi-lingual country.  In various parts one will encounter French, Flemish, Dutch and/German.  When one changes sections, the signs change.  What makes this particularly interesting is the change in directional signs.

In the French parts signs direct us to Paris, Bruxelles, Mons, Soignes, and Namur.  I'm guessing you can quickly figure out that Bruxelles is Brussels.  Now try this...

Upon exiting the Brussels airport, you can go to the train station and find trains that will take you to Parjis, Bergen, Zinnik, and Namur.  You got Parjis right?  Namur as well.  What about Bergen and Zinnik?

Bergen = Mons
Zinnik = Soignes

Not as easy.  When I am heading home from Brussels, I have to start by following the signs to Bergen and then switch over to following the signs to Mons.

Why such a change in name?  Actually the name stays the same, it's just that the translation is so different.  Mons means mound/hill in French.  Bergen means the same but in Flemmish.  It would be as if we called Detroit - Of the Strait or San Antonio - St. Anthony.  Just think about all the languages represented in our place names within the US - French, Spanish, several Native American languages, English, Dutch.  We could easily have a crazy system of road signs, I guess I should be grateful, I only have to work in two languages.

People Speak French to Me

For the most part I live in English-speaking culture.  My family speaks English.  All my web/email interactions are in English.  The dominant language of SHAPE is English.  In touristy areas, shopkeepers speak English.  Church is in English.  Chievres isn't only English-speaking, it is completely American.

The first few times a stranger addressed me in French,  I was startled and it took a few moments for my brain to catch up and respond appropriately.  Now I'm a bit faster on the uptake.  Not only that, but I do enjoy hearing and speaking French.  Conversationally, I'm still quite slow, but every day interactions with strangers are getting a bit better.

I like greeting people with a "bonjour!" as I walk the dog and wishing store keepers a "bonne journee" (good day).

I can ask for a pork roast at the butcher's counter and respond when someone wants the extra chair at the dance studio.  I'm not a great French speaker, but I'm decent.  People quickly realize French is not my first language.  They also are generally pleased I am making the effort.

I like the mental exercise of thinking and speaking in French and I expect if I keep at it, it will continue to improve until I once again move back to the US and forget everything I've learned.

Until then- Bonne Journee!

Brave

Saturday was difficult and fraught with mixed emotions.  On the one hand, she loves to dance and wants to dance on the other hand, she doesn't speak the language, she doesn't know anyone and this class may be too much for her.

Dance studios have unique cultures of written and unwritten rules.  There are dress codes - what leotard styles and colors that are allowed and not allowed.  Expectations about hair - bun or bun optional, how neat must it be.  Must one wait to enter the classroom?  May one speak to the teacher before one is spoken to?  There are hierarchies of place - who stands at which barre, who stands in front and in back. Little of this is communicated directly, most of it is to be absorbed and absorbed quickly.

Imagine yourself at twelve years old.  You only speak English.  You know no one.  It is the first day of class - new classmates, new studio, new class, new pointe shoes, new teacher, and the language is French.  On top of that, no one has really helped your mom figure out the proper class placement for you.  Mom has guessed that you should probably be with the high school students, but this guess could be very wrong.  This means you are the youngest in the class, by as little as two years and as many as six.  If things are wrong, you have only limited ways of understanding and expressing the problem.  The only things you have to rely on are your dance training, determination and a kind Belgian girl who can speak some English.  Mom tells you the class lasts one hour.  It actually lasts two.

This is the situation Kyra walked into on Saturday.  I don't know if I could have done it.  She did it.  If she did not love dance so much.  If she did not have any aspirations of returning to dance upon our return to Virginia, I doubt she would have attempted it.  On and off over the summer she has debated with herself if she would.  This was a high hurdle and one she was not anxious to attempt.

Attempt she did and succeed she did.  Mom's guess about placement was correct - highest level ballet class offered by the studio.  Mom is proud.  Kyra is brave.