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.

The Beltway in Mons

Driving in Mons has taken a bit of getting used to.  My first few weeks driving around the city were quite stressful.  Definitely a white knuckle experience.

Now with routes that are familiar to me, I whip around the city with a bit more ease.  

One of Kyra's dance studios is located south of the city.  Traveling to the studio it is fastest to take the express way - the A7/E19/E42.  Headed home it is faster to just take the Mons' Beltway - the R50.

I tried to find a good map of it, but this was the best I can do.  Only a small portion of the R50 is obscured from your view.  Those of you who have experienced Washington DC's beltway know how much fun it can be at any time of the day, but particularly at rush hour.  

I travel the Mons beltway in rush hour.  My drive takes me around half of it.  This portion of my drive takes me under two minutes.  To circle the Mons beltway takes between three and five minutes, during rush hour, still no more than 10 minutes.

When it comes to traffic and driving, I'm definitely getting spoiled here.  Places we go are further away, but I certainly don't have to work my way through as much traffic as back home.   I'm sure I'll pine for the Mons beltway when I've returned to the US.  

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.