Brussels, known also as “The capitol of Europe”. Considering its status in the world we spent very little time admiring this city. In our defense the map we received stated and I quote “Brussels in an ugly city, we know it and we love it”. After reading that would you spend endless hours roaming its streets? Granted I know I could say the same about Malanville, but that was after spending months getting to know its little quirks. We had a mere day. What first caught our attention was the international feel to the city. We, a fellow RPCV and I, pointed out American restaurants with all the enthusiasm of children seeing what Santa brought Christmas morning. I remembered back to a time when I scoffed at Starbucks abroad, now living abroad I covet it like only a homesick American ever could. After gorging ourselves on Lebanese sandwiches, a Tex-Mex buffet and Subway we realized that we should probably be searching out Belgian food, and suddenly it hit us; what’s more Belgian than a giant fresh-cooked waffle!? Despite the food, we had been doing Belgium justice, trying the various local brews, which had been inspirations for some of my personal favorites from back home. However, aside from our highly American eating habits, we both felt pangs of regret when we stepped into a bar boasting the largest choice of beers in the world at an astounding 2500. We had been led by the rumor that we could find an old Benin classic. We did find said beer too, but quickly realized that we were not going to pay for a beer that we complained about in Benin at five-times the price and that tasted so bad even the bartender cringed when we asked how it tasted. Upon entering the bar I felt like I had stepped into a time warp, right back to college. The bar was packed with drunk American youth, most probably not even legal to drink in the States yet and so letting loose on their European vacation. As we maneuvered through the crowds one thought overwhelmed every other. This is the face of America abroad?
The next day we headed north to Antwerp. We left the comfort of French-speakers and signs. It was cold cold cold so we spent the evening doing any activity that involved being indoors, killing time until we met up with a local that offered to house us for the evening. She was a sweet heart giving us tips on what local delicacies to taste and what had to be seen. The next morning Christmas Eve was upon us at last. We roamed the quaint little streets of Antwerp and meandered through the Christmas market, letting the atmosphere overwhelm us and fill us with Christmas cheer. When we ducked in to a café to thaw for a while I heard and old classic that cut straight to my heart. “I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me. I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in me dreams.” Listening to the song, while partaking in a chocolate drizzled, tourist-prices Belgian waffle, and chatting with the friendly Belgians at the next table I was overcome at once with homesickness and adventure. That afternoon we were heading to the small, inconsequential town of Berlaars where a family offered to take us in for Christmas.
We headed to Berlaars both anxious and curious. Everything turned out great. We were welcomed as one of the family. The three adorable little boys quickly warmed up to us, and though there was a language gap, well smiles transcend language. We were invited to join in the family traditions. A little wooden Joseph and Mary slowly make their way from one end of the living room to the other throughout the month. We were there for the big finally, the birth of baby Jesus.
A little note on finding Christmas cheer so far from home. Though I feel a longing for friends, family, and the familiar backdrop of the Rocky Mountains over the Christmas holidays, I can´t help but feel like the Christmases spent far from home guard more of the traditional Christmas spirit. In the States I am in the comfort of my own home, it´s true, but abroad I have been invited into families for the day, taken part in new traditions and my appreciation for the holiday has grown. Europe has a delightful Christmas atmosphere. Small Christmas villages spring up all over. This year I had the opportunity to meander through the Xmas villages in Belgium, France and Spain, each offering unique goods and delicacies. We warmed our hands over cups of Glühwein, (mulled wine), in Brussels and sipped on Jenievre, a flavored licor in Anterp, a local favorite. Looking back now that the Christmas lights are coming down, I am grateful for the unique spin the world puts on Christmas for me year after year.
Next stop, north to Amsterdam. Ah Amsterdam. It was a surprising beautiful city, filled with canals and a unique architecture. It seems to fulfill its reputation in every way, right up to the buildings that aren’t quite straight. There was really no need to partake in anything to feel a little disoriented. I felt somewhat off balanced as I stared up at the buildings that lean forward just a bit. There is a large hook at the top of most of the old houses. The story says that these hooks were used to lift things out of boats in the canal into the higher floors. In order to avoid the line swinging and breaking windows they built the houses crooked so that the top stuck out more. Nowadays we would just make the hooks longer. To each his own.
Amsterdam was surprisingly small. Out first afternoon, or night, (it gets dark around 3:30) we wandered the streets and found ourselves lost in the red-light district with almost naked girls standing in the windows. I’m still blushing. On the map it looked like quite a distance from the hostel, but in truth nothing was far. I enjoyed the atmosphere of Amsterdam. The constant danger of being hit by something, be it car, tram or bike, was a pleasure, because it meant that so many people were opting to ride bikes instead of drive. The environmentalist in me was delighted. When you go to the grocery store everyone is toting their reusable canvas bags. Waste not, want not. The tourist part of the whole town was not my favorite. I found myself slightly disappointed that so many people would fly so far from home just to sit in the hostel and do exactly what they do back home. Where is the sense of adventure, the wanderlust, the desire to explore new places?
Two friends joined the party. A guy from California on an amazing European vacation that made me feel old, being a mere 19 years old, and my bff, Marina, flying all the way from the States to come visit. We stared at the line for the Anne Frank house that wound around the building in despair. Having only two days in Amsterdam made it impossible to justify spending an entire day in line. Dejected we wandered the streets of Amsterdam together; ducking it to thaw our frozen bodies here and there, but before we knew it we were on a train to Paris to ring in the New Year.
