This is the house pet. Named April/Abril in Spanish. Anni's dog, found on the street as a stray (one of many - I'd be interested to know the dog population of Ushuaia) - and taken in.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Part II 1/2: Abril/April
This is the house pet. Named April/Abril in Spanish. Anni's dog, found on the street as a stray (one of many - I'd be interested to know the dog population of Ushuaia) - and taken in.
Part II: Lag Esmeralda y el asado numero tres
Lagoon Esmeralda - Yesterday I went with the President of Rotoract (the young professionals/twenty-somethings arm of Rotary) and his friend and his friend's friends to a lagoon outside of Ushuaia. Gorgeous. The pictures below are from the trip. Departed at 7:30am from my house, drove 15 minutes or so outside of Ushuaia (on Route 3 if anyone is perusing a map right now), pulled over on the side of the road by a small wooden sign reading, "Lag Esmeralda", and dove into the woods. Not literally. That would hurt. It was forest, then marshland (like the peat bogs in northern Minnesota), then the lagoon - opaque aqua because of the chalky rocks (limestone?), then glacial spitup, then mountain, then glacier - the view - and back.
Returned in the afternoon after approx. 5 hours of walking and climbing and mucking through the mud. Our trekking party included zero other English speakers. All Spanish, all the time. Not only was my body exhausted but my mind as well. Both needed a little break. Nap time. As a side note: I love naps.
3 hour nap. No problem. Get up, shower, walk with my roommate (also from the US - Boston) to fetch the other student in the school (US - Washington DC) who is currently living with a Argentine family closer to the city center. We return later for the asado. (The grand evening of grilling.) It was "scheduled" for 8 or 9pm. We eat at 11pm. Things operate on a different schedule here. Again, per usual, it was meat. Chorizo (sausage), morcilla (blood sausage - black pudding in England), vaca (beef), cordero (lamb). Only four types of meat this time. Thankfully, Sergio, house papa and chef, also grilled eggplant. ¡Que rico! Food was great. The house, the yard, our clothes, everything smelled like asado. Actually, during the evening, on the weekend, if the weather is anything close to clear, the whole city smells of grill, of cut up grass-fed cow sizzling on the grates, over the charcoals, mouths water and it mixes with the red wine.
The company at our asados is always entertaining. This time, Anni, the daughter of Olga - The Olga who used to live here, who was supposed to be my family here, who is now hanging out in Buenos Aires - an endless spring of Argentine energy, and Anni's friends, a couple in their 40s, friendly/crazy/spirited - in other words, the norm - have joined. That makes seven in total. The spread includes: rice, potatoes, salad (always lettuce and tomatoes, sometimes with olive oil and vinegar), bread, wine and the meat. Talking, laughing, eating, enjoying.
Returned in the afternoon after approx. 5 hours of walking and climbing and mucking through the mud. Our trekking party included zero other English speakers. All Spanish, all the time. Not only was my body exhausted but my mind as well. Both needed a little break. Nap time. As a side note: I love naps.
3 hour nap. No problem. Get up, shower, walk with my roommate (also from the US - Boston) to fetch the other student in the school (US - Washington DC) who is currently living with a Argentine family closer to the city center. We return later for the asado. (The grand evening of grilling.) It was "scheduled" for 8 or 9pm. We eat at 11pm. Things operate on a different schedule here. Again, per usual, it was meat. Chorizo (sausage), morcilla (blood sausage - black pudding in England), vaca (beef), cordero (lamb). Only four types of meat this time. Thankfully, Sergio, house papa and chef, also grilled eggplant. ¡Que rico! Food was great. The house, the yard, our clothes, everything smelled like asado. Actually, during the evening, on the weekend, if the weather is anything close to clear, the whole city smells of grill, of cut up grass-fed cow sizzling on the grates, over the charcoals, mouths water and it mixes with the red wine.
The company at our asados is always entertaining. This time, Anni, the daughter of Olga - The Olga who used to live here, who was supposed to be my family here, who is now hanging out in Buenos Aires - an endless spring of Argentine energy, and Anni's friends, a couple in their 40s, friendly/crazy/spirited - in other words, the norm - have joined. That makes seven in total. The spread includes: rice, potatoes, salad (always lettuce and tomatoes, sometimes with olive oil and vinegar), bread, wine and the meat. Talking, laughing, eating, enjoying.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Part I: Mi Vida en Ushuaia
Well hello there. Before I recount anything about my time in Ushuaia, let me tell you a little bit about my time getting to Ushuaia. This is not a typical blog entry. It is long and it borders on a rant, but once I started writing, I thought it would be a waste to just erase it. I promise I'll write something nicer later.
Grand Forks to Minneapolis. Just fine. No problems. Smooth sailing.
Minneapolis to Chicago (O'Hare). Minor delay due to the weather in Chicago. Arrive in Chicago. enough time between flights to allow for a leisurely transfer.
While in Chicago - additional delay of unknown period of time due to weather - please stay on the plane just in case the delay is lifted. two hours. two and a half hours. cup of coffee from starbucks. the last for three months perhaps?
time to fly. great. ready to go. on our way. everyone in the plane. super.
just joking. we're not really ready to fly. another half hour.
finally, Chicago to Atlanta. only one flight a day to Buenos Aires and it's long gone.
so there I am. in Atlanta. on my way to a random hotel recommended by the phone line for stranded passengers, offering a "discount". I was pretty pumped that I had packed a change of clothing and everything I would possibly need for an overnight stay. had to be excited about something at that point.
next day, airport. atlanta to buenos aires. ready to go. on the plane.
can you guess what happens next? can you?
delay.
lights on the plane go out. something is wrong with the electrical equipment, we need a crew to take a look at it. forty-five minutes. lights back on. slightly less worried about plane crashing in transcontinental flight due to faulty electronics. deep breath. next up on the tarmac.
and what happens? yeah. at this point, it's just becoming laughable.
delay. something on the runway. garbage? dead cat? they have to remove it. it takes them 1/2 hour. we wait. again. at least we have lights. upside. always an upside.
finally. I am in the air on the way to buenos aires for the big adventure. uneventful flight. my favorite kind. even had my own row. wonderful.
next, land in buenos aires. it is hot. we made up time on the way over, so am not extremely concerned about getting to the next leg of my flight on time. until I realize I need to collect my bags and go through customs. after I was told on the plane that I did not need to fill out a customs card or recheck my bag.
freaking out going through customs. where do I go for my next flight? I understand, "the other airport".
what? the other airport? I attempt again, this time asking an attendant near the baggage claim area, in spanish. he looks at my ticket and starts explaining in spanish. obviously, we're in argentina. it is the same airport. different terminal. my bag is one of the last. literally. there are two other people standing there waiting. and me. I have approximately ten minutes until my flight leaves. forget about the gate time.
I am run-walking, with my backpack, labtop bag, and huge suitcase. sweating. i repeat. it is hot. to the other terminal. down the block, around the corner. there it is. I get in line. I wait. finally, I am told the flight is closed. the others are full.
I am laughing. I think the guy at the ticket counter thinks I am crazy. really, full? I was hoping you'd say that.
he tells me to go to a booth down the hall and around the corner. I do. to the wrong booth. farther down the hall. right one this time. go back to the ticket counter, they tell me. I do. this time, I talk, in English, to a sympathetic ear. he's typing madly. come back in fifteen minutes. no problem. what else do I have to do? I go to the bathroom. wash the flight off my face. attempt to make a phone call. twelve minutes. I return, wait patiently, ten more minutes. he flags me over. we can get you on a flight. do you want the one in twenty minutes or 1 1/2 hours? 1 1/2 hours, thank you so much for helping me. big smile, big eyes.
I buy a phone card. I make two calls. both in spanish. the first - wrong number. I hang up. I feel dismayed. my spanish is horrible. the second - my host in ushuaia from rotary. he is exceedingly patient. I realize later, the first was indeed the right number. I wonder if I've ever spoken/read/heard spanish in my life.
I return to the other terminal. I get in line. I go through "security". I wait. I make another phone call in spanish. I get in line. on the plane. seated next to a german-argentine combo couple. the woman is pleasant. I detect no disdain when I tell her my country of origin.
the snack on the plane is typical argentina fare. basically a sandwich, white bread, toasted lightly, with the crust cut off. some sort of meat, and cheese. can't remember the spanish name for it. a few hours pass. and I am starting to grow worried because our flight seems late. then later still. forty minutes late? I am worried because I have called/emailed Juan Carlos (my Rotarian host) five times in the last 24 hours with schedule changes. we land. I pile my bags on my person and desperately scan the waiting area for someone I imagine would be a Juan Carlos. someone with a sign. I am certain he has come and gone. I look for a phone. there is a sign for a telephone. but there is no phone. that's a good one. hehee. I ask three people. two point me in the direction of the sign. the third, a lady cleaning, leads me down the hall, around the corner. there are two phones. I am about to call. I am preparing my apology with the strongest words I can think of to apologize in Spanish.
someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around.
"Tessa?"
"¡Si!"
Juan Carlos.
I ask him if he was waiting long.
No, he just arrived, but you have been waiting?
No, no, I am so sorry, the plane was late, I thought you'd be waiting.
Me, no. You arrived, fifteen minutes ago?
Yes, but -- Ahh, the time difference. I forgot about the time difference. One hour between Ushuaia and Buenos Aires.
I am in Ushuaia. It is incredible. Mountains. Blue sky. I take a deep breath. Crisp, fresh Ushuaia air. I am here. I have my bags. I have a ride. So incredible. So incredibly happy. So it begins.
------------
A few photos for starters - of my home:
Grand Forks to Minneapolis. Just fine. No problems. Smooth sailing.
Minneapolis to Chicago (O'Hare). Minor delay due to the weather in Chicago. Arrive in Chicago. enough time between flights to allow for a leisurely transfer.
While in Chicago - additional delay of unknown period of time due to weather - please stay on the plane just in case the delay is lifted. two hours. two and a half hours. cup of coffee from starbucks. the last for three months perhaps?
time to fly. great. ready to go. on our way. everyone in the plane. super.
just joking. we're not really ready to fly. another half hour.
finally, Chicago to Atlanta. only one flight a day to Buenos Aires and it's long gone.
so there I am. in Atlanta. on my way to a random hotel recommended by the phone line for stranded passengers, offering a "discount". I was pretty pumped that I had packed a change of clothing and everything I would possibly need for an overnight stay. had to be excited about something at that point.
next day, airport. atlanta to buenos aires. ready to go. on the plane.
can you guess what happens next? can you?
delay.
lights on the plane go out. something is wrong with the electrical equipment, we need a crew to take a look at it. forty-five minutes. lights back on. slightly less worried about plane crashing in transcontinental flight due to faulty electronics. deep breath. next up on the tarmac.
and what happens? yeah. at this point, it's just becoming laughable.
delay. something on the runway. garbage? dead cat? they have to remove it. it takes them 1/2 hour. we wait. again. at least we have lights. upside. always an upside.
finally. I am in the air on the way to buenos aires for the big adventure. uneventful flight. my favorite kind. even had my own row. wonderful.
next, land in buenos aires. it is hot. we made up time on the way over, so am not extremely concerned about getting to the next leg of my flight on time. until I realize I need to collect my bags and go through customs. after I was told on the plane that I did not need to fill out a customs card or recheck my bag.
freaking out going through customs. where do I go for my next flight? I understand, "the other airport".
what? the other airport? I attempt again, this time asking an attendant near the baggage claim area, in spanish. he looks at my ticket and starts explaining in spanish. obviously, we're in argentina. it is the same airport. different terminal. my bag is one of the last. literally. there are two other people standing there waiting. and me. I have approximately ten minutes until my flight leaves. forget about the gate time.
I am run-walking, with my backpack, labtop bag, and huge suitcase. sweating. i repeat. it is hot. to the other terminal. down the block, around the corner. there it is. I get in line. I wait. finally, I am told the flight is closed. the others are full.
I am laughing. I think the guy at the ticket counter thinks I am crazy. really, full? I was hoping you'd say that.
he tells me to go to a booth down the hall and around the corner. I do. to the wrong booth. farther down the hall. right one this time. go back to the ticket counter, they tell me. I do. this time, I talk, in English, to a sympathetic ear. he's typing madly. come back in fifteen minutes. no problem. what else do I have to do? I go to the bathroom. wash the flight off my face. attempt to make a phone call. twelve minutes. I return, wait patiently, ten more minutes. he flags me over. we can get you on a flight. do you want the one in twenty minutes or 1 1/2 hours? 1 1/2 hours, thank you so much for helping me. big smile, big eyes.
I buy a phone card. I make two calls. both in spanish. the first - wrong number. I hang up. I feel dismayed. my spanish is horrible. the second - my host in ushuaia from rotary. he is exceedingly patient. I realize later, the first was indeed the right number. I wonder if I've ever spoken/read/heard spanish in my life.
I return to the other terminal. I get in line. I go through "security". I wait. I make another phone call in spanish. I get in line. on the plane. seated next to a german-argentine combo couple. the woman is pleasant. I detect no disdain when I tell her my country of origin.
the snack on the plane is typical argentina fare. basically a sandwich, white bread, toasted lightly, with the crust cut off. some sort of meat, and cheese. can't remember the spanish name for it. a few hours pass. and I am starting to grow worried because our flight seems late. then later still. forty minutes late? I am worried because I have called/emailed Juan Carlos (my Rotarian host) five times in the last 24 hours with schedule changes. we land. I pile my bags on my person and desperately scan the waiting area for someone I imagine would be a Juan Carlos. someone with a sign. I am certain he has come and gone. I look for a phone. there is a sign for a telephone. but there is no phone. that's a good one. hehee. I ask three people. two point me in the direction of the sign. the third, a lady cleaning, leads me down the hall, around the corner. there are two phones. I am about to call. I am preparing my apology with the strongest words I can think of to apologize in Spanish.
someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around.
"Tessa?"
"¡Si!"
Juan Carlos.
I ask him if he was waiting long.
No, he just arrived, but you have been waiting?
No, no, I am so sorry, the plane was late, I thought you'd be waiting.
Me, no. You arrived, fifteen minutes ago?
Yes, but -- Ahh, the time difference. I forgot about the time difference. One hour between Ushuaia and Buenos Aires.
I am in Ushuaia. It is incredible. Mountains. Blue sky. I take a deep breath. Crisp, fresh Ushuaia air. I am here. I have my bags. I have a ride. So incredible. So incredibly happy. So it begins.
------------
A few photos for starters - of my home:
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
...the highlands
It was certainly bound to happen. After all, I have been in Europe for almost six months.
It was mostly a weekend affair, but alas...I have fallen in love.
With Scotland. The highlands - to be specific. More details to come - but, quickly - from an internet cafe - I have just returned from a three-day bus trip in the highlands of Scotland (to the Isle of Skye if anyone wants to reference the map). Our tour guide was an entertaining, crazy, hippy man with a Scottish accent (of course - he is from Scotland), wearing a kilt. He happened to be an incredible storyteller with a wealth of knowledge about Scotland's history - of battles between the MacLeod's and MacDonald's - of William Wallace - of Rob Roy - of druids and paganism and those ruinious empire builders, the Brits...
Here are a few pictures of the highlands with more to come
The very last is Loch Ness. Sorry dad, but no sign of Nessie.
It was mostly a weekend affair, but alas...I have fallen in love.
With Scotland. The highlands - to be specific. More details to come - but, quickly - from an internet cafe - I have just returned from a three-day bus trip in the highlands of Scotland (to the Isle of Skye if anyone wants to reference the map). Our tour guide was an entertaining, crazy, hippy man with a Scottish accent (of course - he is from Scotland), wearing a kilt. He happened to be an incredible storyteller with a wealth of knowledge about Scotland's history - of battles between the MacLeod's and MacDonald's - of William Wallace - of Rob Roy - of druids and paganism and those ruinious empire builders, the Brits...
Here are a few pictures of the highlands with more to come
The very last is Loch Ness. Sorry dad, but no sign of Nessie.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Now that it is over the writing will resume and the rest will begin
Commercial break is over.
Hello again. I am back and The Project is finished.
It is 2:22am. Generally, the time of day I post influences my state of mind and therefore the tone, the amount of sarcasm I employ...the later the hour, the drier the humor...Today/tonight/this morning will be an exception, because (woohoo!!) IT is finished.
This is significant because, as I told someone the other day, I sold my soul to my project mid-November, and since then it had been an annoying, persistent companion to my thoughts, even while traveling, and a huge consumer of my time and energy.
Of course, our project presentation and exam was, like many other things of the same nature, anticlimactic. All of a sudden, it was done. If we so choose, we will never have to look at it again. Also like most other things of the same nature, it really isn't that important in the grand scheme of things or in retrospect. It was just a report and I will not mention it again.
: )
Belgium
I suppose Tom and I were close to missing Belgium. An afternoon train carried us from Copenhagen and dropped us, slightly confused on a platform in Hamburg with (less than) eight minutes to find the train that would take us to Brussels. We boarded a train that was headed to Paris. If my recollection is correct, the departure time didn't match with our tickets and the conductor wasn't extremely helpful. Lettering on the door of the wagon we boarded read "Bruxelles-midi" which we decided could mean nothing other than Brussels and that if, by chance, it did, at worst we would end up in Paris. "At worst" in Paris? No such thing.
Our seat reservations were in the close quarters of a six-person car (on a train headed to Paris via Brussels we quickly confirmed) already occupied by three other travelers. There was a slight misunderstanding/language barrier with one of our neighbors, so the glaring light in the compartment remained lit. Eventually (around 3am?) most passengers had gotten off the train leaving Tom and I with a row of seats each and finally, sweet albeit brief repose.
Jolted awake. Mostly incoherent, we arrived at 6am in Brussels, Belgium. Our hosts, a couple from Brussels - one university student and one recent graduate - met us at the station and blessedly led us to their apartment and a warm place to sleep.
Hours later our day began with breakfast and a tour of the city, including an antique market where we sampled snails, a splendid cathedral, (I have seen nothing but in Europe thus far. If I mention a cathedral it is safe to assume it is splendid, magnificent, opulent, fill in your adjective. I'll let you know when I find the opposite. This said, I have yet to tire of seeing the beauties. How much longer can I extend this interruption in the paragraph before you actually forget what I was writing about? Would one more sentence do it? Perhaps two? Okay, I'm done.), cobblestone streets leading to cobblestone alleys leading to yet another chocolate shop (mom, your Belgian chocolate is safe in my room), the Palace of Justice, the Brussels Stock Exchange, a great view of the skyline, a quaint cafe called Warm Water (Exact name is Eetcafe Het Warm Water. I remember the name because of its origin - stealing from a travel website once again: "Just above the place de Jeu de Balle in the heart of the Marolles, this café is a local institution known for its set brunches. It's a staunchly Flemish place; the staff doesn't appreciate orders in French (English is preferable). When the neighborhood had no running water, this is where residents would come to get hot water -- hence the name.")...and of course, Manneken Pis, a small statue of a little boy peeing, which is oddly enough a sort of national symbol for Belgium, or at least for Brussels. ("The statue's origins are lost in time: some say he was the son of a nobleman, others say he was a boy who once found an unusual and risky way to put out a house fire. He was first carved in stone in the mid-14th century and called 'Little Julian.' In 1619 a bronze version was sculpted by Jerôme Duquesnoy, and this is the Manneken Pis we see today.") Our visit would not have been complete without him. Finally, we made our way back to the apartment, on the way picking up a few Belgian beers to sample before and during dinner, which turned out to be a homecooked (thanks to host Sarah!) Belgian specialty - ham-wrapped endives baked in a creamy sauce and topped with cheese.
In the evening we wandered again (Tom, my memory might be failing me, but I think this is generally the order of operations for the day...), this time deeper into the Old town area, destination: the Grand Place. So impressive. Also called the Market Square, it is actually the Town Hall, King's house and a collection of guild buildings. The area was originally marshland and it dates back to the 12th century, being gradually converted over the next 200 years into the center of "commercial, political and civil life" in Belgium. Most of the buildings here are however, actually from the early 1700s because of an intense attack ordered by King Louis XIV of France in 1695. The area was complete with giant Christmas tree, manger replication and a light show coordinated with awesome, operatic music.
Next came a visit to Poechenellekelder, a bar in the Old Town district...decorated with puppets, featuring great Belgian beers...I tried the kriek - a fruity lambic. I'll let you look that one up. We were thorougly satisfied at this point. Seems like a good point to end the day, eh? End day 1 in Brussels.
Day 2 - Our hosts were out of town for the day, so we served as our own tour guides. I think we did a fine job, stopping by the Royal Palace, Royal Park and, of course, the EU Parliment. That is correct. Center of European politics. We were there. Unfortunately we missed the tour for the day. Don't worry. I asked Tom with the sad eyes...please, please can we stay longer tomorrow to take the tour? : ) The rest of our second day was spent wandering, browsing shops and revisiting a few sights that deserved more time than the first day allowed. We visited a cafe and devoured a delicious Belgian waffle - square variety, with bananas and whipped cream. In case you're planning to travel to Belgian soon I will let you in on a secret. Square = toppings. Round = no toppings. However, street vendors will try to sell tourists the already sweeter, denser and richer, round waffles. Don't do it. Don't give in. Our hosts assured we avoided sugar shock by educating us early on.
Day end included sampling a few more Belgian beers and lots of lovely sleep.
Day 3 - Thanks and goodbyes to our hosts and then, hello tour of the EU Parliment! We weren't privy to as much of the inside as I expected...but we saw the chamber for speeches/debate, which was all I really wanted to see. We sat in the chamber for approx. 15 minutes, listening via translation in all EU languages to the Portuguese rep praise Portugal for EU progress during the country's Presidency of the Council of the EU.
Waffles, chocolate, Manneken Pis, beer, Grand Place...and the EU Parliment. What more can I ask of you Brussels?
Next city please : ) but first, photos for your viewing.
Streets - Cathedral - Antique market/snail lady - approaching Manneken Pis - and Manneken Pis, modeling a casual look
Hello again. I am back and The Project is finished.
It is 2:22am. Generally, the time of day I post influences my state of mind and therefore the tone, the amount of sarcasm I employ...the later the hour, the drier the humor...Today/tonight/this morning will be an exception, because (woohoo!!) IT is finished.
This is significant because, as I told someone the other day, I sold my soul to my project mid-November, and since then it had been an annoying, persistent companion to my thoughts, even while traveling, and a huge consumer of my time and energy.
Of course, our project presentation and exam was, like many other things of the same nature, anticlimactic. All of a sudden, it was done. If we so choose, we will never have to look at it again. Also like most other things of the same nature, it really isn't that important in the grand scheme of things or in retrospect. It was just a report and I will not mention it again.
: )
Belgium
I suppose Tom and I were close to missing Belgium. An afternoon train carried us from Copenhagen and dropped us, slightly confused on a platform in Hamburg with (less than) eight minutes to find the train that would take us to Brussels. We boarded a train that was headed to Paris. If my recollection is correct, the departure time didn't match with our tickets and the conductor wasn't extremely helpful. Lettering on the door of the wagon we boarded read "Bruxelles-midi" which we decided could mean nothing other than Brussels and that if, by chance, it did, at worst we would end up in Paris. "At worst" in Paris? No such thing.
Our seat reservations were in the close quarters of a six-person car (on a train headed to Paris via Brussels we quickly confirmed) already occupied by three other travelers. There was a slight misunderstanding/language barrier with one of our neighbors, so the glaring light in the compartment remained lit. Eventually (around 3am?) most passengers had gotten off the train leaving Tom and I with a row of seats each and finally, sweet albeit brief repose.
Jolted awake. Mostly incoherent, we arrived at 6am in Brussels, Belgium. Our hosts, a couple from Brussels - one university student and one recent graduate - met us at the station and blessedly led us to their apartment and a warm place to sleep.
Hours later our day began with breakfast and a tour of the city, including an antique market where we sampled snails, a splendid cathedral, (I have seen nothing but in Europe thus far. If I mention a cathedral it is safe to assume it is splendid, magnificent, opulent, fill in your adjective. I'll let you know when I find the opposite. This said, I have yet to tire of seeing the beauties. How much longer can I extend this interruption in the paragraph before you actually forget what I was writing about? Would one more sentence do it? Perhaps two? Okay, I'm done.), cobblestone streets leading to cobblestone alleys leading to yet another chocolate shop (mom, your Belgian chocolate is safe in my room), the Palace of Justice, the Brussels Stock Exchange, a great view of the skyline, a quaint cafe called Warm Water (Exact name is Eetcafe Het Warm Water. I remember the name because of its origin - stealing from a travel website once again: "Just above the place de Jeu de Balle in the heart of the Marolles, this café is a local institution known for its set brunches. It's a staunchly Flemish place; the staff doesn't appreciate orders in French (English is preferable). When the neighborhood had no running water, this is where residents would come to get hot water -- hence the name.")...and of course, Manneken Pis, a small statue of a little boy peeing, which is oddly enough a sort of national symbol for Belgium, or at least for Brussels. ("The statue's origins are lost in time: some say he was the son of a nobleman, others say he was a boy who once found an unusual and risky way to put out a house fire. He was first carved in stone in the mid-14th century and called 'Little Julian.' In 1619 a bronze version was sculpted by Jerôme Duquesnoy, and this is the Manneken Pis we see today.") Our visit would not have been complete without him. Finally, we made our way back to the apartment, on the way picking up a few Belgian beers to sample before and during dinner, which turned out to be a homecooked (thanks to host Sarah!) Belgian specialty - ham-wrapped endives baked in a creamy sauce and topped with cheese.
In the evening we wandered again (Tom, my memory might be failing me, but I think this is generally the order of operations for the day...), this time deeper into the Old town area, destination: the Grand Place. So impressive. Also called the Market Square, it is actually the Town Hall, King's house and a collection of guild buildings. The area was originally marshland and it dates back to the 12th century, being gradually converted over the next 200 years into the center of "commercial, political and civil life" in Belgium. Most of the buildings here are however, actually from the early 1700s because of an intense attack ordered by King Louis XIV of France in 1695. The area was complete with giant Christmas tree, manger replication and a light show coordinated with awesome, operatic music.
Next came a visit to Poechenellekelder, a bar in the Old Town district...decorated with puppets, featuring great Belgian beers...I tried the kriek - a fruity lambic. I'll let you look that one up. We were thorougly satisfied at this point. Seems like a good point to end the day, eh? End day 1 in Brussels.
Day 2 - Our hosts were out of town for the day, so we served as our own tour guides. I think we did a fine job, stopping by the Royal Palace, Royal Park and, of course, the EU Parliment. That is correct. Center of European politics. We were there. Unfortunately we missed the tour for the day. Don't worry. I asked Tom with the sad eyes...please, please can we stay longer tomorrow to take the tour? : ) The rest of our second day was spent wandering, browsing shops and revisiting a few sights that deserved more time than the first day allowed. We visited a cafe and devoured a delicious Belgian waffle - square variety, with bananas and whipped cream. In case you're planning to travel to Belgian soon I will let you in on a secret. Square = toppings. Round = no toppings. However, street vendors will try to sell tourists the already sweeter, denser and richer, round waffles. Don't do it. Don't give in. Our hosts assured we avoided sugar shock by educating us early on.
Day end included sampling a few more Belgian beers and lots of lovely sleep.
Day 3 - Thanks and goodbyes to our hosts and then, hello tour of the EU Parliment! We weren't privy to as much of the inside as I expected...but we saw the chamber for speeches/debate, which was all I really wanted to see. We sat in the chamber for approx. 15 minutes, listening via translation in all EU languages to the Portuguese rep praise Portugal for EU progress during the country's Presidency of the Council of the EU.
Waffles, chocolate, Manneken Pis, beer, Grand Place...and the EU Parliment. What more can I ask of you Brussels?
Next city please : ) but first, photos for your viewing.
Streets - Cathedral - Antique market/snail lady - approaching Manneken Pis - and Manneken Pis, modeling a casual look
Saturday, December 29, 2007
why not one more set of photos from Copenhagen? you know you'd like to see one more set...
this makes up for my lack of posts for one month...right?
and we have...
"green! looking into tivoli from the outside (you can't see the fence in this one)"
"houses in color"
"houses in blue"
"7"
"the angels singing, the sun glistening on the water"
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