Nutulla is Peanut Butter's cool, European cousin

I'm sick. 

This whole week, I've had a fairly aweful cold.  Don't worry, my host parents took very good care of me, buying all sorts of organic remedies and making sure I wore socks and a scarf at all times.  I'm a lot better than I was on Monday, but I still occationally cough up a lung.  I've drunk so much hot water with lemon and honey that I'm pretty sure I'll make a full recovery.

A lot of people have told me that they're reading my blog.  That's cool.  Tell your friends.  People from school inform me that they read it too, and that's great.  Now, to prove that you're telling the truth, invite me to do something cool and exciting that only Belgium can offer.  (That's sort of a joke, but not really :) )

So, just realized how hard it is to discribe English slang words.  I was talking to some girls from school and called our school bathrooms (which are old, a little run down, definately not up to USA sanitation standards, smell like smoke, and don't even have toilet paper in the stalls) as ghetto.  I just don't know enough words to explain it.  One day, though, one day...

Looked at a house with my family that they were thinking of buying.  It was awesome, if a little falling appart, and I shudder to think what my birth parents would have said about the cracks in the ceiling and such, but I had a really horribal, wonderful little fantasy about my friends back home and me buying a house in Belgium and living there, fixing it up, and just living the life.  It would be so cool.  I could teach them French, we could throw great parties, we could hang out all the time...I really miss my friends, so much that I agreed to Skype with them this weekend, but then I realized that the more I want to talk to them, the worse it will be if I do.  So, I postponed our Skype date for another time.

Everyone says my French is coming along very quickly, and all I can think is 'not fast enough.'  I know it's much better than it was when I got here, and I understand a lot more, but it's really fustrating for me not to know how to say what I want to say.  I'm sure I'd have tons more Belgian friends if they knew how incredibly witty I am in English.  :)  It's getting better, though.  Each day, it's easier to say things, and, each day, it's easier to understand not only the language, but the culture as well.

Skyped with my host brother who's on exchange to Peru.  Our entire conversation was in French, with the exception of three words.  He's really nice, and I'm considering marrying him in order to stay part of my host family forever.  (Just kidding, Dad.  Just kidding.)

I started singing with the local conservatory this week.  I'm the youngest in the group, by far, but everyone is nice and welcoming.  We're singing Mozart's Requiem, which may or may not be the coolest musical piece ever published.  Even though everything in the choir is spoken in French, I understand it way more than I understand school (which is to say, more than nothing).  And I really missed singing with a choir that can sight read.  I just want to take this moment to thank my old choir directo, Barbara Sletto, for preparing me for a legit chorus, and if she doesn't read this blog, that's okay.  Thank you, Mrs Sletto.

There is so much more to write, but you're just going to have to wait another week.  I've got to go.  Bike tour with my Rotary club.  :)

Warmly,

G.

Nothing Says 'Happy One Month Abroad' Better than a Giant Spider

Today, I've been in Belgium for one month.  It hardly seems that long; I feel like I just arrived.  I'm about half way done with my journal (an early birthday gift from Oma, thanks so much!) and I feel more and more at home here.  Even my dreams take place in Belgium now and sometimes, they're in French (but I don't understand what they say.) 

My last week was full of excitement.  School is getting better every day, and I understand more.  I don't feel so exausted afterward, and I'm getting to know some people better.  I really appreciate it when my classmates speak slowly to me and tell me about things in very simple French.  It's so much better for me than if they were to stumble through English words, though, I have to admit, I would rather talk to someone who knows a little English, because sometimes, I just don't remember a really simple French word (like 'good' or 'teach').  But that happens less now, and I'm starting to like talking again.  It's not so difficult to express my thoughts, though it's not easy and I can't say everything I want.  I can usually get the gist across, and that's really all that matters.

You can never really appreciate the sun until you live in Belgium.  This week, there were only three or so days that rained, and it was wonderful.  Of all the things back home that I miss, the sun is perhaps the most important. 

I could fill up this post with random observations--from the completely insane driving here to the amazing desserts to the fifty percent taxes--but what I really want to wright about is the Fête de Wallonie, which has got to be the best party I've ever been to (not including my Murder Mystery Dinner Party, of course).  The atmosphere of the Fête is really hard to explain, but I'll do my best.  Imagine that half a country wanted to throw a party to make the other half of the country jealous.  Then imagine that this country has more different kinds of beer than you could ever taste.  Then speak French, eat fries, and dance to music that could be discribed as techno, but with an awesome fiddler.  Oh, and take about half a dozen shots in the streets.  That's the Fête de Wallonie. 

Drapeau de la Wallonie

I left Friday after school for Namur and met up with my awesome Canadian friend, Alene (everyone should read her blog) on the train.  It's so wonderful to speak with someone in really fast English and have them understand.  She's basically just like me, only born a couple of months earlier and not into DnD, so, therefore, super cool.  We walked around the town for a while, searching for mini flags and souvenirs and just took in the sights.  The streets were lined with tents selling food, gifty stuff, or little flavored shots, and there were banners strung between the houses. It was about eight o' clock when the first random dunken person hugged us.

We met up with Alene's friends from school, including two other exchange kids, and wandered around with them.  It was so crowded that you had to push your way through the crowd, and there were so many beer cans, plastic cups, and those tiny shot glasses that, when you walked, it was like crunch crunch crunch.  But it was awesome.  We danced at the main stage until the artists stopped playing (I'm not sure who they were, but everyone kept telling me that they were really well known) and I didn't have time to sleep.  I just took the 6:40 train back to Tournai and slept all day, waking up for meal times and a beautiful classical music concert in the cathedral. 

Right now, my family is dog-sitting a sweet old dog, and it makes me realize how much I like having a dog.  I miss Remi, my sister's Yorkie back home. 

Also, I realized the importance of seperating yourself from your old life and imersing yourself in your country.  It's hard to read emails about home, like how your brother's in the hospital to get his apendix out.  I like knowing what's going on, and I want to talk to everyone back inIowa, but I have to keep my head in Belgium.  Please, family, friends, people reading my blog, if you have something to say to me, write it down, and when we skype in a month or two, you can read it to me. 

I think everyone should read/watch this link.  You can skip the bits about Russian school, but that struggle that the kids talk about...all I can say is 'welcome to my life.'

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/18/magazine/my-familys-experiment-in-extreme-schooling.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2&hp

Oh, almost forgot to say, I woke up this morning to find a spider the size of a my fist in my sink.  I killed it.  (I could even explain the situation in French!)

See you in ten months,

Greta

Eighteen years ago, there was an adorable baby girl named Greta

Just finished my first school week in Belgium and had my eighteenth birthday.  I'll start with my birthday.

Friday night, I went out with a really nice girl from my school who's going on an exchange next year.  She is very patient with me and, even though I rarely understand a conversation, it's nice to be with other people.  Walked home at about one 'o clock.  It's a testament to the security of my town that a girl walking home alone after midnight is not in any danger at all (but they tell me not to go through the parks alone at night). 

Saturday, I woke up early and headed to Mons, where I met up with other exchange kids.  It was fashion day, and the town was hopping.  I went shopping, watched a little bit of the fashion show, and became closer friends with some of the other girls, expecially my new Canadian friend, who spent the night at my place and didn't even mind going to mass in the morning.

Speaking of which, mass with a bishop is pretty awesome.  I'm definately not a religious person, and I didn't understand a word.  I just kept thinking, as I looked around the cathedral, this is where kings have prayed.  It was a really awesome thought, and, even though the cathedral is currently being renovated, it's still beautiful. 

After the mass, there was this weird ceremony when people came in dressed in medieval clothes carrying banners, and the bishop gave the key to the city to the mayor (I think).  It's tradition, and I'm not fully, one hundred percent sure that I understand correctly.  After that, we sang the Tournai song, which I totally don't understand because it's old French, and a really weird dialogue as well.  But I love it. 

Les Tournaisiens sont là!

Leray l’a dit, dins les guerr’s de la France,
Quand l’caporal s’apprêteot à buquer,
S’ortournant su s’n’officier d’ordonance :
« Dis deonc, l’ami, ç’qu’on peut bêteot qu’mincher ? »
No n’aid’ –de-camp s’ortourneot tout d’ein’ traque,
... R’wettieot au leong et puis diseot comm’ cha :
"Sa Majesté, on peut donner l’attaque,
On peut qu’mincher, les Tournaisiens sont là !

Et si pus tard i faudreot qu’on r’quéminche,
Aux greos, aux p’tits, ein Belg’ sareot prouver
Qu’i n’suffit pos de dir’ : « Tés-ta, j’te minche ! »
Neon ! Avant cha, i faudreot nous tuer.
Et quand no roi, au momint du touillage,
Dira : « M’z’infants, l’ennemi est là-bas ! »
Nous s’ecrireons : « A nous Tournai, courage ! ».
On sintira qu’les Tournaisiens sont là

 

After that, there was supposed to be this huge parade where people carry heavy Mother Mary statues around the city because it was supposed to protect the city from the plague, but it was cancelled because of the rain.  :(

 

I forgot to mention that I had candy for breakfast.

 

Oh, and a random black guy gave me his number.

 

I think that covers the weekend festivities, now for school.

 

So, I'm really totally confused in every lesson.  I'm not even sure when we have homework or what to do.  Everyone is nice to me, but I honestly feel like I'm mooching off them.  There are people that I want to get to know, and I don't want to settle into a friend circle until I've tested the waters in every one, but that's harder said than done, considering that I can't remember any of their names and don't speak French.  But, for this year, I want to be friends with the people who throw snakes.  Not litterally, because I don't want to be within a hundred foot radius of any snake, but the people who are living life and doing exciting, possibly crazy things.  All my life, I've been an observer, not a do-er.  That needs to change.

 

But everything is hard.  The professers are really kind and understand that I have no idea what I'm doing, but I feel so aimless, and I sigh a lot.  It's so difficult.  Also, my schedule is still kind of messed up (I realized ten minutes into one class that I had already had the same lesson that morning).  It's kind of horrible.  I just wish I had friends here. 

 

Life here is not a vacation or a party.  It's like AP testing, but it never ends.  I am always tired and really hungry.  Sometimes, all I want is to go home, but I know that if I do, I will regret it for the rest of my life.  So I've got to stick it out.  I just keep reminding myself that this is an adventure, and, sometimes, adventures aren't always fun.  You think Frodo and Sam enjoyed climbing all those stairs in The Return of the King? And Hannibal couldn't have been comfortable, crossing the Alps.  Things just suck sometimes, and, if you give up, you'll never destroy ultimate evil/Rome/the One Ring/the Sith/cockroaches/the six-fingered man/etc.

 

Now, I just have to follow my own advice.

 

Sincerely,

 

Greta

Old School

There is no way to fully discribe the differences between my school in Belgium.  It is so different from America that, on the first day, I felt like giving up and going home--not because I didn't like it, but because it was just so strange.  For starters, everyone writes in cursive.  And not the bad, swiggly nonesence that you learn in fourth grade.  It's beautiful, and everyone uses fountain pens.  It makes math notes seem like wedding invitations, and I feel more awkward because my appalling script than anything else.

But, so far, so good.  Everyone seems nice, and I already have friends who invited me out Friday night.  I got a bunch of complements on my clothes (thank you, Francesca's Collections) and the headmistress told me to just go to whatever classes I want until they finish a schedule for me.  Today, the second day, I went to English.  It was the only class where I understood most of what was going on, and I totally kicked ass on the excersizes. 

But, seriously, this is the hardest I've ever worked in my life.  Granted, this is coming from someone who never actually worked hard at anything before, but it's very difficult.  I come home from school exusted and starving, and I sleep deep and usually dreamless sleeps (though, last night, I dreamt that my best friend Carly, my best/only guy friend, and my dungeon master were trying to figure out how to get rid of the disgusting lunches at the school I attended until 6th grade). 

I'm starting to really miss my friends.  I want to tell them all sorts of stories about all my observations, but I know, if I do, it will just be harder on me later.  Besides, I need to make new friends.  Belgium now, Iowa later.

Still getting the hang of kissing people on the cheek when I say hello and good-bye.  It's so weird.

Peace,

Greta