Christmas Vacation

Within a few hours, I will officially have survived my first major vacation in Belgium. I had a three-day weekend here and there, half days and exams, but nothing like Christmas vacation. Yes, it actually is Christmas vacation here, not Worship Freely Winter Break like in the States, because Belgium doesn't play games and they know everyone is Christian anyway. I had to explain Hanukkah to an entire population for the sake of those three or so Jews still in Belgium. I got to learn about a new holiday too. Everyone was glad to introduce me to Sinter Klaas, who looks just like the Pope. That made the newspaper confusing for a month. One is the face of winter holidays and childhood joy and the other woke me up every morning with a speech about condoms and gay prostitutes. I learned a lot from Sinter Klaas. I learned never to eat more than one piece of speculoos per day, that men with beards make me really uncomfortable, and that Sint Niklaas is totally not Santa. Of course, every exchange student feels lonely during the holidays. Or so I've heard. It's not that I missed my family. I just missed the routine of Christmas. I missed recognizing people. On New Year's Eve, the entire city of Ghent may have literally been on the same street and I didn't recognize a single face. I met my host parents' families, which was great. They were very welcoming and they showed me pictures of my host parents as children. I think they really tried to make me feel like part of the family. Of course, I'm still the new face at every event and now I can't stop thinking about why my host parent's parents never thought to put pants on their kids. I accomplished a lot this vacation. I went to Paris, visited some museums, I became a Belgian, I got a legendary New Year's story, I found out I hate Salvador Dalí, and I managed to read everything that has ever existed ever while my folks were out. I also found out Rachel Maddow has a podcast. It's just the show, but I can't watch it on television in Belgium, so it is absolutely lovely to watch Rachel spear the right wing on my iPod while I'm snug under the covers. Actually, the only thing I can watch on the internet is 16 and Pregnant, which makes me glad I'm neither.

Hoor

I don't really know what hoor means, but I use it anyway. I know that's dangerous, mainly because, to my untrained ear, it sounds a lot like both the Dutch and English words for whore. I know it means hear, so I figured it was used either like the "Hear Ye, Hear Ye" old-fashioned newsbearers use it or like the Southerners and their "Y'all come back now, ya hear?" As it turns out, it is exactly neither of those things, but rather placed at the end of a sentence for dramatic effect. Unfortunately, it is used in much the same way as if one were to actually call me a whore, which has led to a few miscommunications. My first few weeks in Belgium, with my utter lack of Dutch skills, went a bit like this:
"Je moet het wel doen hoor."
"Whore?"
"Hoor, not whore."
"Wie hoer?"
"Huh?"
"Who whore?"
"Met mijn oor."

What I Miss

Everyone asks if I miss home and I always tell them no, in the sense that I don't cry myself to sleep at night thinking about the United States. Well, sometimes, but it's mostly political. Sure, I miss the routine and the ease, not to mention the ability to communicate effectively. I also wish I could talk to mijn broertje more often, but there's a new girl in his life and he has no time for his big sister. Ah well, I'm only an ocean away. How many kilometers is that?
Five Things I Do Miss About Home:
1. I miss snow. I went skiing today with my host parents' niece in this indoor ski hill with fake snow and heavy Dutch accents. It sort of reminded me of that scene from The Truman Show where there's a door in the sky and he realizes it was all fake. Walls on a mountain do that to people. I actually started to miss mountains, snowstorms, skilifts, and all things associated with winter. I've heard there isn't much snow in Belgium. Well, Belgians think there is, but it's all Belgian relativity.
2. I miss having a car. When I ride my bicycle through torrential downpours uphill both ways so I can get to Dutch class if only for the heat, oh poor pathetic me, I miss having heated seats and a roof while I travel.
3. I sort of miss patriotism. I don't mean forceful recitations of the Pledge of Allegiance, but I sort of wish that I weren't the only person who liked Belgium. I worked so hard to learn De Brabançonne and actual Belgians don't even know it.
4. I miss my soy-loving mother who gladly let me make vegan cupcakes to my heart's delight. Here with my legume-fearing host parents, great as they are, it's a decent struggle to get the right to cake. They said I could make cupcakes this weekend if I had time and proper ingredients. They're letting me near appliances! Do you realize I haven't had cake in two months? Do you know what that does to a person?
5. I miss being the smart kid. Here in Belgium, I know nothing. I don't know much about physics, I don't understand Dutch grammar, I speak the wrong kinds of French and Spanish, I wasn't aware that Belgium had enough history to study, and theory is not my forte.
Five Things I Know I Will Miss About Belgium:
1. Beer. I have to go back to the states and wait three years for my next drink. I know there are ways around that, but I'm not taking the risk of posting it on the internet.
2. Everyone is so darn cute in this country. With their little Belgian sweaters and their little Belgian scarves, they shiver through the cold Belgian autumn while I sweat in my host-mother-mandated cardigan.
3. Again, everyone is so darn cute in this country, but in a slightly different way. Like, I want to put them in my pocket but at the same time they're breathtaking. Belgium is an untapped well of beautiful people. I don't want to go back to the Dirty O. Belgians are prettier.
4. Everyone is so relaxed here. They all deny it, but there's no stress. It's hella chill, as we say in my country.
5. I love the food. Speculaas, hagelslag, chocopasta, those little vegan pâté
things, these are all things that I've never seen before. Seriously. Put chocolate sprinkles on your bread. It's magical. Why did no one in the western hemisphere ever think of it?

Things Not To Do On Public Transportation

1. Fall asleep.
2. Insult people in their native languages.
3. Insult people in your own language. The people you are insulting can understand you. They just don't want you to know. Stop being such an idiot. I do not feel like socking you on the tram, thanks.
4. Perform public displays of affection. I saw this one on the tram today, on the part of a group that shall heretoforth be referred to as the two-headed monster. There was actual head-in-lap action. I'm pretty sure that's not kosher anywhere. Even in Belgium.
5. Laugh at alcoholics. Yes, it's templting, because they sip their beer with such gusto, but please retain some sense of decency.

Letter to Mathilde in 2005

Dear twelve-year-old Mathilde,
This time next year, you'll be thirteen. Yes, that will make you a teenager, but it won't make you a woman. In fact, it will make you a snotty bitch. But it's okay, all thirteen-year-olds are like that. Can I just ask that you tone it down a bit? Seriously, it will be embarassing in the years to come. You are not too cool to talk to anyone. Enjoy being able to communicate now, because in a few years, you won't be able to. Right, I forgot to mention you move to Belgium. I know, Belgium, right? As it turns out, it's the perfect place for you to be. The language barrier is a bitch for the first month or so, though. So talk to everyone you know who speaks the same language you do while you have the chance. Luckily, even at twelve, you are pro at the foreign thing, so being a Spanish-speaking French-Canadian American immigrant in Belgium should be no problem. Also, don't listen to what people say about taking it slowly. Don't do anything slowly. You're too busy for patience. All that waiting will catch up to you when you're in Belgium and you realize you only have a year to do everything you've ever waited to do. All that waiting will have done nothing for you. There will be so many things you'll wish you had done before you came to Belgium, so that at least you were used to something. Nothing will go right. You'll break things and face humiliation at every turn because you've never actually done anything by yourself before. If there is anything you wonder about, even if it seems useless and strange, research it before you realize you should have known the whole time. Otherwise, there will be Google breaks at inopportune moments. Yes, a participant in the incident I am referencing will read your blog, and he will be either flattered or offended that you mentioned this particular event, but you'll be willing to take the risk because you're seventeen and an idiot. Also, be nice to your parents. I think they liked you back then. You like each other a lot more when you move out. You won't be homesick, but grateful. That right there is when you finally grow up.
It seems vain, but I'm sending this to you with love.
Mathilde in 2010

Things That Are Weird In Belgium

1. I speak my school's foreign languages fluently and can only read children's books and comics in the native language.
2. I managed to sing my way into school.
3. People are way easy on me because I come from a foreign land and whatnot.
4. Teenagers carry tobacco in their pockets and roll cigarettes on the street. If that happened in the states, they'd get cuffed right there, no questions asked, followed by hours of intense interrogation and a night in prison.
5. Ghent is a city. Like, a BIG city. It doesn't look like one at all. It's all castles and bicycles, no concrete in sight, and people smile and drive carefully.
6. I have zero concept of time. Jet lag is a bitch.
7. I'm pretty sure my host parents are hippies.
8. I had a staring contest with a rabbit today.
9. There are snails everywhere.
10. The food is pretty confusing. I eat bread at every meal, sometimes with chocolate sprinkles(hagelslag). My host parents serve me alcohol without wondering if I can handle it like a responsible person. I'm used to people thinking that teenagers + booze = pregnancy 100% of the time. Don't worry, it's just wine. Oh, the beer, obviously. I can't very well talk about Belgian food without mentioning beer. It's not bad. Then again, my host parents only buy organic, fair-trade, eco-friendly, Oxfam-sponsored light beer, but it's certainly tolerable. The strangest food-related Belgian fact is that maple syrup is only sold in health-food stores. Yep, Belgians consider it a natural sweetener only used by freaks.

How to Pack a Suitcase

1. Buy the cheapest and lightest luggage you can find. Sure, it'll fall apart mid-flight, but at least you won't exceed the weight limit.
2. Recruit a friend to tell you that all of your clothes are ugly and you need to leave most of them at home.
3. Roll your underthings into your shoes.
4. Get those cool vacuum pack bags and flatten your folded clothes into suctioned oblivion. Use that to line your suitcase.
5. Roll everything else into little clothing burritos.
6. Sit on your suitcase until it obeys.
7. Weigh, unpack, repack, lather, rinse, repeat.