Antwerp

Belgium, Brussels, Antwerp Verle & Co.

Yesterday I woke up with an inherent headache. This morning I was given one as a gift by some crazed bitch pounding on her car horn outside our window for a full 20 minutes at 7 A.M. Derek and I made the best of it though, and decided it was time to be hitting the road anyhow, plus we were first to take advantage of the free breakfast.
Our destination was Antwerp, Belgium. Earlier in the trip we were spending close to a week in each country. This would be our third in five days. Originally we hadn't planned to go to Belgium, but Derek had connections through his mom's friend Verle, and it was arranged that we stay at their home for a few days. Derek had seen Verle two years ago on a trip to Europe and said she was very nice, and a very good cook. It was the lucky break of the trip, putting out money, food, and lodging worries on the back burner.

I didn't shower throughout Germany, my contacts have sucked my eyes bloodshot, and my hair/bead combination gets greasier by the minute. I was in good shape to meet this woman.

From Cologne to Brussels we transferred to a train for Antwerp, getting us there around 1 P.M. We took over three hours wandering around for something to eat (an unpleasantly spicy kebab that we didn't pay for) and a pay phone to call Verle (which ended up being right next to the station). While waiting for her to pick us up Derek bought some flowers. Before long a green car pulled up, and there she was with a big smile to greet us. A wonderfully big woman with a big smile and kind eyes. After greetings and introductions we piled in the car and headed to the suburbs of Antwerp, where Verle pulled into the driveway of a quaint two-story house in an older neighborhood, complete with fields filled with livestock, and thatched roof houses.

When we had dropped our things off in their son's second story room (fixed up with an extra bed) I threw out an extra thank you and made a beeline for the shower. My underwear was so worn, dirty, and full of holes that I threw it away and stepped into the shower. It was much needed, but because it was just a tub with no curtain and a moveable head, I was unsure what to do. In the end I adopted a combination of flopping on my stomach and curling up in the corner as to not get the floor wet. It got wet anyway.

It was strange changing into my final pair of clean pants, and felt symbolic, but I was hungry so I didn't think too deeply into it. I met Verle and Derek in the backyard for delicious sandwiches, then excused myself to unwind and write a bit while Derek played a private show for Verle and her son Tom on the guitar. Later Verle insisted we make a grocery list, but I was sheepish to ask for things, and in the end it was Verle writing down things she knew we'd like. Belgian "famouses" such as chocolate, beer, asparagus, and chocolate. She also insisted on doing our laundry, and I cringed at the thought.

I felt relaxed, and scribbled a while longer before dinner. The air was sweet. That night I met Danny, Verle's husband, and enjoyed fine Belgian beer and dinner, attempting to balance my drinking, eating and story telling ratio, taking turns with Derek, chipping in details. Tom seemed to enjoy hanging with the "big boys," and we enjoyed learning about Belgian trends such as "Jumping" (a hip new Belgian dance).

Even though the sleep that night was fatigue and alcohol induced I slept soundly, and woke up to sunlight dancing on my face, after a series of strange dreams. I walked downstairs and met Derek in the kitchen for breakfast.

I stuffed myself, then got a chance to do the one thing I had missed besides climbing: bike riding. I rode an old mountain bike, and Derek jumped on a stylish cruiser (almost all bikes in the Netherlands were cruisers, hardly any mountain bikes, and no road bikes). We took to the streets of Antwerp eagerly, twisting and turning our way aimlessly past lakes, fields, and Elementary schools, the wind blowing through our hair, until we were completely lost. Fortunately, Danny outfitted us with maps of the area, and we found our way back just as it started to rain. The weather was strange while we were in Belgium; pouring rain for five minutes then giving way to 72 degree sunny skies, and repeat. We ate lunch and rode with Verle to a Belgian version of Sam's Club to buy ingredients for a Belgian specialty called "Gourmet," (closest English translation). Gourmet consists of a hot plate in the center of the table where you cook your own small vegetables and pieces of meat. Typically used around holidays or special occasions so the family can be together, and no one gets stuck in the kitchen.

6.10.07 - Interruption

On the train again. In the past week I haven’t written, I've seen nearly everyone, told countless stories about Europe, packed for Idaho, moved apartments, and now I'm headed back to O’Hare. I'm not leaving the country this time, but I feel as if I might be leaving the planet. Still dirty, unshaven, with a new backpack for a companion. My phone took less time to shut down, it knows. The new pack feels good against my back, it knows. My mind is playing catch-up, but I have a new book to encourage it to wander faster, and further off. Too loud, the roar of this metal tube racing to get me off the planet, soon enough. All mental obstacles, needles, and fractures aside, back to Europe and the Belgian hospitality, Bruges in the afternoon, a basement in Rotterdam, and a houseboat in Amsterdam. Almost done with the adventure in ink, just in time to jump into a new one with my eyes closed.

Antwerp - Continued

Came back from the grocery store in a giddy mood. Verle bought us enough food for another three-week trip, let alone four days. I was left to my thoughts as Verle prepared for Gourmet. I refused a beer, which in hindsight I should have accepted out of respect, and sat upstairs staring at the rain falling through the falling orange sunlight. I wrote a little, something about Venice I think. Before long the smell of cooked vegetables rose up to the room, and I went down to investigate.

Derek was playing guitar with Tom. The music emphasized the dinner table, which was set with a large hot plate surrounded by small plates with wooden utensils (as not to conduct heat to your hands). Next to the hot plate were a series of bowls and plates with small pieces of various meats, mushrooms, tomatoes, green peppers, and an entire onion.

Interruption - The Kopper Kettle 2661 Airport Way, Boise, Idaho

A light drizzle right as I step off the plane. I felt it lightly in the gap between the gate and the door. One of those rains that coats the top of your head, but leaves the rest of your hair dry. Checking into the hotel I noticed that my room was bigger than my apartment in Chicago. "Anything smaller?" I asked. I received a stiff shake of a head. This was the smallest room; complete with a king sized bed. Four people could easily sleep in here. Outside the Kopper Kettle (a small diner just down the street) the rain looks gentle. Individual drops rest on the generic shrubbery outside instead of running off immediately. Time seems to have slowed down here. People seem polite, but maybe it's just in airport land. My cross section of people in Idaho is limited. A new place. A glass of free water with ice. A giant omelet. No omelets after tomorrow. Jump in, cross out, stand up and keep walking, keep laughing, because the roots begin to seep in when you stop doing either, god forbid both.

Antwerp - Continued

After dinner, and dessert of course, I refused another drink offer. Don't get the wrong idea the beer is phenomenal, strong brews by drunken monks in the hills. Warms the body like a shot of rum, but less intrusive. That said I still refused, my mind was blank, and I grew quiet as we played cards, board games and such. Wandering off. Thoughts of the single can of Wolfgang Puck signature soup in my apartment, complete with a headshot of Mr. Puck printed on the can. I was convinced he had peeled himself off the can and was strutting around rubbing himself all over everything, bed floor, cold knob on the sink. I went with the drift as it took me through strong feeling of nostalgia for video games, and pizza parties with 2 liter bottles of sprite. Caffeine antics in Saginaw. I missed my friends. Maybe I was just unsure of when I would be back in Michigan, if at all. These thoughts might also be more of what I'm thinking right now while writing this, but I remember they were similar if not spot on. Either way my drifting was constantly interrupted by the round about board and card games, and finally left, or maybe I left them.

I excused myself, and in the thick haze of drowsiness I remember feeling an overwhelming happiness knowing that my friends were back home, and I'd see them when I could, they'd always be there.

The next morning we headed to Bruges.

Sidenote:
Antwerp translates to "Hand-Throw," in Flemish. In the square by the train station there is a big statue of David throwing the hand of Goliath. Supposedly Antwerp was built where the hand landed.