Finished cake

It was scrumptious, if I do say so myself. Perfectly moist, not too oily. I ate a huge piece for breakfast….

Carrot cake for host family

Double-layer carrot cake with lots of nuts, plus mini cake for host father “sans noix”…he doesn’t like them.

Day at the Zwin

Oh dear….it’s been awhile since I’ve written, and my stay here in Belgium is whizzing by at light speed. I’m going to blame my lack of blogging on Skype; it’s just too easy to call my parents and blab everything over the phone. The downside to this, certainly, is that after I’m done with my one-sided narration, there’s nothing tangible documenting my experiences. I don’t take tons of pictures, so a Blog serves as a record of my trip. The best is to write frequently, so the feelings are still fresh. Which clearly I’ve failed to do. However, I feel I should still attempt a summary of what I’ve done between now and my last post, in the hopes that it will spur more regular writing. The longer I procrastinate, the harder it is to get my rear in gear.

Mid February, I traveled with my family to my host father’s parents’ farmhouse. It’s in the Luxembourg region of Belgium, in the South of Wallonia where the Ardennes begin. Surrounded by rolling countryside and natural plateaus, it was a welcome break from the dirty, noisy city of Brussels. Phillipe’s parents seemed very french to me; taciturn, but with a ironic sense of humor. They enjoyed forcing wine and chocolate on me, and were delighted when I could return their mockery with some sarcasm of my own. Humor, in another language, is dangerous. 

I took several long walks into the old town and surrounding farmland with Brigitte, my host mom, and got mud nearly up to my knees. Thank goodness for rubber boots! The mudroom of the farmhouse (doubling as a huge cold-storage place for their apples and potatoes) had about 20 pairs in different sizes, ready to serve Phillipe’s 5 other siblings and their families. We spent (my two host sisters and youngest brother, plus parents) two nights there, and the first morning I played about 10 different kinds of “hide and seek” with the kids. Who knew there was more than one?? We played for nearly three hours, which was liberating and exhausting. I don’t think I’ve played like that since elementary school. Later, we played board games and ate delicious jams and fruit sauces made by Grandma. Brigitte  and I visited the neighboring family farm, which produces organic butter from the local breed of cow. We just knocked on their door, and were let in by the farmer’s son (a huge burly guy with whom I immediately fell in love. Suspenders can do that to a girl).He led us to the fridge, and we picked up about 20 bars of yellow goodness. Later, Phillipe, Brigitte and I visited the cows in their stalls, and I spent some quite time with the calfs. I still have cow snot on my jacket sleeve….worth it!

The farm house of the grandparents was ancient, huge, and gorgeous. It was filled with family heirlooms and paintings, with a marble floor that I slid on several times. I only fell on my butt once, but it was exceptional in that I traveled nearly 5 feet before the kitchen table stopped me. 

The next trip was just Brigitte and me, for a day in Namur. One of her sisters lives there with her large and extremely kind family, and Namur was where Brigitte and Phillipe went to University. The town is surrounded by an ancient citadel, which in regards to scale was extremely impressive. The town is in a valley, and the citadel overlooks the landscape with expansive views. Brigitte and I spent a total of nearly 6 hours walking the designated paths of the walls, with her explaining things in measured French. She is so sweet and expressive; an ideal guide. I’d like to express once again just HOW MUCH butter I fell into in regards to my host family? I’m lucky out of my mind.

For lunch, we returned to Brigitte’s sister’s house (did I mention we had borrowed her little dog for our walk? Think Snowy from Tintin, but with more energy). Ghislan (younger host brother) had taken the train there the day before, as the sister and her husband are his godparents. Because it was his birthday the day before, we had some amazing chocolate-almond cake with English clotted cream; a family recipe. The 6 children, with two teenage girls and 4 very young boys, were warm and talkative. We talked about whales (as I’m from the west coast) and the husband enjoyed practicing his english (his children’s english was very good). They had all lived in Texas before, as well as Canada and France. The father is a physicist, and makes good money (their house was amazing, complete with pool). The personal connections I’ve been able to make with true Belgians, thanks to my host family, has definately been the best part of my stay.

Last weekend, Brigitte and I took another trip together, this time to the Belgian coast. The Zwin is a bird reserve towards the east, with trails for hikers and a huge sandy beach. It was the first time I’d traveled into Flanders, and as soon as the land flattened out, the bikers appeared. Bikers, white-washed houses, and red roofs; all things typically Flemish. Because they are officially dutch speaking (unlike francophone Wallonia) none of the signs were bilingual, including the signs in the bird reserve. It felt like an open snub to all the french-speaking belgians, and when I asked Brigitte about it she agreed. She felt it was unfortunate, especially when the park receptionist spoke only in Dutch to her. She began with Dutch, but despite the fact that the recpetionist clearly knew French, she refused to “stoop” to Brigitte’s language. Unfortuantely, that is also something typically Flemmish.

The bird reserve was gorgeous; it opened into an expansive coastline, with huge dunes where we ate our lunch. Not too many birds, but many herons and gulls. The air, sweeping across the sea, was exactly what we both needed. Brigitte works long and hard hours, and she always looks exhausted. We ate our sandwhiches, apple, boiled eggs with celery salt, and drank our tea. We soaked in the sounds and smells for over an hour in near silence, and then continued our walk until the late afternoon.

The extremely cute method of communication my host sisters and I have developed in the bathroom we share. I like the way they spell my name.

My response: more fun than homework.

Artsy-fartsy shot of my self-henna’d hand with the lovely tulips my host Mom put in my room.

aaaaand here are the mussels again. I painted them last night on the back of a postcard which will soon arrive at my parents’. If only I didn’t have homework; I could do more fun stuff like this.

Also, my camera batteries are dead, which means I took this picture with my Mac. As much as I love you my dear Mac, your images don’t compare to my Canon Powershot…