skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Today our Christmas choir from the Well sang in front of St. Katherine's church at the Christmas market before our evening nativity service that would take place inside. This was the most crowded I had ever scene the market and folks continuously streamed past us, which resulted in us handing out nearly all of our flyers advertising the service. We also got some folks to sing along and clap and take home videos (well, we couldn't really help that). Here we are, very close to freezing but having a grand time:
The Well rented out this church (which is Catholic but apparently has a large Russian Orthodox community) for the evening. It is currently exhibiting a collection of Russian icons and paintings. Many people were strolling in to get a look. But our service started at 5:00 and thus we essentially overtook the sanctuary and claimed the space with a giant screen, a keyboard, and some microphones.
At the beginning of the service our tiny choir processed in, a capella, to "Joy to the World," having to literally push our way through groups of people to get to the front. Such a strange experience. We sang a couple more carols before the organist accompanied us on "Hark the Herald." For some reason, we were way off rhythm with the organ and muddled our way through the entire hymn. But I think that was the largest organ, in the largest cathedral, that I have ever sung with in a choir.
The service itself was quite simple, with the children calmly presenting the nativity scene. In the backdrop there was a montage of photos of the same children acting out the story of Jesus' birth. I thought it was very creative. However, I was disappointed with the music they sang because all along there was an under-track of fake synthesized children singing, emanating from the keyboard. I would have preferred to hear their simple voices reverberating throughout the cavernous stucture. But here they are in all their garb:
We did the usual "Silent Night" in several languages and held our lit candles. Afterwards we turned around and found that some of the volunteers had set up a little cafe with free drinks and desserts. 
The chairs that were normally used for contemplating icons or praying to the saints had been placed around small round tables. Needless to say, I had never seen anything like it previously. I go home in four days! Looking forward to relaxing a bit, seeing the family and friends, and revelling in all my cultural baggage only to have it challenged and re-evaluated when I return. The one thing I fear more than possible weather problems (which are not forecast at the moment, but you never know) is dealing with jet-lag. I could be pretty miserable for a couple of days at least. Oh well, it is worth it to go home and be rejuvenated.
Antwerp is only a 45 minute train ride from Brussels, so as yesterday was the grand opening of its Christmas market we decided to take a day trip. We didn't do any of the touristy things since I was there mostly to buy Christmas presents and it turned out that my guidebook didn't even have Antwerp in it, so we'll have to go back sometime and scope out some of the Rubens stuff going on. Andrew, any more ideas of what to do there?
Antwerp felt essentially like a smaller version of Brussels, except that it's a Flemish-speaking town and its major pedestrian shopping street felt a lot wider and bigger. The Christmas market was also very similar to the one in Brussels. The smell of grease from all the frite and waffle stands is permanently engrained in my olfactory memory.
There was also a strange vibe to the city, although we couldn't put our finger on it. We saw live models in windows, pre-teens with pink hair and tripped-out costumes, golden soldiers/angels/children on top of houses, and even a hand chair akin to the one Buster owns in Arrested Development:
If only I could take it home with me.
My overall impression of Antwerp was not as good as Brugge (which I blogged about in this blog's previous life), but I think there's more to it than I saw yesterday and I want to go back in the spring perhaps and explore a bit more. We did happen upon a pub which gave us a taste of old Flanders. It was quite cozy.
In other news, this week I am singing in a Christmas choir which will perform at an English class's Christmas party, a couple of senior homes, and finally at the Christmas market Sunday evening. 'Twill be quite an experience, no doubt. More on that next weekend.
Today I went to my first ever bona fide Christmas market in Europe. I have never managed to be on the continent in December, so I wasted no time in scoping out the territory on this, the second day of December. The market has a cozy atmosphere with plenty of stalls, but I'll have to say that the food and drink is the major draw. Piles of steaming lunchtime fillers (escargots, champignons, and good old potatoes), waffles, crepes, candy apples, sausages, cheese, and hot wraps were available. Then of course there is all the mulled wine, which I did not try today but plan to try at a later date. Everything smelled delectable. Beyond the stalls there are two carousels, an ice skating rink, and a ferris wheel. (I was a bit startled, as I munched on my white chocolate-covered apple, at how quickly the wheel rotated.) Overall, a fun place, although it lacks the myriads of homemade crafts that I remember seeing in the Prague Easter market.
Then we went to the Grand' Place to see what Christmas-y type things were going on there, and happened upon Ol' St. Nick and his helper Black Pete:
Actually, there seemed to be many Black Petes, and they were all 20-something white men with their hands and faces painted black. Was Black Pete the devil made St. Nicholas' slave? An African slave that he bought out of bondage? Or just one of his helpers that acquires soot after jumping through chimneys and delivering presents? Who knows. In any case, the Dutch tradition is that St. Nicholas and his helpers arrive in each town and greet the residents and throw candy to the children. This St. Nick was particularly quiet, and, in keeping with his character, purposely sought out small children to give sweets to. I rather liked his reserved, stately demeanor. I've seen a lot of obnoxious Santas in my lifetime.
Speaking of Santa, the Belgians accuse Coca-Cola of "inventing Santa Claus." I don't know how to confirm that claim. Does anyone else?
Did you know that 2006 marks the 800th year of the existence of the Mongolian state? Yes, they've been around a good long while. I attended an event last night that was meant to celebrate Mongolian culture and recognize this milestone in its history. Unfortunately, I didn't end up learning much about Mongolia because there were far too many people there (free food and drink was advertised) and I got caught up in a couple of conversations with some fellows from New Zealand who work on human rights. One of them really liked to talk about himself.
"I'm really blessed to be working there. I don't own anything in the world. I'm not married and I have no home to go back to. I'm not a scholar. These academics and politicians, they just talk. I actually do things, get things done. I've helped so many people. This is reality. I've been to Mongolia thirty times. 99% of these people have never been there, they don't know what it's like. I was just in Ulaan Baatar, in fact. By the way, here's my card, and you should come to Macau and I'll show you around."
And on and on. But I do admire his zeal and his commitment to his work. He's been there 20 years, never went to college, and learned Mandarin "on the streets."
There was some traditional music played and traditional food served. At one point the servers brought out dumplings and placed them in our hands. They were so hot that I could barely hold them. I would have laughed out loud were it not for the scalding I was undergoing at the moment. Later they brought out Mongolian beef and noodles and the measley four trays they had were empty within five minutes. Apparently there was some cashmere being sold but I guess I never made it to that corner of the room. It was so warm in there that I was sweating, and when I walked outside at the end of the evening into the late November air, I took off my sweater and welcomed the cold.
Went to see Yo La Tengo last night at the Ancienne Belgique. They're one of my favorite bands. Now when I say "favorite," I don't mean that I actually know their names or own all of their albums. I'm not an aficionado of any band, really. It just means that I own more than one album and have always liked their sound. 
They started off with a bang and during the first half played a couple of songs that I recognized, namely, "Tears are in Your Eyes" and "Autumn Sweater." Somewhere in the middle of the show, they went cray-zay. They began to layer sound upon sound until it became a twenty-minute-long vibrating wave through our bodies. It was too much, really. It was not the soft, cool YLT that I have known in years past. They rounded off the evening with a couple of cute tracks as cool-downs but that was not enough to salvage my ear drums. I was glad I went but I don't think I'll be going to see them again anytime soon.
All day my heart was heavy with missing the wedding of Mary Catherine and Jon and all the surrounding festivities. But I've gotten short updates from the sisters, and L and I sent in a short "video update," so I feel as though I participated a bit.
Thanksgiving is this week, and I'm making sweet potatoes with bacon vinaigrette, green beans with ginger butter, and good ole pumpkin pie. We're meeting up with some Americans here for an evening feast. Won't be like home, but I am still looking forward to it.
It appears that the state of Iowa and the country of Belgium have ties that long precede me. Today at the Museum of the Army and Military History I learned that Iowa's not-so-favorite son Herbert Hoover, long before he was elected U.S. president, headed the Commission for the Relief of Belgium, a relief effort to provide food to the starving citizens of Belgium and Northern France at the beginning of World War I. At the time he was a wealthy, but bored, mining engineer and wanted to perform some kind of service to people that needed it. Apparently he was considered a great humanitarian in Europe: the Finns even added the word hoover to their language, which means "to help." It is said that the effort fed 10 million civilians during the war.
I found this discovery amusing since Hoover has an historical reputation as a laissez-faire president who did nothing to rescue his own country from the depression. In fact, he was probably against too much government intervention in relief efforts, worrying that it would grow too big in the meantime. The CRB was cooperatively funded by voluntary donations and government grants, and he tried the same method in the early stages of the depression, just not nearly as much as his successor Roosevelt.
Another amusing discovery was that the exhibit at the museum was largely funded by the US embassy here in Brussels, and W even sent a letter at its opening in September. My companion labelled this "propaganda" that was clearly an attempt to improve current relations with Europe through highlighting a part of America's past endeavors with Belgium. I just call it "subtle diplomacy."
I was in Austria when U.S. forces invaded Iraq. I was in a study abroad program and one of my classes was entitled "Dialogue of Cultures: Conflict and Peace." About halfway through the semester it descended into a tirade against America's defiance of international law. Perhaps the supposed lack of international dialogue going on around us prevented the professors from fulfilling the purpose of the class: dialogue. But I have never loved my country so much as I did during those few months abroad, even if I wasn't sure about the war.
How could this have happened? Truth be told, I get antsy when foreigners criticize U.S. actions and policy to my face. I probably take too many things personally, and for a while I succeeded in reminding myself that the Austrians and others I met on my travels didn't actually hate me. But only for a while. At one point my sister and I convinced a man that we were Canadian, just so we could avoid the comments that would inevitably accompany his discovery of our American citizenship.
In the past few days I've been a part of a couple of intense political discussions in people's living rooms. One was a general discussion about U.S. foreign policy which touched on Iraq; the other was about how best to address the crisis in North Korea, mainly regarding refugees spilling into China. I could feel the hairs on my skin rise as one woman derided the U.S. push for sanctions and the supposed "politicizing" of the refugee situation by U.S. Congressmen, as if they were not acting from a principled framework. My heart pumped hard and my face turned red. If I had had this same conversation in the states, I most likely would not have felt this sudden anger. In fact, I may have even felt comfortable with some of the criticisms. Now, after a few years of dormancy, the patriot in me has reared its head. But I don't know if it is true patriotism, or if it's just a temporary, reactionary, "as-if-EU-politicans-don't-politicize-Guantanamo" feeling.
So I leave it up to you, blog-reader, to assess for yourself. I certainly don't want to be a blind patriot, or mindlessly brush off the opinions of my European peers. But I want to learn how to lovingly and gently defend my country in a cross-cultural setting, where it is right to do so, as these issues will not soon disappear.
I am re-posting this picture since i find it important. I stayed up from 1-5 AM last Saturday morning to watch the Cardinals claim the World Series championship. What a moment.
The Well rented out this church (which is Catholic but apparently has a large Russian Orthodox community) for the evening. It is currently exhibiting a collection of Russian icons and paintings. Many people were strolling in to get a look. But our service started at 5:00 and thus we essentially overtook the sanctuary and claimed the space with a giant screen, a keyboard, and some microphones.
We did the usual "Silent Night" in several languages and held our lit candles. Afterwards we turned around and found that some of the volunteers had set up a little cafe with free drinks and desserts. 
The chairs that were normally used for contemplating icons or praying to the saints had been placed around small round tables. Needless to say, I had never seen anything like it previously. 
