Empress Nemo and the Neverending Search for Stuff

Close shut the jaws of Oblivion

2008-06-30T20:43:00.003+02:00

The goat ate my blogpost-notes, several relatives were trampled by elephaunts in Amazonia, my alarmclock was stolen by a vicious band of meercats, my train was late (as appears to be my lot in life), terrorists blew up my laptop (they tend to do that), I got stuck in traffic, I was brutally abducted by cabbagy smelling tribals (most likely Assamese), the terrorists also blew up the goat btw (so there was really no way for me to post anything)...

Some of these excuses are more true then others, I admit, but all are equally superfluous on this glorious day: the return of the empress.

Meanwhile thousands of things happened, changes were made, other changes occured (without much making), months passed, illnesses were discovered, the sun shone, rain fell, stews were made, wine was drunk, english past tenses snuck into my writingstyle bigtime... As a creative exercise you can all think of your own scenario of my doings and whereabounts the past three months, because I really don't feel like giving a general update here. This brings us to the following ponderance: then why are we here? (not in an existential way, but in a onthiswebpagerightnow-way).

Well my fine fellows, I went to Rome! And a grand city she showed herself once again! I'll tell you all about it in a most lyrical manner tomorrow, because well, you kow how life goes... I've got a winedate, and I should clean up my mess before M. arrives. (As much as you all might enjoy wallowing in my dirty undies, I don't deem it a very appropriate flooring for social occasions).

The London Sockexchange and other tales

2008-03-10T16:00:00.002+01:00

God I'm bored. No amount of free (or more correctly "free") wifi-internet can make a more than 10 hour wait bearable. I am in the international terminal of Mumbai airport. I have been here for 4,5 hours. I will be here for another 5,75 hours. In 2,5 hours, I can start the check-in procedures. God I'm so bored. I've got a great book (Salman Rushdie's The moors last sigh, I'm addicted to the man), I've got internet, I've got paper and a pen, but it doesn't make a jot of difference. I am utterly bored out of my mind.

This morning I stood with my feet in the Arabian Sea, my hair in the wind, and my face in the morningsun, my bananatoastpineapplejuicecoffeebreakfast in my tummy. I could have stayed there like that forever. Alas (poor yorick?) it was not to be, which is why I am now sitting here in this not-so-very-comfortable seat at mumbai airport. India is magic. Belgium is just as magical, but in India, I don't have to work/study/clean/... I don't have to do anything. How brilliant is that? But sitting here - bored out of my tiny little mind- has made me think of some things (I am excluding people from the missed-belgian-things-list, if you read this, you may readilly subsume I miss you) I miss about Belgium: The Delhaize-supermarket. My underwear collection. Brown bread. Walking in the rain, and having a hot bath afterwards. My kitchen. Having normal conversations with men. My kitchen again. Cheese that tastes like cheese. My senseo... Reading this, you can more or less think what my day will look like tomorrow. I have heard it's quite stormy there in Belgium. I hope this doesn't cause too much delay. If everything goes according to plan, I should be in Brussels by 7:15 tomorrow morning.

I have kept a small diary of some indian-adventures. I will post you the best of them here during the next week or so. Like that the story doesn't end just yet. I really am having a hard time leaving this place (well, not exactly this particular spot, off course, but you know what I mean). I'll be fine though. I got some intensive messenger- mail- and sms-coaching, and I've already got 3 dinnerdates, some lunchdates, a promdate, a moviedate and several teadates this week. There goes my new-found relaxchillslow pace of life! But I love you all for it. Wish me patience in my boredom, and clear starry skies tonight...

Another day for me and me in paradise

2008-03-08T14:03:00.002+01:00

This morning around ten o'clock my coffeemug containing a double espresso to kickstart my day told me two things: 'Simple life' (which made me feel rather hobbit-like) and 'Enjoy happiness'. Because one should never argue with coffee, I set out for another day of enjoying happiness. Enjoying happiness in Goa consists (for me) largely of riding around on the back of motorbikes with my hair in the breeze, sipping mojito's in the sun, reading Grimus by Salman Rushdie (which I bought for 50cts), eating huge (no really HUGE) shrimp, doing silly things like trading my watch for a hennatattoo (who wants to know the time anyway?), lounging in my hammock, buying junk for no money at all, and listening to the waves and the wind through the palmtrees at night.

I had a chance meeting with Leo, who also studied indology, and his brother and friend who were visiting him, yesterday. Great fun, beer, swims, cocktails, pizza and dinner was had by all. They're off exploring Hampi, but I am already too much into the mellow-goan-beach-vibe to face a 10 hour busjourney. I'll probably regret it later. Not now however. Oh no. Now I'm off to hunt myself some food. Tomorrow is my last day in paradise, and it is with severely mixed feelings I'll put down my golden spoon, and get up from the table. I miss you guys, but I could definitely eat some more of this rice-pudding... But my flight is reconfirmed, and my transport to the airport negotiated. I've got a taxi-flight-bus-transit-flight-train-tram-day starting monday at 11:30, and ending tuesday at 10:00 (aprox., make it 12:00 if I fall asleep on the train and wake up in Ostend or Knokke). If I find internet, I'll write you from the airport in Mumbai. If not, the next post is from... shudder...Belgium.

Teaser...

2008-03-05T14:03:00.004+01:00

Just a short message to make you all jealous. Today I took a motorcycle to Anjuna to buy some suitable hippy beach-clothes. I promptly threw away my way-to-hot-anyway-long skirts and pants. I had my first feni (local coconut-derived vodka-ginnish substance). I just watched the sunset over Palolem, lying on the beach sipping coconutmilk. Now I'm off to get myself some Pasta Arrabiata, which costs exactly 1 euro. Afterward I am going to lie in my hammock, on the veranda of my bamboobeachhut and laze about, perhaps stargazing a bit. My shoulders are ever so slightly burned, because temperatures reach 30 degrees in the afternoon. Have fun in Belgium (and don't hate me too much)

Wink,
Empress

Lost count of the days… Orchha to Panjim

2008-03-04T12:31:00.011+01:00

Well my fine friends, let me tell you, the Portuguese are not as silly as they look. I am typing this in my colonial-style bedroom, from my colonial style huge bed, opposite the table with the real rose in a Bombay sapphire bottle (not kidding), next to my fridge wherein one finds that strange and rare liquid gold: beer. But first things first. I left for Varanasi-station an hour before my train was due. This should’ve been more than enough, but something was brewing on the main street… My cyclerikshawala made it his sacred duty to get me to the station on time. So we bumped and skidded through the backstreets, colliding head-on with several cows on the way. Nearly running over a policeman, that would’ve wacked the rikshawala bigtime if I hadn’t been a western tourist. I think this was the first time someone actually deserved his tip. I got on my train just in time. Arriving in Jhansi in the early morning, I awaited dawn to go and find myself transport to Orchha. And what transport it was… A motoriksha with not one but two teenage drivers, and the biggest rikshasoundsystem ever seen. It actually had a subwoofer under the drivers seat. So at 7 in the morning, we were cruising along the Indian countryside with the latest bollywood hits thumping from the speakers. After a short, but well deserved crash in my palatial room, I set out to explore the 16-17^th century Bhundela ruins and palaces that dot the fields around the village for a day and a half. The entrancefee for the central palaces is a stunning 300Rs for one day. I am gonna be so out of money when I get home… And the thing is, the palaces are wonderful, but the outlying tombs and ruins, that are in fact free, and practically deserted and devoid of tourgroups, are ten times more scenic, As you will see when I succeed in uploading some pictures. Orchha is really just a village surrounded by fields, with irrigation channels, goats and flowers. It’s really nice and peaceful to just roam around a bit, especially in the morning. When I was little I wanted to work on a farm when I grew up. (After that, I wanted to be a vet. A few days ago I wanted to be Alexander Cunningham... Strange how these things change.) Except dashing through the countryside, getting dusty in search of semi-ruined temples, I also spent my time drinking freshly made pineapple-pomegranate juice, whenever I passed the main street. The juice-guy must have thought me some kind of junky. I think I went through 10 pineapples on two days.

And then there was yesterday. A day in which –get your maps of India out- I managed to get from Orchha to Jhansi to Delhi to Dabolim to Panjim in 14 hours. My train to Delhi was 90 minutes late, which made me quite nervous, since I had a flight to catch. So I said (don’t laugh), to the rikshawala (I don’t know what I was thinking), the following (I said don’t laugh): Please hurry (yes, can we get on with the story? Thank you). Now, these guys drive like madmen even when they’ve got nowhere in particular to go to. So saying something like that is, in retrospect, suicidal. I clung on for dear life while we drove up the wrong lane on the freeway, raced through a Tibetan bazaar, and slalomed through a military convoy. I got there in one piece, however, and wondrously, on time for a smooth checkin-security-sandwichcumicedtea-boarding flightprocess. As we were gaining height, I suddenly noticed something was missing. The riksha-deathride seems to have cured my fear of flying. It was dark by the time I caught a taxi to Panjim (state capital of Goa). Accommodation here is a pickle though, especially when arriving late at night, so I am stretching my budget a bit. Only for two nights. Unlike the rest of India, which was ruled by the stiff-upperlipped-greatbreakfasts-but-not-much-else-Brits, Goa was Portuguese until 1961. Walking through the city, you can definitely sense there’s something Mediterranean in the architecture and general way of life. And after North-India, it’s nice to finally see some women in the streets again. So that’s that for now. By tomorrow night I ought to get to Palolem, in the south of Goa, for some serious doing nothing at all, before getting back to Belgian Reality. Not that I don’t miss it (and you) just a little bit…

Day 12-17: Varanasi: The city of light

2008-02-29T07:24:00.005+01:00

On the morning of Delhi-departure-day, I went to see the Jama Masjid in Old Delhi. It was nice enough, allthough I wonder what makes them say it's the worlds biggest mosque. It didn't look all that huge to me. Perhaps they washed it too hot. Whilst packing I encountered a similar, long-anticipated problem. My pack is getting smaller and smaller. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, and await the fully-dressed white rabbits with clocks and tophats, but seriously: it's shrinking. So I mailed 5kg books to my mother in Belgium. Now my pack closes again. But if this arcane shrinkingproces continues, it is only a temporary solution...

I had a windowseat in the train, so I got a good view of cricket-playing slumchildren, girls herding goats along the railroadtracks, big piles of garbage, colourfull sarees, yellow flowerfields, lazy indian men, working indian women, dying indian cows,... In the dead of night as my eyes followed a mediumsized cockroach on the ceiling of the Kashi Vishvanath Express train between Delhi and Varanasi, it hit me: India is rubbish, but it's also the most magical place on earth and I love it. This nightly revelation was only enhanced when I sat on a riverside terrace, gazing at the rising sun and having a lassi a few hours later. Varanasi, or Kashi, or the city of light, or the city of shiva, no matter how you want to call it is unbelievably dirty. It's full of starving dogs, it's impossible to find your way through the alleys of the old city, and the story goes that a dip in the river means instant hepatitis. But it is SOOOOO beautiful. I spent the last 4,5 days wandering about the ghats (on foot or by boat), having lots of chai, good food, and just generally thoroughly unwinding. My room was wonderfully decorated (rajasthani-style) with two huge riverside windows. The curtains caught in the morningbreeze, the first sunlight falling on my gargantuan bed... And then banana-honey-toast and black coffee on the roof. A day that starts like that just can't go wrong.

Apart from this lazing about, I also went to Sarnath for half a day. That is where our mutual good friend Lord Buddha did his dharmacakrapravartanna-thing and founded his fanclub. The sites' archeological museum has some extremely nice sculptures, that makes one wish one was Alexander Cunningham. Yesterday, on my last night in Varanasi, I had pizza with Rosita, Paola and Robert, and I am astounded by my ability to understand spanish. I guess all that french and latin did make a difference after all. At night, the river is if possible even more magical than in morning. Because both the river, the opposite bank and the sky are completely dark, the boats seem suspended in mid-air. Not today, mind you, today, the boatmen are on strike, because they have to pay the government 50 Rs for everyday they work. Good luck to them. So that's that: I just spent 4 days gazing at a river. I also bought the Meghaduta by the indian poet Kalidasa, in sanskrit. Don't ask why. I just did. So I'll have to start digging up my sanskrit again.

Now however, I am on my way into the jungle. At 14:30, my last indian nighttrain (it's daytrains and flights from then on) leaves Varanasi for Jhansi. Let's hope the cockroaches behave. From Jhansi, I'll catch a riksha (yesyes, in a net) to Orccha, where I mostly intend not to get eaten by tigers. I'll keep you informed. Btw: Thanks to everyone for commenting, here or via mail or sms, you're the best.

Intermezzo: Ode

2008-02-24T07:03:00.004+01:00

I was gonna wait untill I got to Varanasi to post again, but sometimes, some emotions can be so overwhelming , that it feels like your heart might burst if you don't shout it out loud for all to hear. We all know what feeling that is (and if you don't, see a psychologist, seriously): It's LOVE, pyar hai.
I am in love with the Delhi Metro System. It's so shiny, and cool. There's Shahrukh Khan billboards as far as the eye can see. I feel I could lie safely in it's strong airconned arms for hours at a time. It gives so much, and only asks for a few Rs in return. It whispers in my ear: "next service to Central secretariat, arriving platform 2", and I think: "yes, this is it". Then it playfully ads: "change here for blue line". Yeah baby.. The efficiency of it all brings tears to my eyes... But, sadly, I'll be leaving it all behind in an hour and 40 minutes. Back to the everlooming overcharging rikshawala's. Wish me luck, and have some yourself while you're at it.

Day 5-10: Delhi: What's the hurry chicken curry?

2008-02-21T16:18:00.002+01:00

I am beat. There must be some fatigue-forcefield around Delhi… But I’ve just had masala dosa with lemon soda and watermelon for dinner, so that should provide me with enough fuel to write a blogpost. I have been in Delhi for 5 days now. The city has some wonderful spots, and most people are really helpful and nice (as in most other places in India). The area I’m staying in, Paharganj Bazaar, is however filled with shopkeepers, annoying Indian boys, cows, hippies and Japanese tourists. I have nothing against shopkeepers (unless they happen to combine their profession with annoying boy-ness), cows, or Japanese tourists (unless they are Japanese hippy-tourists). The annoying Indian boys are a cultural feature, which can’t be helped without a new wave of die-hard colonialism (please don’t take me too serious here). Apart from being generally annoying, they also know their way around, so they can be used for my convenience. The hippies however, are really getting on my nerves. If I hear one more person say he/she is looking for him/herself, I’m gonna have to punch them. In the face. Repeatedly.

The shops here sell everything from Barbie dolls (bloody globalization) to two-metre long whips (why?). As I’m having trouble getting everything into my pack as it is, I try not to buy anything. Although the whips do look tempting, especially in combination with the hippies and annoyo’s. My room is quite bug-free and has a real mattress and soft fluffy blankets. Heaven. I’ve spent a lot of time lurking snuggly under my blankets. Perhaps a bit too much. I haven’t seen very much of Delhi yet, nor have I done very much studying. I think this is mainly due to the fact that my sleep is very interrupted (by singing sadhus and Indians with bells, mostly… I don’t know what they are getting at. Mad Indians…) I managed to arrange all my onward tickets (train, and plane), however. Yesterday I did my best to have an un-indian (in other words, silent and peaceful) day. To some extent I succeeded. I went to the Lodi Gardens in the morning. Very nice. Smelled just like my grandmothers backyard in summer when I was little. Same flowers. Then I went to the National Museum. Nice, if very expensive. Their Gandhara and Gupta collections are very good, and the moghul-section has some sweet swords and daggers. In the Harappa-section I found myself face to face with two oval white rocks, which only had a label in Hindi. I wondered what they were: Some kind of tool? A religious predecessor of the contemporary shivalingam?... I looked it up in my dictionary. Mongoose. I laughed out loud. After that I had a real espresso in a upperclass coffeelounge. They had trance on the musicsystem, non-pushy waiters, and the cleanest floors ever seen by human eyes. After about 10 days here, it was nice to have an deindianised day.

Yesterday evening I had dinner with Minna, and this morning we went to see the Bahai-lotustemple. This afternoon I had an appointment with the president of the hindu writers forum. It was a long way out of central Delhi, and it took me quite some time to find it, but the guy was nice enough, and gave me chai and some interesting books. On the way back I discovered the New Delhi Metro. Cheap, clean, fast, and lots of heavily armed soldiers around (I was gonna type safe, but the two are not the same). Now I’m in my office (which in Delhi equals the sikhi-internet-hut-nextdoor (god, I miss my illegal wifi)), trying to arrange more study-meetings and looking for more accommodation in Goa. I’ve changed my plans, and now I’m gonna fly into Goa, which gives me two more nights there (I hope to spend them in the state-capital, Panjim). So I better get to work, before I sink into laziness once more.

Day 3-4.5: mumbai to Delhi

2008-02-17T12:33:00.003+01:00

After my last blogpost I went for a hike through Mumbai maximum city. I promptly got myself lost. But no worries, I've got maps and there are about 26 million people in Mumbai to ask directions from. Yet it seems a strange thing to do, naming all streets in Mumbai Mahatma Gandhi Rd... But in a fit of sheer pathfinding genius, I followed some guys carrying cricket equipment, and in no time I found myself at the Oval Maidan. After that I saw the university and the courthouse (both very hogwartsy). Still looking to spot Professor Snape behind one of the windows, I got myself lost yet again. This time I ended up in front of a whitewashed building that turned out to be St. Thomas' Cathedral, the oldest British-built building in Mumbai. It was a very nice find, mainly because it was quiet, cool and free. It also has a cannonballproofroof, which is... well... the kind of thing I like. In the evening, I went to have a last look at the gateway, and saw a SRK-bollywood on my laptop... sweet...

Yesterday was a very idle day, with much time spent hanging in couches, bantering. Checkout was at 9, but my train didn't leave 'till 16:40. Let's just say I ate and talked. My trainticket was a 3T-AC-Sleeper. That means 6 people in a compartment, 3 berths above each other on both sides, and meals and blankets included. I love trains, I also loved this one. My fellow-compartment-people were 2 Kashmiri sikhs from Goa on their way to a wedding, a young hindu-couple on their way home after a trip to Indonesia, and a devout muslim. After all my studies about communal violence in India, it was very nice to see how everyone got along great, even when discussing religion. I even (finally) started speaking Hindi. You wouldn't believe the amount of food Indian railways gives its passengers. It's sick. It's really good too. But anyway, I had the top berth, so I had to dig up my long-forgotten rock-climbing-skills. Why is down always easier than up? stupid gravity...

So since this morning, I am residing in Delhi. My hotel is a bit fishy, but nothing I can't handle. I'm keeping a low profile today, but since I could find no wireless networks prowling the edges of my (bath)room, I snuck out to the nearest internethut to type you guys this. Sweet dreams!

Day 2 and 2,5 - Bombay - Stardom

2008-02-15T09:51:00.004+01:00

First: Happy Valentines day! (Late, I know, sorry)
I had breakfast yesterday, accompanied by my rough-guide. This resulted in the plan to go and have a look at the cathedral, the museum and the oval maidan, and spend the afternoon sending mails to delhi and studying. I had, however, only set foot out of the hostel when the tigerprint-scarf-wearing lady that approached me on my first morning popped up and asked me again: would you like to be in a bollywood movie? Well duh… So after making sure other people where coming as well I set off on a Mumbai-transportation-tour: taxi-suburban train-bus-riksha. The set we worked on was a reproduction of colva beach in Goa. It was really classy, and in the real goa, there would have been less puma-commercials and more cows, but that said: It rocks! I’m in a bollywood movie! It’s called golmaal returns. Have a look on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golmaal_Returns.

There were a few strange features though: The most remarkable was a bellewaerde-giftshop rebuilt. The second was a sign at the entrance reading: Please leave your ego at the gate, you can safely collect it on the way out. Also strange: lots of Indians dressed as cowboys… It’ll take me some time to get over that. I mean what’s next? Kilts? We got lunch (aloo-matar with roti) and chai, and our transport (yes all of it) was paid. On top of that we got 500 rupees a person… how cool is that. On my second day in India, I succeeded in making money instead of spending it! On our way back we went through the remaining means of transport: on foot, bus (again) and tourist bus (in mumbai rushhour… oy vavoi, as anke would say). On the tourist bus I had an interesting conversation with some Walloon from Charleroi about Belgian politics. He and his friend are biking trough India. Madmen…. It was a twelve hour day, and consequently very tiring. A finnish girl from my hostel, Minna, was my co-star for the day, and there was also a Canadian couple on the set. I met with them for breakfast at Leopolds this morning, and afterwards we went to Elephanta island by boat. It takes an hour to get there, but as most of you know, I love the sea, and I hadn't met the Arabian sea before. So I had a brilliant time. On the island there's a labyrinth of caves (2nd century B.C. to 8th A.C.) carved out of a hill. In the biggest is a wellpreserved, beautiful 8th century statue of the trimurti (the three faces of Shiva) (and some other reliefs which are in bad condition, since the portuguese used them for target practice). It was wonderfull, as was the reward of the fresh lime soda when we had climbed down.

I might meet up with Minna in Delhi next week. She’s travelling to Rishikesh, in the north. (ooh, and she actually gave me a valentinesday bouquet, because I let her use my internet. How sweet is that?) My home-office apparently only works until 21:30, so I didn't get any mails sent yesterday. So that's what I'm gonna do right now. Afterwards, I plan to go and run through mumbai to see all the things I planned to go see when my acting career suddenly came up. Tomorrow afternoon I'm off to Delhi, by train. O, and I have had a change in animals. The pigeon is out, the lizard is in. You're never alone in Mumbai... I've also taken some pictures, but it takes my free-internet connection too long too upload them, so you'll all just have to wait, at least 'till I find broadband internet. Untill next time: Love, peace and understanding (and not too many hippies) for all!

Day 1 - Bombay - huh?

2008-02-13T19:15:00.002+01:00

I appear to be in bombay... How I got here I can't really remember, but it is now 18h30 here, and outside it's starting to get dusky. I find myself in a very strange position, in front of the toilet. In front of the toilet, you'll probably exclaim, why? are you sick already? Rest assured, I am not sick. It's just that after pacing through my room wall-to-wall corner-to-corner, it turned out this was the only place where I could steal some wifi. So now, I've made my bathroom into a little en-suite office. It is not ideal though... the shower is 'indian style', which means a tap, a bucket and some tupperware (which means wet floors after use). The second problem with this office is that it has a small window missing. I just spent 10 minutes trying to chase a pidgeon out of here (and I don't mean to brag, but it worked (feeling very independent right now...)). Third problem is that sitting here, lights-on, window missing, near water, greatly increases my chances of getting eaten my mosquitoes. But appart from these three tiny inconveniences: I'm in bussiness.

My flight was very smooth, with very good food, and a bollywood movie with SRK. The moneychanging and taxi-getting went, all things taken into account (I just can't haggle after 12h travel), very well too. I reached my hostel by 2:30 at night. It took some waving of reservationpapers to convince the nightguard to let me in, but around 3 I had snuck into a dark dorm, and thrown myself (fully dressed) onto an empty bed (lucky guess, in the dark). Due to all this, and gargantuan ravens and the indian habit of blowing their carhorn on sight (of anything at all) made my first hours of Indian sleep somewhat unfulfilling. At 9 in the morning I had, however found myself a nice private room, in which I promptly crashed 'till one in the afternoon. Bombay is a very strange city. It's actually more or less like a 150 year old victorian-style upperclass english neighbourhood, but with some jungle thrown in for good measure. Which, come to think about it, is exactly what it is. I didn't go far into the city today. But I saw the gateway, arranged a trainticket to delhi, and explored the neighbourhood fruit-stalls. Tonights plan is getting started on some research. The regionalism-nationalism-maffia-vortex in Bombay is very complicated, but extremely interesting, though I will not bother you with that just now.
Goodnight from all of us here at the office!

Got my ticket, got my suitcase, got my leaving-smile, ...

2008-02-07T20:18:00.000+01:00

Yes, it's Phil Collins (the title, not the picture). Sitting on the bed under a gigantic heap of clothes, books, and other irrelevant stuff, I begin to wonder why I wanted to go travel the world in the first place. But I figure even Ibn Battuta had packing-dilemmas before setting out on his expeditions on the Silk Road. I can just imagine Sir Hillary getting all worked up over the question which type of underwear would be the most appropriate for climbing mount Everest. Even Marco Polo (see picture, not title) probably spent a few nights jumping up and down on his pack, trying to get that damned thing to close...This type of thoughts are some comfort in these last days of travel preparation.

Every time I look at my backpack, it seems to get smaller and smaller. I have hidden it under the bed for now, otherwise it might just disappear altogether by Tuesday. I don't think everything I need can ever fit in there. But that is not what worries me most. It's everything I don't need that bugs me: high heeled shoes, little black dresses, black lace-things, my hipflask, piles of books, the senseo coffee machine,... One does not take these things to India... But I might have a severe mental breakdown if I have to go without them for a month. I'm just gonna have to cope... somehow...

Paper-wise, everything is more or less in order. I've got my passport, tickets, hotel confirmations, ... I'm going for my follow-up-shot against hepatitis tomorrow. Billy the Bank-Boy (his name is probably not really Billy, though) promised me he'd have my new card sorted out by Monday. As I walked out of the bank, I granted him a broad radiant smile and an 'I-am-going-to-eat-your-liver-on-toast-with-onion-confit-if-you-fail- to-fix-this'-look over my shoulder. Since he promptly fell off his chair and hid under his desk, I think he got the general idea. So that shouldn't pose too many problems. There is, however, still a gaping hole in my travelplans. I am still accomodationless for 4 nights, in the beginning of March... It appears the South-Indian hotel-people are plotting against me, and made collective arrangements not to return my emails. I'll get them for that. It won't seem so funny when they're halfway down a tiger. Not to them anyway. But I guess I better pack a large cardboard box (see picture), just in case...

So, that's about it for the travelplan-update. I'm going to spent the remainder of my pre-india time in Belgium enjoying the cockroachfreeness of my bedroom, the availability of alcohol, the relative efficiency of everything, and the generally low degree of Indians per square meter. Next post will be from India, unless I get really really nervous or bored or both before Tuesday, of course. So I'll see you then.

The person you have called could not be reached...

2008-01-25T16:39:00.001+01:00

Those who know me also know my love for plotting dramatic gettaways. I've got a really good one this time, and it doesn't involve the help of leprechauns, nor does it require divine intervention. It does not entail the prerequisite of a winning lottery ticket or the unconditionnal love of certain Harry Potter actors... Are you intrigued? Good...
I am going to India for a month. I'll be flying to Bombay, then visiting Delhi, Varanasi, Orcha and finishing in Goa, having cocktails with my feet in the ocean, my ass in the sand and my head in the clouds (as always). Since I am convinced that most of you would die not hearing from me, I will be blogging on this adress from time to time. I've had my anti-india shots, I went to the Indian embassy in Brussels to apply for my visa, I am entangled in Indian hostel and university-emails... I'm gonna take over the subcontinent!
While you guys can read about my adventures here, I'll be all alone (apart from that billion of indians), and probably very scared and wondering what everyone else is up to... You can use the comment-function of this blog to keep me posted on what's going on with you, or just e-mail me.
The clip is meant to get everyone into the India-vibe. It's a part of an alternative Ramayana-cartoon, called 'Sita sings the blues' by Nina Paley...

Intermezzo from the news

2008-01-14T21:04:00.000+01:00

"Nicolas Sarkozy has said that Arab countries should have the right to develop nuclear energy.
However, the French president said that right should not be extended to Iran until the government in Tehran has proved definitively that it does not intend to acquire nuclear weapons."

Historical discrimination against persians? The inherent goodness of the arab royal families? Or why one shouldn't drink when adressing the media? Who writes this guys' speeches anyway? And why did we ever bother making international agreements about this...
About time I ruled the world...

2008

2008-01-01T10:33:00.000+01:00

I wish you all you want. The right background music to everything you do. Strength to stand, and arms to fall into. A little magic ('cause no one can live without). Good food. Lots of drinks. Less hangovers. Enough money to do what you want, but not a penny more, lest it become a burden. Friends that will die for you, but don't have to... Enough clean underwear to see you through...

Wink,
Empress

Correction

2007-12-17T11:15:00.000+01:00

It is a strength, not a weakness to admit you were wrong about something. With that in mind, I want to show my strength and say: the coca cola man is all-right.
On october 1st I wrote:

"The Coke Light man (see picture) doesn't come at 11:30 here either. He just rushed in ten minutes ago. It was a mousy skinny type of cokelightman, with a tattoo (possible redeeming feature, but not in this case). This specimen did not cause me to giggle in elevators or whatever happens in the commercial. I strongly suspected him to be on speed. So there you have it: I start working in the dead of night, and my cokelightman is actually an unattractive drug addict (here he comes again now, btw) who comes prematurely. I shall mail the Coca Cola Company about this later today."

I still suspect him of being on speed, and he hasn't mystically turned into Alan Rickman either (just my luck, btw), but he just brought me coffee. Glorious coffee. Sugar, no milk, no charge. So he has now been upgraded to a plain-but-nice-anyway drug addict who comes right on time. Perhaps I shall go giggle in an elevator just a little bit. After all, tomorrow is my last day on this job, so I might as well start (yes, start) behaving strangely...

P.S.: It has come to my attention that none of you have posted any comments since november the 26th, when I posted the Haveyoureadmyblogyet-whyIdon'tevenfindyouinterestinginperson cartoon. Very funny. But you can stop it now. :-) (I even voted on the last poll trice, 'cause it would look damn pathetic if I didn't... sad, isn't it?)

Pluizig en blauw (Dutch Sesame Street)

2007-12-13T10:21:00.001+01:00

Update # 4568412.256

2007-12-11T08:46:00.000+01:00

The days are too short, the nights are too long. I've got too much to do, and too little incentive to do it. This light is too bright, the darkness makes it hard to read. I nag too much. I am bored. I have to work. I wish something would happen.

Sooo. How are you guys? Long time no blog. You must have been so worried, not hearing from me for this long. I'm sorry for all the nights I left you crying alone before your screens, but your psychologist said he was confident he'd be able to fix you up for the holidays. What have I been up to?

I've been to the UK, had fun, games and lots of cider, and came back.
I went to see Apocalyptica in Brussels, the trains were on strike, I left anyway, I saw Lacrimas Profundere (with a very redeeming guitarist) and Apocalyptica (mad as ever), and by a stroke of pure luck, got back home on the same evening.
I decided against doing my Arabic exam in January. I don't like to admit something can't be done. But this just can't be done.
I am trying to get my inert ass to India in february (which is a lot more complicated than it sounds)
I am (still) trying to make other people believe I am a devcon-India-Arabic-language-specialist, and that they should value my opinion above their own.

So, that's an update for you. I know (and agree) it isn't half as interesting as it should be, but hey, that's as much your fault as it is mine, is it not? I greet you all affectionately and hope your tree shelters everything you've always wanted. And socks.

Run like hell

2007-11-26T19:36:00.000+01:00

I might as well admit: I'm getting tired. I dragged myself to work this morning, afterwhich I dragged my self to the library, afterwhich I let public transportation drag me to my lunchdate. After that I dragged myself home, collapsed on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. I really must have my blood checked one of these days, I feel Black Death or what not coming on. Ignoring the stabbing pain in various parts of my body, I read something about ancient Rome, and I had some interesting messenger-conversations. Stretching my willpower to the limit, I got up again and dragged myself to the station to procure some traintickets. As I was dying on my way back home, it started to rain.

Most of you think I'm strange anyway, so I might as well confess: I am starch raving mad. I am, as they say, a looney. I put on my oldest sweater-and-pants and I went jogging. Jogging in the rain is an experience that can be situated somewhere in between spiritual and sexual, but most of all, it's just good. So good. What does one run from? From Want. From what everyone else wants from me, from what I want from everybody else, from what I want from me. From every thought that isn't strictly necessary for basic functioning. From the pain in my kidneys and arms, from the painfully swollen glands that have been bothering me the last few days. From Musharafs Emergency, and from neoliberal globalization. So the trick is: when my mind goes blank (after about 17 minutes of moderate jogging), I take off my sweater (it's 5 degrees celsius, as it should be) and in my tank top, I run like hell. How does hell run? Hell runs fast, without looking back or forward, with every muscle tense, while rain pours down on bare skin (arms, shoulders, face, chest), on fallen autumn leaves, and in the river Styx (it's called Coupure, in Ghent, they tell me). After about five minutes of that, I find a front door again, soaked, breathing heavily, trembling but cured. I start making dinner, posting rubbish on blogs, and planning my UK-weekend. (And yes, I am listening to Avril Lavigne, but don't tell anyone. In my defense: it's not my CD.) Sometimes (i.e. a few times a week), You've got to run away, to really come back home.

So, to compensate you guys for this rather long and existential blogpost: I give you: more chickens:

Self-relativation is the shit...

I laugh in the face of boredom

2007-11-19T08:52:00.000+01:00

Sheep tricks

2007-11-06T18:19:00.000+01:00

Barnyard animals are not to be trusted. I've got a sheep in my head. It's making gruesome quantities of bleating noises. It is parked right where the left hemisphere of my brain normally lurks. Its little hooves are trampling my thoughts and memories. It got in there by squeezing trough my left ear. It is quite a fluffy specimen. If I look up my nose with my make-up-mirror, I can see some white woolly curly fluff.In other words: someone nicked my disertation-proposal, Musharraf nicked my project, my ear hurts, my head hurts, my head feels fluffy as hell. Not all bad however: Someone just presented me with a rubber duck. I had a good time yesterdaynight.

Meanwhile, in Karachi, the times were changing...

2007-10-29T08:50:00.000+01:00

I got up 3 times this morning. Once at 6.20 (which I thought to be 7.20) to decide it was definitely a bit to early to be moving about. Again at 6.40 (which I thought to be 7.40), when I jumped out of bed and into almost all of my clothes, only to realise halfway down the stairs that something was fishy. At 7.40 (which I thought, correctly, to be 7.40) I then rolled out of bed again, to make tea and find those crucial pieces of underwear I missed in my first attempt to get dressed. The core-problem is this: Time changed this weekend. Why? no-one knows. One of the more direct consequences of this charade (besides the multiple getting up):

I lost my cover-of-darkness, under which I usually lurk to work on mondaymornings. I like lurking under cover of darkness. It's what I do. It's been totally ruined by some oil-crisis in the seventies.

But don't let this grumpiness about the absence of lurking-possibilities fool you, I am actually in a rather good mood, all things taken into account. I spent most of my weekend sleeping and eating, with the occasional intermezzo of roleplaying, jogging, and being paid to watch one of the better symphonic orchestras in Belgium perform. Sometimes life isn't so bad... Still, it is mondaymorning (shudder), so everyone who wants to come and console the working classes by giving me coffee, chocolate and/or compliments: please do.

Time is money, or how pretending to live in Kabul influences ones daily life

2007-10-24T16:43:00.000+02:00

Most of my fans will have noticed by now that there is something quite fishy about my relationship with time. For example: why do I post things about mondays on sundaynights? and always in the middle of the night? I've decided to try and correct this, by changing my location in my profile from Afghanistan to Belgium. Lets see if it works...

It didn't work... Can one of you guys please tell me what I could try next to correct my time-gap? (And don't even try to suggest I move to Kabul.)

Now imagine the 'boekentoren'...

2007-10-22T08:55:00.001+02:00

Sometimes dancing in front of a security camera is the best way to get over a monday-morning-hickup...
(I must, however, apologize for the slightly crappy music.)

PS: For really WRONG lyrics you should you-tube her: cascada - bad boy.

Out and about

2007-10-20T17:23:00.000+02:00

I blog to you today with very good news indeed: From november the 30eth to december the 3th I will be out of the country! I am going to London for half a day, and then on to Cambridge! Why? Well... 'tis a secret mission, so don't tell anyone: I'm going to visit Laura (yes, Laura Crafty, see a few blogposts down) who is making her way up the academic ladder over there in the UK. My job is to find the secret documents, and flush them down the second loo on the right at Kings Cross station, so as to send them through the pipes to the top secret archives of the KGB. In this process I will probably be drinking some guinness. If I tell you guys anymore, I shall have to kill you. Or perhaps I could just wipe your memory, with one of those Men-in-Black-thingies... or with a matrix-manoevre.

This exciting prospect however, has completely depleted my capital resources, by which I mean to say: I'm broke. I must therefor ask everyone to refrain from inviting me for activities that cost money. If you are willing to pay in my stead (nice expression, is it not? "If you are willing to pay for me" sounded all wrong...) that's fine, I shall think very fondly of you in my cardboard box under a Parisian/Antwerpian bridge, but paying you back might just have to wait a while...
So well, well so... I'll be of again. I'll report back to you when I've got something to report, or when I'm bored. Give my regards to all your grandparents... Good day.

O yes, about the picture: I typed in KGB in google-picture-search, and this is what I got... No reason in arguing with the internet, is there? It appears to be a man with a fish... a very large fish... and the man doesn't look very happy... Perhaps there's a secret meaning, or perhaps it's some very twisted kind of porn (you never know on the internet)... I haven't figured it out yet. Suggestions always welcome.

boomtown rats - I dont like mondays

2007-10-15T09:00:00.001+02:00

I don't think this needs much explanation... It's monday again. I feel the way these guys look (okay, perhaps I'm exagerating a little now).

Welcome to Neverland, may I take your coat?

2007-10-11T18:41:00.000+02:00

I'm in doubt... The dilemma is this: There's this party tonight (in 3 hours), and I'm allready tired. Should I try to sleep for an hour or two, or should I just put on loud music, drink coffee (or tao, or burn, or red bull, or nalu), and jump around to get me psyched for tonight? At the moment, I'm postponing the moment of decisionmaking truth, by posting on this blog.

The partyplan for tonight goes as follows: party 'till 1, in bed by 1:30, up again by 7:45. And ONLY COKE!!! (the drink, not the icing-sugar)
The partyproblem for tonight goes as follows: people don't come to parties before 12. So if I stick to the plan, I'll be getting my coat at the moment when everyone else starts dancing. But, if I don't stick to the plan, I won't be able to survive my friday (7 hours of developmentstrategies and projectmanagement, followed by 4 hours of standing in front of a door for money).
The partysolutions for tonight are two-fold: 1. cafeine 2. A united nations resolution that parties should start at 8, and end at midnight... Something tells me I shouldn't put any money on 2...

So, enough of this nagging, or this will be the loneliest blog ever. Wish me luck (ONLY COKE)...

david gray- please forgive me

2007-10-08T18:37:00.001+02:00

Cactus 2006 is a long time ago

I can't think of a deep title... just imagine one, okay

2007-10-07T16:54:00.000+02:00

It's been almost a week since my last post (trumpets out (or is it horns?)). Some say silence is golden... In my case, silence indicates the fact that I've been extremely busy studying and making money, and subsequently even more busy spending even more money than I've earned in this past week by going to Antwerp and shopping for rubbish big time. But you won't believe what great things I found, hidden away in sleazy, punky and plainly WRONG shops on saturday. Amongst various other priceless objects, I have purchased: Black wings, a very hip hipflask (currently filled with vodka, because I haven't got the money to buy a new bottle of gin), a course in modern persian (farsi), and a playmobile plumber. The WRONG shop spoken about above was the place I found my hipflask: picture in your mind a shadowy, maffia-meets-neoconcowboy-y gunshop. Now picture me and my accomplice for the day ('Aunty' Morgan) in it... yes, I know, I told you it was WRONG. Not convinced? Then you should take into account that the man also sells plastic pidgeons, katana's and model-tanks.. PLASTIC PIDGEONS for Christs sake! Come on, honestly, what's the use of plastic pidgeons? Any suggestions are more than welcome, my current guess is it's got to do something with sick guncowboyporn I know nothing about. Did I mention my new horsey-keychain and my 'great-ass'-mints? You see: I never buy things I don't really REALLY need...

I got trough my courses on wednesday and friday okay, so that's good, although I can't seem to shake off the urge to eat floorcoverings entirely just yet... So if you meet me next week: hide your rugs, that's all I'm saying. It'll be more quiet this week however, seeing that I've almost succeeded in setting my administration right. The only problem now is the fact that I won't be able to pay for my books and courses, since I've bought the above rubbish, and payed for my new laptop...

Soooo, for all my groupies and fans: I'll be working every monday, tuesday and thursday from 8.30 'till 12.30. Visitors are very welcome, especially when carrying food and/or drinks, or when interesting... I'll show you all my mints and flask!
Enough banter, I've got to go and prepare for the fantasy-roleplay-and-pizza-eating-activities of tonight (i.e. in thirty minutes).

Sooooo.....

2007-10-02T08:48:00.000+02:00

Before I start this blogpost, I shall pose you the question that struck me on my way here an hour ago:

The city rieks of chickenstock... Why is that?

I'm out and about again. Today started out marvelously foggy and dreary, which is so good, in so many ways... The vending machine gave me 30cts change, just because I smiled at it. Lovely. I spent the last hour computer-bashing, because my internet wouldn't work (yes, I bash computers for money nowadays), and now, I'm waiting for a phone call, with nothing else to do than youtube (yes, it's a verb as well) a bit of rubbish. Life is good, though early...

Work is better than my studies though. I'm still not sure I really want to continue Arabic, or if I want to do Conflict and Development in one year or two. Perhaps I should've started something else, or nothing at all. Or both. Still, the damage has now been done (533.10 euros worth of damage, to be exact), so there is no point in nagging to you guys about it, is there? My first ManaMa lesson was about the worldbanks development schemes. It had a definite 'god I'm stupid'-feel to it, and after two and a half hours, all I wanted to do was lie on the floor and eat carpet (which is not a constructive thing to do). The lesson after that was even worse... Project management... economics...shiver... Everything is very interesting though. I see three possible forecasts:
1. In a year, I'll have learned more than in the past 4 years together
2. In a year, there won't be any carpet left in a wide area 'round Ghent
3. In a year, I'll be working in the supermarket, trying to ignore reality completely as I stack tins of cat food, and think about what lies to tell my psychiatrists on our next consultation.
Let the betting begin...

For those who have noticed that I haven't spoken about my first lessons Modern Arabic: Well done (and let's leave it at that). Tomorrow is my first lesson ever at the department of law studies. That'll be something to write about on Thursday morning, I guess. If I survive... If I don't: My will: all my stuff is to be handed out on a strict first come, first serve-basis. So start running. See ya!

Why oh why?

2007-10-01T08:18:00.000+02:00

Some of my closer friends may know about my love for black skirts, strange-patterned panties and black-rimmed glasses. At this precise moment, I am living it: I am a secretary. Why am I a secretary at eight in the morning? That, my dear friends, is a different question. It is, in fact, a question I have been pondering over exceedingly in the past few days. I work for DSA (Student Activities Service)... Which self-respecting student could possibly be awake at this hour of night!? So on my first day as Student Activities Secretary I shall have to conclude: There is no student activity whatsoever at eight in the bleeding fucking morning, if this dark time can in fact be called that.

The Coke Light man (see picture) doesn't come at 11:30 here either. He just rushed in ten minutes ago. It was a mousy skinny type of cokelightman, with a tattoo (possible redeeming feature, but not in this case). This specimen did not cause me to giggle in elevators or whatever happens in the commercial. I strongly suspected him to be on speed. So there you have it: I start working in the dead of night, and my cokelightman is actually an unattractive drug addict (here he comes again now, btw) who comes prematurely. I shall mail the Coca Cola Company about this later today.

This day keeps on getting stranger and stranger: in the last 5 minutes two things happened I did not consider possible before ten o'clock: 1. The bookshop called to inform me that my Egyptian dialect course book has appeared (at 8:30) 2. Cokelightman came to give me his phone number (if ever I run out of cokelight...) (8:32). What's the matter with these people? Shouldn't they be asleep? Perhaps they don't need to sleep... Perhaps the're undead. That would explain a lot.

Allright you lot, I am going to watch the ceiling for a bit (I don't want people to think all I do at work is blog...). I work on Tuesday and Thursday as well, so I'll probably blog more than usual this week... If you behave today, then perhaps tomorrow I'll tell you the exiting tale of my first lessons of the term.

Time, the lack of it, and non-existent blog-posts

2007-09-20T10:26:00.000+02:00

No time
lots to tell
read more
probably over the weekend
can't talk now
brain exploding
bye

The Shah of Blah

2007-09-14T17:52:00.000+02:00

Salman Rushdie described a storyteller in a land of unhappy people. No matter what wonderful stories he told, the people around him didn't think of him very highly, if they thought about him at all. Harun and the sea of stories is a very good little book. Read it. That said: I'm having a very bad day. No matter what marvellous and heartgripping stories I tell, Reality and its hellish lapdog Indifference seem to catch up with me at a frightening speed today. No matter. It's almost tomorrow anyway... So eh... Blah.

Everything at all

2007-09-11T14:52:00.000+02:00

It's been a while since I've posted, but I've got a very valid excuse, so please hear me out.

1. I've been studying for my exams Arabic. I think I passed them both relatively okay, especially since I missed every single lesson this semester. A strange thing happened though: for the first time in my prolonged (i.e. four years) academic carrier I returned an exam with an entire page blank. While my classmates' minds were busy with the question: 'What are some of the major differences in vowelpronounciation between Egyptian dialect and Modern standard Arabic (MSA)?' my mind was busying itself with a much simpler and more basic question: 'When the hell did we see Egyptian dialect?’ Hopefully the other 5 pages make up for this little hiccup...
2. Just before my oral examination I went for my dissertation feedback... My knees felt like they were going to vanish altogether, I have not been that nervous since my first date (and this time, I didn't even have alcohol to numb my nerves). But: all well there too. Friday my knees will have a though day again however, as I will know my final grades then, and if all goes according to my master plan (muhaha) I shall graduate... yuck.
3. The evening after my oral exam and dissertation feedback I had to work... yes yes, work. My job consisted of standing in front of a door, smiling frantically at people, and so scaring them. Boring as it was, my colleagues were nice, and I got paid about 30-40 euros for standing in front of a door.
4. To continue along the job-line: As the people employing me that evening also noticed they are paying people to do completely nothing, the days you can do this job a month are limited to 3 or 4, so I won't be able to buy my ticket to India just standing in front of doors. After brief hopes about a part-time in a university library (which failed because I cannot read Tibetan (apparently Hindi, Urdu, Bengali, Farsi and Arabic are of inferior importance) and because some people think librarians should be at least 45.) I am now waiting for a phone call about a desk job for two or three mornings a week. Wish me luck... I'll need it, since I don't know any Tibetan. I am not bitter, by the way ;-)
5. The last part of this excuse-post handles tourism-light-lemon activities. I spent a day touring Ghent with an ex-university-colleague and friend of mine, who will be studying creative therapy in Maastricht for the next three years. We spent most of the day just talking, eating and drinking (no news there). Last weekend was spent in Antwerp, my beloved town of origin, and second only to my current home town, Ghent. We stayed in a wonderful Indian-Eastern B&B 'Siddhartha', and went to eat superb Indian food in 'Safraan'. The room completely ruled: I came home all into Indian-style-tables, and knocked the legs from under my desk and will study sitting comfy on cushions on the floor from now on. It was brilliant. When in Antwerp, one should also drink a few 'jeneverkes' in the best and most sense-soothing bar in the world: 'de Vagant'. Too bad I could not get my partner-in-tourism to go to the zoo on Sunday... I should work on my convincingness (is this a word?).

So you see: I've been busy. I've also bought a hat. More later...

Empress Nemo in our nation's capital

2007-08-26T08:47:00.000+02:00

An itch behind my right ear told me to get on a train to somewhere. So yesterday I found myself sipping my coca cola light lemon and listening to mp3-bollywoodmusic en route for our nation's capital: Brussels. The destination of the train read: 'Eupen', which brought me to the following question: Where the **** is Eupen? My trusty travel guide has since then taught me that this town, once a part of Prussia, has a distinctive Teutonic feel, but is very unexceptional. Interesting.

My fellow-travellers were late in Brussels' central station. So I spent the first hour of my trip drinking coffee in the galeries St. Hubert and roaming the Brusselian Games Workshop. I also went to visit the King (Albert II, not Elvis), but he wasn't at home. One of the guards told me he had gone to Jordan to persuade King Abdullah II to swap countries. My fellow-explorers, aka the Pink Peacock and Laura Crafty, finally got to the station by 2 p.m., and we went for a drink. It is a much debated dilemma whether one should speak French or Dutch in Brussels. Officially, the city is bilingual, and, truth be told, lots of shopkeepers, waiters, ticket sellers,... speak both French and Dutch. But, truth be told again, almost everyone's first language appears to be French. I know people who categorically refuse to speak French in Brussels. We, on the other hand, had a go at French... It went, well,.. okay I suppose.

We made our way trough the Zavel's African Art boutiques and the Marolles' second hand shops in pragmatic French (i.e. avoiding verb forms at all costs). When we settled down for a late lunch however, our menu was in English... we ordered in French (since the waiter addressed us in french), and got our cider poured in Dutch. This was all in all very confusing, but the food was delicious. With a final 'can we recevoir le rekening' we were off again. For the first time in my life I saw Manneke Pis. I don't see what all the fuss is about, but the Japanese tourists were brilliant. We set out to buy some real Belgian pralines (white with champagne-filling and chocolate truffles), since that is apparently what one should do when touristing Brussels. In the pralines shop the shop lady listened to our not-so-impeccable French, laughed loudly, and continued in Dutch. Sigh. Leterme said some time ago that the Walloons are to stupid to learn Dutch... I wouldn't see that as a one way phenomenon though, Yves. Sipping coffee and munching pralines, we sang our way loudly to Brussels' Warandepark. The day ended there, with us working out our superhero characters: Turbotiny, the Pink Peacock and Laura Crafty, in a Manetesque sangria-sur-l'herbe setting (though not in the nude).

Final conclusion: Brussels is a fun city to visit, and it is one of few cities in the world that will give you a chance to practice all your language skills (verbal and non-verbal) at once.

You are not as fat as you imagine

2007-08-25T09:17:00.000+02:00

I'll keep it short today. I love it when music you haven't heard for years suddenly sneaks up on you and results in you crying and/or laughing in the middle of the supermarket (isle four, cereal). Yesterday it wasn't the supermarket taking me by suprise, but a mail-cum-youtube-forward dragging me back about 5-6 years. Don't laugh: Everybody's free to wear sunscreen , Baz Luhrman. Brilliant. I printed the lyrics instantly, and glued them in my agenda. Again, don't laugh. You should look it up. You'll probably think it boring, however. Maybe I just like it out of nostalgia. Maybe it's just brilliant. Maybe this is not important. Maybe you should go and read another blog. I promise you something more relevant tomorrow.

"Dance...even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don't follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly."

Ostend, Panamarenko and Stormy Seas

2007-08-24T10:04:00.000+02:00

Tourism Light (i.e. getting on a train to somewhere else in the country to waste the day away eating, drinking and wandering around the occasional museum) is a wonderful way to pass time better spent studying Arabic. So, although I strongly favour trains above turbo-speeding, airconditioned cars, it was with some delight I found myself racing towards Ostend yesterday morning. After lunch in a café that can only be described as seedy-with-a-hint-of-glorious-past with a 90 degrees turn (you know the kind: carpets on the walls, but stone floors, Corinthian columns, old waitresses on slippers and a hells-angels-look-a-like doing the washing up), we went to see some Panamarenko-installations in de PMMK, which also boasts a few works from Jan Fabre, including an extremely wonderful duo of blue drawings, of which I have forgotten the title. So sue me.

Panamarenko kind of rules. Whether or not his installations, like those of Fabre, can really labelled 'art', is an entirely different question. I will not enter into this here, since I don't feel like it, and since I haven't made up my mind about it myself. Together with surrealists like Magritte, Dali and Delvaux, Panamarenko and Fabre are two of my favourite artists (although I must admit to secretly liking impressionism as well, don't tell anyone). In this brand of art (or unart, whatever) fantasy ultimately overrules both the eye and the rationale, bursts out, and manifests itself as a new, independent, reality. I believe everyone should look at installations like that at least once a year, as a kind of therapy for putting reality into perspective.

That said, there was one thing missing yesterday: It didn't storm... It didn't even really rain. I was in Ostend, and it didn't storm... This added to the sense of surrealism built up by Fabre and Panamarenko at the museum. I have honestly never been in Ostend for longer than an hour or two, without rain, thunder and storm winds messing up my hair. The hair-messing aside, I love storms, especially by the sea, and Ostend happens to be one of the prime places to experience one. For more practical information about storm-watching in Ostend, read the inset on the right. Standing by a stormy sea, watching the sheer force of it, hearing nothing but howling wind and feeling raindrops and salt water hit your face is also one of those things everyone should do at least once a year, as therapy. I do not recommend people getting themselves killed, however. So do NOT take your umbrella storm-watching, and if there are half-naked singing ladies in the water you might want to ignore them. (If the previous remark causes the death of Celine Dion, Britney Spears,... it was unintentional (but quite funny anyway)). So on this lighter note of drowning celebrities, I leave you all, for now...