Wait for it... (part deux)

I depart for America in three hours... then this all ends for real.

So long, Goodbye, We'll see you soon

My Darling Reader,

Four months have come and four months have gone, and in two and a half days I will be heading home to America. I know I've already touched upon this in my previous posts, but wow...

...wow.

You will likely never know how much it means to me that you were right here the whole time. I can't wait to give you a hug and bake you a fine looking dessert. For real. You think I'm kidding. Just wait and see. Do you prefer chocolate or fruit? No bother. I'll bring both.

These past few weekends, which typically would have been dominated by M.S.U. studying and preparing for term papers, were spent lounging in luscious Belgian parks with my friends. This understandably led to last-minute panicking attributed to lack of study time and insufficient paper drafts.

Whether you want to call it a miracle, fate, or just dumb luck, I finished my semester today at VeCo, and felt confident about the work I submitted, as well as the effort I put into each exam over the last few days.

Wait, did you hear that? (For those proper-English folks... "Did you read that?") I finished my semester at VeCo. Done. Finito. Holy. Crap.

Holy crap. These last days flew by so quickly, I didn't even have time to repost an entry mysteriously similar to this one...

Reader, this may well be my last post before I leave beautiful Brussels. So let's make it a memorable one, eh? With lots of photos... last post I commented on how I would surely write up about Car-Free Sunday - aka the kick-butt, kick-off event to my final week abroad. I shall not disappoint, my friend.

The day started out like any other Sunday... a pleasant trip to the ginormous flea market at Gare du Midi. Surely you've heard of it. If you don't recall, here's a quick summary:

Gare Du Midi:

Home to infamously enormous fresh produce.

(That's Garrett's fist next to steroid-popping grapes.)

Home to deliciously smelling bags of spices I like to shove under my nose.

Home to magnificent looking gummie snacks... yum.

Home to strange, strange homemade contraptions.

Home to strange, STRANGE fashion statements.

After Ashley, Garrett, Priya and I returned from the market, it was only a matter of time before we ambled out into the streets. Literally.

I knew I loved Car-Free day for a reason. The only threats on the road were families of bikers. And, perhaps, tripping over one's own feet (equal likelihood).

My friends and I rendezvoused at the ever-popular American Embassy (aka: McDonalds) and worked our way over to Grand Place for what may have been our last time together in the magnificent square.

There were (most of) the boys...

And (some of) the girls...

And me, somewhere in the middle...

We mosied on up to le Petite Sablon, a charming statue garden on the upper side of town, but were suddenly distracted by a raging techno dance party in the courtyard of the Museum of Fine Arts. What were we to do? Hippie dance, of course. On squares of unrolled sod! (like at the May Day celebration)... check below for dirty proof.

The lot of the Museum of Fine Arts was positively packed with smoking, jiving, crazy cats cutting loose and enjoying the sunshine. I'll miss that... the jarring combinations of old and new - whether they revolve around clashing architecture or clashing cultures. I mean... here we were, amid...

After the mega dance party, a few of us recharged with some Chinese food on the steps of the Beurs stock exchange, and eventually we went up to the free concert...

... got there just in time to catch the tail-end of a Beatles rock cover band. They finished with an intense "Hey Jude." I was sad to see them leave the stage, but they had to... gotta make room for...

Lycra-clad Abba cover band members!!!!!!

We all sort of hung around as a joke, but this band was pretty fantastic. Their wardrobe and costume changes perhaps outnumbered that of Cher's. Maybe it's because we were all tipsy, but we were jumping around and dancing and waving our arms and shouting, "There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernandoooo!" perhaps a little louder than necessary. Desperate to hear "Dancing Queen," (which, of course, was saved until last, unbeknown to us), we ended up staying up at the stage until about 11:30 pm. That's a lot of Abba.

*Exasperated sigh*

So we come to the end. How to wrap up this post, Reader? What do you think? I'll poll the audience. No, you can't phone a friend to ask his advice. Tell me what you think.

A) Cut it short
B) Drag it out
C) List some things I'll miss about Brussels
D) Shut up and make me a sammich

*elapsed counting of votes*

Survey says, C. But D was a close second. Too bad.

Here are some things I'll miss about Brussels:

1) Taking creepy photos of adorable children:

2) The street corner fish restaurants:

3) Strange happenings in the courtyard of St. Katherine's:

4) Partying outside of ancient buildings and works of art:

5) Strangers so willing to let you take their photo:

6) Super Sweet Graffiti

7) Abba Cover Bands singing outside the Palace of Justice

Oh yeah, and here's that aforementioned dirty hippie proof:

What can I say? Heather and I had a nice time in the sod.

Oh yeah again. Tonight was the second to last Kathleen-cooked meal: a Belgian "crock madame." Mine got a cool smiley sleepy face with yellow peppers.

Yeah, it was pretty delicious to say the least. I cleaned my plate. Mmmmm.

I don't mean to drag this out. You guys obviously chose option C. Alas, Reader, I do report that I just finished packing up the room with Priya. This feels strange.

I hope all is peachy sweet in your life. Since I'm finished with finals, I plan to explore last minute nooks of the city over the next few days. Any suggestions? Things you'd like to see? Take a number and let me know. There's some complimentary coffee and donuts behind you.

With last minute but long-time love,

Lauren E. Litwinka

May we make May Merry

Dearling Read-a-roo,

Oh come on. Where's Barry Manilow when you need him? I could really go for a huge crescendo and him crooning, "LOOKS LIKE WE MADE IT!" I guess the caps lock will have to suffice in conveying my excitement. That's right, my friend, we're in the home stretch for real. Really real. This time next week I'll be in my own bed, waking up to Oradell sunlight streaming through the window, hopefully smelling yummy breakfast food from the kitchen, stretching, and taking in the beautiful pulse of familiarity.

I guess there's just enough time for one last recap of the week's events before I head out with Ashley to enjoy Car-Free Sunday! That's right. No cars on no roads today. Just bicycles bicycles you are my bicycle. It's really lovely. I wrote to Brandon earlier how strange the city feels - in a nice way... Casper the friendly ghost-city kind of way. Families on bikes everywhere, kids doing stunts in the street, pulling off to the side for the occasional cab to pass through.

Okay. two lengthy, rambling paragraphs in... you know what that means, kids! Finally on to the point of the post! Which is the... recap... I suppose.

Set the scene: two Thursday's ago, May 1st, May Day, Brussels, Belgium, Universe. In three words: jolly good fun. Amanda and I wandered down to Saint Katherine's where an impressive stage was set up a few feet in front of the black streaked busted up cathedral. Sort of blasphemous? Naw. Music is divine! Well, provided it's good music... like Barry Manilow. Auuh right. Anyway, needless to say, it was a pretty incredible environment - the courtyard was positively packed with a plethora of hippies and old folks and young kids, swaying dancers clutching beers and mojitos and me somewhere in the middle of them.

Rock Star Groupies in the MakingI smile and continue to enjoy the clash of old and new.

Not a whole lot in the world funnier than wasted middle aged men trying to dance.

This bongo man had the most intense jam sessions.

In America, when a drunken fool runs up on stage, he's escorted off the premises. Here, the bongo man embraces the drunken fool. Talk amongst yourselves.

Refer to previous caption of middle aged drunken men trying to dance. His chicken flappy arms made me laugh every time he waddled past me.

I just adore rolled out plots of sod. Don't you? A real natural feeling.

Again, refer to middle aged drunken men dancing...

Last but not least... finally, a musical instrument which doubles as a breathalyzer.

I'll now take questions from the audience. Yes you, you in the back with the cowlick and the Cheap Trick t-shirt. What's that? "What's on the agenda for my last Sunday in Europe," you ask? Excellent question. More or less avoiding studying at all costs. More specifically, wandering around with friends, basking in the sun flooded Grand Place, ambling uptown to the Palace of Justice for round two of "Free Huge Gnarly Concert And Cool Carnival Concession Stands Set Up In The Middle Of The Enormous Courtyard Outside The Belgian Royal Palace."

Okay, you caught me. I made up that event title. But it's pretty concise. Encompasses all the details. Maybe doesn't roll off the tongue quite easily, but there you have it. Anyway, round one was last night, and it was a splendid time. The band was pretty okay, high energy, but the vocalist sounded too much like Bono, and, don't have me drawn and quartered, I'm just not the biggest U2 fan. I'm excited to see what the bands will be like today... I'm told there will be one which covers Beatles songs and one which covers Abba songs. I don't know about you, but I'm stoked for the Abba.

Expect some photos of abandoned streets and coverage from "Free Huge Gnarly Concert And Cool Carnival Concession Stands Set Up In The Middle Of The Enormous Courtyard Outside The Belgian Royal Palace" round two. Okay, maybe you're right. I'll look into an abbreviated version.

Well reader, it's been real. Enjoy your sunny Sunday, and don't forget to grab your hat off the rack before you leave. Mints at the door. Thank you, thank you, good day to you indeed.

With love and bikes and ladybugs,
Lauren

Money, Money Everywhere, and Not a Drop to Drink

Dear Reader,

Yesterday I tried to go to the fantastic flea market at Gare du Midi to pick up some spiffy souvenirs for you. I tried. I really tried. I went to an ATM beforehand to take out some euro notes so I could partake in the gloriousness of financial transactions. I tried.

"What happened, Lauren?" you ask. I can hear your voice choking up. Don't worry, I have some Kleenex.

Well, the ATM wouldn't take my card. "TRANSACTION INTERRUPTED!" it shouted as loudly as LED text on a screen can. Okay. Fine. Be that way. I'll use the ATM at the train station! I tried. I tried.

The ATM at the train station wouldn't take my card either. Surely, you think, surely, the ATM across the street by the Spanish supermercado would work! Surely! That's what you would think. I tried... me, and about seven other people wandered aimlessly, desperately, from ATM to ATM, from the outside to the inside, circumnavigating confused bystanders.

Next Sunday is "Car-Free Day" in Brussels, which means that no cars will be permitted to drive around the streets at all. Beautiful! I told Brandon I must have missed the memo that yesterday was "Forget-About-Using-The-ATM-Even-If-You-Need-Money-To-Buy-Gifts-For-Your-Family-An- Friends Day." Well, in so many words.

Perhaps the worst part of all was that the vendors had new, spring-time pretty things to sell. And I could enjoy none of them. I miss the bartering system.

The point of the story is I am flat broke with no euro whatsoever except a few 5 cent coins scattered on my desk. I was randomly looking in my drawers today and I came across my old wallet - I haven't used it since the first week here. Inside... do you know what I found?

American money! How you mock me! With your crummy exchange rate and your uselessness in this city! Oh well. I can only hope the ATM starts working soon. At least it's not my card that's the problem. At least the system isn't prejudice against me. At this point, I'll take whatever moral acceptance I can get.

Well reader, one paper, four exams, a few parties and twelve days from now, I'll be home. And I guess... this European blog will reach its culmination...

Until then, I remain poorly yours,

Lauren E. Litwinka

Hey Saturday Sun

Dear Diary,

I was a good girl today. I slept late, pumped myself full of caffeine, and pumped out my Art History paper. Go ahead, pat me on the back. Ow, wait, not all of you. Great. Now I'm sore.

Anyway, afterwards I went on a wicked late afternoon walk, detouring through Grand Place, the upper side of town, the skate park, and the shady side of town too... that graffiti reels me in every time.

For those of you who hate to read my nonsensical babbling about this, that, and the other thing, lucky you! This post is dedicated solely to the aesthetic beauty of Brussels I will surely come to miss. So, without further delay, here is a summary of my Saturday afternoon stroll... in Technicolor!












If pictures are worth 1,000 words, then technically you just read 15,000 words. Good for you! Viva la Hooked on Phonics! Plus, some of those photos had words in them... so let's place it at an even 20,000. Boy, your eyes must be tired. Go rest now, and dream sweet dreams of spray paint and skate boards and sunshine. Because I know I will.

See you soon, my Reading-Rainbow.

With love,
Lauren