Postcard from Belgium

A coupla weeks ago I was in Belgium for about a week. And a coupla weeks from now I will be in Cincinnati.

And in between those two trips I taught (and will teach) a coupla classes and accomplish a coupla things.

Busy, busy Spring!

I went to Brussels, Belgium with a group of 14 students, delegates to a satellite version of the Harvard Model Congress. This was the first time of the dozen times or so I have chaperoned students to the Harvard Model Congress that it wasn’t actually near Harvard. But we chose the satellite conference of the congress for a coupla reasons—namely, less far to travel, less airfare to pay, and fewer school days missed. The timing of the model congress was perfect—we left the day winter term exams ended and only missed a coupla school days, and days at the beginning of the new term to boot. A nice chance for a late winter trip to Brussels, Belgium.

The last time I was in Brussels, Belgium—well, it was an exciting evening of parades and triumph. I remember clearly being in the Grand Place in Brussels on May 8, 1985. What a thrilling evening to be there. Do you, dear reader, know why it was so exciting that evening? No, my presence alone in this very international-and-diplomatic city does not inspire parades and joy and happy tears. Thank you for even thinking that! But that night was the 40th anniversary of V-E Day, and I was nearing the end of my semester abroad in Austria, and traveling to a few cities before flying home to the United States. I split that V-E anniversary between two cities actually, to get the full effect of the anniversary of the end of the European front of World War II. I spent the morning in Aachen, Germany, attended a prayer vigil in the Cathedral, and witnessed a somber gathering of tearful Germans there as they meditated on the loss and legacy of that war. Then I hopped a train, and within a very short time was in Brussels, and that moment of glory in the Grand Place that evening. I went from the losing side of the war, to the victorious side of the war in about an hour train ride, and I remember dancing, parades, tears of happiness and joy in the Grand Place that evening.

As I recall the last time I was in Brussels, I feel a little like the character of Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard as she recalls the last time she saw some friends of the movie business. She says, as I recall, something like, “The last time I saw him was a very gay evening—everyone was dancing and happy. Lindbergh had just landed!” Desmond says this about 23 years after the event in her memory. Oh my—I am recalling an event even farther back in the recesses of my memory! Anyway, I feel a little like Norma Desmond as I recall my last time in Brussels. I just hope I am not as mad…

So I went to Belgium three times in the 1980s, and then I haven’t been back since the summer of 1987 on the big European trip with Karen and Sharon. My goodness…nearly 25 years since my trip as a first-year teacher and quasi-adult! I liked Belgium fine all three visits, I just somehow never got back there in all the years of traveling…good to have a group of students to take and re-acquaint myself with Belgium.

So our flight leaves Amman at 1:30 a.m.—the good part, I guess of such an early, early departure is that we landed in Brussels by 9:00 a.m. and were at the hotel by about 10:00. Of course they weren’t ready for us, but we could drop the bags and figure out Brussels. We had almost 48 hours to play in Belgium before the congress began!

That first hour in a new city is always confusing and maddening. When we got to the train station from the quick train ride from the airport, we didn’t know which door of the 12 choices might be the one for our hotel. I knew what station to go to and I knew the address of the hotel, but not much else. Of course, after a little asking, staring at maps (guess what? Our hotel street didn’t make it on the map!) and wandering in a bit of a circle (I prefer to think we walked in a heart shape!) we found the hotel. Great! The best mnemonic device of finding the hotel is locating the Sex Shop near the northwest exit from the train station! I always believe traveling with students means educating them about maps, directions and context. We needed to learn some context about Brussels, then practice walking around, not being tied to my leash, maybe getting lost, and getting it all figured out.

We walked the half hour to the Grand Place—stopping for our first samples of pastries and Belgian frites along the way—and then I regaled them of stories of the last time I was in Brussels. Judging from the looks on a few faces, they probably did think I was as mad as Norma Desmond, and certainly as old! The Grand Place still is a great spot—the heart of the old town (going back a thousand years) and any time of day the chocolate salons, tea shops, flower markets, and endless people watching is fun. I lectured them briefly on some history of Belgium, the beauty of these late medieval guild halls in front of them, how that became the source of wealth for these trade-hungry Flemish, and how they staved off Louis XIV (just barely) in 1695. I talked to them about King Leopold in the 1880s and 1890s and the enormous wealth he brought to Belgium from his personal property of the Congo. Then I set them loose for two hours—their first bit of independence. They may like me fine, but let’s be honest, teen-agers want to be on their own and experience things without an adult.

They all showed up on time—I had emphasized the point of punctuality for traveling with me. I thanked them for their punctuality and said that that was the one point I would hammer home on the trip. “Everything else takes care of itself if you are on time,” I told them. “If you are on time it means you have planned well, thought of others, thought of me, not gotten into too much trouble, and will be given more and more independence. Think about it—being on time will take care of everything!” This group figured that out and made me proud. Group travel can be excruciating in the “I’m not going to be on time if no one else is”—department.

I began the sampling of Belgian chocolates—one must make sure one buys the creamiest chocolates for your gifts, so one must try from many, many purveyors! That evening we went to a suburb of Brussels where we met a group of strangers for dinner. One of my students, the marvelous young man named Divij, had befriended a group of Belgians on a Model United Nations trip to China (I do travel in some swell circles, don’t I??). Divij had written to the advisor of the group, and she put together a group of Belgian teens for our group to meet and enjoy a dinner. It was a great evening—two groups of teen-agers, second language English speakers all, talking about world events, teen events, school events and Belgium. Lovely!

The next day we went on our obligatory tour of the art museum. Every model congress I have students go on a tour of an art museum, you know, to culture ‘em up. I had never been to the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels, but I had planned a tour from the on-line stuff available. I wanted them to feast their eyes on some beautiful Northern European Renaissance art. Oh, the exquisite work of Van der Weyden, and Memling and Bruegel and Rubens. Then some nice Dutch work and the Frenchie Jacques Louis David. One of my goals on these model congress art tour trips is to get a coupla more students interested in art history to take the course. Somehow it is addictive.

That afternoon I gave some more free time but also took a group to Antwerp. Less than an hour train trip away was this city, once in 1500 the richest city in Europe given that its stock exchange and port filled with ships from the New World docked in Antwerp. What a great city! I had never been to Antwerp, but hope it doesn’t take me 25 years to get back. The train station itself is an art work—one of those great and glorious Beaux-Arts buildings from the 1890s with heart-stopping arches and sumptuous columns. It was going to be a good afternoon.

Much of tourist-y Antwerp is serviced by a pedestrians-only shopping zone, past statues of native sons Anthony van Dyck and Peter Paul Rubens. The buildings are ornate, from the Baroque Age and then during the Art Nouveau 1890s age. Like most European cities, Antwerp is a mixture of cities, art, great snacking, promenades, and eccentric history. We learned a little eccentric history—like the name of the town—about a man who defied a giant, severed said giant’s hand and threw said severed hand into the river. “hand werpen,” which means, “to throw a hand,” evolved into Antwerp. After that little knowledge, we noticed severed hand images all over town.

In the next few days the congress began, students began 12-hour days debating issues, writing bills, and role playing a specific U.S. representative. It was different, certainly, than the congress in Boston. For one, it is smaller. About 550 students attended the Belgian conference, whereas about 1800 attend the one in Boston. But it was also mostly “foreign” students, i.e. foreign to the USA, acting as the representatives. Some of them did not quite understand the workings of US government, and some Greek students kept pressing the point that the US government should bail out Greece. But as always, it is great to mix our students with other students.

I hopped a train to Ghent, another town made terrifically wealthy at one time (from the medieval textile trade) and full of ornate guild houses and grand churches. I did update my facebook status that evening to say I had had a bratwurst as big as my arm that day in Ghent. How could it not be a good day???? Ghent was wonderful—more real than idyllic Bruges which I would re-visit the following day, and home to one of the great altarpieces of all time (by Jan Van Eyck). I stood there studying it for awhile, so happy in this town of picturesque embankments and finely decorated gables.

The trip was good—good food and art and chocolate and punctual students. I found a museum about the history of Belgium that was thrilling to visit—I left obsessed about the history of Belgium. You know I love being obsessed.

I left Belgium with happy memories of a trip with excellent students, and memories of my first visit when I was their age, the V-E day celebration night in 1985, and the last time in Belgium in stunning jewel-like Bruges with friend-for-life Sharon in 1987.

The only downside? Well, the student who sat next to me for the two flights back to Jordan had a cold, and happened to sneeze on me…and then again…and then again, for about five good sneezes. You know how you can feel the germs seeping in?? Well, I came back to a bad cold—the kind of cold where you say, “Why do I want to get out of bed???” and then a tooth ache set in (I think un-related.)

Oh well, we can outlive the germs and the aches and pains. I probably didn’t feel those aches and pains when I was last in Belgium, way back in my youth in the 80s.