Moving Homes, Walking, Mushrooms, Quebec Cafe and Pavs revisited

Last week was a really big week as I moved to my new abode. Chantal and G-M had generously welcomed me into their home and shared their lives with me for six weeks and it was time to strike out on my own. To be honest, it did feel a bit weird to be leaving but it turned out, I wasn't going far. Chantal had sent out lots of emails to her friends to see if anyone wanted a boarder or  a flatmate. I was keen to stay in the area as I already knew my way around and would be close to Chantal and her family. I had also decided that although I am happy to live alone in NZ, I didn't want to live by myself in Belgium - not great for my French conversation for one thing. (Below is part of my room at Chantal's. Note the World Map with NZ in the corner!)

The solution was Madame L or Granny as she has asked me to call her. She is the mother-in-law of one of Chantal's friends. Granny is about my dad's age and very sprightly and independent. She speaks a little English but mostly we speak French which is good for me, if not a little frustrating for her at times. Granny has four grown up children about my age, all of whom I have met. Her house is only a 15 minute walk from Chantal's and 8 minutes from the bus stop so that's very handy. Unlike Chantal and G-M, Granny watches French news and TV - they watch the local Belgian news. She really admires the French French culture and their accent - especially the news readers. I am here on a month's trial but so far so good. As they say in French: Elle est tres gentille.

Last Sunday Chantal, Chantal's Mum, G-M, Fanny, Julien, Granny and I returned to Cafe Quebec as   a 'merci' for having had me to stay and also for Granny to get to know my host family. It was rather amusing earlier in the morning when Granny and I stepped out of our rooms to find that we were dressed the same - pink tops and jeans - we are obviously very in tune with each other. By the way, she's the more svelte one of the two in pink in the photo. (Unfortunately Julien has been missed out of the photo.)

While we were at the cafe, I recieved texts telling me that the All Blacks had won the rugby. Very exciting!! Considering how close it was, I doubt if I would have had any fingernails left  if I had been watching it. Much nicer to munch pancakes.

In the afternoon, Granny and I went for a walk in a forest about half a hour's drive away. The forest is owned by her son-in-law's father and is complete with miniature lake, miniature stone bridge and log cabin. It is used by hunters in the hunting season. In the winter, apparently they go skiing there! It was really beautiful but unfortunately when G said we were going for a walk in the forest, I didn't think to take my camera.

I have done a lot of walking recently. On Friday at school we had the 'Marche Parrainee' or sponsored walk. The whole school went on a 15km walk to raise money for sport's equipment. It was a lovely day out in the fresh air.

On Saturday, the apple-collecting group of Chantal's friends and I went mushroom picking. I remember doing this in farm paddocks when I was young. We collected huge mushrooms we called horse mushrooms. They had a really strong taste and were quite meaty in texture. On Saturday, we travelled to a part of the forest in The Ardennes. Unfortunately, we didn't gather a lot of mushrooms. Apparently, September is a better month for them, and it has been too dry this autumn. Still, we did manage to find some Chanterelle mushrooms and a bulbous variety known as' Pieds des moutons' - sheep's feet! Despite the lack of mushrooms, it was an enjoyable afternoon and in the evening we had a wonderful feast with the mushrooms used as a starter on toasted baguette. Delicious!

We had been asked to contribute a dessert so I decided to give the pavlova a second try. This time, I forsook Alison Holst and  instead consulted that other  NZ  icon - the Edmonds' cookbook (thanks Kate).  No longer a novice, I knew the French for the ingredients , so that was one less worry. However, I do think Edmonds should do a little proofreading of their book as the recipe said 'cook at 150' but in the notes at the beginning of the book, it suggested a pavlova should be cooked at a temperature between '110 and 140'! Anyway, to cut a long story short, the pav looked great until I turned the oven off and then it collapsed. As I didn't have much choice, I slathered it in cream and decorated it with kiwifruit and off to the gathering we went.

 As it turned out, it tasted better than it looked and the hostess even asked me for the recipe which I tried to  give her in correct French. I think I may have confused the measurements for the water and the cornflour - we had had a wine or two by then. If anyone has a fail-safe recipe for  a pavlova with a solid crust on the outside and good marshmallow on the inside that they are prepared to share, I'd love it!!

On being Average

I seem to find myself standing around a lot - especially on buses and what I've discovered  is that the Belgians seem to be  a much shorter group of people than New Zealanders. In New Zealand, if I was standing on a bus I would most likely find myself with my head in someone's armpit but here I don't have to crane my neck to talk to anyone. Instead of being short, in Belgium I have become average!

Unfortunately, while I have become taller in Belgium, I have also become wider. Instead of being a size M in a tshirt/top, I am now an L. I refuse to believe that 7 weeks of eating Belgian food and drinking Belgian beer and French wine has caused this - I'm sure they must be operating on a different system!!

My first haircut

Another first. There are so many things that you take for granted  like going to the hairdresser. I thought I had made an appointment for 10 am today (Saturday) at a local hairdresser recommended by Fanny. I arrived on time but could see that there were only two hairdressers – one who did the colouring and shampooing and the other who did the cutting, brushing and blow-waving. There were four people already waiting in line for their turn to be washed and coloured and another person was having their hair cut. It didn’t look good.  I was ushered to a seat and after about 20 minutes given a magazine.

 After about 50 minutes Marie-Ange  ushered me into another chair and we consulted about the colour. I had brought with me the colour intstructions from Rachel, my hairdresser in NZ but Marie-Ange wasn’t too sure about them. However, with the help of a colour chart we managed to come to an agreement on what was to happen. 

Two hours later my colour was done! The best part was the washing of the hair. The chair I was in was a massage one – what a wonderful idea – not something I was used to in NZ. Just as well though as the washing of the hair took about half an hour! I had about 5 or 6 different preparations put on – some of which needed time to work.

 Next it was into the cutting and styling chair.

 You want your hair cut? Carmelo said to me in French.

 Yes, I said. Just a little.

 No, he said, you want a change – something with more style!

 Ok, I said.

It was interesting to watch him work as he lifted several strands of hair and nonchalantly cut away. There was something artist-like in the way he worked. He even thought to ask if I would like a cup of coffee or tea. I had, as he pointed out, been there a long time. Yes, a cup of tea. Soon he was back with hot water and a selection of herbal teas for me to choose (I’ve given up on normal tea here as they only use UHT milk which tastes revolting). This revived my spirits somewhat. Then it was back to the cutting. Suddenly he stopped cutting and started drying my hair with an enormous round brush and a hair dryer. This took quite some time but then it was stop drying and start cutting again. Finally, he was finished. I have to admit it did look a lot better (less wild and frizzy).

Then came the moment of truth: time to pay. I zipped out my Belgian eftpos card but alas, they only took cash. Fortunately I had taken out some cash the day before from my NZ account to deposit into my Belgian account but the bank machine wasn,t working.  I left the hairdressers with a much lighter head and wallet.

Further Mmms – Chez le medecin et les medicaments

I hadn’t been feeling great for most of the past week and when Monday came I couldn’t face getting up and going to school. Some suggestions had been made about my mystery illness- some thought it was homesickness, others too much Peket, still others not enough!  Chantal kindly made an appointment with her doctor for me and off we trotted in the afternoon. Actually, I don’t mean that literally as I was feeling so miserable I could hardly put one hoof after the other so she took me in the car.

In Belgium, one goes to the doctor’s house it seems, or to the doctor’s basement anyway. We rang the doorbell; the door opened automatically and we walked into a small white waiting room. The doctor’s credentials were hung on the wall – he specialised in sports medicine – not a great lot of use to me I thought. After a few minutes, the doctor arrived and ushered me into another room. He said he didn’t speak much English and he was right. I said I was pretty sure I had the flu ( in French) and he seemed to understand my accent. He gave me a good going over and then pronounced or I think he did that I had sinusitis, laryngitis and bronchitis. I was quite impressed with this list. I asked him if I should go to school the next day, but no, he was giving me the week off as I would need 6 days to recover! I was a mite surprised as I hadn’t realised that I was that sick. He gave me medical certificate for school – you need one here for anything more than a day off sick.

 Later, Chantal asked me if I could go out or if I had to stay at home. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but she pointed to a place on the form where it says ‘Sortie’ and it’s either autorisee or interdit. Mine was autorisee which means I could still go out and about on my sick days. Apparently people sometimes come to check if you are really sick and if you have ‘sortie interdit’ and you’re not at home when the checkers come – watch out! We collected a whole lot of medicine on the way home ($60 dollars worth –more expensive than the actual doctor’s visit as no subsidies applied to me!)

It’s now Thursday and I’ve been taking my drugs and I’m feeling a lot better. I had a cellphone call from Daniel at school and the 4^th grade class had been asking how I was and they yelled out ‘hello’ into the phone which was nice. I’ve learnt a lot about the dos and don’t of illness. Daniel says hot milk, honey and rum 4x a day. Chantal says Thyme herbal tea with thyme honey and absolutely no cold drinks or ice cream. I disappointed her by having several ice creams – they were so soothing on my throat. I was supposed to ask the doctor whether I should eat ice cream or not, but I forgot. Was thinking I might go back to school tomorrow but its cold and raining at the moment so if it continues it wouldn’t be such a great idea.

La Fete des Coteaux

Saturday was the ‘Fete des Coteaux’. Actually, I wasn’t feeling 100 per cent but I didn’t want to miss out on an evening that had been described as ‘magical’ and ‘not to be missed.’ Chantal, GM and I drove to town and then took a bus to the Coteaux area as parking was going to be a problem. The Coteaux area of Liege is a hillside interlaced with steep narrow cobbled streets and double-storied brick and stone houses. Some have small gardens. For others, the main access is by climbing up or down hundreds of steep stone steps.  Coteaux for those of you who don’t speak French means Knives and I assume it relates to the fact that there are a lot of zig zags and knife bends in the streets but maybe there is a more violent meaning? Will have to check that out.

 On the night of the Fete des Coteaux, volunteers line these streets and steps with thousands of candles which are lit at dusk. The gardens are open at night and people can wander  around – it’s very beautiful although not all the residents are happy about it. Chantal, GM and I wandered around some of these places in the daylight. By the time night arrived we were making our way down a steep trail lit by candles – it would have been magic had it not been for the seeming 1000s who were trying to make their way up the narrow trail.

Down in the town, there was plenty of entertainment including a group who played oil drums surprisingly well ( I have noticed that the Belgians are really into their drums). However, I was a little concerned as to the well- being of their eardrums – the rhythm was great but the sound really did hurt your ears. Feeling a bit peckish by this stage, we indulged at one of the myriad of street stalls – a sausage in a bread roll (their sausages are so much more tasty and spicy) and a compulsory peket – a local brew of gin. I had an apple and cinnamon flavoured  one which I managed to polish off quite easily. The night rolled on but by this stage, the streets were really thronging – in fact it was a wee bit scary as we were trying to go against the tide. Eventually we went down some side streets and after a final beer (another raspberry beer for me) we caught the bus back to the car and drove home.

Mons and Monkeys

The night before I went to Mons, Francoise – a friend of Marie’s- rang me and asked me if I’d like to meet her there. Naturally, I said ‘oui’ straightaway. Tuesday was a day off for schools and some businesses as it was ‘French Community’ Day i.e. the Flemish speaking part of Belgium was still working. I took a bus to the train station: Liege-Guillemins. It’s a striking building designed by a Spanish architect and only recently opened (September 2009). It cost a lot of money and, having seen the bleakness of Seraing, I thought that there was probably a lot they could have done there with the money. However, after actually having been in the building, I had to change my mind. It is absolutely beautiful – a work of art. Photos cannot do it justice. It is designed to look like a wave, or to me, a wing and it gives such a sense of freedom. If I lived in the polluted depths of Seraing, I would make a trip to Guillemins as often as possible to look at the sky and to feel liberated. Just my opinion, of course. You can find out more about Guillemins here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Li%C3%A8ge-Guillemins_railway_station

Francoise had advised me to buy a 10 ride ticket which takes you anywhere in Belgium for 73 euros. A veritable bargain as this works out at 14,60 euros for the return as opposed to 36.20 euros without the discount. So I was all set for my first train trip in Belgium. The nice lady at the info desk at Guillemins had kindly told me that Mons was the 6^th stop so what could go wrong. Unfortunately, I lost count of the stops and very nearly got off at the one before. Luckily, I used my head for once and mustered up some French to ask if this stop was Mons. No, it was the next one, so I carried on and arrived about two hours after having left Liege.

 In Mons, I was met by Francoise and a couple of her AFS students. She has two of them staying with her at the moment.  The AFS girls took off on their own and Francoise and I proceeded to walk around and get to know each other a bit better. Mons is a picturesque university town which is famous for ,among other things, it’s gold and black belfry or beffroi which oversees the town.

We headed off to the tourist office where Francoise collected up just about every pamphlet that was going for me – she didn’t want me to miss a thing. One of the pamphlets told about the Doudou festival  which is held in June and includes a dragon fight and some apparently rather raucous celebrations so maybe I’ll be able to squeeze in a visit before I leave Belgium.

After the Tourism Office, I was introduced to the Monkey – rather a small chap sitting outside the town hall. Apparently it is good luck to pat his head so, wanting to get my full measure, I did so. Afterwards, Francoise and I wandered around the cobblestoned streets looking at the buildings (some from the Middle Ages) and meandering through the many pretty neighbourhood gardens.  At one point, Francoise suddenly accosted a teenage boy tapping at his chest – both he and I were a bit taken aback, but it turned out that he was wearing a Canterbury NZ sweat shirt and had recently visited NZ and Francoise was so excited for me!

Eventually, we found our way to a café for lunch. Francoise had a local delicacy – a cold dish of eel in a white sauce while I played it safe (or so I thought) with steak and frites. I soon learned that ‘a point’ or medium means it is ready to walk off the plate – a little too bloody for my taste but the frites were particularly good. The Belgians tell me the secret is to cook the chips twice ( and use Belgian potatoes of course). We washed down the meal with a goblet of beer – now that was good!

 It was while I was sitting at lunch (called ‘diner’ in Belgium: dinner is called ‘souper’) glancing at the tourist pamphlets that I realised my mistake with the Monkey. Your wishes only come true if you pat his head with your left hand. I had used my right. Obviously, I needed to rectify the situation and Francoise very patiently accompanied me back to the monkey so that I could regain my good luck.

Francoise is a lovely person, with six grown up children, who just seems to love people. She is an interesting person herself (she had lots of tips for me on life in Belgium) and is  interested in life elsewhere which is probably why she hosts so many AFS students. I am very lucky to have made the connection. Thanks, Marie. I hope to return to  Mons again before I leave.