Somehow, without intending to, I find myself beginning a new life in Belgium. Most people, by the age of 40, have mapped out a respectable route for their life ... not I. It seems I absorbed a little too much Dan Eldon's motto ... the journey is the destination, and perhaps my route is to be the journey, so let's pretend I planned it that way.
Actually, Vincent Van Gough said something a little marvellous too, perhaps I could claim that. I am not an adventurer by choice, but by fate. Mmmm, so check my ear next time you see me. I may knaw it off when learning Dutch gets too much.
I have moved myself, and my excess luggage (220 euro worth - mostly books), to my new abode here in the city of Antwerpen, the region of Flanders, in the country of Belgium ... a place that didn't really exist for me until I stepped onto its soil, holidaying in January 2005. I cannot pretend to be anything other than geographically inept, but Belgium is small and New Zealand is a long way away ...
Friends have been asking 'so what's Belgium like?' and I've struggled to answer. It was much simpler to answer when they asked me about my Istanbul life. 'Istanbul is everything, and more' ... that had become my stock answer, because it's true ... Istanbul is an ancient city, with post modern architecture and ideas; it's a city undergoing rapid change, as it roars into the 21st century.
Belgium is more difficult to describe. It's quieter, and less chaotic, to such a degree that it's been another type of culture shock for me. I already love some things about it. There are the people that you see from the tram windows ... there are more than 165 different countries represented here in the general population.
I'd never seen an Orthodox Jew before ... now I have. Here, everyone rides marvellous old bicycles so, you have the young and the old Jewish men on their bikes, and they are dressed in black clothes, with white shirts. They have long ringlets at the side of their heads, like sideburns, and these incredible hats, that are so big.
And the other day, two foreign men (writes this foreigner) sat down in front of me on the tram. They had on robes and head dresses that seemed more suited to the desert. They talked in a language that sounded deliciously mysterious, and I just stared at the backs of their heads, fascinated. I wanted to paint them. They were beautiful, right down to the cloth and the colours they wore.
Meanwhile, I'm in process ... filling out forms, applying for visas. Did you know, the Belgian Consulate for New Zealand is in Sydney, Australia. I'll do the long trek home mid-September, and head back to Belgium via Australia, visa in hand, I hope. There is plenty of work here, one just needs to be legal.
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