I Take Back Everything I Ever Said About Russians. For Now.

All names in this post have been changed to protect ME, in case they ever read it. Plausible deniability is huge in my life.

I've spent a good amount of time bitching about Russians. Mostly because it's easy, partly because it's true. I've gotten more chuckles with stories about Russian classmates than anything else so far. I'm not going to take back what I said about them, I just want to add an addendum to what I said about the ladies being a tad aggressive.


I would like to thank them, for a moment, for a complete about-face. Yes, they proved aggressive. But I understand - you have to do something to keep warm in the winter. If not sex, then you end up writing an extremely depressing 800 page novel and dying of liver failure at a very young age if you haven't already rotted in a Siberian gulag for making a pooting Putin joke. 

This man really needs a girl. Asceticism is bad for your health.

 

Anyway, I was cornered in a really awkward situation the other evening with a [slightly inebriated] young lady who simply wouldn't catch a hint, no matter how many times I mentioned my girlfriend. While obvious, she hadn't said anything that would leave her without plausible deniability (there's that damn word again) if I called her more bluntly on her advances. The situation was clear enough, though - or maybe it was my distress - that Svetlana (who, by this point, knows all about Dayaamayi) swooped in to my rescue with the grace and subtlety I've seen in a Russian before, "Alec, come wit me, you need more dr-rink. Anna, I will take dis boy from you. He has a date vith his own self when he gets home. I sure you vill find another American for tonight."

There was another exchange, most of which I missed, in which Anna (western European) harangued Svetlana in a very whiny tone about the previous interaction. The important part is that she used the term, "knocking down her Berlin Wall." Something which I gathered hadn't happened in a bit. I'll leave that to your imagination.

"Tear down that wall!" A moment of great relief and catharsis for both the East and West.  It was a long time coming, apparently (I wouldn't know. Wasn't there.).

A Note on Pictures

Obviously, I have a camera here. I just never think to use it. This is a problem, as I like to add pictures to emails and posts, mostly so I don't have to waste time describing things. Really, that was the whole point of learning how to use this blog technology. It makes it incredibly easy to post pictures and video. It's not like taking pictures is prohibited, I just forget. I wish I could say that I would get in trouble for taking photos, but with the notable exception of the first few weeks working on the oil spill, this is never the case.

It didn't stop Moe, Larry, and Curly, so why should it stop me?

"You shoot a picture, we shoot you!"

Besides, those shots would have been worth losing my job. I could have made a fortune selling them to news agencies. Ahhh, regrets. I guess that means I'll have to start doing a better job. Just for fun:

Locking Up

I know that this would make more sense with pictures. I'm working on that.

They are actually going to close down large parts of American College to us soon. Now that the University owns the place, they want to start cleaning out the parts that they aren't using so they can start remodeling whenever they decide what to do with the place. I understand why they are doing this, and I would probably do the same in their place, but...

It's a damn shame.

Granted I still have plenty of space to roam, but I like to pretend that the whole damn castle is mine. Besides, being able to forage for and requisition whatever I can find has it's advantages. My neighbor in the community, has turned his room into an art gallery, and for me, moving antique furniture to my room will take time. Really, I'm bummed because I have a fear that there are things there that I haven't discovered yet. Just this morning, I found a cellar with a dozen or so several decades old bottles of wine.
[photo]
I don't know if they are good or not, but that is quite beside the point. The point is that I got to find a section of centuries old wine cellar that had been forgotten for at least a few decades. [The actual building was built in the 1800s, but there was a medieval Cistertian monastery on the spot, and cellars often are kept even when their top-side buildings are destroyed.]

Besides, with full run of the place, I could hide a body with the concrete knowledge (and likely under concrete) that it wouldn't be found for centuries.

It's very strange knowing that a building that has been the home of Americans - seminarians (mostly), soldiers doing the world wars, visiting US officials - for almost 200 years will soon change completely and that I, along with my next door neighbor, Matthew, will likely be the last Americans to see it. It has been the center for Americans in this part of Europe, and soon it will be Flemish. It's a very bizarre feeling, and I don't know how to explain or where it's coming from; whether it's patriotism, sentimentality, or jealousy from a newly blossoming sense of ownership of the place, but I feel like I shouldn't have the emotional responsibility or the privilege of being the last American to live here.

You walk through the rooms here, and there are signs of home everywhere. Pictures, paintings, books, odds and ends that no one but an American would have - things that don't make sense in another context. These are just little touches that make it easier for someone from the US feel at home and make it obvious that Americans have lived here for a very long time. Pretty soon they'll all be locked up then tossed out by people who have no personal connection to it whatsoever. The temptation is to run around and hoard everything I can carry back to my room.

I guess I'll have to settle for the wine.

Note: A few days later we found a liquor cabinet, full mostly of ouzo and a ton of sherry. Delicious, but not near as cool. Also, the wine aged surprisingly well.

America! and Other Good Things

Internet's been down in my place for the week, so I haven't been on skype much. Rectifying that problem. Sitting in the only place in this giant building that has wifi - the VIP guests suites in one of the abandoned wings. The plaque on the door says "Bishop's Room" Let me tell you, these bishops were living well. Great views of the gardens, a bathtub, queen size bed, small living room. Then again, you got to make up for the celibacy some how. 

  

That being said, this week has been good. I found a workout room and a SAUNA in American College. This place just keeps on giving. Especially connsidering how damn cold it is right now. Days have been in the 40s and that's not likely to change. But a sauna? Really? I mean, I pay next to nothing to live here. I am really wallowing in smugness. My friends are ready to kill me. Except if they did, they wouldn't be able to use my kitchen. Or the gardens, study/game rooms, gardens, and definitely not the sauna.

 

I made a gumbo this weekend, partly to soothe my home sickness and partly because the other people in the community have been feeding me and we don't want to be ungrateful. It went fairly well considering I had no andouille, duck or game, seasonings I wanted, ect. Later found some sort of a smoked sausage, okra, and cayenne pepper. Still no Tony's [ahem, ahem]. Also, it turns out that the Belgians have figured out a good way to deal with their urban pidgeon problem: they eat them.

 

 

Not only does this take care of the pidgeon problem, it put retirees back to work.
You think he's harmless? Think again.

 

In honor of that (and this is the only time I've ever seen a Belgian take decisive action on anything since I've been here) I  bought a few and ate them. It went over well.

 



The man in the middle is a Czech Andre the Giant.
To his left is the Indian Vizzini.



I live next to a check guy named Josef, who is HUGE. Andre the Giant with a Eastern European accent. (The man to his left is an Indian Vizzini) He has been trying to make the point that all the soups people eat here are not fit for men (mostly joking?) and that men should eat more red meat. But, he had some gumbo that was leftover in the fridge and the next day I had a note on my door that said, "Alex the soop was very man soup! It was pretty good. - Josef" And I appreciate that. It is. Manly as hell.



 

Great guy. Luckily, or else he'd just kill us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The spice problem has been amended somewhat because I met a woman from Alabama in one of my classes who immediatly identified me as South Louisiana/Cajun (she's Cajun, too). Turns out her husband is in the military here, so she managed to requisition me every different type of Tabasco from the base store and gave it to me today in a bag, complete with bow. God bless the USA.

Defending Freedom, Feeding ExPats

 

Also enjoying my Innovation Management class for the sole reason that the Europpean Prfessor keeps telling the European class how much more productive we are in the US, better at wealth creation, better and leading technology innovation, and so on and so on. Really, I go to class just to preen and smirk at my classmates every time he points out one of their percieved inadaquacies as compared to the US. Every line graph akes you stand a little taller.

 

To cap it off, today I went to go get the invoice for my tuition, estimated by me at 1150 Euro ($1600) for a masters and a bachelors. We pay per course credit, and it turns out that hours after the normal 60 hours are discounted 60%. With my two programs, I'm taking 120, which means that I'm paying, for my entire masters degree, a grand total of.........$250. 650 Euro ($900) total, for two degrees. Bitchin.

 

And God bless the Belgian taxpayer.

 

Yeah you right.

Class? Dammit.

Classes have been crazy - average of about 5-6 hours a day. Everyone from here thinks I'm crazy for trying to follow two programs at the same time. Despite having thousands of students in the two colleges, every time I go to an admin office for something, they always say something to the extent of, "Ah, I remember your file." Or, even better, "So you are him...." Naturally, this means I've got to pass all of my courses, just so I can shove it all in their face - not the mention the blow to my ego if I don't.

Also working on my thesis proposal for business. Thesis topic allocation process is competitive, so professors choose the best proposals to work with. This generally means that the best professors and topics get the most proposals and thus the best professors. I'm trying to get a professor who was educated in the US and really likes me because I'm American. He seems to be the most helpful promoter and has a big business network in the US, which could be useful later. Also seems to be flamboyantly homosexual, though he could just be Dutch. Only problem is, I can't think of a topic that seems even remotely interesting.
I officially take back all the time's I said Dad's master's thesis in geology was mind-numbingly boring. I know there are interesting topics out there, I just can't think of them.

I might go to Antwerp on Saturday with a friend. It should be more interesting than here. Leuven is very quiet on the weekends, because Belgian students go home on the weekends to restock their tupperware, have their mother do their laundry, and sober up. That means that thursday is the big party night here. Down the hill from where I Iive is a vast lake of beer most weekday nights with twice the alcohol content (if half the nudity) of Bourbon street. (In case you were wondering, it's generally just too cold - bit too nippy - to run around nude here).

It doesn't help that most of my views are similar to this.

The faculty of business' student union, which is by far richer than any other three combined, throws huge, free keggers almost once a week. Really, it's no wonder the failure rate is so high. I don't have to go to class (I am), I don't have to study yet, as there is only one exam, which is after Christmas (will start soon), and there is one brewery for every four square miles of territory (haven't finished the ones in town yet) and and any given Monday (or Tuesday) I could get enough free beer to melt my liver, most of it from my faculty (liver intact). I don't know whether it's heaven or hell to have to try and study here.

Antwerp is a maybe, though, because I promised my replacement I would help him move into the house saturday. If nothing else I'll go to Brussels or the Ocean. Place is so damn small I could be in France, Holland, Luxembourg, or Germany an hour after I left my room if I timed the trains right. Or, I could just get smashed at a monastery after afternoon prayers...

OK, going to run. By the way, my skype name is alexander.fournet, i think. It's on any time I'm in my room, so if you see me on, feel free to give me a call.
Don't forget I changed my address.

It's Not Easy Being a White American Male in the 21st Century

It's a little strange here, being one of the only Americans. I actually met a few people who had never met an American. I'm used to it being a big thing to other people that I'm from the US, for good or bad in their eyes, but now I'm just another foreigner.

Though I do get more respect in the business school (where I'm the only American masters student) than other internationals. And teachers like me because they can ask me questions in class about US business stuff. Everyone has this idea that Americans are naturally better business people than other nationalities, and American practices on a personal and firm level are held up as the golden standard. This means that I'm in high demand for the group projects (they're all group projects) because I have a huge advantage in giving presentations and writing reports. It's hard being a white American male in the 21st century.

It's hard to make Belgians understand that W was right.
It's pronounced A-Mur-Ka

Regardless, living abroad, you certainly become either more of a patriot or much less connected with your home country. For me, the inner George Washington is rearing its fearsome, wigged head. Or, in my case, the inner Ben Franklin is raising its beer soaked, opportunistic head.

It certainly is easier being American abroad than it was 5 years ago, the first time I was here. Part of that was probably that most have forgotten that we're in Iraq and the other is that I'm the only American and so neither threatening nor obnoxious. Or maybe they're just tired of the Russians. That's probably it.
People complain about obnoxious and arrogant Americans, but I promise you, we have nothing on the damn Russians. It always starts when the professor - even in classes 0f 150+ people - ask where everyone is from. Immediately, the Russians, who are normally seated together yell, "RUSSIA!" in unison, at which point everyone who knows me looks at me until I stand up and say"US".

Last Tuesday in our Political Economics course

It's like they're waiting for a fight to break out. Of course, make a bad Russian joke at the wrong time and you may have to fight someone. They are completely convinced that Russians are God's perfect people, and don't let you forget it. It's really amazing how easy it is to forget the last 100 yrs of Russian history...and to gloss over Putin.

That's me on the right.

That being said, the best part about living in an international community is that I can stereotype so many more groups than ever before. Three weeks ago, I could never have laid out gross misrepresentations of Poles, lithuanians, Ugandans, Urdu or pacific islander.

At breakfast I got to see one of the Indian priests show a Nigerian how to use soap to wash dishes. One of the better things since I've moved in.

Movin' On Up or The [Wo]Man is Keeping Me Down

NEW ADDRESS IN BELGIUM: [American College] 100 Naamsestraat, post Box 5556, 3000 Leuven, Belgium.

I passed by Krakenstraat the other day, which sounds like a bad-ass place to live. I sure beats drinkwaterstraat (prohibitionists?) and penitentienstraat (Methodists?)

The sole resident of Krakenstraat 15

Firstly, classes are time consuming and I'm taking a lot of them. The biggest thing though, is that I moved. My place was tiny and crappy, tiny, and my landlady unpredictable, ornery, racist and barely spoke English.


The Old Place



The old room - short on amenities, long on Turks

A few weeks ago, I found out that American College, the former American seminary, was going to open spots for about 15 theology students. I applied on a whim to see if I could get an RA job or something. I didn't, but I did get in. I planned on turning it down, but when I stopped by AC to tell the director that, I changed my mind completely. The place is huge, old, beautiful and empty.

One of the entrances to my house. On the right is our church.
Score one for God.

There are about 15 tenants, mostly African/Indian priests, living in a complex built for hundreds. Have a great room with a great view. Not including basement levels, it is 6 stories tall - high ceilings- has huge gardens, it's own gothic style church, and great kitchen  facilities among other things. I told Marcelle it's like living at Hogwarts (if it were a vacated seminary). Needless to say, I moved in, even though it put me at some risk.

Some of the gardens.
Not shown are the patios and the treed areas with paths, benches.

Anyway, it took me a while to convince my landlady to let me find someone to take my place. I was so ready to get out and into the new place that I would have sacrificed my deposit for the cause, but I didn't want to screw over my roommates by sticking them with my share of the rent. Only problem is - besides getting yelled at often in Dutch - is that the landlady is very, very racist. I found an Armenian guy who needed the place once a week, but that was a no go - "I don't like them, from Turkey! can't trust them!"
Same for Spaniards, though that I understand. If a group of Spaniards move in, it'll be a half hour before there are holes in the walls and unknown substances smeared on the ceiling. Africans were obviously out (they cheat and steal), so were anyone resembling the color of some Muslims (they bad people). Finally we found a great guy, a UK citizen from Hong Kong. She refused to meet with him ("I hate Chinese, they too dirty! No Chinese!"), so we had to promise her he wasn't Chinese and later forewarn her that he was of Chinese descent. Eventually, she let him in, but made him pay 3 months rent as deposit instead of the normal 1 or 2 ("you will pay 3 month deposit, because you are dirty").

So I'm out, and it's great. I'm still fighting for my deposit, but that's another battle. So now I've got a home base and things are easier. The AC is still full of furniture and stuff like books, kitchen equipment, and the first thing I was told was that we could upgrade our room furniture with what we found on other floors. Most of mine is now antique. The attic was completely full. Also has a great garden, which comes complete with hedgehogs.

Diclaimer: The guy on the left is actually white and not a priest.
Luckily, the rest of them have something of a duty to feed the poor.

Mostly I live with Indians and Africans, who I like a lot. If I go anywhere near the kitchens when they are cooking, they insist I eat . I get almost as much curry as I did with Dayaamayi, but not as good. She gives me a lot of street cred with them, which helps.

They Seemed Harmless at First....

A week here has been enough to convince me that the Dutch are the strangest people I have ever met. They are completely obsessed with organization and efficiency while simultaneously stuffing life as full of bureaucracy as possible. There is definitely a preference for someone to tell them what to do then to expend the energy making up as you go along. There are rules for everything and anything and more get created every day.

They go so far out of their way to not offend anyone and be civil and modern while at the same time being completely racist, mostly against Muslims. Open racism against Muslims is completely socially acceptable, but it is preferable to veil everything else. They speak three languages, but only acknowledge 2. In general, the way they make decions and reason things are completely incomprehensible to me.

On a similar note, I passed a little fair the other day, and the carousel's 8 bit music machine was playing "Dixie".

I also made the mistake of going out with a bunch of Russians. First thing I learned is that any night club that a Russian wants to go to is probably not one I want to go to ("Obi-Wan, you should not have come.") Also, Russian women are extremely aggressive ("Chewie! No!") and strike without any warning ("It's a trap!").

'No' is not something, that they are used to hearing. Fighting them off was not working ("Captain, Our shields cannot repel firepower of this magnitude!") So I had to make an undignified retreat (fake to the bathroom and make for the door).

She may be cute, but she'll kick your ass.

I did learn one very valuable life lesson: "Da, there are rules, and then there are rules for rules."

I just spent about 4 hours organizing my schedule. I am going to try to do the whole MBA and abridged bachelor in one year. Even two full programs is only 13 class sessions a week, each one 2-4 hours long. So as long as I start studying and working on my masters and bachelors thesises now, I should be able to do it. That also means that next year will be easy by comparison. Also means that I have classes like "Finance for cocaine and sex addicts," "marketing substandard loans: regulatory evasion and statistical manipulation" and "parting poor people from their money" right next to "Contemporary Sexual ethics" "Embracing suffering: fasting, abstinence and penance" and "spiritual asceticism".

As far as I know, I'm the only American studying in the faculty of business, out of  several hundred of us in the international program (there are over 40,000 students of which %10 are international.) This means that sometimes group work gets a little tense. The Chinese and the Japanese don't always get along, then there's the Pakistan/India, Palistine/Israel, Ireland/UK, Ireland/Ireland, African atrocity (var.), Russian/Central Asian, and Russian/any country they've occupied, tensions. The first rule was, "For safety's sake, there are no patriots allowed in the Library." This only barely proceeded, "No food or drink near books or computers," "Smoking indoors is forbidden," "Please treat East Europeans, South Belgians, and brown people with the respect you would normally afford to people," and "While in the library, please treat Muslims with the same respect you would normally afford the Irish."

So far, I've been hanging out woth mostly Chinese and Poles, but we'll see.

Food situation is OK, though I would KILL for a small thing of Tony Chachere's. Belgians don't believe in seasoning their food. Luckily I live next to the asian/african/indian stores.
Anyway, I'm going to run.

Late Arrival

Anyway, leaving was miserable as always. Saying goodbye to Marcelle and Dayaamayi in particular was bad - like normal. I was really hoping Emile would piss me off before I left that way I'd be happy to leave him (if only briefly), but he failed to do so. And to make matters worse, he had to go and inherit some of my luck and hurt himself.

Transit was mercifully uneventful, and after a 10 hour layover in a cold and rainy London, I was picked up at the Brussels airport by my friend Samira, who hosted me for a few nights. At always, her family (kind of like mine) went all out and cooked me a beautiful Moroccan dinner to celebrate my coming in. Good people. They made the transition much easier.

Monday I got to Leuven, where it was cold and dreary. It was a bit of a shock, going from a sunny 90 to a cloudy 50-60 degrees.  Turns out that getting there 10 days before the start of term is very late to find a house. Pickings were very slim and I couldn't find anything the first day. I managed to get a prepaid cell phone (+32.04.70.31.31.33) and meet up with Calvin.

I failed completely, however, at coming to grips with the Belgian bureaucracy. It has a reputation, especially in the business world, but that con't compare with reality. It's going to take me over a month to get a bnk account here, because I have to have a binder full of other very specific documents that can only be got, sequentially, from 1/2 dozen university then city offices. Then most of these have to be stamped, signed, copied, lost, found, and filed by all the departments. This got Calvin in trouble as he set up a bank account through the university, but can't access it until he has a residency permit. Unfortunately, he can't get that until he has a housing contract, which he can't get without paying rent/deposit...

On my end, because I am enrolled in 2 different faculties, about half of the university offices assume that I am actually two different people - if they acknowlede the existence of my other half at all. I finally realized this and got it (mostly) sorted yesterday.

Tuesday I found a house with Calvin and a Turk. It's tiny. It's a tri-level, three room place and each room is about15x10, but we got a good price.

 The kitchen is wide enough to fit a skinny person and for some reason the toilet/shower is situated in the kitchen. I get to my room - the top floor - via a series of ladders and hatch doors.

Luckily, our landlady - who is completely senile, it would seem - likes us and let us heavily modify the place, even to the point that we put up sheetrock walls in the living room to make another bedroom. Best part is, my street name is Zevenslapersstraat.  It's something to do with seven sleepers, which I think also could mean hedgehog. I don't know. At least I don't live on Ooiendonkstraat

Thursday, I started meeting people, I saw the sun for the first time in a week, got a mattress, and drank far too much beer. Things are looking up - especially when I finally got around to installing a light fixture in my attic room yesterday.