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.