Two Years Later - Still a White-Collar Criminal in Brussels

Courtesy of Brussels Net

Early January, France was in the throes of bloody terrorist attacks. We were aghast and in a state of immeasurable affliction.

I was in Brittany at the time while Popeye was in Belgium. It was hard to talk about anything else but what had happened. Not only us but the whole world.

And yet…

Brussels Net/Propreté chose this very moment to send me a new and very threatening certified letter. Dear readers, do you remember the post I wrote in June 2013 : “In Brussels I am a white-collar criminal”? Well, I had payed up the fine and this was January 2015, almost two years after my “criminal offence” and yet…

And yet…

There it was again. The same old charges… with an escalation of disciplinary actions against me, based on legal articles concerning some kind of aggravated environmental pollution… Much, much higher fines up to 625 euros and a possible court action.

Swee’Pea, Popeye and I did think for a while that some dishonest employee from Brussels Propreté was trying to scare me in order to squeeze money out of the-French-expatriate-poor-me.

The reality was quite different. There was no dishonest employee. The letter did come from Brussels Net/Propreté. Far be it from me to accuse Brussels Net/Propreté of dishonesty, of course.

And yet…

I had already payed a fine in 2013. They had not cleared me of the charge but I was allowed to state mitigating circumstances that might get them to soften the penalty.

I was very angry. Environmental pollution! Legal proceedings! Mitigating circumstances!

Their letter was threatening and in many ways, incredibly arrogant.

I decided to answer in order to try to disprove their charge.

I wrote a long, a very long letter in which I explained the way things had happened. I wrote about my environmental activism. I admitted that the week-end had been a very busy week-end and that somehow we had dropped our guard, selective-sorting-wise.

It was true that a few and not very kosher things had missed the selective sorting of household waste.

On the other hand, it didn’t look good to put two (empty) cans of coca cola and a couple of (empty) envelopes and one tea bag wrapping and a very small empty can of nuts in the same category as high hazard environmental pollution, did it?

I went on and on and on. I even quoted my post (“read by people from all over the world” I said… aha!). I added the pictures I had used to give good measure. Tit for tat.

I was so angry. Loosing so much time and using so much energy for something so trivial and so useless.

I asked my men to check my answer. Well, they were not very enthusiastic about it. Too visceral and emotional. I needed to take stock.

Popeye came up with a great idea. I only had to mail the letter to their (Belgian) lawyer to get some legal advice. No sooner said than done.

The lawyer answered me within the hour. He’d phone Brussels Net the following day and let me know what to do. There was a chance they would back-pedal.

They didn’t back-pedal but I got some precious advice from the lawyer.

No affect. Facts. This was totally brilliant! Facts: They were completely at fault concerning their timing. Too much time had elapsed between their first administrative action and the new legal proceedings. They had six months to take me to court from the moment they ripped our garbage bag apart and sent me the first letter. I had payed the fine. All this explained in a very legal sounding language. This would be just perfect.

I rewrote my letter which I sent certified, of course. I was sure it’d take them at least another year to answer. Wrong. I got an answer two days later. According to “evident mitigating circumstances”, they were willing to downsize my new possible fine of 625 euros to a minimum of 62,50 euros and they would wipe the slate clean. They also gave me the choice to take legal action instead of paying the fine. Most kind of them.

I could have decided to fight them. I chose not to for very obvious reasons. I threw my 62 dollars at them, metaphorically speaking of course.

Tonight Popeye called me from Belgium. The garbage men had already collected the bags on our side of the street when he noticed he had forgotten to take the garbage out. No problem. He went and dropped our bags among the garbage bags of our neighbors from across the street.

Good grief, man. According to the article so and/or so of the edict of… our garbage cannot be moved across the street or else!

To be honest, I believe that I do not enjoy at all being a white-collar criminal in Belgium. 





*Good Luck, and Good Night*

In Brussels, I am a white-collar criminal

To those of you who have been following my blog, it won’t come as a surprise that I am quite ecology-minded. I spend a lot of time in Brittany where environmental issues are big and I chose my camp a long time ago.

We moved to Brussels almost fifteen years ago from the western suburbs of Paris... the “affluent” part of the Paris suburbs where town councils were adamant to improve cleanliness in the streets.

Those were times when they were handing out plastic garbage containers to every house and building. By the time we left, we also were given different type of plastic trash cans to sort out our wastes.

In Brittany, they had been in the vanguard of the selective sorting of household waste by opening huge waste collection sites. People loved using them. We did all the time. They also posted big plastic garbage containers all along the roads. This was a big step towards protecting the beaches and the countryside. (Even though we are still having huge environmental issues there.)

It gave us quite a nasty shock to see garbage and household refuse strewn on pavements in Brussels in bags very often torn open because they’d be lying there for days at a time.

We had been expecting a state of cleanliness equal to the one in the Netherlands which for us was perfection. Why? Because Belgium was a Northern country, sort of. Because it was very close to Holland. Because Brussels was the capital of Europe.

But you see, Brussels was quite filthy. Dogs fouling the pavements. People throwing their garbage bags all over the place to get rid of their waste instead of keeping them in their apartments until waste was collected. Lack of room, they used to say.

Some places in Belgium were quite clean, I have to admit. Mostly places in Flanders. But Brussels was the filthiest city ever... from its suburbs, wealthy or not down to its historical center.

It still is. Well, it did improve though. A lot. Dogs still foul the pavements. But their owners tend to be more public-spirited. And it is forbidden to leave trash on the sidewalks all week long since now they have finally organized precise times for waste collection, twice a week most of the time. Those times being more or less kept though.

Still no plastic garbage cans. Still garbage bags around. 


Then five years ago, I think, we were told that from now on, we were not to use the usual (brand) black plastic bags that were sold in stores. From then on we were supposed to buy opaque white plastic bags with the “Bruxelles Propreté/Net Brussel” (Cleanliness in Brussels) stamp instead.

Those bags were expensive and yet very flimsy and very bad quality. But we had to use them and we did use them. New times were set to collect the waste which was very nice and people were told they’d be fined if bags were dumped on the sidewalks any other time the way it used to be.

We felt very good about the new rules...

Then they decided to take one step forward... We were asked to start sorting our garbage, using see-through plastic bags - blue for plastic and yellow for paper. Recycling became a slogan in Brussels.

We started to sort our garbage. Even though the blue and yellow bags were just as flimsy as the white ones.

Until a nosey journalist followed a few garbage trucks and discovered that all garbage went to the same refuse incinerators. There was no sorting at all at the other end.

People were very upset in Brussels but they kept sorting their garbage out, even if a little bit dispiritedly.

Which is what we did all through the years we have been spending in Brussels.

One week ago, while I was in Brittany and Popeye in Brussels, he called me to let me know that I had received a certified letter which he could not get since he didn’t have power of attorney... (This was my first certified letter ever in Belgium!)

As soon as I got back to Brussels, I went to the post office, well not exactly the post office but the tobacconist’s where our mailman had left my letter... Yes, this is the way it goes in Brussels.

The letter was from “Bruxelles Propreté” and was five pages long.

I definitely was a white-collar criminal.

Funny? Not funny!

During the Easter week-end, we had guests and I imagine that somehow someone got careless and threw away a couple of cans of Coca-Cola in the opaque white bag plus some tea cardboard packaging. And a very small peanuts can...

How did they find out I was the culprit? Because I had willfully thrown away two envelopes with my name and address on them. Willfully and purposefully too since our yellow paper bags are always rummaged through by an old man who lives in the area and who loves the car and boating magazines Popeye reads from time to time plus the occasional French newspapers he gets on the train. (I am a tablet reader... Long live trees!)

I have caught him on the act several times and told him I would save them for him. He’d only have to ring the bell. But I guess it’s more fun to go through the bags except that everything else ends up on the sidewalk and on the street.

I hated seeing envelopes flying around with our name on them so I decided a long time ago to throw them into the white bag.

How did they find all this stuff?

Those of you who are no longer very young will remember Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant”.



Well, they ripped my garbage bag open, my dear friends, right in front of my house.

How do I know? It’s written in black and white in the minutes that are attached to my fine... (Yes, I have to pay a 75€ fine plus likely legal proceedings.)

But they do not tell that they did tear my garbage bag and threw its contents all over the place while trying to find a proof I am an environmental criminal.

I remember finding the gored bag and its contents in the street gutter a few minutes after I had dumped it on the sidewalk like I was supposed to. I remember getting gloves and pouring everything back into a new bag without noticing my envelopes were missing... I am not this paranoid. Actually I was very mad and wondering who had done this...


Now I know! It was “Bruxelles Propreté/Net Brussels”! (Cleanliness in Brussels)

Saturday night was waste collecting night! I walked around the area... This is what I found a mere 50 meters away from our home... 

But this time, there was no “Bruxelles Propreté” inspector around... Just too bad!

There I am, talking about garbage in Brussels when my son’s Turkish friends are fighting for freedom of thought and expression everywhere in Turkey for the past week.

This will be my next post.

Because...

and...

 

*Good Luck, and Good Night*

We did it!

Well, back to Brussels for a while again. I have not been around much though since my main purpose for being here is trying to get the house pleasant to live in again.

We’ve been working at it quite regularly now even though “renovating the last renovations” is not over yet. After the big flood in 2009 and very bad  renovations in 2010-11, there still are quite a few leaks here and there, and problems with plumbing and electricity. Old houses in Brussels are hard to fix once they start deteriorating - that is when your landlady does not do what’s necessary to get her house fixed once and for all... (while we still pay our rent cash on the nail).

So back to our victory over untidiness and filth!

There was a time when I became so discouraged about what our house had turned to be that I threatened Popeye never to go back there... only once in a while to get stuff and clothes. After all, I am not working in Brussels... He is. Most of the time -- whenever he’s not flying all over the world.

Threats... But I’d go back because this was our home after all. I mean, not our second home. And I’d start getting very upset because whenever Popeye would be staying there by himself... well... let’s say that he’d expand his own private kingdom, from top to bottom.

The house is quite big (and used to be rather lovely, you see). It is one of those Belgian town houses with lots of stairs. The previous owner had an apartment built over the last floor. A real apartment with a kitchenette and a mezzanine floor... (A “studio” in French!) supposedly for an au pair girl. We thought it would be just wonderful for Swee’Pea and his friends who surely would love to come and spend every week-end in Brussels... They never did actually. They were busy studying and enjoyed vacationing at Les Tertres instead.

After a while, Popeye decided it would be an excellent place where to store his guitars and amps and drums...

It was a great place to play music except that as soon as flooding problems started, Popeye had to move his stuff around and his stuff became very invading...

Those of you who are old enough to have read “Charlie Brown” probably remember a character by the name of “Pig-Pen”...

©Charles M. Schulz

Well, do not think, not for one minute, that Popeye truly is “Pig-Pen” because Popeye is always clean as a new pin. He does enjoy taking showers and he’s quite a stylish dresser...

But when it comes to tidying up, well... you remember “Pig-Pen” and his dust cloud? Popeye’s world is cluttered up with guitars and amps and music books and scores and music and guitar stands and guitar parts and guitar cases... and this world/cloud is no longer held within the studio/apartment boundaries. It overflows onto the whole house -- which is a big house... after all.

The renovation work did not help, I know but it was becoming quite frustrating because Popeye was feeling overflown, I guess. His stuff was spilling out and he no longer knew how to manage! My own Sorcerer’s Apprentice!

So I moved back to Brussels for longer periods in order to support him in his endeavour to clean up this mess. Mainly because I am a tidiness freak. Which I think arises from my unremitting fight against death... because I used to be very untidy... a long time ago that is!

At Christmas, Swee’Pea gave me a book about Feng-shui... Nice thought but it did end up turning my love of tidiness into some kind of obsessional neurosis. Just kidding.

So back to Popeye and his ever-growing guitar/amps/parts ‘dust cloud’...

We fought about it. We talked about it. We fought about it again many, many times. Then we made plans about it and we finally started to act except that when I was on my own, I was totally forbidden to keep on tidying up which was very, very frustrating...

The progress was slow, very slow until one day, not too long ago.

Suddenly, we had a goal to meet. Our Canadian “children” were flying to Brussels for us to meet our “granddaughter”. And Swee’Pea would be there too. Easter week. Time was running fast.

The ‘studio’ was in a much better shape and the clutter was slowly disappearing from the other rooms.

But now the house looked very dirty. It needed a very thorough cleaning out.

Popeye did find a cleaning lady but she was just doing some very slight cosmetic improvements. We needed to ask a cleaning firm to take over the house after so many months of renovation... Once and for all.

Which meant that we needed to make an appointment and keep to it. Which meant that poor Popeye was under a lot of pressure and stress. (He’s a very busy man too. He works a lot and travels a lot, remember.)

Two nights ago, I really doubted that we’d make it on time -- the cleaners were coming over today.

Well, guys, we did make it.

Thank goodness, our old modem died on us and our Internet connection went down yesterday morning which meant that Popeye could not spend a lot of time working on a meeting he was going to this morning. (He was not very happy about it even though I tried very hard to restore the connection to no avail. Thanx to Belgacom which did not give me the right modem. (Our ADSL line is very antiquated and they gave me the latest modem hence totally incompatible.)

And that’s the reason why very late at night, our house was finally ready to welcome the cleaning team at 9 a.m. sharp!

Popeye won’t be coming home until tomorrow night... Too bad!

The house is sparkling clean. I love it! It is tidy. It is immaculate. It smells good and fresh. I love it!

I only hope that tomorrow the phone won’t ring... to let me know that a building firm needs to come and check our roof... for the umpteenth time.

*Good Luck, and Good Night*

My Travel Book - Belgium - The Middelheim Museum in Antwerp

I do not like my life in Brussels. I really did give it a good try though - for more than fourteen years now. But living in Brussels and Belgium is still very hard for me... I have expressed the reasons of my deep despondency in so many posts now that most of you won’t be surprised by my opening statement.

There are a few places in Belgium I do like though... If you mention a trip to Bruges (Brugge), I will be delighted. And if we decide to go and spend the day in Antwerp (Antwerpen), I’ll be overjoyed. The amazing thing is that both cities are in Flanders and I have met natives of Brussels and Wallonia who have never set foot in Flanders. Never once in their life. Belgium is a very strange country indeed, Brussels being 28 miles away from Antwerp.

I’ll have to write a post about Bruges one of these days because it is such an enchanting medieval town. “The Venice of the North.” (One of them.)

Antwerp is quite different. Almost aggressively well-to-do compared to Brussels. It is the second largest port in Europe and it is renowned for its diamond trade. Antwerp is the capital of the Antwerpen province but not the capital of Flanders. May I remind you that Brussels is the capital of Flanders, strange as it may seem?

I like to go shopping in Antwerp even if you have to speak English all the time there since people refuse to speak French, even shopkeepers. But I don’t mind. Belgium is such a very strange country, you know.

I am pretty sure that within a few years, we’ll need papers to cross the border since Flanders wants to secede from Belgium more than ever now. Or maybe we will be Flemish, Brussels being the capital of Flanders. Or hopefully, we’ll be back in France. No problem then!

There is a place in Antwerp I really like. We’ve been there over and over again.

It is called The Middelheim Museum.

Oh, another artsy thing... I can hear you loud and clear! But this one is different.

The Middelheim is a thirty hectares park. A huge landscaped garden with clusters of tall trees and thickets. A small brook adds to its charm. And then there are delightful paths to walk around. And hundreds of sculptures to discover too! Some belonging to the Middelheim permanent collections. Others being there for a special exhibit.

 

Some paths being totally dream-works of art...

Some sculptures are hiding among the trees!

 It is so easy to fall under the Middelheim’s spell.

'Belgian Funhouse' by Dan Graham

'Orbino' by Luc Leleu

The Middelheim is an open-air museum filled with sculptures but it is also a place where you can sit and read and chat while children run around on the lawns.

From time to time, the Middelheim houses contemporary art exhibits. Some of the works will stay there permanently since the museum buys at least five sculptures per year adding contemporary art to modern art and more classical works.

It is quite surprising to go from Rodin to Henry Moore, Gargallo, Calder and more recently Al Weiwei and Dan Graham and Erwin Wurm. So many works and so many artists.

'King and Queen' by Henry Moore

'Balzac' by Auguste Rodin

'The Bridge without a Name' by Al Weiwei

A Weiwei sculpture that you can actually walk on to cross the brook...

'Misconceivable' by Erwin Wurm

 It is one thing to go to a museum and a completely different experience to take a walk through the Middelheim Museum. We have been there at different times of the year, mostly winter and spring. It is much quieter then.

I love some sculptures more than others but after a while, they all become so familiar and they merge so well with the landscape that I don’t even bother to think: “Here is ‘the’ Gargallo.” I just enjoy walking by the “Prophet” and this is true for all the sculptures there.

The Prophet by Pablo Gargallo

Some sculptures are quite funny. And children love them. Which is a good way to learn to love art, don't you think?

In the Middelheim, there is no artsy intellectualization. Art does not 'drive you crazy' because it blends in with life and nature. And a few hours in the Middelheim become an exciting adventure.

Good for your body because of the long walk and great for your mind because it never hurts to meet with genius once in a while.

©http://www.middelheimmuseum.be

*Good Luck, and Good Night*

"Let's vote," said Popeye. "It's compulsory," said Olive. But life is never simple in Belgium!

233 candidates. Should I choose randomly? 21 reasons why I should vote.

This time, it was compulsory. The four previous times, Popeye and Olive were very public-spirited. Yes, Popeye and Olive voted five times this year!

In April and May, they voted to elect their French President. They voted in Brussels. Yes, French people have their own polling station in Brussels whenever needed.

In June, they voted twice to elect their deputy. For the first time in their life, they chose to e-vote. E-voting was available to French residents in a foreign country. This was fun.

In France, voting is not compulsory.

This Sunday, Popeye and Olive went to vote one more time. But this time, in Brussels. Well, in their small city which is part of Brussels. (Brussels is made up of nineteen towns.) 

So they went to vote for their town’s local elections. Unlike France, Belgium allows its foreign residents to vote in the local elections. Unlike France, voting is compulsory.

This was a big first in Popeye’s and Olive’s lives. Especially when they heard that it would be “electronic” and that they would have to use a magnetic card, a screen and an electronic pen. This would be so much fun.

Besides they’d have to choose several candidates out of 233 contenders. Yes, this is right. 233 candidates to the local election in a small city of 50.000 inhabitants. Oh, the wonders of proportional representation! (Another difference between Belgium and France... It may take weeks to get a new town council... and months to get a government. Remember?)

You see, in France, you still get to choose a piece of paper with the name of your candidate (for President) on it or a piece of paper with one whole list of candidates per party (for Parliament and local elections). And you are not supposed to remove one single name from it.

But you have to choose at least two pieces of paper (therefore two candidates or two political parties) before entering the polling booth... just in case your neighbour is behind you and you don't want him to know who you are voting for.

And then you put one of them and only one (!) in a very small envelope (while in the polling booth)  and then you drop it into a ballot box and someone says: “A voté.” (Just voted.) Impressive, isn’t it!

On Sunday, Popeye and Olive got up quite early, took a shower, got dressed, ate breakfast, checked the map, got into their car and off they went to vote. Just like children. Eager to experience something new. No, just kidding...

The real fun started as soon as they got to the school and got ready to vote, each in his/her own polling station.

Popeye was registered in N°17 while Olive had to go to N°18.

They grabbed their own notification and their resident permit. One last kiss. This was a very solemn moment after all. And off they went. Popeye to N°17 and Olive to N°18 strictly obeying their notification.

At least, that’s what they thought they were doing.

When she arrived at her polling station (N°18), Olive held out her papers. The assessor checked them, put them aside and then gave Olive her magnetic card.

Olive walked to the nearest polling booth and was getting ready to insert her card into the computer when someone came suddenly behind her to prevent her from doing it. “No, no. You are not M. Popeye, are you?”

Well, not really actually.

Well, you see, Olive had kind of mixed up the two notifications. She had the right resident permit but she was at the wrong polling station with the wrong notification, with Popeye’s notification.

She was lucky she was in Belgium. The assessors started to guffaw. In France, this would have raised hell, well, sort of.

She was given her papers back. I mean, Popeye’s notification and her own resident permit. And she was asked to go to her own polling station where hopefully M. Popeye was waiting for her on hold.

Wrong. I mean, yes, Popeye was waiting for her. But he had already voted. Yes. Nobody had noticed that he was using Olive’s notification and that he was at the wrong polling station where he was NOT registered, by the way.

So there they were. Popeye was grinning. Olive was getting upset. And the assessors at her own polling station were looking a little bit embarrassed until they made a decision.
“Come here, Ms. Oyl. You can still vote here.” “Oh yes?”

“What name will I use?” said Olive. What a wretched sense of humour.

“Your own.” 

This is how Olive voted twice, yesterday morning. Actually only once herself but twice on the roll. Two Ms. Oyl voted yesterday in the very same polling station where only one of them was registered, of course. Because there is only one and only Olive Oyl.

When Popeye started asking questions about the validity of his vote and when he wondered, loud and clear, whether he should go back to his own polling station or not, someone said: “Oh, come on. Don’t worry. It does not matter. After all, you are French.”

Flabbergasted. They were flabbergasted.

They are French all right. So what?
One has to admit that like Shakespeare once said (about Denmark in “Hamlet”), there is something rotten in the state of Belgium...

Oh well, does it really matter? After all, when Popeye and Olive dropped their card in the ballot box, nobody ever said: “A voté”...

In France, voting is not compulsory but it is usually carried out according to the rules.

In Belgium, voting is compulsory. But one can obviously vote twice, according to the rule book.




*Good Luck, and Good Night*

Have a smoke!

In July 2011, non-smokers were expected to rejoice in Belgium when smoking was definitely banned from public places. Yes, that is right. July 2011. Probably beating the Western world record of disrespect for public health.

To be fair, smoking quit being allowed in schools in September 2008.

If you have been reading my blog long enough, you probably think I am quite biased against Belgium. This is totally untrue. It is not really a matter of sectarianism. I simply do not understand Belgium even though I have been living there for the past fourteen years.

As far as smoking is concerned, France reacted much earlier. Later than the US probably but as early as 1976 and 1991. The real ban came only in 2006 though.

Tobacco is heavily taxed in France. Last year, the government ‘earned’ 18 billion dollars from tobacco taxes, most of this money being pumped back into our ailing Social Security. The easy way to take care of people who get very sick because of tobacco.

Smoking is a very expensive pastime. A pack of cigarettes now costs  more or less 8 dollars and its price should go up pretty soon.

It sounds good for non-smokers, doesn’t it?

Well, let me tell you. I love to live in Brittany because people on the beach do not smoke... Or if they do, there is a lot of room to avoid them. But people usually don’t smoke while they are taking walks on the beach.

But try to take a long walk in Paris and I am sure that by the end of the day, your eyes will be watering and your throat will feel scratchy. Why? The ambient pollution? Yes but only partly.

People no longer smoke inside their office. It is totally forbidden.

Therefore, they break off every now and then and they go outside to smoke.

They usually stand on sidewalks when the weather is fine. When it’s raining, they still go outside to light their cigarette. Is there any other choice? 

They huddle in the entrance of their building. And then you do wonder what’s so enjoyable about smoking that people are ready to stand outside in the rain and in the cold while they are slowly inhaling poison. (Poisoning you too with the cloud of smoke they produce.)
 
Take a walk on the sidewalk and you become an innocent passive smoker because people smoke while they are walking by or because you walk by chain smokers. Your choice? Not really.

I used to love to sit at the terrace of cafés. It was so romantic in Paris. And it was fun in Brussels. Watching people walk by. Enjoying a sunny spot. Lazying around.

Nowadays, terraces are besieged by smokers who do smoke. Period. 

You look at the smokers and you feel like life is really unfair. They are enjoying the sidewalk and the sights and the passers-by and you can’t. Not anymore.

It is even worse when you get close to a school entrance hall. Then you do end up walking through a thick cloud of smoke. And you get lucky if you don’t get a cigarette burn on your way. (Kids under 16 are forbidden to buy cigarettes. What's going on there?)

And then the smokers will drop their butt without even putting it out. In Paris or Brussels, the butt goes out on its own but imagine what may happen along a country road when it ends up in a dry ditch.

The car drivers are even worse because they flick theirs through their slightly opened window. From time to time, the stub ends up dangerously close to you or in a baby carriage. (No kidding.)

I know I probably sound intolerant but if I feel like smoking, I want to do it on my own after weighing up the pros and cons and not because someone forces it upon me at every bend of my path.

I am pretty sure I won’t find many pros by the way. Who can in this day and age? Who can ignore the fact that “Smoking can seriously damage your health?” In France, they even took one step forward: “Smoking will kill you.”  Oh really?

What about us, harmless passers-by?

A while ago, I discovered this neon sign. The name of the café is “The Smoking Dog”... "Au chien qui fume"...

I had to stifle a nervous laughter though. In Paris, the dogs are pipe-smokers. In Brussels, smokers put their cigarette out in dog poop.




*Good Luck, and Good Night*

Enough Is Enough

When we moved to Brussels fourteen years ago, we did think that we’d be back to Paris very, very soon and forever. Wrong. Totally wrong.

Fourteen years have gone down the drain, bad years mostly and we’re still stuck there.

And it is getting worse, which was something that we never thought would happen because what’s worse than worse?

Two years ago, we were sort of “kicked” out of our house which had more or less been a very unhealthy place to live and we had not yet heard about asbestos in our bathrooms. Why did we put up with such a “posh slum” for so long and why did we moved back right in when it was supposedly fixed up (only half of it)?

Well, the answer is very simple and very complicated. I have not been feeling good for quite a long time and it is quite hard to find new lodgings in-between or after long and hard chemos... in-between hospital appointments, etc.

We had been “kicked out” but we had not moved out. All our stuff had been moved around by the building contractor in charge of renovating the part that had been destroyed by a very bad flood caused by our landlady’s carelessness.

The second reason is that Popeye is forever away on business. When he comes back home, he simply does not feel like finding a new house and above all, he hates the idea of moving.

So we got back into our “home”, only to discover that the renovation job had been very poorly done. Hence problems with our “slumlady”... who just did not understand why we were complaining.

Her answer was: “I have spent a lot of money on the house and I just don’t care any longer.” (Well, care, she never did anyway.)

We are peaceful and law-abiding people. We kept on paying our rent but after a little while, we decided that we had to do something! (Besides trying to find a new place to live which proved to be quite difficult if not impossible at the time.)

We hired a lawyer and we instigated legal proceedings against our landlady, while hoping that she would come to her senses.


Well, she does not and our life has become kind of hellish lately... We are back to trying to find a new place which is a little bit trying since we have quite a few criteria we can’t pass over.

I no longer drive in town and I need to be close to one tramway line, at least because it is hard to get a cab in Brussels. I need to live within walking distance from food stores to be independent whenever Popeye is away.

Popeye can’t afford to live far away from his office or from the Thalys station because in Brussels, traffic jams are a nuisance from dawn to dusk...

So there we are. We know she wants to kick us out. And it’s turning into a game of poker. She wants us out because we are fighting hard (which we should have done a long time ago). 

She does not want to get things fixed properly but if we move, she won’t be able to find new tenants until she has really got things fixed. (Because the problems are serious - electricity and plumbing and even worse, new leaks from the roof! Defects due to bad workmanship.) Which means loosing money and she loves easy-to-get money.

So there we are... looking at possible new houses and/or apartments and not finding anything!

And there she is, making our life as miserable as she can, hoping that we’ll go back to being so nice and quiet!

Enough is enough.

Enough is enough because...

Early this year, our mailman was “told” that we had moved away. We don’t know who lied nor why but the guy acted very unlawfully.

He knew we had not moved away. (Swee’ Pea’s and Popeye’s cars were still parked right in front of the house...). Besides, according to Belgian law, as long as a mailman does not get any official mention of people moving away, he’s suppposed to still deliver the mail to the same old address, in care of the “new” tenant.

Our mail disappeared for quite a few months. We had to fight and fight. Who has ever tried to fight against civil services, especially in a foreign country? Well, we did and we finally won. Of course, we never got our mail back because the mailman never wanted to say what he’d done with it! And we had no proof that we had got mail anyway! No mail. No proof. As simple as that... even when I started getting phone calls from some people asking me where I was since I was not answering their mail nor paying bills!


We now have a new mailman and every time there is a relapse (yes, someone still pretends from time to time that we have moved away), we fight again but at least, we now know what to do. At least our mail does not disappear. It’s just sent back to sender. That’s how we know someone is still fooling around.

Enough is enough because...

This week, we got a letter from the phone company. They were letting us know that they would be disconnecting our phone lines in a few days since we had asked them to do so. (Probably because we were moving away, I imagine.)

When I called the helpdesk, I was told that Popeye had called them to have our lines disconnected. They even gave me his phone number. Which is not his phone number at all, of course. I really was outraged. Well, the clerk was very nice so I tried to stay calm. Everything was called off. Promise, promise!

Until next time!

Enough is enough, really...





*Good Luck, and Good Night*

Belgium! Oh, Belgium...

The new Belgian government

Belgium is a very strange country indeed!

Did you know that Belgium boasts a new government since the 6th of December.

I am not kidding. After about eighteen months of governmental vacuum... well not absolute vacuum considering all the bickering, false hopes and a lot of hatred than went on and on... until King Albert said that enough is enough... which he was not even supposed to say and probably never said.

Belgium being on the brink of going bankrupt desperately needed a government... The basic problem being Flemish, the new Prime Minister is Walloon (for the first time in more than 30 years). It does not make sense. This is Belgium.

Today, it looks like Belgians loved being without a government even though they were heading straight for disaster. Now they have a government and Belgium is totally paralyzed because of a general strike (civil service, of course)... This is Belgium.

Don’t take me wrong. I do not hate Belgium. France loves general strikes and even better, general strikes in its civil service. Job security obviously allows you to disrupt the economy and even worse the everyday life of people who are not civil servants.

I have been living in Belgium for quite a few years now but Belgium never stops surprising me... which would be a great thing if I were in love with this small kingdom.

Let me tell you my last experience...

I am going to be chauvinistic of course but you all know how prejudiced I can be.

It all started because I needed a new mobile subscription and a new phone. No need for details.

When this happens in France, you go get a new subscription from a phone company and they give you a very, very nice discount on your new phone. Very, very nice!

But I am living in Belgium where there are 3 mobile phone companies - A, B and C.


I go to the first store I find - A, of course.

“I’d like to get a subscription from your company. What’s your best offer?”

“None. Very sorry. We do not have the same system you have in France.” (I do have a very strong French accent, don’t I?)

“Ok. Too bad...” (Bye, bye, new subscription and new phone... New phone and new subscription...)

“Wait a minute,” says the A company guy. “I may have a solution for you, though. It is Christmas time and we offer you a 100€ rebate if you buy a phone from us and... and only if you are a customer from company B or C, hence opening a new account in our A company and switching from them to us.”

Great! Very interesting proposal indeed. Stealing customers for 100€... Amazing!

Except that I do not have a current account in B nor C.

“This is not a problem. Not at all. You have a B store downstairs. Go there and buy a “Pay&Go card” from them. This will provide you with a B call number. Enough for us. Then we open an account for you and you get your 100€ rebate... as soon as your form gets approved. A matter of a few hours, really.”

One look at Popeye who looks as flabbergasted as me.

All right. This is Belgium, right?

I go to the B store. 

A very nice guy smiles at me and... shame on me!

“Hello. I just got to Brussels and my French phone does not work here. (Stupid French phone companies, really!) I desperately need a Pay&Go card. Can you sell one to me?”

And yes, I feel very bad.

“No problem. How long will you be staying?”

“Two days so a 10€ card should be fine.”

“There it is, Madam. How do you like Brussels?”


“Oh splendid, splendid. I love Brussels. I do.”

And no, I do not drop dead.

Besides I've had enough time to look around and there is no special offer for Christmas.

I go back to the A store with my B Pay&Go card... They need my id. I give them my id. They need my credit card... This is getting serious.

To make the story short, this is how I now have a brand new phone with a 100€ rebate and a brand new contract with the A company with a B phone number from a 10€ Pay&Go card.

I tried to tell the story to a couple of French friends, not used to life in Belgium. They looked so appalled... at my behavior maybe. I did not dare ask them...

Well, this is Belgium after all.

They did the worst thing ever - They threw my books away...

Ⓒwordpress

 

 

When our house was flooded in September 2009 during a terrible storm, we went through all sorts of problems.

Problems that go along with flooding of course. A very unpleasant experience but at the time, we didn’t feel too bad. Life is not always pleasant and we had not lost too many things after all.

Life has taught us not to worry too much about material damages. This is a very positive lesson learned from fighting cancer.

But up to a certain point!

Flooding was one thing. You can’t beat a storm.

But the second flooding in my den... could have been avoided if only someone had not forgotten to turn the water off when he changed the sink in the upstairs bathroom.

They never said anything but I noticed something was wrong as soon as I came back. Trust me. I am a photographer and I see things that most people miss.

The ceiling looked weird, kind of bumpy. Since it had been completely redone after collapsing because of the flood, no one could fool me, especially not the contractor.

Before the ceiling collapsed, we had had enough time to empty my den and to pile up my somewhat damp but otherwise safe books in another room.

This time was different.

When I came back,  I noticed a lot of greyish dust around. I decided to start cleaning what I thought to be the remains of some heavy refurbishing.

Then I heard about the new flooding from my cleaning lady.

I had to clean and sort my books again. I found a nice program to sort books on the web... And I started to remove the books away from the shelves. Tiring but almost fun. Duster in one hand, computer ready. Checking the books, cleaning them and then sorting them on the landing.

It looked like a lot of fun at first since I very rarely get out of the house in Belgium. Popeye was a little bit worried by the extent of the job!

I kept going and going and going... Working, working, working.
My nights were great. I slept like a baby. Wait, babies don’t sleep. I slept like an old cat then.

Every morning, back to work. The bookshelves were chaos. But I was finding old friends. So much fun.

Until yesterday when I got close to the place which had obviously been flooded twice... Most of my oldest English books section.

Some books were «glued» together. I started to get worried. Since I was classifying them as well as dusting them, I started realizing that some were missing!

Yes, there were books missing! Definitely missing.

You see, I’m crazy about books. Take me shopping for clothes, I probably won’t care unless I really, really need new clothes.

But never let me go into a bookstore... which is something I will do anyway behind your back.

Books, I love books!

I love used books. I love new books. I love books.

I was a mouse in a previous life. I lived in a very old bookstore, eating books and liking them so much, licking my moustache with delight just the way I sigh with pure happiness and delight every time I’m reading a very good book. (I no longer have a moustache, thank you.)

I started to read quite young. Books became very precious. Whenever life was no bed of roses, I’d start reading a book. I survived because books were there, opening a new world for me. And protecting me from reality.

I belong to the kind of people who don’t really need to travel because they have already been to so many places through their mind.

I am so grateful to those wonderful writers who taught me all about life, all about others, all about myself, after all.

And so back to me sorting and dusting and cleaning my beloved books. Yes, quite a few were missing. I found out more or less which ones. It was quite easy actually but I won’t tell you all my secrets today. It broke my heart. Most of them were very old books (bought when I was much, much younger). Some I had read again and again.

And I knew very well where they ended. The dustbin. The men who fixed the ceiling again probably thought that they would be too much of a proof someone had been clumsy. Off to the dustbin they went.

There are so many books on my bookshelves that they imagined I wouldn’t notice. But I did. And I miss them...

You see, when my brother died suddenly, I had to go through sorting his stuff. It was such a harrowing experience that when I came back to our home, I threw away all the small trinkets and souvenirs I had brought back from travels or bought on a whim. I did not want to put my men through what I had just lived. Just in case.

But books, books... you don’t throw books away. You pass them on to the next generation and the next and the next (hoping they will read French, Spanish and English, of course) or friends... Books keep on living a long time after you are gone.

Do you remember the first thing the Inquisition  did all over Europe with priceless scrolls and books? Do you remember what Nazis did as soon as they came to power? They burnt books because books are somehow like the human soul. They represent ideas and beliefs. And ideas and beliefs are what life is made of, to start with.

Ray Bradbury wrote a very interesting book about the whole process. It is called «Fahrenheit 451». Read it. It is gripping and absolutely frightening (but not scary).

Well, one of the books they threw away was my beloved Walt Whitman’s ‘Leaves of Grass’.

One of my life companions.


They did the worst thing ever. They threw my books away.




*Good Luck, and Good Night*

BELGIQUE: 1 / IRAK: 0

ⒸLe Soir

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, they did it! Belgium won its world record... Longest time ever without a government.

February 17th - 8:44 - Belgium officially wins the world record for ‘lack of government’ - 249 days.

Since we are living in a crazy country, as soon as the record was established, other voices were heard.

The world record has probably been established already ever since the 8th of February if you start counting from the day PM-to-be Leterme resigned from his post, opening the way to the worst European political crisis in a long time.

On the other hand if you start counting the days of mayhem on an Iraki basis, meaning the day Irak got a true government and not the day political parties came to an agreement to govern the country, then we’ll have to wait until March 29th and hit the perfect score: 289 days.

Obviously, Belgium has already chosen her record - 249 days. And believe me, Belgians are extremely proud of it! They have started to boast about it in the newspapers, on the radio, on tv, everywhere.

On January 23rd, they chose to demonstrate their ‘anger’ (too strong a word for Belgians) and they called it "shame", very peaceful and mostly French-speaking in Brussels. (30.000 people)

On Thursday, there was something called ‘Pas en notre nom/Niet in onze naam’, organized by some 5.000 students, mainly Flemish. Of course, being in Belgium, it became known as the ‘Revolution of the (French/Freedom) Fries’ since everybody knows that Belgium has invented fried potatoes. (Which is true by the way.)

Ever since I have been living in Belgium, I have always been torn apart whenever something serious happens there.

I usually start feeling appalled at the Belgians’ lack of reactions whatsoever. And then, I give a shrug. And I end up joking about whatever happened.

Well, not really after all.

I always feel ill at ease, angry and close to crying most of the time because I do not understand the passiveness and the lack of involvement of Belgians. It looks like as if they just don’t care about anything. They are acting like sheep so easy to drive to the slaughterhouse.

It is hard to believe it but for those of you who understand and read French, go to Le Soir. It is read by most French-speaking Belgians.

I’ve been reading it almost every day now! Plus all the news I get on the Web... because you see, I’m worried, not only for being an expat there but mainly because I feel so strongly European.

By the way, I am not trying to be negative about Le Soir. It’s just that it is very boring unless you love reading about accidents and «news in brief». Now you find a special page dedicated to the political crisis...

If you don’t read French fluently, I will tell you what’s in Le Soir ever since they won the world record.

A list of world records won by Belgians. Yes, this is true. Those 249 days without a government (and maybe one whole year, who knows) represent a record that will be written down in the Guiness Book of Records.

And this is great! A wonderful achievement probably since Belgium has not been achieving much lately...

Hip hip hurrah!

Last record set - 249 days without a government (and a country about to  
be split in two, three, four parts... and more... who wants a piece of Belgium?)

In 2010, Chris Verschueren fried 1.500 kilos of potatoes during 83 hours. He rested 5 mns every hour. World record.

Hip hip hurrah!

One world record of hula hoop - 2.875 people in Ostende during 2 minutes.

Hip hip hurrah!

Stefaan Engels run 20 Ironman triathlons in one year (between december 2007 and november 2008). World record.

Hip hip hurrah!

World record again - Last year, Kim Clijsters defeated Serena Williams in front of 35.681 spectators at King Baudouin stadium. The greatest number of spectators ever... for a tennis game.

Hip hip hurrah!

Last but not least and I’m getting tired and a little bit nauseated since all those records and many more are quoted in Le Soir, boasting about Belgium gift for world records... unless this is true Belgian humour.

In 2009, 539 persons won the world record for running backwards in Kapellen.

Hip hip hurrah!

It is so hilarious, isn’t it?

Come on, Belgium, wake up. All over the world, people are fighting for freedom and righteous governments.

Wake up! Your world record is pitiful.

Have you forgotten the horrors Irak had been through before they finally formed a government? How dare you compare yourselves to the Iraki people who had been through dictatorship and one very unjust war plus a stint of unnamed civil/religious war...

How dare you speak of a world record?

Do something instead of making light of a very disgraceful situation. Do something. Get back together or split or... but do something.

Aren’t you lucky (lucky is not the right word but I’m in Belgium after all), aren’t you lucky that the world is so worried about the turmoils in the Middle East that you are not too much of a laughing stock after all.

Wake up, Belgians!

Aren’t you getting fed up with your men growing beards, with your women being on a sex strike and your students and their fried potatoes?

Maybe you should write every day to your politicians... One post card would do the trick! You should urge them to read Plato's Republic. Then maybe after a while, they would get the message and start a government, fair and democratic.



Hip hip hurrah for Plato, Socrates and the Republic!






*Good Luck, and Good Night*