A week before the Easter vacation, I met a group of 17 french high schoolers at 4am at the Toulouse airport to count heads and distribute some 'pains au lait' before flying to Toronto, Canada for two weeks. I chanced upon a chaperone position (aka free flight) which I couldn't refuse. Back to North America, land of frozen cappuccinos, SUVs, and dollar stores.
THE photo of Canada--complete with geese
Taken from Tommy Thompson park
After a relatively hiccup-less journey, we separated to find host families and somewhere to take a nap. I was staying with a lovely retired english teacher who, by the end of the trip named herself my Canadian granny, and her perfectly fat cat Bob who purred reassuringly at me every time I woke from jetlag, when I came home, or when I wasn't giving him the attention he commanded (actually in that case he would also throw himself down with a thud). One of the Canadian professors lent me a sturdy bike and I had my freedom (nights and weekends). Days were spent touring with the class.
Just before setting off from Toulouse, I had had my bike fixed and had tasted again life being spent outside of the underground, the wasted hours of studying shoes and dodging handbags, just barely missing the closing doors or the right stop. Whenever possible in Toronto I chose bike over bus and good thing too, with those typical american portions for dinner. The first day out, I walked through the Ukrainian district (thanks Anna) to exchange my euro for canadian dollars, and before shuffling down to Toronto Lake, on through High Park to get my first view of authentic Canadian geese. I was chuffed. Even more thrilling were the squirrels.
A modern day Canadian fort?
On one of my days off, I went a few extra miles on the bike on the convenient bike trails through town, cruising through the old graveyard all the way down the Don river to the Tommy Thompson park for a grand view of Toronto's skyline and wild birdies, finishing with the beaches.
Crawford Lake
Although the temps was around zero and we saw quite a bit of rain, I reveled in every chance to trot around outdoors. We took an outing to a reconstructed Huron Native American village near a lake (as they all were), and once again I found myself being lectured about the history of Native Americans (I always tuned this out during my adolescence, but from a european perspective and just because the kids were started to nod off, I paid strict attention).
A maple syrup fire pit
Also in the schedule was a hike down Bruce Trail, apparently the oldest and longest in Canada. Some of the girls hid in the back of the bus but were eventually scouted out to be cajoled into joining the rest of us (they were the first to get back, and made sure I was aware of it). We definitely didn't go allll the way down the trail, but far enough to feel proud.
We did spend a fair amount of time taking a gander around the 'mosaic city' shopping and museum-wandering. Called a 'mosaic' because of its pieced-together ethnic structure, you could literally travel from Chinatown to Little Italy to the Greek quarter in one afternoon for a miniature tour of europe. I took almost full advantage of the fooding possibilities, no surprise.
Casa Loma, the only Canadian castle to be found
Which happened to be haunted
This room in particular
Chinatown
Greektown!
The indie Kensington Market quarter
In the Science center
(this is supposed to be my face made from water bubbles..
maybe a bit more experimenting in order)
The video games expo
(you can imagine the boys' reaction)
Inside one of the many malls
Toronto Island from the CN tower
The CN tower, which sadly lost its status as tallest
structure to a skyscraper in Dubai
Otherwise, Toronto reminded me of Chicago, being an impatient, bustling city, and also my second hometown Springfield, Missouri for the indie art-lovers. Many walls throughout the city shone smugly with quality street art and the streets were lined with galleries, titchy bookshops, and vintage clothing boutiques.
Some even accessorising with scraggly little dogs. ==>
But my favorite piece of the urban artwork, again a huge merci beaucoup to Anna for introducing me to her lovely friend Kat, was the grounds of the University of Toronto. She gave me a private student's tour, peeking around a few halls and classrooms, all the while I was giddily reminded of Oxford.
But beyond the touring and architecture, my unanticipated appreciation of Toronto and Canada developed in new connections with the kind, genuine, clever, and generous people I encountered. Several from, but not limited to, Couchsurfing, which included a unique Japanese dinner and a NY Yankees game (supplemented with the best spicy Italian sausage in the world). Others became family and are added to my 'postcard' address list. And several more reminded me just how precious a real friendship can be. I found in Toronto a third north american 'hometown', one I would love to visit again purely to see a few familiar faces.
THE stanley cup, which sadly
the leafs did not win (again) this year
So, right, how could I neglect the strongest presence in Ontario...
how about that hockey?
Pour moi Bruxelles avait un mystère que je voulais connaitre. J'ai lu quelques romans d'Amèlie Nothomb et je me suis dit que pour un caractère assez excentrique et beau, la ville serait une belle-ame, ce qui me correspondera peut-être aussi. Depuis plus d'un an, j'avais cherché les vols pas chers mais ce n'était pas encore le bon moment. A ce moment la, en février, lorsque Sasha s'est exclamé 'let's do it!', je le sentais. C'était mon anniversaire après tout, et la dernière chance de voyager avec mes meilleures amies à Toulouse, du coup il n'y avait aucune raison de dire 'non'.
Emma et moi, nous sommes descendues d'avion chic (Ryanair) à Charleroi pour attraper une navette à la ville. La première chose que j'ai remarqué c'était la plus importante. Effectivement, les frites. Quand j'ai lu les livres guides du Bruxelles et appris que les frites sont vendus sans les hamburgers atroces (et dans les kiosques partout en ville), c'était clair que les belges connaissent mon coeur.
En bus, on était toutes les deux choquées par la ressemblance du paysage avec l'Angleterre. Nos yeux était collées aux fenêtres en disant, 'Mais non en fait on est venu aux collines de la Grande Bretagne, c'est sur'.
Ma couchsurfeuse Vanessa toute gentille est venue à la gare pour nous chercher et nous amener chez Chris, le couchsurfer d'Emma pour dîner pendant qu'elle travaillait ailleurs. Le dîner était moroccan à grace à son coloc, et merveilleux, pas du surprise, avec plusieurs bières trappistes et du fruit et du chocolat. J'avais déjà accompli deux objectifs alimentaires. Trop facile. Et alléchant, comme j'en avais visualisé.
Puis, on a marché dans le froid pour retrouver Vanessa et aller boire plus de bière (c'était la saison, jugez pas) dans un bar plutôt hipster. C'était un peu le theme de ce séjour, le 'hipsterisme'. Vanessa était curieuse pour le faire connaissance, du coup tout le temps s'était passé par mettre le doigt en chuchotant 'et lui? Il est bien hipster?' Normalement elle avait raison.
Vanessa
So the reason for the title, and for switching now to English, is to highlight one of my adorations for Brussels. It is simply a city of three languages. Almost everything is translated from French into English and Dutch, and just about everyone on the street speaks at least those three. Well why not, anyway? If you can speak one, speak three, or even six. I had finally found an in-between of France and England, and was no longer an expat, nor a francophone wanna-be. I was just simply a hybrid, like everyone else. My host Vanessa was continually switching mid-sentence, depending on her mood or her carefully chosen vocabulary. I loved it. I was at home!
The following afternoon after a snuggle with Luna, Vanessa's princess reincarnated cat, a cup of tea and a yoga session, I met up with Emma to scavenge the streets for... you guessed it, waffles. And the pissing boy statue. Apparently this was a no-miss incomprehensible tourist attraction and icon for the city. Everyone meandered around it munching on fried bread oozing with melted chocolate, staring quizzically at the...pissing boy.
I was definitely more thrilled about what was in my hands.
Oh my waffles.
That being done we walked up through the downtown grand-place, admiring a few window displays. Twas the easter season, after all, then through the business district to catch the bus to Amsterdam (see blog) to return three days later.
Chocolate? Samples? Yes please..
Another nicetie of the north--lace.
I think I can wait a few years before I start that sort of collection.
La Grand-Place de Bruxelles
I couldn't forget the speculoos frenzy.
I hadn't heard of this stuff before I came to France.
It's a bit like a ginger snap with a brown sugar complex.
En rentrant on a trouvé Chris, le hôte trop genereux d'Emma, et sa copine tellement amicale (avec un amour reciproque de la langue française) dans le bar <<Délirium>> bien connu dans le livre des records de Guinness pour combien des bières il avait. Plus de deux milles! Emma a pris une sans gluten, moi une de pamplemousse, et Anna, une de chocolat. Je préférais celle du chocolat.
Comme j'ai normalement de la chance (on tappe la bois), Vanessa était libre pendant la journée. On a fait une ballade super sympa autour de la ville jusqu'à le parc du Cinquantenaire pendant que j'admirais toutes les grandes rues, les belles portes, les affiches des gauffres.. Ou voila, il y a mes photos.
The neighborhood of EU buildings,
as I'm sure all you political experts already know
Brussels is the capitol of the EU.
I like doors. I think they like me a little too.
Après une longe ballade sous les étoiles via les quartiers qui me rappelaient de San Francisco puis de Londrès, puis de Paris, et encore de Londrès, on a bien bouffé chez le resto de sa mère, une fois encore j'ai de la chance, il était thailandais! yum!!
Et trop tristement, c'était le matin, et l'heure de rentrer chez moi.
J'avais trouvé des amitiés très profonds, une avec une ville funky et spectacular, une avec une couchsurfeuse spéciale. C'est pour ça qu'on prends les chances; on trouves les conséquences extraordinaires.
Je pense que même Luna était d'accord qu'il faut que je revienne à Bruxelles.
Emma and I were advised the no-miss day trip in Belgium was the lively Gent. So we, headstrong and following our instincts, went to Bruges and were anything but disappointed.
My immediate reaction on leaving the little train station was, 'I can't wait to move to Oxford!' This may have been partly because for once there was no need for a sweaty, rickety, expensive metro. Sweet relief to be able to walk the entirety in one day. The other part was its uncanny Anglo resemblance.
The squeeze-your-cheeks angelic little town was as cozy as a hot chocolate with Cadbury's fingers next to a fire (or radiator, to be more realistic) complete with Mansfield Park on my kindle.
And the sun even warmed the tips of our noses as we casually picnicked next to the canal.
The square, complete with ever-present horses
Not sure why, I was bound and determined to seek out the 'Christ's Blood' in the Basilica.
Ta da!
I wasn't going to pay respects exactly; it just kinda seemed cool. Then absolutely awkward as I walked into the wrong museum and blurted out, 'Je cherche...uhh...le...sang?' ('I'm looking for the blood please,' or, 'I'm obviously some kind of tourist vampire polite enough to ask directions before going for lunch'). The woman patiently smiled at me, pointing me across the cobbly street.
We skipped up the circular staircase and on entering the chapel, slowly approached the stairs at the top of which a priest on a throne guarded the vessel protecting the 'holy blood'.
My eyes widened imagining the poor guy's career.
"How was your week?"
"Oh well, the same, you know. People gawked at me as I counted once again the floor stones. Then the red bits in the stained glasswork. Then I tried to understand what those giggling english girls were going on about but eventually gave up."
"Any chance of promotion yet?"
"..."
Emma rolled her eyes at my incredulity before going outside to see a famous little frog on a romantic bronze statue. Supposedly after 1000 times being kissed, the frog would turn into that inevitable prince. Not risking the odds, I only leaned in for a picture and left my lips a good few inches away.
I then went running after Michelangelo's only statue outside of Italy, but after circling the Church of our Lady several times (while finding two other statues of Madonna and Child might I add) accepted it was already closed. Well. Next time.
Even the snowmen profit from Belgium beer. Bless.
We chanced upon a genius time of year to visit Belgium for les gourmands- the period of furry white bunnies and multi-colored eggs.
What does that spell?
C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E.
The window displays showcased the chocolate capital of the world's finest sweets in an especially creative fashion. Although some seemed slightly...out of season.
Place Central au crépuscule
Towards the end of the afternoon as the sun gently left us in the shade, I hesitated, whimpering outside yet another teensy shop bragging of sugary talents, fixated on the fudge display. Emma elbowed me, "Go ooonnnn, GET some." We were soon happily munching our caramel. I even had some left over to take to my Brussels couchsurfing host. Everybody scored.
After a relatively hiccup-less journey, we separated to find host families and somewhere to take a nap. I was staying with a lovely retired english teacher who, by the end of the trip named herself my Canadian granny, and her perfectly fat cat Bob who purred reassuringly at me every time I woke from jetlag, when I came home, or when I wasn't giving him the attention he commanded (actually in that case he would also throw himself down with a thud). One of the Canadian professors lent me a sturdy bike and I had my freedom (nights and weekends). Days were spent touring with the class.
