Nearing the End



MONDAY, November 26, 1995.

G-d forbid I start getting sentimental, but my time in Europe is rapidly drawing to a close. I'm craving fresh Italian oranges and cappuccino. Last you heard, I'd successfully driven from Zurich to Brussels, leaving my six months in Switzerland behind. That seems like years ago.

Gaelle has a U.S. mailing address that gets delivered to a mailbox inside NATO headquarters here in Brussels. Two Friday evenings ago, we went out to pick up her mail. When we arrived, we went to sign in and I realized that I had gone out without any form of ID. I'd forgotten my wallet. Security regulations mandate that I shouldn't be allowed in, but the security guy cut us a break and filled out the paper work without ID. Anyway, on the way out he asked Gaelle in a joking manner if there was any trouble. Gaelle said, "Well, he planted a few bombs." Somehow, this didn't strike me as funny. I could see it. That night there would be an explosion or a bomb threat and I'd be in jail faster than I could say "I didn't do it." Anyway, the guard managed to laugh that off too. That's ultra-high security for ya!

After posing as terrorists at NATO, we went out dancing at a "wave" party at the local university. It was a basement party room filled with Flemish speaking Belgian college students dressed up like band members of "The Cure." We supplemented our buzzes from the small pub we'd hit beforehand with some cheap beer. You had to leave deposits on the mugs. If you put the mug down for a second, it got stolen. Petty nonsense, but the party was fun. The music was good enough to keep us dancing until about 3:30 AM. Then it was time to crash.

On Saturday, we slept in (big surprise) and managed to stumble out to "Media Planet", a multimedia trade show at the convention center, some time late in the afternoon. We took a look around at the wares, and Gaelle researched internet service providers for her office. Perhaps the highlight of the show was the giant inflatable Windows '95 box that was walking around bumping into everyone. Microsoft? Aggressive marketing? Nah, never. After the trade show, we smuggled some Belgian fries into the theater to see "Forget Paris."

Sunday morning, we went to "breakfast at the movies." We'd done this once before during one of my weekend visits in Brussels. It's pretty cool. You go to the theater about a half an hour before the film starts and hang out in the lobby sipping coffee and eating croissants. It's extremely informal. Movies aren't usually a good way to meet people, but this is a welcome exception. There's a charming, sleepy, communal atmosphere. Unfortunately, this time we got there a little late and all the croissants were gone. The film was Nell, which was pretty good, but overdone, a bit too much of Jodie Foster speaking like a retarded recluse: "Liek a Tway en da Wyn." (Like a tree in the wind.)

Sunday night after running some errands, we went out to a small barrrestaurant just because it seemed too early to go home. I've done a lot of things in the past year, but this one may take the cake for the most eccentric. We ended up playing Trivial Pursuit in Flemish. Well, you're right, we don't speak Flemish, but Gaelle and I could sort of decipher some of it. We were just joking around with it, when these two guys asked if they could play, too. Luckily, one of the guys was a native Flemish speaker and could help out with translations, but it was still pretty obscure. "What late-night Flemish talk show host said...?"

Monday and Tuesday were quiet days around Brussels. Gaelle had to work. I got my hair cut super short, sorted through my things, and shipped three boxes of stuff to the U.S. Tuesday night we went out for Indian food; afterward, I had a craving for ice cream. Haagen Dazs closed 1.4 seconds before we arrived. Another ice cream parlor near the Grand Place looked like it'd been closed for hours. We ended up at a smoky restaurant nearby. It wouldn't be worth mentioning the restaurant or the mediocre mocha milkshake if not for our waiter. He was one of the most bizarre looking people I've ever seen. His upper lip looked as though someone had threaded a piece of invisible nylon string through the middle of it and was pulling it upwards toward the ceiling. His sideburns were long and skinny and went nearly to his chin before they hooked upward into a strange visual syncopation with his upper lip. Gaelle and I have been commenting on him ever since. OK, so we're cruel and insensitive like kids in the school yard.

Wednesday I headed to Argilly, a small French town near Dijon, to spend Thanksgiving with my friend, Caroline (not my high school girlfriend, a friend from my summer at Apple), her brother, Lindsay, and his significant other, Cathy. Gaelle dropped me off at the train station in Brussels. We'd planned to meet up with each other in Paris on Friday night. I'd take the train in from Dijon, she from Brussels, and we'd go to dinner at La Dinee. When I tried to reserve my seat on the TGV (French high speed train) to Paris for Friday afternoon, I was informed about more strikes! Argh! The Belgian and French trains were going to be on strike on Thursday and Friday! This meant that both Gaelle and I would have to find alternate means to get to Paris or we'd have to cancel the trip. We'd already canceled a weekend in Paris back when I got sick. I left a message on Gaelle's answering machine with the bad news and boarded the train hoping everything would work out... somehow.

I arrived in Paris, took the metro from Gare du Nord to Gare du Lyon and hopped on the TGV to Dijon. It was simple and familiar, save for the fact that I had to jump a couple of turnstiles because I couldn't figure out how to buy a metro ticket. Right according to plan, Caroline and Lindsay scooped me up at the station and whisked me back by car to his place in Argilly. Lindsay's place is a large building previously used to house a miscellany of shops. He's doing one hell of a job renovating it into a beautiful home. The rooms that haven't been renovated don't look like much, but the rooms that are finished are gorgeous. My bedroom was absolutely beautiful, wide planked wooden floors, thick rafters, a view of the countryside, antique wooden furniture. It's the room I'd expect to get on a $300-a-night French countryside getaway. In the morning, I woke to the sound of roosters cock-a-doodle-dooing.

Thanksgiving arrived, and there I was with two British siblings and a French significant other in Argilly, France. Turkey, stuffing and cranberries were nowhere to be seen. Not being a great fan of these traditional American eats, I wasn't too disappointed, though it would've been nice to spend some time with my family. During the day, Caroline and I rode bicycles about 10 miles from Argilly into the nearby city of Beaunne. I'd always heard about "biking in the French countryside." Well, people talk about it for a reason; it's nice. In Beaunne, we visited a beautiful hospice turned museum. The building had one of those fabulous tiled roofs. The pharmacy sported bottles of all kinds of great poisons like cyanide as well as more useful medications. We bopped around town, drooled over all the baked goods, ate a delightful omelette in a bistro, bought Dijon mustard, and picked up a few odds and ends for dinner, before biking back to Argilly through a misty rain. Dinner was a fine feast of sauteed leeks, cornish hen, broiled potatoes, cheese, wine, cake, and (viola!) Belgian chocolates. I went to bed a bit too full, but plenty content.

Friday morning, I slept in, and then went out walking with Caroline. We strolled down the road, past a deer farm to a forest where Lindsay collects his fire wood. On the way back, I saw a chicken cross the road. It seemed that he wanted to get to the other side. We were back at the house in time to enjoy some homemade quiche (I guess I'm not a real man), before Cathy drove Caroline and me into Dijon to pick up our rental car. Caroline had been planning to go to Paris as well, so it worked out for us to share the rental. Gaelle was going to drive down from Brussels. The rental car was a Renault Twingo, one of the more bizarre looking of the cheap, small, Euro go-boxes. The only gauge on the dash was a digital speedometer. The car didn't even have an odometer (or unlimited free mileage)! Despite its odd appearance and lack of instruments, it carried us to the outskirts of Paris where we stopped in to see an old friend of Caroline's. He (much to my relief) drove us into the city, since he knew how to avoid traffic and he even knew where my hotel was! OK, so I'd made it, but I was still waiting for Gaelle. I was stressed for her, driving in Paris on a heavy traffic day in the dark. Luckily, everything worked out. Gaelle arrived just after 7:30, enough time for us to change, fight for a taxi and get to La Dinee by 9 - only 30 minutes late for our reservation. Getting a taxi was a real challenge since everyone in the entire city was trying to do the same thing. The Metro was on strike too. Strikes suck.

Photos of Beaunne and Argilly

No surprise: the meal was delicious. We both went for the daily menu, including a bottle of the recommended red wine. I'm no wine expert, but it was darn good, and perfect with the meal. First they brought us small, shallow bowls of thick lobster soup, more the consistency of a sauce. We ate this with little spoons and via the critically acclaimed "bread dunking method." Then came my favorite part of the meal, a calamari and scallop salad. The calamari melted in my mouth, the scallops were a certified sin, and the assortment of herbs, leaves, etc., worked for me. The main course was a rectangular solid of a white fish, a layer of crispy skin on top, sitting in a bowl of fish broth with finely chopped vegetables. This was quite tasty, but in my opinion, it fell slightly short of the chef's potential. The thing that bugged me was that the broth was a little bit too salty and fishy. For the cheese course, we shared one plate of "pick your own from the tray" and a tasty thing with banana, nuts and melted cheese. By this time, we could hardly handle a dessert each, so we shared the "assorted chocolate stuff", and I really dug the white chocolate sauce that came on the side. Then an espresso, and another, much easier to acquire, taxi back to the hotel. Bliss.

Saturday, we walked around Paris. Gaelle hadn't been there since she was a kid, so it was as if it was her first time. The first order of business was lunch, which took the form of Parisian street crepes. Oh, how I'd missed them. Better than Belgian waffles, and I dare say, more fun than a good cappuccino. From our hotel we headed across the Seine with the intention of heading toward the Louvre.

We were standing in front of Notre Dame checking out the sights when I heard a camera advancing and noticed a guy dash out from behind Gaelle. Weird. I started watching him. This guy was going around and taking pictures of people's backs while they were stopped, staring at the Cathedral. Really strange. Finally, I convinced Gaelle (who speaks French) to go ask him what he was doing. He had an odd looking face and seemed extremely embarrassed. We asked if he was an artist working on a project. He just fed us some line about working for a newspaper. Yeah, right.

As if the train and metro strikes weren't enough, Parisians also have recently been victims of terrorist bombs. When I was in Strasbourg the first week in October, the train station lockers were closed. They're still closed. Further, all of the city garbage cans on the streets of Paris are closed. A metal cover prevents them from being used. No one walking down the street seems quite sure what to do with their garbage. It's really confusing to see a garbage can but not be able to get anything into it.

From Notre Dame, we checked out the Hotel de Ville and then pushed through the bustling streets of Paris to the Louvre, through the Jardin Des Tuileries and up the Champs Elysses. We stopped to sip some hot chocolate and do some great people watching, then ducked into the Virgin MegaStore to be overwhelmed by the prices and the selection. Then we climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe where I once again marveled at the traffic patterns below. The magnetic nighttime view of the Eiffel Tower pulled us toward our next destination. We took the Metro to the Trocadero and frolicked near the fountains, before crossing the river and taking the elevator to the top of the Eiffel tower. The wind up at the top was unbelievable. It was romantic standing up there, clothes flapping in the wind, holding hands and looking out over Paris. We went down to the first level, had drinks at the bar, and enjoyed a romantic moment in the Eiffel Tower.

Sunday morning when we went to check out of our hotel, it turned out that phone calls couldn't be included on the charge card. I'd made an expensive phone call to New York, and it turned out that we didn't have quite enough cash to cover it. This was a major problem considering that the desk clerk had an IQ of about 7. He didn't even know how to subtract! After a trip to the corner to a cash machine that wouldn't take any of my cards, we finally persuaded him (and dealt with the arithmetic) to charge the difference (only a few dollars) to my credit card. Funny thing is, a few minutes later both Gaelle and I found money in our pockets that was more than enough to cover the phone calls. And so it goes...

We had another crepe, a mediocre lunch at a corner cafe, and then drove back to Brussels.



Copyright 1997 by Bradley Edelman
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E-mail: Brad Edelman