Ok. Well, tons has happened. I got my bag, yes. All is good. I'm glad I have it, but still kinda wish I didn't. Whatever, not thinking about that. So yesterday I set out on foot to get the car. Wandered thru Brussels Square again; found Manneken Pis, the famous statue of the little boy pissing. What's will all this blogging about urination; it seems to be a theme...ok anyways, I grabbed a chocolate covered waffle nearby. Ya that's all...chocolate Belgian waffle...nbd.
Continued on to find the car rental place; wasn't there. Ducked into a travel agency and they told me it moved to the train station. Walked another 15 mins. Took a little 360 video at a random intersection; I just had a big moment of realization of where I was...so different, so cool. I also realized how beautiful the people are here. "Average" young people, especially women, are gorgeous; stylish and classy model types just strolling down the street everywhere, often just with other women. It's nice to not be surrounded by boring, smelly hipsters for once. YA, THAT'S YOU, VANCOUVER. But I digress.
Finally got the car and found my way out of the station. God I miss how they drive here; with purpose, with attentiveness, and with RESPECT. I felt comfortable right away on the road...although there were still a few hairy moments with people sneaking up on the right all the time.
So I was trying to find my way back to the hotel, and I turned too soon, couldn't get through the town centre so I had to double back to the main road. Then I had my own Pulp Fiction moment; POV of Butch when he sees Marsellus Wallace cross the street in front of the car. Some guy caught my eye and my mind instantly said "wow that looks like a long-haired Chris", a friend from Vancouver! Thankfully I didn't run him over like in the movie...instead I yelled and honked my horn "CHRIS!"..."BRENDAN? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE??" He reached in and gave me a hug; unfortunately I was holding up alot of traffic, but I gave him my number to meet for a drink later...turns out I was too far to go back to Brussels at the end of the day, but I might meet him in Berlin when I get there in a few weeks. What a random, awesome occurrence.
So, I grabbed my grandma moved on towards Mons. The signage here is tough to read, but we've managed to get around. We get to Mons; I learned that, like Ypres, essentially the whole town was levelled in the Great War, then rebuilt. Crazy to think when you see my pics (tease...I know sorry shuddup). No hotel rooms available there. We get referred to go back to La Louviere, a smaller town nearby. Get lost a bit, start heading in the wrong direction on the highway. A pit stop, a coffee and a box of grapes later we find the little town...same story at first. Meet a very kind hotel clerk who calls ahead to another nearby hotel. We end up with our own little "appart-hotel" room. Very newly renovated. We went out to dinner closeby. Very strange though, there is construction EVERYWHERE in town and it seems deserted. It's like they're still rebuilding from the war. Odd.
What I'm discovering is especially in smaller towns, I'm given far more respect when I speak French and don't assume they speak English. It's come back pretty well to me now, and I swear I'm treated differently. The waiter at the restaurant gave us great service when I ordered promptly. Back at the hotel in the morning, the woman tending to our breakfast in the lobby under construction, who was Italian-born Belgian, was very polite and talkative to my Grandmother and I. She had great respect for the elderly as she expressed her generation there does, but she was curious about where we were from adn what we were doing etc. My Grandma doesn't speak french but understands it when heard.
Speaking of her, it's been fun and interesting with her. My Grandmother is a very smart and educated woman. I learned that at a very late age, from 69-74, she received her BA, MBA, and Masters of Library Services, and went on to be Head Librarian at the University of Toronto. She is very persistent, and although she's slow to move, she only asks for help out of necessity and NEVER out of pity...and I've learned her tenacity is genetic. More on that later.
She also has some funny quirks; she will talk in great detail about anything, for along time unless you help her change gears. I've learned that if she is going to ramble, I'll get her to ramble about something that is of great interest to me, and there is much she says that is. But there will always be the self-narrations of whether or not she will put her feet up...no actually she's gonna take her socks off...and this gown she's had for 20 years is made of a really thin wool that folds up easily...and she needs her bottle of water cuz it's time to take her pills...though that one bottle looks just like the other so she must be careful...where are her glasses, let's check the label...
To be honest things could be much worse of for being 83 she's in great health and spirits, and I've enjoyed caring for her. We sat in the hotel room last night and read my Great-Grandfather's letters written home to his uncle, containing uncensored comments about the war...
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