Salad Surprise

I once found bugs in a head of lettuce I had purchased at a Parisian grocery store. As I started to tear apart the lettuce so it could be washed, there they were – tiny black crawling things that made me shriek and throw the leafy greens to the floor. “What are bugs doing in my lunch?!” I later learned from a Frenchman that bugs in the lettuce was a good sign. It meant the produce was high quality, since the bugs only like the best. I didn’t buy that, and from then on I scrupulously checked every single head of French lettuce for any sign of insect life before buying that either. All purchases were triple washed before consumption.

Belgium brought its own lettuce discovery, though, thankfully, this one did not include living creatures. After eying a beautiful looking head that seemed to be a perfect fit for the warm goat cheese salad I had in mind, I was surprised to discover it still had roots. It also still had soil. In fact, a perfectly square chunk of earth had been cut out of the ground along with the head of lettuce and put into a bag, ready to be sold as is. I have no idea what that’s all about, but the lettuce did indeed make a lovely base for what became a crave-worthy salade au chèvre chaud, sans dirt.

Move Blues

Moving overseas sucks. There, I said it. I know, I know, that is definitely not the impression you get from reading any one of the many blogs or articles that espouse the virtues of life lived abroad. The way we all talk you’d think it was nothing but rainbows and butterflies from sun-up to sundown over here. Moving overseas gives you enriching cultural discoveries, a chance at fulfilling self-discovery, and excitement and adventure at every turn! What a load of crap. Sometimes, it just plain sucks, with a large part of the suckiness coming from the frustration of trying to accomplish seemingly simple tasks in a culture/societal structure/system/language you’re unfamiliar with.

Take buying public transportation tickets in Belgium, for example. Unless you have a Belgian bank card, the only way to get tickets out of the machines or from the drivers is with coins. First of all, a system that only accepts Belgian cards in a city that is home to people from all EU and NATO countries is utterly ridiculous. But secondly, if you don’t know right away that you have to hoard your change like Uncle Scrooge just to get around this place, you will at some point find yourself stranded.

Like the woman on the bus the other morning who was trying to get to the airport. She only had a 50 euro bill. As she stood pleading with the bus driver in broken English, almost in tears, with no one helping her, all of my own frustrations from the past month rose to the surface. I approached the driver who proceeded to rant at me about her needing correct change. In an annoyed, but calm, tone I replied, “Je l’ai,” “I have it,” plopped down four euros in coins, gave the bus driver my best evil eye, gave the girl a look that I think said “It sucks, but we’ll live,” and turned around to the stares of an entire busload of groggy morning commuters. It was a small victory, and it felt good.

My own frustrations about moving to Belgium have largely centered on trying to get Internet access. One month in and I still don’t have it at home, despite giving constant effort to the pursuit. It’s a long story, but all you need to know is that trying to get Internet in Brussels has resulted in paying for a year when I only need six months, a modem lost in the mail, a land line that no longer works, and phone calls in vain (and in French, Dutch AND English) to the local company’s technical team.

Ok, so obviously I was a bit harsh at the beginning; moving overseas doesn’t actually suck. I love it, others love it, and I wouldn’t give up the experience for anything in the world, especially not Internet access. Moving overseas does give you enriching cultural discoveries, a chance at fulfilling self-discovery, and excitement and adventure at every turn, but sometimes the whole runaround that inevitably accompanies such a move just makes you want to crawl under the covers and never come back out. Sometimes, you just want things to be easy again. Moving overseas is not all rainbows and butterflies, and it doesn’t always have a four euro solution.

Making Crêpes

Is it weird that crêpes scare me? They don’t scare me enough to keep me from eating them. Oh no, I have absolutely no qualms about devouring crêpes au sucre, crêpes au nutella, and crêpes au anything-else-you-can-think-of. What scares me is making crêpes. A most unfortunate incident in the fall of 2003 scarred me so deeply that for six years I refused to even attempt making France’s thin version of the pancake. Until now.

With the memory of 2003’s Crêpe Crisis fading ever so slightly, I set out to conquer my fear and redeem myself in the kitchen. The first thing I did was purchase a real crêpe pan. This is key: The French know how to make crêpes like Americans know how to make cheeseburgers, so follow their lead and get yourself a nice, flat, T-fal (made in France!) crêpe pan. After staring at my crêpe pan for a few weeks, I finally got the nerve to look up the recipe online, gather my ingredients (eggs, milk, flour, water, salt), and take a leap of faith. French friends have often told me that the first crêpe of the batch always turns out looking deformed. Shrug it off, throw it out, and try it again, they say. So I didn’t panic when my own first attempt came out looking as such:

The next three tries turned out to be totally edible – even round! – and I was particularly proud of my success at flipping the crêpes without sending them flying halfway across the kitchen. Sure, they came out a little thick, but all in all it was not a traumatizing experience. And it only took me six years to get there.

Should you decide to tackle crêpe-making yourself, here are my tips for helping you avoid disaster:

1. Use the correct pan. Get a flat, T-fal pan or a crêpe maker like this one

2. Grease the pan well with butter. This will help when it comes time to flip. And butter is yummy.

3. Chill the batter for at least 5-6 hours before using. Overnight is better. This will keep your crêpes from getting too thick as mine did.

4. Use quality toppings: good butter, fresh fruit, etc.

5. Be creative! The French have crêpes of all kinds. Salty, sugary, for breakfast, for dinner, and more. Experiment. After all, how can you mess up crêpes? Wait…

Manneken Pis Day

You've probably heard of Brussels' Manneken Pis, or "Little Man Urinating," statue. He's the miniature boy who's not ashamed to do his business on a perch in the corner of a quaint Belgian street. But did you know that he has costumes? Yes, costumes. The Bruxellois love their peeing statue so much that they've bestowed upon him a wardrobe whose options outshine my own. Manneken Pis has an outfit for every occasion: a red Santa Claus suit and hat for Christmas, country-specific clothing to celebrate national holidays, and a white, bejeweled getup to honor Elvis Presley's birthday. There's even a website that maintains a photo gallery of his costumes, including a calendar of the days he can be expected to be wearing them.

I recently paid a visit to the world's most famous peeing boy and happily discovered he had gotten dressed up for the occasion. In fact, the crowd of beer-drinking, instrument-playing and anthem-singing Belgians who stood around him had also gotten dressed up. What's more, they were all wearing identical (full-sized) versions of his red and blue cape/hat ensemble. I didn't completely understand what I had stumbled across until I spotted a menu chalkboard declaring it to be Manneken Pis Day. I knew they gave him costumes, but I had no idea they also gave him his own day. That's one luckly little statue.

Come Thirsty

Just in case I had forgotten that I now live in the Land of Beer, Brussels was nice enough to hold its 11th annual beer festival last weekend. For three days, over 40 Belgian breweries poured dozens of their finest pils, amber, lambiek and trappist creations, right in the middle of the city's famous Grande Place. The tents and tables were already bursting at the seams with merry revelers when we passed through the square at noon. A few short hours later and you could barely walk from one end to the other without getting bowled over by the crowd. Musicians entertained the drinkers, vendors sold food to the hungry, and just in case you had forgotten how beer is made, the Belgians were nice enough to post this informative reminder.

The Best Frites in Brussels

As the story goes, French fries aren’t really French, they’re Belgian. Accounts differ on where and when fried slices of potatoes first entered the human diet, but since the French themselves think of fries and Belgian, and since fries are undoubtedly the country’s national snack, I’m happy to give this one to les Belges. Friteries (take-away French fry stands) are everywhere in Brussels, but most people will tell you that the city’s best frites (the French word for "fries") are at Maison Antoine. In the name of travel research, and because I have a weakness for anything fried and salty, I decided to see for myself what everyone was raving about.

Maison Antoine is located in the middle of Place Jourdan, a small square surrounded by bars and restaurants that is just east of the city center. The first thing you notice when you arrive is the line. Be prepared: at night, it’s not unusual to have to wait in line for 20-30 minutes for your chance to order a petites or grandes frites. But don’t let that stop you; the wait is more than worth it. Part of the reason why Maison Antoine’s fries are so good is that they’re double-cooked. First the fries are blanched at a low temperature. This ensures that the inside of the thick-cut potatoes will be soft and cooked all the way through. Then, when you place your order, they're deep fried at a high temperature which gives them a crispy, golden-brown exterior. Add just a dash of salt, dip them in one of Maison Antoine’s fry sauces (I recommend “curry”), and eat what I think truly are the best fries you’ll ever had.

Of course, nothing washes down a cone of salty fries quite like a glass of cold beer, but don’t worry about having to plan ahead to BYOB. Some of the bars that surround Place Jourdan know a lucrative combination when they see one, declaring themselves “partenaires,” or partners, of Maison Antoine. This means you’re welcome to bring your fries into the bar, order a delicious Belgian beer, and enjoy the two together. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Timing is Everything

It’s a conundrum all travelers will eventually have to face: book early, or wait to the last minute? Which form of trip planning will give you the best deals? There are those who swear it’s the early bird who catches the worm, while others will tell you it’s the last minute purchases that offer the biggest travel savings. As far as I’m concerned, both options can work to your advantage. You just have to know when to use them.

I recently got burned by waiting until the last minute to make important travel arrangements. When a friend told me she would be in Paris the weekend of September 12-13 I said, “Great! I’ll meet you there,” thinking I could wait until I was settled into life in Brussels before looking at ticket options and making my decision. By the time I got around to researching prices, round-trips were already too pricey for my weekend travel budget. To make matters worse, the train reservation sites were all advertising great Brussels – Paris deals…if you booked a month or more in advance. Nevertheless, there are travel websites out there that consistently offer great last minute deals. For example I’ve had success finding impressively low prices on normally out-of-range hotels with lastminute.com’s French site.

The Parisian weekend disappointment taught me a good lesson: if you have your heart set on a certain trip, book early. Start looking more than a month out, and if you see a price your comfortable with, go for it. What’s more, from what I can tell, booking early for train travel in Europe is almost always the way to get a good deal. On the other hand, if the mood to get out of town tomorrow strikes you, and you’re less concerned with the location than with the price, booking last minute doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll pay a fortune for your impulses. Have a few go-to discount travel sites on hand, be flexible, and get excited when you book a fabulous weekend jaunt without breaking the bank.

What’s your preferred travel style: book early, or buy last minute?

Brussels in a Notebook

Fellow blogger, Nomadic Matt, recently blogged about his need to keep better notes while on the road. I sympathize with his situation having had many a frustrating moment trying to remember some important detail - an address, the name of a favorite restaurant - last year in Paris. Getting ready to head to Brussels, I was vowing to do a better job this time around when another fellow blogger came to the rescue: The Cupcake Avenger gifted me my very first Molskine City Notebook.

Now, it's possible that before receiving a Moleskine City Notebook all wrapped up in a pretty little birthday bag, I was the only traveler in existence who didn't really know what a Moleskine City Notebook was. Basically, it's a guide book that you make yourself as you go along exploring and living in a specific city. There are some street maps and a metro guide in the front of my Brussels edition, but the rest is up to me. They give you sections for writing down favorite shops, eateries, encounters and museums. There is a little expandable pouch in the back for stashing away business cards, ticket stubs and newspaper clippings. There are blank pages for your notes, and tracing papers for, well, whatever you might need tracing papers for. I recently used my Moleskine to jot down the address of a fromagerie that recently won my heart with an amazing crottin de chèvre.

Having only used Moleskin for a few short days, I already don't know how I ever traveled without one. Isn't it fun how there's always a new travel toy to discover and play with on your next trip? If you know you're going to be in a certain city for an extended period of time, think about picking up your own City Notebook. They makes guides for locales all over the globe, from Amsterdam to Zurich. When you're done, you'll have the perfect, useful souvenir in your possession. And you'll never again forget the name of a favorite fromagerie.

In Brussels, Even the Bus Gets a Vacation

August in Europe can only mean one thing: vacation. You probably already know that this is the time of year when European families, couples and singles take a few weeks to recharge their batteries and enjoy life. But did you know the same benefit - vacation time guaranteed by law - also applies to public transportation? Well, at least in Brussels it does. As an American friend recently pointed out to me, the schedule for the city's various transport options is currently reduced, running on what's called the "grandes vacances" timetable. This basically means that every hour (including the traditional rush hours) offers a few less options for hitching a ride. It hasn't been a major inconvenience or anything; I'm still able to get to work on time and find my way around town. But it did make me wonder: what exactly has my life come to when bus routes, a network of trams, and a subway system all have more vacation time than I do?

Getting Over Jet Lag

As I write this entry, my eyes are slowly starting to close… Jet lag. It happens even to the most seasoned of travelers. No matter how many times you cross the pond (or the Pacific), jumping between multiple timezones can mess with your internal clock and wreak havoc on your body’s sleep patterns. This is where the homegrown remedies come in. It seems like everyone has a solution for beating jet lag. The “cures” vary widely in their approaches, and travelers love to share their best strategies for getting on local time. With dead tiredness setting in at unusual hours, I’m all ears.

But what option do you trust? A colleague of mine suggested drinking orange juice as a way to banish the body’s timezone confusion. Before heading off to Brussels, I came across a magazine article that cited a study by the Harvard Medical School that suggests fasting before and during your flight will keep jet lag at bay. My Frommer’s guide tries to debunk the classic hit-the-ground-running theory by claiming a quick nap upon arrival is truly the way to go. None of that worked for you? Then try popping a few No-Jet-Lag pills. Yup, they have those.

In the end, waiting it out might be the only true recourse for the weary traveler. I’ve heard many people say it takes them at least a week to get back on a normal sleep schedule, and I’m predicting the same will be true for me in Belgium, no matter how much advice to the contrary I receive. Of course, my own thought on jet lag has always been that it’s easier to go from the U.S. to Europe than it is from Europe to the U.S., this trip notwithstanding. Something about that never-ending day on the westward journey that seems to be especially disruptive. Everyone has their own way of tackling (or accepting) jet lag. What’s yours?

À Bientôt

You know how you can get nostalgic about something before it’s even over? You start to miss your seven-day vacation on day five, you reminisce about your college days weeks before graduation, and you think about all the good times you shared in the final days before a predictable break-up. That’s where I’m at with my life in DC. With the move to Brussels less than a week away, and even though I’m well aware that I’ll be back before I know it, I’m starting to wax poetic about what a beautiful city the nation’s capitol really is, how much I’m going to miss my favorite neighborhood spots… and remind me again why am I leaving this life I’ve built to traipse halfway around the world, over-stuffed suitcase in hand?

In addition to getting all “remember when?” and “those were the days…” about DC, I’m also in full-on getting-things-done mode. Packing boxes, cleaning out closets and changing my status with everyone from the U.S. Postal Service (yes, mom will be getting my mail) to my local gym (can I put my membership on hold for six months?) doesn’t leave much time for blogging. In fact, this will be the last stateside entry of Parisian Spring for 2009. See you in a week – in Brussels!

Fear of Flying

If only getting to Brussels didn't involve getting on an airplane. What with the luggage fees, carry-on restrictions, demeaning, assembly line-ish removing-of-the-shoes security, and the lack of any decent in-flight service, flying becomes less and less pleasant every time I do it. That would be bad enough on its own, but on top of being wholly uncomfortable, air travel is also downright scary. I've never felt at ease at 30,000 feet, and this week's story of violent turbulence isn't helping. For some travelers, the skies are anything but friendly.

The aforementioned realities of flying explain why, when given the option, I much prefer to travel by train. Taking the Train à Grande Vitesse (TGV) in France, for example, is downright enjoyable. You can show up as little as five minutes before your departure time, there are no security lines, there are no liquid carry-on restrictions, the seats have more legroom and are only two to a side, not three or more, there is usually a bar car for your enjoyment, and an upgrade to first class is often very reasonably priced. Now, some might argue that the absence of security checkpoints is not a positive thing, or that flying is not scary at all when you remember that riding in a car is far more likely to get you killed and we do that all the time without really worrying about it, but I disagree. I enjoy boarding a train with my dignity in tact (as well as my shoes), and I don't care what the statistics say; I feel better without the possibility of plummeting to my death hanging over me, however minuscule that possibility might be.

Alas, if one wishes to travel, one will at some point likely need to ride in an airplane. The best those of us who despair at the thought can do is to minimize the headaches of flight: try not to check bags, wear easily removable shoes, and take deep, reassuring breaths when the ride gets a little bumpy. It should be said that I've also met travelers who turn to medicinal solutions, the non-over-the-counter kind. And for goodness' sake, whenever possible you should avoid purchasing tickets that require you to change planes. I'm happy to report that my flight from DC to Brussels is blessedly direct.

Guidebooks for All

In between all the hectic last-minute errands and general pain in the neck aspects of moving, getting ready to live overseas is ridiculously fun and exciting. In addition to dusting off my language skills by talking to myself in French for long stretches of time, one of my favorite pre-trip rituals involves researching and purchasing a new guidebook. New guidebooks are full of possibilities, and there's nothing like a bit of pre-trip reading to get you in the mood for travel. Needless to say, when my copy of The Rough Guide to Europe on a Budget finally arrived in the mail I literally jumped for joy.

With all the options out there - guides for Europe, guides for just Western or Eastern Europe, country and even city-specific options from multiple travel guide sources - it can be difficult to make your final selection. Lonely Planet and Frommer's are perennial favorites, and Rick Steves is a reliable expert on Europe. Personally, I used to love the Let's Go series. My college friends and I would read their cleverly written histories and descriptions of upcoming destinations to each other while riding the rails in France, Spain or Italy. This time around I wanted a book that better fits my post-student travel lifestyle, and the Rough Guides line came recommended. If you're traveling through France, you should always pick up a copy of the Michelin Guide. Especially useful on road trips, Michelin rates food and lodging throughout the country, from swank Parisian hotels to traditional bistrots in the tiniest of French villages. If it wasn't for Michelin, I might never have spent a night in a 14th century Cisterian monastery. Be sure to look for the Michelin Man symbol, not stars, if you want to go budget.

Selecting a guidebook can be a very personal decision. Like other travel gear, such as a backpack or a camera, you have to get a good feeling about it; you have to have a connection with your guidebook. After all, it's going to be your constant companion, helping you find a place to sleep, food to eat, and sights to explore. When it comes to guidebooks, everyone has their favorite. What's yours?

French Health Care

I've had it up to here with people misrepresenting the French health care system. As the U.S. discusses the kind of country it wants to be when it comes to providing its citizens with access to medicine, doctor's visits, and life-saving surgery, France is often used as a bogeyman. "Ooooh, watch out, we might turn into France! We might become Socialists!" As my second favorite country's name gets dragged through the mud, I can't help thinking about my own experience with health care in France. It wasn't perfect, but it certaintly wasn't the nightmare some people would lead you to believe.

As a graduate student at Sciences Po in Paris, I was covered under the French health care system. I paid the equivalent of $300 for the semester, which granted me comprehensive coverage. During this time, I went to a doctor's office three times and got lab work done once. I never waited longer than one waits in an American doctor's office, the facilities were not sub-standard, and the government didn't come between me and my doctor. No piles of paperwork to fill out (like I have in the U.S.). No worrying about whether or not my insurance would cover it (like I do in the U.S.). I simply chose the physician I wanted to see (none of this in-group, out-group crap), paid a few small fees (generally 22 euros for a visit, much of which was refundable), got my instructions or prescriptions from the doctor and went on with my life. The security of it all felt amazing.

Of course, no system is without flaw. I do remember the incident of the laboratoire misplacing my payment record for some lab work I had done. They kept sending bills to my apartment long after I was back in the states, and a French friend eventually had to go pay the bill for me, but hey, shit happens. The cost of said lab work? About 20 euros. For lab work, people! Does this sound like a terrible system to you? I know, I know, French people pay taxes to get this stuff. That's true, they do. But the French people I know, who are roughly my age, and who are employed, and who have the same level of education as I do are not crippled under the weight of taxes. They drive nice cars, go on three week vacations (leaving them still with two weeks or more for the year), live in comfortable apartments, and aren't saddled with thousands upon thousands of dollars of student loan debt. They also will never go bankrupt because they get sick. Wow, aren't you glad we don't have that system?

Moving to Brussels, One Task at a Time

It's crunch time. Exactly three weeks from today I will touch down in Brussels, Belgium and begin a 5 1/2 month overseas stint. It's the fourth time I've left the U.S. to spend multiple months living in Europe, so you'd think I'd be really good at executing trans-Atlantic moves. You'd think. But instead of feeling like I'm making progress on the ever-growing pre-trip to-do list, I feel like I'm swimming upstream. The list isn't getting shorter, it's getting longer, and time is quickly running out.

Moving your entire life to a foreign country is no easy task. There are boxes and suitcases to pack, financial matters to rearrange, purchases to make and friends and family to see one last-for-now time. You might have to find new housing, renew your passport, buy international health insurance, or prepare for a new job. My current to-do list includes such daunting tasks as "research/buy a new laptop," "clean apartment from top to bottom," and "rent storage unit; fill with worldly possessions." I have managed to find a nice couple from Seattle to sublet my place, which I admit was a satisfying cross-off, but the anxiety level of too much to do and too little time is still threatening to put an end to my sanity, once and for all.

Why doesn't moving overseas seem to get any easier the more I do it? Denial, perhaps? I do always tell myself I have a ton of time to get things done, but it's never true. The preparations are enormous, and distractions of regular, daily life don't just stop because you tell the universe you have an overseas adventure on your hands. The result is that I'm taken by surprise each and every time the big day starts to creep up on the calendar. My only consolation is that on the first three times I moved to Euorpe, despite everything I had to do last minute, I never once missed the plane because of unfinished business. And with the prospect of living la vie en Belgique, I'm not about to ruin my perfect record.