10 years later...

Almost to the date, I landed in Dakar once again. I was sad to leave Mali, and was actually a bit nervous to come to Senegal – would I remember how to get around, would it be very different? But as we flew over the peninsula, and got to see the entire city and surrounding water, I was so excited. Now that I’m here, it doesn’t feel strange, or unfamiliar. It feels like it did 10 years ago, except I don’t have to relearn everything. Plus, being in Senegal is so much easier than Mali. I didn’t even realize the apparent not-so-subtle differences. I didn’t realize how underdeveloped Bamako is, and just how developed Dakar has become. More services, more construction, infrastructure, it’s all around more modern. Bamako, while a major city, has a provincial feel, like a never-ending village. It’s not a bad thing, just my observation. I suppose that coming to this part of Africa feels normal at this point. There are certainly things that make me say, “WOW,” but I understand the daily rhythms and so it just feels like a regular place to me.

We have been kindly welcomed into the home of a friend of mine I met while studying here in 2003. He and his wife have embodied the Senegalese notion of Taranga or Senegalese hospitality. They have opened their home, fed us, and toured us around the city in the last week. It has been such an amazing gift, we are often left wondering how we could ever properly say thank you.

In the last week, it’s also been wonderful to do so many things I never did during my entire four months the last time. Believe or not, I never went to the beach, not even to walk, while I was here last time. Taking strolls along the ocean, visiting the fish market and enjoying the proximity of the sea has been a lovely shift from the stark dry desert of Mali (although I really did enjoy that it only took a few minutes for my hair – and everything else – to dry in Mali).

We visited my old neighborhood, SICAP Baobab, and walked the still-familiar path from the Baobab Center (where I took classes), past the boulangerie and the cabine telephone – which is now a boutique because everyone either has a cell phone or home landline, why would they ever need to go to a telephone center – past the 500 year old Grand Baobab, the namesake tree of the neighborhood, around another corner, past more familiar homes and shops and to the little soccer (sand) field, just opposite the home where I used to live. It was wonderful to walk down memory lane, and I cannot wait until Monday night when we have dinner with my host family.

We’ve marveled at Dakar’s new features as well – the world’s now largest statue, made entirely out of bronze, costing the country more money than it would have taken to lift the shanty town at its base out of poverty. We strolled the sparkly new shopping mall filled with European shops – all boasting huge sales, and then played a game of cosmic bowling in the most beautiful bowling alley I’ve ever seen. Everything so shiny and new – presumably because they are too expensive for the majority of Senegalese to enjoy. Just like the huge sculpture that costs 3000cfa – more than many people’s daily wage ($6 USD) to ascend to the top, former president Abdoulaye Wade’s blatant waste of money almost mocks the Senegalese people, giving them something that links them to the western world they seem to long to be a part of, yet keeping it out of reach in a resentful way.

Honestly, I feel the same way about Senegal as I did 10 years ago, and I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I recalled the email I wrote to friends and family on May 21, 2003, just a couple of days before I was leaving from my semester abroad here in 2003, and want to share it, as it continues to sum up feelings I have about being here, and what it might be like to leave again.

“But what a country. I'm not sure what I'll do when greeting people doesn't include an inquisition about the family, friends, uncles, brothers and sisters. And what to do when there's no ferno at every corner with a pot of attaaya brewing. What to do when visiting friends isn't a short two minute walk down the street past the telecenter and to the right. and What to do when I can't bargain for the price I want (things are too expensive in the states anyway).

I will always think of all the little children that are everywhere, who look scared, then curious, and then so excited with their big dark eyes when they see me coming. It's images of mothers with babies on the back and a bucket on the head that will always remain. It's traffic jams with 10 yellow and black taxis coming from every direction trying to go everyother direction, and no one is moving. It's carts and wheelbarrows full of mangos and oranges, next to little stands that sell peanuts and cookies for 25Fcfa. And it's the constant sound of buzzing and humming coming from the small, dimly lit 'coutures'-the tailor shops-always busy making boubous and dresses, and something for an american or two wanting to bring home a bit of Africa.

In this whirlwind of rough political and economic times all over the world, Senegal keeps moving. As always things change and Youssou N'Dour comes out with another album, but Senegal is always still Senegal. It's just amazing, and I am so grateful to have lived here.”

I suppose the only difference there is that Youssou is now the Prime Minister and I can’t go hear him sing at his Club Thiossane for $4. The oranges now cost 75cfa (500cfa to the dollar). Oh well.

Jon and I are planning to head to the Casamance on Tuesday, an overnight ferry ride (we’re still being cautious about inland travel). The Casamance is the region of Senegal below the sliver of a country, The Gambia, and is lush, green, and inhabited by the Diola people. It’s also home to tropical beaches, more fresh seafood, and a slightly different culture. I’m looking forward to seeing a new part of this fascinating little South Dakota-sized country.

Until the next time, ba beneen jerejef waay (until next time, thanks!). Bisoux ciao.

A perfect picture.

I’ve found the perfect picture to represent my initial travels to Africa. I have no idea what this plant is; it is quite beautiful, but those thorns are pretty nasty looking. In Mali I have felt so amazingly welcome by everyone I meet. People are jovial, animated, and so open that it takes a while to get used to just genuine people. Everyone laughs and is comfortable with who they are. The weather is warm, the nights perfect, and I’ve never felt so in touch with the moment. Even in these tough times, people remain hopeful and revel in their profound sense of community.

Then there are the thorns in my experience…in addition the rather scary political unrest which kept us confined to Bamako and spending hours at a time not understanding what everyone is saying, today I had to go to a clinic because the sores on my feet. I have for the past week been nursing ever reddening wounds caused by popped heat blisters. Every day it got a little worse until I could barely walk without great discomfort. I’m also really tired, but I don’t know if that is due to infection or if it is just that more tiring to have to walk gingerly and still have it be painful. This the third day in a row I wake up and don’t wan to get out of bed because I know that first step will make me gasp, so we went to get some antibiotics and painkillers. The doctor took no time at all in telling me that I obviously had an infection, and he was surprised that we did not just have antibiotics on hand (I have Cipiro, but that is a total reset for serious sickness). The nice thing is that the visit, antibiotics and painkillers came out to 20,000 CFA ($40) total! However, being constantly tired and in pain every step I take is certainly not the way I wanted to spend my last few days in Mali.

Sore feet aside, it makes me so sad that Malians have to go through this problem which is not their own. Jess told me earlier that due to the threat to large gatherings, the tradition of colorful and dance filled weddings which usually happen throughout Mali on Sundays will be subdued, small, and intimate affairs…very un-Malian.

I have no reason to stay, but I do not want to leave this place yet. I do not speak the language, have infected feet, am covered in red dust and flies constantly during the day and buzzed by mosquitoes at night; I have to boil water to drink it, can’t eat a lot of the food, pay too much for most things by local standards, and am constantly at a loss for why things are happening around me, but the people is where it is at. Mali is awesome because it is full of Malians. If you can’t get past the little things that annoy, you’ll never get to the real things that matter.

frustration...

We are not long for Mali. Every day our options for exploring the country shrink and I feel more confined. This is such an unfortunate circumstance…no visiting villages, no travel South, no music, a feeling that we can go no where outside the city without the minute chance of being abducted or put in harms way. The funny thing is that you would never know what is happening by sitting in the mango grove and having tea until someone tells you that there are check points on every bridge to make sure that dangerous people don’t enter the city. Ironically, we have heard that the only arms being seized are leaving the city, not entering it. I guess that should make us feel a little more secure. I think we could stay in Bamako for quite some time and never be in danger, but I’m starting to ask myself if there are greener pastures elsewhere. Jess and I are still enjoying the food, which gets cooked for us every day (thanks Salli) for like $4. I am really enjoying the national dish of Mali, cheb, which is a rice dish with veg and some meat or fish. I have had one alcoholic beverage here (Flag, the most common beer here, which taste pretty much like every countries most common beer; inoffensive and easy to drink) and have had no want for another; people just don’t drink here and I don’t miss it. I’ll save the drinking  for Europe.

We went to the grand market on Monday, which was pretty cool. We went to the actual practical market and also the artist market. While the regular market was a little slow, the artisanal market was absolutely dead. We were told that we were the first tourists there in over 6 months, and the desperation was palpable. Every seller would tell us that “looking is free” and they will make us “best price”, then throw everything they could at us. Jess and I very much overpaid for some items (gifts for family) and felt pretty good about it. It was pretty sad, but even when sellers did not close the deal with us they were gracious and wished us well.

Luckily, by the market was a pharmacy where I bought ibuprofen. I have had ongoing problems with my feet: First they cracked and bled, then I got some kind of heat blisters trying to wear shoes to protect the cracks which quickly burst and left open sores, then I tripped and bruised my right foot. Ironically, the plantar fasciitis I suffer from is nearly none existent here. I’ve actually run out of band-aids trying to cover the sores so that the swarms of flies don’t get them infected…really annoying. At least I’m toughening up my feet!

I can only imagine that we will leave in the next couple of days unless a compelling reason to stay presents itself. This is definitely not the way I wanted to see Mali, but I am still really glad we came here.

Practicalities

Note: more photos coming soon. A practicality of Mali - the internet is soooo sloooowww. ------

It’s an interesting time to be in Mali. Ok, it’s always an interesting time to be in Mali, just because Mali is always interesting. But especially now, at this time, the situation up north, which has quickly become a war, makes things unusual. I had planned to write solely about the daily flow of life in Bamako, but I think that some explanation of our current situation is due.

For those of you who aren’t aware, Mali is engaged in driving an Al-Qaeda cell, Ansare Dine, out of the northern region of the country. The North represents a vast Saharan desert, a lawless land, which has allowed for religious fundamentalists to traffic drugs and arms in order to fund jihad. Beginning in April 2012, these islamists began taking over this expansive land, imposing sharia law. Cities including Gao, Konna, Douentza and the fabled Timbuktu have all been overrun by these people. However, the clear line of divide between islamist-controlled north and government-controlled south remains just north of the town of Mopti, over 400miles from the capital city of Bamako (my geography was not correct in the last post).

Just Wednesday, the islamists made a bold move to the south, pushing closer to Mopti. The French government quickly responded by sending troupes to aid the Malian army and have been conducting air raids since Wednesday evening. This kind of action is good, and has been needed for a long time. There are also pan-African troops that will begin arriving. France has also sent an envoy of soldiers to Bamako to help with security and to supposedly protect the 6,000 French expats living here.

So what does that mean for us? We’re watching the situation, and keeping a close eye on how the islamists retaliate. We will visit the US Embassy tomorrow and see if we should leave. We aren’t venturing too much outside of Bamako, although we will make a visit to nearby Soni Tieni, which is about 1 hour south of Bamako. This small village is home to the schools that Ko-Falen built, and has a strong relationship with our hosts. If we need to leave we will. For now, I actually feel safer than in the States, where apparently there have been more shootings?

But we don’t want to leave. Today we spent the day experiencing a regular dimanche a Bamako (Sunday in Bamako). If you don’t go to a wedding, which are typically on Sundays, you spend the day with friends, relaxing and listening to music. And that’s what we did. If you didn’t know that war was happening in the North, you would never guess that anything was different. The people are as jovial and kind as ever, the music plays, tea is made, a large bowl of food is shared eating by hand, the cows meander by eating trash, lizards chase each other, and people enjoy one anothers company before the start of another work week. It was perfect.

Practically speaking, we can’t understand 90% of the conversation. You’d think this gets boring (well sometimes it does I guess), but simply observing the animated conversations is entertaining enough. It sounds like people are yelling at each other, or engaged in a completely deep conversation – hands flying in the air, voices raised, but that’s just Mali, and how people converse. Animated is the perfect word for it, and it’s really enjoyable. Do people mind us just sitting there? Nope, it means a lot to people that we are here, especially in a difficult situation, and just by us joining in on the scene, we are showing our respect. Nothing seems to be an imposition on these people, everything is based on respect.

Other practicalities of Mali. Tea or attaaya. Tea is taken several times a day and is really just the activity one does while passing time with friends. We make tea mid-morning, after lunch and then again at night. Attaaya is just green gunpowder tea, brewed super strong over a coal stove, sweetened with sugar and with mint. I love it. I love everything about it. The process, the exurbanite amount of time it takes, the conversation, and the tea itself. Up to three rounds are brewed at a time. The first (le premier) is bitter, like life they say. The second (le deuxieme) is refreshing like the rain. The third (le troisieme) is sweet like love. My Senegalese friends used to say I was a bitter woman because I always brew my premier to strong. Oh well.

Practicality: our names. Names are a very important part of life. There are 4 original Bambara names in Mali: Diakite, Sangare, Diallo and Coulibaly. When you greet people the 2nd or 3rd question they ask is “Ne togo?” (what’s your name?). By the way, my African name is Safiatou, or Safi for short. Jon’s is Adama. We’re Diakite thank you very much. This is great actually because instead of getting “Toubab!!” (white person!) around the neighborhood, everyone knows our Malian names now, especially the kids. A common refrain when walking about is, “Safi! Safi!! Saffiiiaaatouu!!!!” Until I say, “Bonjour! Ini chey (hello).” The response is nothing but giggles and smiles. Ahhh Mali.

What else. Kids & Elders. Probably my favorite aspect of Malian culture, the relationship between generations. Anyone older than you is your elder and therefore has your respect – period. Anyone younger than you is your responsibility to help raise and take care of. Therefore, all children are everyone’s children, and all elders are everyone’s to take care of. This also means that one can ask anyone younger than you to go do something and out of respect, they must – aha! Benefits of age. It also means that I get to play with totally adorable African babies, because I’m part of the community that helps raise them.

Practicality. Communications. Internet is extremely expensive here. The Center had wireless, but apparently unlimited wireless costs $300…per month. No complaints about your cell phone bill now! I purchased a USB wireless key for convenience. $100 (50,000cfa wow!) buys me the hardware and about 4GB of data. For perspective, $150 is what we’re paying for all our water and electricity for the entire month we’re in Mali. To also put this in perspective, we’re spending 10,000cfa ($20) to have someone come 4 days a week and cook lunch (which often yields leftovers for dinner). These daily meals feed Jon, Wague and me, plus about 4-8 people who are always around, working, socializing or doing whatever. Wague is trading weeks with Jon and me, so really in a month I’m only spending the $20. $20 for 8 days of meals vs $100 for 4GB of internet. You can understand why people mostly just send text messages here.

Finally, dirt. Orange dirt. We've been washing the floor almost every day (that NEVER happened at home). You would too if everything was covered in a fine layer of orange dust. I don't mind. It's Africa, and it means more coldish showers to cool off.

I hope this has painted somewhat of a picture of Malian life. There are so many more details to share! I guess you’ll just have to visit (but not during wartime)!

Sewn Together

“We may not have much, but we are sewn together by the fabric of each other,” said Mouktard Kone, the esteemed griot (oral historian) Jon and I had the pleasure of being introduced to our first night in Bamako. It’s statements like these that will always keep the Malian people close to my heart. While I thoroughly enjoyed Belgium, there was something in the back of my mind that whole week that really just wanted to be here. I couldn’t help but seek the warmth. Not just in terms of weather, let’s face it, Belgium was cold, Mali is hot; but in terms of being surrounded by people who at their core are kind, generous and radiant.

So what is it about this place that is so special? Hmm, complicated. Yes, Mali is a very impoverished nation, but here money isn’t where happiness lies. To give you an example of what very impoverished means – garbage service comes once a month – maybe, and it doesn’t come to everyone’s home, it comes to a drop off spot in each neighborhood. Where that spot is, I have no idea, because trash is dumped all over the place. There isn’t infrastructure to support garbage service, trucks, fuel, people, a place to process it all – it just isn’t there. If you stop and think about your weekly garbage service, you begin to realize all that goes into it. Imagine that going away. How would you improvise?

It’s easy for westerners to spot the economic poverty – to tie it to money – but Mali reflects a different way of life, where everything isn’t based entirely on your net worth. It’s based on its people – people whose lives are stitched together, a real community of people relying on each other.

Take for example Abdou Karine. Abdou is a well-digger by trade. Wague tells me he’s dug over 370 wells in his lifetime – by hand. No machines, no fancy equipment, just Abdou. Um, what?? But Abdou is poor, he has nothing in the ways of material goods and even though he is highly respected and skilled at what he does, he remains poor, with no means for improvement. But Abdou has the best smile I think I’ve seen in a long time. He came to the Center yesterday to receive a gift from Wague – who sold his pottery in the States to give $200 worth of cash and food to 15 families in the neighborhood. I came out to see them and Abdou was smiling and raising his hands and laughing, throwing his head back with that smile – like a big Stevie Wonder smile when the music is particularly at its peak. I sat down with Abdou and just watched him talk with Wague, mesmerized by how sincerely happy this man is, it’s a kind of being at ease, of truly being happy without attachments that I only hope I can have a taste of in my life.

Of course it’s not all roses and ponies. Jon, Wague and I were planning to go downtown to the grand marche (main market) to pick up some things today or tomorrow, when we received word that we are not to go downtown for a few days. Spontaneous protests against the government and military quickly remind me that beloved Mali is unstable. While things seem as normal as ever in the neighborhood (we’re about a 30-40 minute drive from downtown), we are still in a country deeply wounded by religious fundamentalists that have taken the North, and a dysfunctional and extremely underfunded government that can’t really do much about it without international help.

Over the course of a day the situation has changed. All schools are cancelled for at least a week. Apparently in a town just north of Mopti (2000 miles from where we are in Bamako, yep that's like the distance from Portland to Chicago, it's not close to us) a group of islamists went to a school yesterday (totally independent of the protests that were going on downtown) and the soldiers had to tell them that unless they dropped their weapons they would be forced to shoot – which could have resulted in hundreds of children being injured or killed. Fortunately the islamists were disarmed, but the government is now worried that some may be trying to instigate similar events in Bamako, and so gatherings, especially school, are cancelled.

This brings the heartache I feel about this situation full force to the front of my mind. Mali. Benign, kind, poor and happy. A country infiltrated by foreign extremists with no care for that sewn cultural fabric they are pulling to threads. I still feel safe here, almost protected by our neighbors, although the prospect that nightly jaunts to the music clubs, and days wandering the Artisinal (artisans market) is long gone. It’s a stark reminder that Mali is already changed from the place it was 3 years ago, even 1 year ago. This makes me sad.

Wague must have sensed it because after our morning tea he suggested going for a walk around the neighborhood with the lovely Batoma, a kind teenager who lives across the creek. Wague says that Batoma and her family actually used to just live under the banana tree because they had no home, and they gardened mangos and beans to get by. Through the kindness of visitors, Wague and neighbors they’ve moved into a home and Batoma became one of the sponsored students through Ko-Falen. Just a few years ago, Batoma wasn’t in school and now she’s at the top of her class in high school, and by hanging out at the Center, has a good working knowledge of English. She inspires me.

On our walk we explored the neighborhood and the creek banks, which are home to mango trees, papayas, pomegranates, bananas, and the crops, which are harvesting beans, mint, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, bitter eggplant and others. Since no one is in school there are kids everywhere, and we quickly make friends through the use of the camera. It should be noted that when children see a white person, they call out “Toubab!!” which just means “white person”. But when they see us interacting, just being people, not confined to fancy cars and hotels, an older kid says, “no, call her tanti” (aunti) and just like that, I’m transformed from some anonymous white lady to their aunti, and friend, not a stranger. All I can do is respond with thanks, photos (which they never get to see) and smiles. It’s not much, but it’s what we can do to be part of the fabric, to respond with the same kindness that has been bestowed upon us. My spirits are lifted, and I can't think of any other place I'd rather be than in sweet Mali.

*side note* school is cancelled, including the afterschool tutoring held at the Center, but depsite this, the 24 kids came anyway, ready to study, and not willing to miss a day of the extra practice that will change their entire education. I will never complain about any kind of study again.

ps: click on the photos for a larger image

We have internet!!!!

We arrived in Mali at like 1:30 AM, de-boarded the plane and then took a bus maybe 50 feet to the terminal; yes, 50 feet. Why could we not have walked the 50 feet instead of queuing for a bus?…no idea, that’s Africa.  This was an apt introduction to a concept that you just need to get used to in Mali from what I gather: It is that way because it is. Why do we ride the bus 50 feet? That is what is done; conversing on the topic beyond that is really just conjecture. Mali is dusty, but full of rich smells. There is a smell of earth and life that is new to me…smoke, desert, humans, trash, long standing water, rich stews with African peppers, livestock, but mostly there is just a deep smell of something indescribable.

To a Westerner, the overwhelming thought while driving into Bamako is that this is a poor nation. Buildings are low, warn and filled with people; the roads dirt until Chinese made bridges driven mostly by dying Mercedes cabs, motos and well warn feet. The town is an impossible maze of streets and buildings/structures. Families live in large walled structures, usually with a small courtyard for pets/animals and making tea. This is really all one would get at 2 AM.

Come morning, the town comes alive with voices, cars, laughing, working and generally an overwhelming sound of many people living together. Malians are loud and very social; if not for knowing Wague and hearing Malians talk before, I would think that people were screaming at one another with demands. Nope, that’s just talking. At any time someone may yell your name from any hearable distance; you acknowledge them and if appropriate come together and talk.

*Side note* As I write this there are two horned cows eating garbage across the street and a small group of people just wandered by; I doubt they remarked on this. A herd of cattle wanders the street in town.

Beyond the looks and smells, there is one driving force to life in Bamako: The people here. These are the most open, straight-forward, happy people I have ever known. Everything seems to revolve around relationships new and old. We are lucky to be staying with a well respected member of the community and last night walked to several houses meeting friends of Wague. People just kind of walk the streets, checking in on old friends and distant relatives (there is a joke told with almost every encounter about familial relations, with one party asking us to take their family names and us stubbornly saying we are Diakete, Wague’s family; this always elicits laughter), or you sit in your courtyard and have people come see you.

I’m trying to learn some pleasantries in Bambara as I have no French, which can be frustrating and involves a lot of smiling and staring dumbly. People are really nice about it though. We laugh as they ask why I have no French.  Surrounded in what we would call squalor, in a place where no one understands me and we are the only White people for miles, I have not once felt unsafe or unwelcome.

*Side note* A woman just threw garbage off her roof into the small “stream” outside the complex…a cow moans in the distance…the wind blows…there is the call to prayer.

In about 36 hours you stop caring what you look like. Maybe this is just me, but we stand out here so much it really doesn’t make any sense to worry about my hair or a small mark of dirt on my sleeve. Most of our day is spent just sitting around; reading, talking, eating the food that is made for us which is mostly stews made from bouillon, a small bit of meat and some veggies, and put on white rice.

Jess and I were able to switch our $1100 US into CFA today…we were handed like 500,000 CFA. This should last us at least the entire month we are here. When asked, Wague said that most people here make about $50 monthly, but he is always quick to point out that the quality of life here is really not about the money. The cynic in me thinks that this is exactly what is easiest said by those without money, but in reality he is correct: A great many people here exist day-to-day not in desperation, but as a life style gauged in terms of success by how you are thought of in your community. Wague is by no means the richest man here…far from it, but his generosity and dedication make people sing songs to him (literally, oral historians sing him praises and place him admirably with his ancestors). In three days, I have yet to spend a single CFA.

3 days in and Jess and I are still the only Westerners we have seen. You get used to people staring at you pretty quickly. I made tea today and people seemed to like it. The ritual of Atiya, green tea brewed and consumed very slowly amongst a group, happens throughout the day. We also went to the market, which was interesting. The market is kinda gross and smells pretty bad, but there was any number of random things to buy there. It was BUSY and maze-like so I am glad we had an escort (the wife of Wague’s brother). Everything was pretty much local, or at least I assume this as most stalls sold the same fish, veggies, and spices. I was in the market for some flip-flops for the shower, which I purchased for 500 CFA (or one US dollar).

*Side note* I’m sitting here with my computer writing this and the woman who cleans the center, Nana, is wiping down the mats around me. I resist the urge to get up and out of her way and my feeling bad that she is cleaning around me. She hums and keeps going. She cleans all day; every single surface every single day. She lives with Wague’s brother as she does not have family in the area. She is soft-spoken, gentle, and always smiles. She seems wise for her relatively few years, or maybe she is just content. I really like her…but have never had a conversation beyond some Bambara niceties because I cannot speak her language.

Unlike in Cairo or some other large markets, Malians are not aggressive sellers so the only hard thing is just staying out of the way of busy people. I guess in the city center the sales get a little more aggressive. We had planned to go today or tomorrow but Wague said there are large protest today with students clashing with police…throwing eggs and rotten food and the like. So, another day at the center which is not too bad at all.

Brussels is big

It appears that our Belgium trip is less about West to East, and more about small to large. We have traveled from Sleepy Bruges, to art filled Ghent, and now are in a surprisingly (surprising for me at least) large European city with underground transit - Brussels.

Brussels may not be the pretty girl at the party, but there is a lot behind that rather homely facade. To start, Brussels has the most impressive plaza I have seen in Europe in the Grand Plaza. There is also the impressively large Palace of Justice which our hosts have told us inspired Hitler to create his 3rd Reich (thanks big building!).

There are any number of beautiful things to see here, but honestly, I'm a bit touristed out! I think I have seen like 15 churches, all of which would be major attractions in the US.

Taking a break from the wandering awe, Jess and I went to two different pubs which were amazing. The first is the Mort Subite, an awesome bar with a cool 19th century interior. this is how a bar should look! The next was the Delirium Cafe, home bar of my new favorite beer. This place is huge and awesome, with over 2000 beers available. For those who may be interested, I was excited to try the Delirium Tremens on tap and found....I prefer it in a bottle. This is also the only time in Belgium that I was given a glass not officially recognized with the beer in question. This is a point of pride for most Belgian bars and restaurants, but I guess you can serve your own beer in a normal glass.

Jess and I also traveled to the large open market in Brussels near Clemenceau stop. This place was freaking great; everything you would ever want and cheap as it comes. As it was during the week, Jess and I were surrounded by Belgium's diverse population. We bought fruit, salad makings, some beautiful shrimp (only 8 Euro a kilo and smelled as fresh as I have ever had!), some smoked pork and Boudin Noir (blood sausage, and before you go euwew...it was delicious and I was not the only person to think so) to make dinner for our hosts. I cooked the shrimp with onion and garlic in some Leffe beer and it was amazing. I also introduced our hosts to the gourmand notion of sucking the broth out of the shrimp head as a fantastic way to get the best shrimp taste out of the dish.

All that's left is to see the music museum and maybe have a night out on the town with our hosts; then off to Africa!

Belgian Food continues...

As you can read in Jess' last post, Ghent in quite spectacular. There are buildings and things...and FOOD. Unfortunately, we apparently have no idea how to eat here! We have often gone in search of food based upon lots of research only to find the restaurant closed. This is an extremely frustrating time of year to be visiting. Restaurants are ALWAYS closed...some on the weekend, some on Sunday and Monday, some on Wednesday and Thursday, people leave for extended holidays, etc. All of the mom and pop type places I want to eat are unavailable...kinda sucks.

In general, there is a rhythm to eating and going out here and Jess and I don't get it...but there is also the New Year messing everything up. I imagine we'll get it just in time to leave :)

Of the food we did eat, I was most satisfied. We have had a large sampling of "frites" or chips with mayo and various sauces and I am officially a fan. The mayo is different here, more subtle and tasty and somehow less dense. Fries are basically fries; the only difference seems to be quality of oil and freshness. All are previously frozen, minus the skin and a little thinker than the average American French fry.

The Ghent "noses", a candy Jess describes in her last post arer really quite amazing. They are floral in a way that is surprising and quite addictive.

I finally had the Brussels style waffle with chocolate sauce, which is slightly larger and lighter than the Liege waffles we have been getting from carts. The chocolate sauce was quite watery; the waffle I think less tasty than the more dense and sweet Liege waffles.

I will also tell you that I have tried the best beer in the land (based upon an ever growing sample size :), and it ain't Dues (tried that in Brugges...excellent and interesting, but I don't need it again). The winner by a land slide is the Belgium made beer Delirium Tremens. This is a subtle, lighter colored beer that sits at about 8.5%. The nose is fantastic, body much lighter than expected, and the drink-ability quite high...I could drink these things all night if not for the high AC. Look for the white bottle with pink elephants. At 3.5 Euro per go in a pub, you CANNOT go wrong.

Last but not least, the famous Moules Frites. These are the quite expensive Belgian mussels served in broth, wine, or a cream sauce. They run from about 20-30 Euro a plate and come with a side of the ubiquitous fries. After researching places, we found one that was finally open; the result...truly spectacular! For one, the portion was very large. They serve the dish in a large steamer bowl with a lid. I chose the wine and broth. These mussels are tender, creamy, and lightly taste of the sea. Gone is the rather metallic taste that I find in most American mussels. I cannot afford it again, but I'm definitely glad I made room for the expense. These mussels were at Bridge, a Brasserie by the Bellfor.

Can't Ghent Enough

Ghent it? Yeah, we do. Not only is Belgium's fourth most populous city prime for name-calling puns, it's my new favorite super-old, overly gorgeous, filled with delicious things European city.

We arrived yesterday, New Year's day (happy new year!) and are leaving tomorrow to go to Brussels. This is certainly a place I know I want to come back to. A sizable city, with just over 250,000 inhabitants, Ghent brings together the seemingly unending architectural beauty that Brugges offers, but with a bigger city feel, thriving student population and all kinds of old-world-meets-new-world art and design that makes this girl real happy.

A note about art in Ghent: it's everywhere. In addition to the collection of medieval churches, buildings and town halls, one can see what seems like an entire history of western architecture just in an hour's walk through the historic city center.  Earlier in 2012 I spent a lot of time thinking (mostly at work) about creative placemaking - the process of animating public spaces with artistic expression and installation. Here, creative placemaking is alive and well. One of the most visible examples is the 'grafitistraatje' - a little alley where the street walls, bricks and fences (anyone - you too!) are continually reinvented by street graffiti artists. At first glance, looking down the alley looks a bit dodgy, but once you step in you're surrounded by such a collection of artists that Portland's first Thursday would pale in comparison. Street art seems to be a highly respected form of expression and you can easily find yourself turning a corner to be welcomed by an extensive mural or graffiti experiment. And although we didn't see it, apparently a group of artists are working on a 'graffiti tower' project in response to the city's plan to tear down to high-rise low(er) income development projects and displace a large group of immigrants.

I've also been so excited to see contemporary art installations in the (huge) medieval churches. From photography installations to youth artworks to an electric light installation, it's clear that these old, ornate and incredibly beautiful spaces are being reinvigorated time and time again. I like it.

We've of course been keen to partake in local treats. Aside from the obvious necessary intake of high-gravity Belgian beer, we found a true Belgian "Frieten" or friterie/fries cart. Just for the record, fries are not French, their Belgian, and are typically served with sauce - the traditional being mayo.

We also visited Mokabon, a coffee house that serves locally roasted coffee. But the best part??? When you want cream with your coffee, they give you a little plate of thick Belgian whipped cream. I LOVE THIS PLACE.

We also made sure to try "cuberdon" - the "nose of Ghent" a candy made only in this region is hard on the outside (but not like hard candy) and stuffed with fruity sweet gelatin paste. At first taste we weren't sure we were into it, but before we knew it we were on a mission for a sac of these little "noses" because we just wanted more. Good thing we're walking about 9 miles a day (that's not an exaggeration) because Belgium would be very bad for my waistline otherwise.

Our next destination is to the capital, Brussels, where we'll spend three days hanging out. I'm particularly looking forward to visiting the instrument museum, the world's largest collection of unique instruments from around the world. I'm also looking forward to having some Belgian chocolate, which oddly for me I haven't even had yet - too busy with the waffles, beer, fries and now cuberdons. Don't worry Mom, I had a salad tonight.

There's so much more I want to say about Ghent, but it's been such a whirlwind of a time here. I remarked to Jon tonight how much it feels like Strasbourg (France) to me, and perhaps that's why I feel so comfortable here and why I enjoy it so much (despite not understanding a lick of Dutch - I just don't Ghent it..hahaha ok sorry). I spent 5 months in Strasbourg, fyi for anyone who was wondering why on earth I would have any attachment to that city. Whatever it is, I hope we make it back here before the trip is done. I'm considering this an official scouting mission.

What are some of your favorite far away cities?

Cheers!

Jess

Ahh...Bruges

Our time in Bruges has come to a close. We leave deeply impressed with the scape of this beautiful city, tired of the crowds of Brugenyland, hung over on amazing beer, full of frites and waffles. Some Bruge thoughts:

1) Food is expensive. Unless you are having a super cheap snack food, your out 15-20 euro for lunch and 20-30 for dinner for a three course meal. Jess and I were impressed with the mayo on frites...it is somehow better here. The waffles were always great as well. We had Flemish stew (beef stew in a dark beer sauce) and rabbit Flemish style (in a beer sauce with prunes); both were quite good and came with frties per usual. I can't say we got a chance to try much food here due to the cost, but there are over 400 places to eat here and I would like to have a go at them all.

2) Beer is cheap. Given my nature to pay too much for Belgian beer in the states I was amazed to find that some of the best Belgian beer is 2 euro in the bottle, 4 euro at the pub. We also toured the only brewery in Bruge, The Half Moon which makes a great beer called Bruge Zot and Hendricks. Beer is freaking serious here...never considered ordering wine (except for hot spiced wine in the market :).

3) I have never seen so many beautiful buildings in my life; every corner you turn is amazing. However, other people think this too...hence, Brugneyland. every day a flood of tourist come into town and leave in the evening.

Jess chiming in here: HAPPY NEW YEAR! As Jon mentioned, we really did decide to dub Bruges Brugeneyland. It's so unbelievably beautiful - oozing with gorgeousness - it's overwhelming. The first city settlements were made in the 8th century, with the height of merchant trade, religion, and art culminating in the 15th century. Home to artist Jan Van Eyck, the only Michelangelo sculpture made onsite outside of Italy and the first book ever published in English, Brugge has serious history. Art is everywhere, not just in galleries, public art, and in the ridiculous amount of churches; but in every detail of the buildings, landscaping and canals.

The amount of tourists that pour in each day and leave at sundown, really does give the feeling that you're in a theme park, that it can't be real, but it is.

Our new year's eve was one of the most fun new year's eves I can remember. In Brugges, the highlight of the evening is to convene outside the concert hall (oddly one of a few modern buildings in the city) and partake in a 15,000+ person sing-a-long. Songs were sung in dutch, italian, french, spanish and english, and, while some of the song choices were pretty odd, it was a beautifully festive and family affair. People of every age, singing, dancing and celebrating. A scene of pure joy - even with the misty rain. Events like these would heal the world if they happened more often. Our favorite parts were "Sweet Caroline" sung in dutch, a massive amount of people dancing to gangnam style, and a dutch song that our Ghent couchsurfing hosts have informed us is a Belgian 'dwarf dance' - where everyone waves their arms over their heads, turns around, ducks/squats down and does another turn. Let me tell you, when 10,000+ people start doing a totally cute belgian dwarf dance, you can't help but be happy.

We're in Ghent for a couple of days and then off to Brussels. More soon!

What did you all do for New Year's Eve?