Paris and the Big 3-0

For my 30th birthday, K and I decided to go on a short trip to…Paris: The (Once) Fashion Capital of the World!

I had promised two dear friends of mine that we would go to Paris together when they would come and visit us from New York but then again, when you’re 30, it’s high time you break (some) promises—hehe binuang ra! ;P

K’s first move: Book a hotel.

My first move: Cancel the hotel and book a hoStel. I didn’t want to spend a lot on accommodations and besides, it’s Paris! One wouldn’t expect to do a lot of sleeping in such a spectacular city, heller?!@#% Luckily, K agreed despite the prospect of having to possibly share a room with two other anonymous people. Hmmm…do I sense a backpacker in the making?? Hehe

So off we went to Paris on a 3.5 hour drive a day before my birthday with my 5 euro worth of French (unsaon man kuno pagtranslate ug “singkong tapok” sa Ininglis, beh?). And on our way I was prepping myself for my self-imposed mission: I would take pictures of the ugly parts of Paris. You know when other people would go to other beautiful places and just take photos of the beautiful parts? Well, I wanted to do the complete opposite. I wanted to take pictures of the other side of Paris, the side where people didn’t get to see…the side which they don’t show on “Discovery Travel and Adventure”.

When we arrived at Paris late in the afternoon, we checked into our hostel, which claimed to be one of the most popular hostels in Paris, the 3 Ducks (see photo below), and was located “at the foot of the Eiffel Tower” (their exact words—but puleeez, it ended up being a 2km walk to the Eiffel Tower and for a Filipina, that is a long walk!). I was naively imagining a hostel at the foot of the Eiffel Tower which I was hoping was just photoshopped to appear as if the Eiffel Tower didn’t have a hostel at it’s foot. Duh?



The 3 Ducks http://www.3ducks.fr/en-hostel.php

We got some brochures at the bar and decided to take a tour in the Montmartre District /Mohngh-maahgh-tuh/ (or something like that). We took a metro there to get the “local” feel and ofcourse because we had already found a good parking spot for our car just a block away from our hostel and we didn’t want to lose it.


Paris MRT

NOTE TO SELVES: Should you ever decide to live in Paris in the future, just buy a scooter or better yet a Smart Car (“mini-ca” ba) OR a pedicab, as finding a parking spot in Paris can seem to be as likely as the sun shining in Belgium (ooohhh! That was low! Oops! I’m gonna get in trouble for this! Hehe--JUST KIDDING! ;)


THE MONTMARTRE DISTRICT

An emerging new age tour in Europe is called “New Europe Tours”. And it most certainly doesn’t hurt that these tours are FREE! The tour guides work solely on tips. (www.neweuropetours.eu)

So without further ado, we took the 6pm New Europe “Montmartre” Tour and I will share with you some stories that made me appreciate going on tours and WILL continue to make me go on these type of tours.


THE MOULIN ROUGE




When we went there, the show that was on was called “Feerie”. They said that it was rumored that the Feerie shows would soon be nearing its super-duper-mega last curtain call because another show would be taking its place. Pretty much the evolution of the Moulin Rouge has been dictated by the tips that customers would give. The dancers soon realized that the higher they raised their skirts, the higher their tips went…and eventually, they became smarter and realized, “What if we don’t wear anything underneath??”. And so the tips came pouring in! hehe But ofcourse, the Moulin Rouge of today is very different AND the Moulin Rouge movie is an exaggeration of the real deal…or so I’ve heard. ;)

K and I have decided that when we’re 40 or 50 then we can be ready to watch the Moulin Rouge. Most of the people who were lining up to watch it were in that age bracket anyway. The cheapest ticket was 80 euro and if you wanted to watch the show and have dinner, be prepared to spend 150 euro. The strip bar right across is 20 euro. Take your pick.


Café des Deux Moulins,more popularly known as: Amelie Poulin’s cafe





After the Moulin Rouge, Amelie Poulin’s cafe was the next stop of the tour. I couldn’t even call it a quaint, little coffeeshop. It was located in the corner of a steep street and when K and I went back to have a drink there after the tour (just so we can say that we have actually HAD a drink on Amelie’s coffeeshop) there really wasn’t anything spectacular about it, apart from maybe the picture of Amelie hanging on the wall or plastered all over the menu’s.

But at least we could say that we had been there. :)

Little details:The director (or was it the producer) was apparently very fond of this coffeeshop for some reason that he decided that that was the perfect place to shoot part of his movie. So he talked to the owner and ofcourse, the owner was ecstatic. What owner wouldn’t want a movie shown in his café? The owner thought, “Oh, two or three weeks should be okay.”

But then, he soon found out that he was supposed to close his shop for 4 months!

Anyway, he still ended up agreeing and now his café earns him hundreds of thousands every year…thanks to little miss Amelie Poulin.


AU LAPIN AGILE




This ordinary looking night-club was once a favorite spot of struggling artists, one of which came one night, without any money but called on a waitress and ordered food anyway. As the artist was as broke as the ten commandments at that time, he decided to ingeniously sketch the waitress on a piece of table napkin as payment. The waitress, surprisingly, thought this was such a sweet gesture (pfff…women!) that she accepted it and so the artist got away with a free meal. The next day the artist came back and applied the same system. Again it worked and so he came back every day for a month.

After a month, the owner got wind of this and approached the budding artist. He said, “Hey, I can’t just accept table napkins with sketches as payment for your meals! I have to have something more substantial!”.

The artist said, “Okay, if you will promise to continue feeding me I will give you one of my paintings every week with my own promise that someday I WILL become famous and my work will be worth a whole lot more.”

Owner, stopped for a moment and said, “Okay, it’s a deal.”

And so the artist got his free meals in exchange for a couple of paintings. This deal lasted for a couple of years.

In the end, the artist became one of my most admired painters (drumroll please!): Pablo Picasso. Tadah!

And the owner, by then, had a basement full of Picasso paintings which he ofcourse, sold for a hefty sum of money (ummm… just more than a million for each painting) and retired happily ever after in the south of France.

So, the moral of the story is…?


LE BATEAU LAVOIR




This is one of the places where Pablo Picasso studied art together with another now famous artist, Amedeo Modigliani.

One day, as they were leaving their school, one “bystander” said to another (not exact words ;), “You know what , someday, these guys are going to be famous.”

Taking this to heart, the other “bystander” then waited one day for all the students to leave the building, broke in, and stole some paintings.

Picasso was the first at school the next day. When he found out that the paintings were stolen he broke into a fit of rage, breaking glass, semi-tearing down the place, and wound up in tears. Modigliani, Picasso’s biggest rival then, came next, and upon finding Picasso in that state, consoled him and said, “Don’t worry, Pablo. We can always make more paintings.”

Pablo, wiped his tears, and eventually confessed that he was crying because not a single one of his paintings was stolen. Everything that was stolen were works of Modigliani.

he he.


The LOUVRE

I admit, we didn’t really consider going inside the Louvre for the sole reason that we didn’t have enough time. The Louvre, they say, now holds around 35,000 works of art and that would approximately take 6 months to view! With only a day and a half, I seriously didn’t want to spend it inside the museum looking for the Mona Lisa by going to the Sully wing and taking elevator D…or E…then turning left and taking elevator G…or was that F? Then going to the…Whatever!?!@#%

So, the next day, we decided to go Asian and take pictures outside instead! :)




Did I mention that that day was my birthday? The weather was not very pleasant that day but hail couldn’t have stopped us from taking another tour. Remember when I said I would take photos of the ugly parts? Well, here it is…

You’ve seen it. You’ve seen it on tv, you’ve seen it in magazines, you’ve seen it in the pictures we took. In my mission to take photos of the ugly parts of Paris, I failed. Not because I couldn’t, but because there weren’t any. Paris is such a beautiful city, with a very rich history and there is just surprisingly, nothing bad I can say about it. They say Parisians are quite rude and snobbish, but all the locals that we had encountered there were quite okay.

Paris, admittedly, was not really one of THE places on my “to visit” list but I would definitely go back there in a heartbeat. To The Louvre, Rodin, and Picasso museums—See you next time!

Oh! Oh! And I would even go back just for these little morsels of heaven:


The Paris Macarons http://gridskipper.com/archives/entries/061/61929.php


When we drove back to Belgium I had a very surprising surprise party waiting for me. Being away from home will never be easy, but that day, K (together with our conspiring friends!?!@$%), made it all better. I would like to thank all of you again for making me welcome 30 with a bang... World, here I come!!! *wink*

Turning 30

Last week, I went to visit a friend from London who is originally from Taiwan. Her 13 year old daughter didn’t have any classes that week so she joined in on the “Girls’ Afternooon”.

In our many interesting conversations, her daughter had her fair share. In one instance, she exclaimed, “Oh my god! When we moved here to Belgium I couldn’t believe that I saw a blackboard in my new school! I mean, hello?? Who uses blackboards these days?”

Me: “Ummm…well, we do. As far as I know, we still use it back home. I mean, in my time, we used it and I don’t think I’m THAT old. What did you use in London?”

Daughter, “A smartboard.”, she said matter-of-factly.

I just had a blank look on my face. And for a moment, it took me back to the time when my bestfriend mentioned that she wanted to own a KINDLE and my first thought was, “What is a kindle?”.

Turning 30.

The first time I realized I was getting "old" was more than a decade ago, back when I was still in college. I was watching MTV Classics and all of a sudden I saw “Come As You Are” by Nirvana being played. I couldn’t believe my eyes (and ears)! It was just Nirvana! It wasn’t Michael Jackson, or Cyndi Lauper, or Boy George… You know, those 80’s groups. It was Nirvana!?@#%

And then it dawned upon me -- Nirvana began in the late 80s and “Nevermind” was the first cassette tape that I had proudly bought with my own money. They were supposed to be on MTV classics and I was getting old-ER. =)

Turning 30.

A lot of things have happened in my life. Some good, some bad, some wonderful, some terrible, some vague, and some I know will just stick with me for the rest of my life--or until I get amnesia.

I joined this social travelling organization a couple of days ago (www.couchsurfing.org) and one of the questions that I had to fill out was: What is one amazing thing you've seen/done?

Immediately, I began to write about diving and seeing sea turtles (awesome!) and mountain climbing with amazing views… For the most part of my life, sports have played a very essential role. I have never considered myself athletic but for some reason, I just like sports and I just want to be good at what I do. I HAVE to be--the competitive nature in me, but the thing is, I more often than not compete against myself. Ofcourse, I can be picky. I don’t like sissy sports but I will not expound on what I find to be sissy sports as I do not want to offend anyone in this essay. Sports have always made me feel alive and free and content. It gives me a natural high. But the sport that will always hold a special place in my heart is football.

Football. The greatest sport in the world. But as time passes, other sports have squeezed their way into my heart. Through the years, some sports that I have engaged in and have actually liked and have committed to are:

1. Football (since highschool) and Futsal (since college)
2. Swimming (since grade school)
3. Rollerblading (since highschool)
4. Skimboarding (post college)
5. Surfing (post college)
6. Adventure racing (post college), though I never really did enjoy biking for the sole reason that it made my thighs too big. Hey, I am still entitled to vanity.
7. Mountaineering (since college)
8. Wall & Rock climbing (since college)
9. Bouldering (just recently)
10. Ultimate Frisbee (since college)
11. Kayaking (since college)
12. Longboarding (since 2 years ago but it was just for a couple of times and I loved it =)
13. Snowboarding (just recently)
14. Scuba Diving (since 2 years ago)
15. English Boxing (for a year now)

And I will stop at 15 because admittedly, I can be a bit obsessive compulsive and right now, if it’s not multiples of 5 then it’ll make me feel strange. Freaky, I know.

So I wanted to write about my amazing experiences (even if the question stated to just give one [1]) and I did start to… but suddenly, I was struck by a single flashback. Something that I experienced a long time ago and it was one of the most ordinary of experiences but for some reason, it felt so extraordinary to me. And so I wrote about it and I will also share it with you…

ONE AMAZING THING I’VE SEEN/DONE

One afternoon I was skimboarding on a long stretch of beach back home. I was happy to have had the beach all to myself. Finally, dusk started settling in and the sky just burst into mesmerizing hues of pink, purple, orange, red, and blue.

I laid down on the shore with my board and just admired the awesomeness of it all.

Suddenly, I saw fireworks at a distance near the mountains. Fireworks have always amazed me, just like bubbles, rainbows, sunrises and moonrises; the simple yet beautiful things in life.

And at that moment, by myself and with silence only broken by the lapping of the gentle waves on the shore, I knew I was happy...that life was good and that I have been doing what I loved doing.

For some reason, that moment just stuck with me. For some reason, for me that moment was amazing...

Turning 30.

I have always felt that life is too short and there are just so many things that I want to do. Too many sports that I still want to try. Too many things that I still need to learn. Too many books that I still want to read. Too many stuff that I still want to Google. Too many stories that I still want to write. Too many places that I still want to visit. Too many people that I still want to help. Too many families that are still suffering from poverty. Too many animals facing extinction. Too many individuals not caring about the environment. Too many friends and relatives that I haven’t given enough hugs and attention to. Too many moments in my brothers’ and sister’s lives that I miss. Too many conversations that I still haven’t had with my mama and my papa. Too many memories that I still want to share with my partner. Too many… TOO many.

Turning 30? I can only hope that I will still live twice as long to be able to do even half of the things that I still want to do (not to mention have the energy for it!).

Turning 30. Life gets shorter when you turn 30...

Philippine Postal System Trauma

Yesterday my post office nightmare came to an end. After 7 months, I can finally sleep soundly at night.

7 months earlier...

7 months ago was my birthday. Being in a long distance relationship has never been easy (nor cheap) but K and I have tried to make the most out of it. I had wanted to celebrate the day of my birth with him but since he couldn’t come over yet, he sent me a great present and wrote me a wonderful note instead.

The present was (can I write about it?? Hehe) a personalized “pull” (in Filipino: “sweater” ra diay) with a fabulous drawing (since K is quite a talented artist) and a pair of boxing gloves, to name a few. I was so excited to receive it (as I had begun to get hooked to boxing at that time) and when I got the notice from the post office I immediately went there to claim it.

Long story short, they asked me to pay a P3,500 tax for my BIRTHDAY PRESENT (half the price of the present) and so in not so ladylike terms I sorta told them to take a long walk over a short pier, dive headfirst, and never resurface. They didn’t even allow me to read the “birthday card” inside! Grrrr…

That marked the end of my post office days—or so I thought. A month after I asked them to send it back, the package still had not reached the sender. So I had to take a trip to the post all over again—this after having consulted 3 lawyer friends of mine. Seriously.

In the end, they told me they had sent it on January 12 and that I should just wait for it. They even showed me their books indicating such.

And so we waited…and waited…K came over to the PH to spend the holidays…he came back to BE…we waited some more…and waited still…I packed my bags and moved to Belgium and we waited again… winter went, spring came, and summer is almost here…well, I guess you get the picture.

But alas! The other day we got a note from the post informing us that an international package was waiting for us. More specifically, a return to sender package. We really hoped for the best and expected the worst. I will not begin to narrate the horror postal stories my trainees had shared with me.

I was finally able to open my present yesterday. Amazingly, everything was there (what a disappointment! ;). Now I hold the hopes of so many others who have been waiting for their mail (e.g. K’s aunt who sent a parcel to Mexico from Belgium in 2007). That package give people like me hope…and so much more. There is a God.

From now on we really ought to take the term SNAIL MAIL to heart.

Thank you post office. You didn’t fail me after all. ;P

Two Filipina Spies and One Paranoid Schizophrenic

As I was walking towards town to meet up with K for lunch today after school (hmmm…come to think of it, it was more like limping actually due to my newly sprained ankle which I acquired while playing football the other day) I saw two naturally brown-skinned girls walking in front of me. On instinct, I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Normally, I pride myself on having good “gay-dar” but apparently, it only works for sniffing out gay people. In distinguishing a Filipino from a Malaysian, Indonesian, or Thai, I find myself to be quite incapacitated. As I was eavesdropping, I heard the word “tayo” which means “us” in Tagalog, our national language. I eagerly listened some more. *wink*

The other day, during drinks after Ultimate training I asked my teammates what the national language in Belgium is. They said it was Dutch, French, and German. In a country with over 170 languages but only one national language, which is Filipino, it is a bit hard for me to comprehend that this country has 3 national languages. Although we have 2 official languages which are Filipino and English (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Languages_of_the_Philippines).

So anyway, the two were walking and apparently, I ended up limping faster than they were walking coz I was able to catch up with them. We ended up walking side by side, which I found rather weird. The girl to the far right looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. The other girl was busy talking about this girl she didn’t like and I immediately detected the distinct Visayan accent speaking in Tagalog.

Without hesitating, I asked the two of them, “Magkaklase kayo?” (Are you two classmates?)—as they were speaking in Tagalog. The girl to the right replied, “Hindi, ako level one pa lang siya level 2 na. Ikaw?” (No, I’m still in level one and she’s already in level 2, and you?)

I told her I was in level 2.

Her next reaction startled me a bit: “Eh bago ka pa lang dito diba? Level 2 kana pala!” (But you’re still new here and you’re already in level two!)

I just stretched my lips apart in an attempt to show my teeth and fake a smile all the while thinking, “Umm…Have we met before? Do I know you?? How do you know that I’m still new here???”. Then I had all these weird thoughts racing through my head…Do they have a Filipino internal database here that I don’t know of? A has never mentioned that to me. How could this girl have known??

It was a bit creepy. Yeah, Filipinos are naturally friendly but how in the world…?? To distract myself I just asked the other girl in my dialect this time, “Taga asa ka?” (Where are you from?)

“Cebu”, she replied, “Ikaw?”. I smiled and said, “Dumaguete”.

“Ah, kabalo diay ka mu-Cebuano!” (Oh! So you know how to speak Cebuano!)

Me (mentally): Duh?? (see above dialogue)

But like I always tell K, Filipinos are everywhere in the world. I wouldn’t even be surprised if I go to Antarctica and meet one. We are just EVERYWHERE.

So well, when we reached the crossing we said our casual goodbyes and parted ways. I bet they will immediately update their database when they get to their headquarters:

Name: Jacki 00678121
Classification: Level 2--Het Perspectief
Location: Gent, Belgium
Origin: Negros Oriental, Philippines

Wrong move, Jacki. Wrong move.

Tropical Girl vs The Cold

If I were to list down my stressors among the top notchers would have to be: The Cold.

For a tropical girl, it was already a major stressor for me in our offices and buildings in the Philippines. I really do have a very low tolerance level for the cold. I would set the air-conditioning at 22 or 23 (Celsius), anything lower than that was not only cold, but REALLY COLD for me. Now, in a country with four seasons and global warming wreaking havoc all around, the cold does not get to be funny at all. But in times when you feel that you have hit rock bottom, it can be comforting to know that you can bank on love to keep you warm (haha—cheesy! But true… ;)


A funny anecdote on warmth and cultural differences:

I remember the first time I came to visit BE. It was during the summer and the first thing we did was to leave my things in our hotel in Amsterdam, which was were my plane landed. Amsterdam: where legal weed, space cakes and prostitutes are so commercialized BUT still worth a try--the latter one I wasn’t able to try though. Hehe (just kidding!)

In the hotel lobby, I saw a nice painting mounted on the wall and below it was a wide-white metal object that I had also seen in photos of K’s room prior to my visit. I exclaimed my admiration for the painting and then touched the big metal bars and uttered, “This is nice. It’s like the one you have in your room noh… what is it??”

While trying to keep a straight face, K replied, “It’s a heater.”

For a split second I looked at him and then spat out a laugh which turned out to be a succession of giggles (like I am always prone to doing). It would have been embarrassing for me but really, I cannot imagine a house in my country having a heater (Baguio maybe??)…just like I cannot imagine a house in Belgium having air-conditioning. In the movies they don’t really say: “Oh, what a lovely heater you have.” or “This is our heater. Don’t you think it’s just lovely?” Hence, I never knew what a heater looked like…until that day.

For sure, I will never mistake a heater for anything else ever again and I will always have one funny heater incident tucked under my belt.

--End of Anecdote.


On a serious note, I am faced with the reality that the cold will always be a part of my life from now on. More often than not, it is something the sun cannot even beat into submission. I will have to constantly battle it and struggle with it. They say keep your friends close; your enemies closer.

The cold is my enemy. The cold is my friend.

LEVEL 2: 500 Euros and The Wackos (from the Huis van het Nederlands)

And so I begin with another chapter in the Huis van het Nederlands series.

We started our class last Monday. Immediately, when I entered the room (I was late during the first day, as usual. Haay...some things never change!) a booming voice was reverberating and it was coming from a Mexican looking guy (okay, booming and reverberating might be a bit of an exaggeration…let me just say then that it was quite "AUDIBLE”). I didn’t mind at first and thought, “Well, it’s just Day 1. Some people can just be like that; Don’t Judge, Jacki. First impressions don’t normally last. Things will be okay for your next two months of classes.”

I sat beside A, my Italian classmate from Niveau 1, together with D, the Russian Mafia (just kidding!). Ofcourse, on Day 1 you are supposed to bring money for the book that is to be used for that semester. Being the me that I am, I forgot to bring cash and well…they didn’t accept Mastercard. Hehe So the forgetful ones were given the chance to pay the next day and those that weren’t as forgetful paid for the textbook: 18 euro.

The trainer went around to collect money from the rich and the paupers were left to stare off into space or for those who were interested, indulge in the casual “What is your name?” and “Where are you from?” conversation with their seatmates.

Now for the juicy part:

When our trainer reached the guy who was talking loudly when I came inside the room, he made a big sweeping gesture to take out his wallet from his back pocket and took out the only bill he might have had there…yep! You guessed it right! 500 euros.

500 EUROS?!?!?! WTF? In Belgium, 500 euros can get me and K Ryanair (plane) tickets to almost half of the Schengen countries. 500 euros in the Philippines is worth a 2 week stay in the island of Malapascua WITH MEALS. So, what I’m getting at, is that 500 euros, moreover, a 500 EURO BILL, is a lot of money…and it is also something that is quite rare here and that you don’t get to see much of. And to pay for just an 18 euro book and ask for 478 euros change (whoops! 482 ;P ) is quite silly. The trainer then said that she didn’t have change (ofcourse!) and told the guy, well let’s call him “500 euros”, that he can pay the next day, when he'd have change. The trainer then stepped out to get the books from the secretariat.

When the trainer came back with the books she distributed it to the people who were not forgetful and sane enough to pay the adequate amount. When 500 euros didn’t get a book he bellowed (and this time I am not exaggerating): “Howboutmybook? Wherzmybook??”. He apparently had a not so coherent French-Algerian accent.

The trainer, a bit appalled by his outburst, tried to calmy say, “You will get your book tomorrow when you pay.”

“ButIhavemoney! Whydon’tyougiveme abook?!”, while saying this 500 euros took out again his…tadah! 500 euros! Waving it in the air like a national flag.

“I don’t have change so I will give you the book tomorrow when you give me a smaller amount.”, the trainer patiently explained.

“ButIhavemoney!”, 500 euros insisted, “Okay, I’llgiveyoumymoney, yougivemethebook, andthenyou givemethechangetomorrow.”

All 10 of us, the students of level 2 with our new mini-United Nations group with a representative each from: Ecuador, Bulgaria, Italy, Russia, two from Iraq, Albania, Thailand, Turkey, and me, the Philippines…all 10 of us began looking at each other and was united by one single thought: “What the hell is wrong with this guy???”.

In the end, the trainer won and he put his 500 euros back in his wallet.

Whew! The days went on and the wacko continued being a wackjob and in some instances, his wacko-ness seemed to contaminate the other people in the group. Unfortunately, the trainer didn't seem to be helping any either. So just today, after one week of agony, D and I asked to be moved to the morning class. Bah, we made up some "valid" excuse. Some people you just couldn’t stand. I think this new one is better (except for the fact that S is there--ajajajajajaja)… I KNOW it's gonna be better. I can just feel it... *wink*

14 degrees and Let the Sun Shine In!

When I was back home K would always tell me that I take our climate for granted too much especially when I complain about the heat. And each time I would tell him that I never take it for granted, I love the heat, it just happened to be too warm and beachless in Manila.

I usually ask people what they prefer, a warm sunny day or an overcast sky that is not so warm. Most would prefer the latter, which I never understood really; I have always preferred the former. Without any doubt, I am a warm-blooded, beach loving, sun-burning tropical girl.

But like what my bestfriend said, she sure hopes she doesn't fall in love with a man from Antarctica because for sure she will follow him there. And that is what has happened to me (though not from Antarctica! Whew! ;). I don't regret it ofcourse, I accept whatever challenges come our way because I am old enough to know that you can't have it all...and that following your heart is NEVER not worth it (cheesy! ;).

There are things in life that don't go the way you had planned it, hence: The future is no longer what it used to be. It's the thought that family and friends are just there, no matter what timezone or distance they may be in ,who make you feel loved and supported that gets you through the tough times in life. For that, I will always be grateful.

Despite all the grayness, today gave me some joy. For the first time I dressed up in a tropical outfit not because I was in denial this time but because it was really warmer today! In class, I had even regretted not having worn a sleeveless shirt because the 3/4 see thru blouse seemed warmer what with the heater on in our room. What amazed me even more was that on the way home I didn't even have to wear my jacket, just a shawl over my neck and my sleeves still rolled up.

What excited me was the sight of people everywhere. It's amazing how a simple increase in temperature can bring the people out of their caves or wherever it is they're from. That sight gave me a momentary bout of happiness: hip-hoppers and rockers skateboarding in the skatepark, weirdos juggling on some side of the grassy park, students clustered and just studying, kiddies playing soccer or throwing disks, another group of what looked like college students playing some hi-tech game of "Siatong", friends bringing cases of beer (Yes, you read it right: CASES) to consume while sitting on the grass, and many more.

I say I am amazed by this because I just got so used to walking in the park alone towards our flat and meeting only one of two joggers or dog-walkers walking along the almost deserted park which is one of the biggest I've seen in Gent.

Today was an exception. Today was 14 degrees and today I actually SAW a lot of people in our park. The South Park or what they call the "Zuid Park". When I got home I immediately called A, who was in his room, and asked if he wanted to go to the park. It was the first acceptably "warm" day since I got here. I'd like to say he was as excited as I was. We immediately "packed" our stuff: he with his guitar and portable speakers and I with my frisbee disc, laptop (for music since I wasn't able to charge my ipod) and my multi-colored sarong. Yes, we were just going to the park but I was too excited and felt as if we were going to the beach. I was seriously tempted to bring my soccer ball and wear shorts too but thought it was too much ;P All that was lacking was "song hits", but then again, you can't have it all. We did have cans of beer though. What is a great Belgian climate without authentic Belgian beer after all?

Today was a good day. It was most certainly better than yesterday and the days before. The exceptional things a slight change in temperature can do.

To my family and friends, thank you for being there. To the sun, thank you for shining today and for keeping us warm. You might be busy heating up the rest of the world but it is now that I need you the most...and you delivered.

You are undoubtedly a natural high. You make my day...ofcourse, K too. ;P

Dikke knuffel (Big hugs),

Jacki

The Magritte Museum: My 2 cents worth retrospect

Brussels, Belgium
1500 hours
Date: Classified (hehe, I just wrote this for added effect)


Rene Magritte.

For commoners like me, he is known as the person who painted the "Man in the Bowler Hat with a green apple head" in one of ex-James Bond's more popular movies "The Thomas Crown Affair".

Now, to take my common knowledge about this man to a higher level and to bring my ignorance to a lower level, I did a bit of research before visiting the museum, and this is what I found out: René François Ghislain Magritte is a Belgian who had lived 68 "art-full" years in Belgium and in France, visiting the US a couple of times as he had 2 solo exhibitions there during his lifetime. He was the eldest of 3 sons, his father was a tailor, his mom was a milliner (ofcourse, I didn't know what a "milliner" was and I didn't have time to look this up yesterday before we left (*wink*) but now, interestingly, as I looked it up and contrary to my initial silly fantasies that it might have been a typo or that it was the Filipino pronunciation for the word "millionaire", a milliner is a word that originated from Milan, Italy referring to someone who designs, makes, trims, and sells women's hats).

Hmmm...interesting...

The Museum allocated 3 floors purely for the display of his life and works. For a staggering price the equivalent of 1 movie ticket (Belgian not Philippine) you can get a sneak peak into the life and works of one of the most influential painters of all time.

The tour starts on the 3rd floor down to the 1st, where the juicy paintings are. Just like what I read on wikipedia hours before (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rene_Magritte), pretty much everything about his life that is known was there as inscriptions on glass mounted on the walls. Everything that I remember reading was there except for that bit about him having supported himself during the time of the war by reproducing Picasso paintings, among others, and forging bank notes, having an affair with a surrealist model, and his wife also having an affair with another man and at one point filed for divorce. But well, this isn't E! Gossip, this is my retrospect of the Magritte Museum. Ehem...

At the entrance of the 3rd floor a disclaimer was given that out of respect for Magritte, they displayed his works and notes in their original version, French. If you did not understand French then it's your problem (the latter was not part of the disclaimer;). So as part of their respect for Magritte it wasn't really very nice to include something nasty about his past which was highly understandable. If I were Magritte I wouldn't want that either. Other people had bad hair days in the past, or terrible tastes in clothes, or just made bad decisions. He opted forgery to support himself in a time of crisis, when the Germans occupied Belgium during World War II. There is no shame in that, I guess. He just did what he was best at. For the other tidbits, hey...What else is new?

For a couple more Euros, the museum can provide you with a mobile phone looking device that, at the press of a button, can give you more anecdotes apart from what is visibly there, on whatever it is that you may be looking at. The titles of the paintings were in French, Dutch, and English, respectively. But well, if you can very well read and have no desire to join the Magritte Quiz Bee at the end of the tour, then a regular, savory walk through the museum would suffice. You may ofcourse, look for another patron who has one of those mobile phone looking devices and stand really close to him/her so you can also hear the audio free of charge. If it is not in YOUR desired language they might be kind enough to switch it to YOUR preference if you ask extra-nicely...all at your own risk--ofcourse.

At times, we wondered if they didn't accidentally (or intentionally) switch the titles of the pieces to make the visitors even more confused or wonder some more. But among the things that I like about Magritte, I appreciate the fact that he "said" this:

"My painting is visible images which conceal nothing; they evoke mystery and, indeed, when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question 'What does that mean'? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable." --René Magritte (Yes, not really grammatically correct but that's okay)

In my stroll, the paintings evoked different feelings. Some made me say "huh?" or "eww!", some made me giggle or just stare, the last few creations especially made me marvel at his journey through painting and at the outcome of his endeavors. Truly, he had mastered the art and had improved on it quite noticeably, at the latter part of his career.

Despite all those feelings though, I did not once feel stupid. With some painters, you just know that there is an even deeper meaning to their work and you just look at it and wrack your brains just trying to figure out whatever underlying meaning there might be coz you want to seem smart but in the end, feel stupid if you don't get it. With Magritte, it was different. You didn't have to get anything. Just look at it and appreciate it because you dare not interpret it coz he himself indirectly said that you'll be stupid if you do.

But some of his mysteries I might have understood through my mini-research: His mother, who was a milliner, died when he was still young. She was suicidal and eventually succeeded at killing herself through drowning. They say that he was there when she was found on the river...that's why he chose to be a surrealist, coz he knows that she's dead and would just like to think at times that she was still there somehow and that is depicted in his paintings. They say that that's why some of his subjects are veiled in white sheets or that he paints this or he paints that.

Maybe that's why he paints bowler hats.

On another note, I read that contrary to popular belief, it was the bowler hat and not the cowboy hat that was the most popular hat in the American West. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bowler_hat)

Going back, it is not uncommon knowledge that it is our past that makes us who we are. And what we do defines us. Sometimes mysteries cannot just be left as it is..because people have a natural curiosity that needs to be fuelled with answers. With answers come appreciation or a sense of peace or fulfillment. Whatever tickles one's fancy.

Bottomline, Magritte is right: Things are not always what they seem...

Siberia (from the "Huis van het Nederlands" series)

After two weeks of Dutch school (10 more to go) I find myself drowning in Dutch. I am still stuck reading (out loud): De Walvis and De Piraat; and so far, cannot pride myself just yet as I can only grasp a handful of words like: Walvis-Whale, Piraat-Pirate, Zeepaardjes-Seahorse, Dolfijnen-Dolfin, een-one, er leefde eens-there once lived...

In my quest to learn Dutch I really wonder when I can incorporate these words in normal conversation: "So, you really have nice dolfijnens here in Belgium." "Oh! Look at that Piraat!" "What a cute zeepaardjes!"

Hmmm...I wonder when...but still, I will continue reading (with conviction): De Walvis en De Piraat (and no, this book is not a pop-up).

Another thing that made me say that I am drowning in Dutch is an incident that happened just this morning.

At the climbing/bouldering gym, I was reading a tarpaulin logo (reading signs out loud is something I try to form a habit of to practice pronunciation) AVVENTURA: Your Favourite Ski and Outdoor Shop. As I was mentally reading it, I was pronouncing "favourite" as "fah-voh-rit", which is the Dutch pronunciation. Immediately, I thought (and was quite confused): Is there a "Your" word in Dutch (and I could feel my head "The Matrix"-cally scanning my database for the Dutch possessive pronouns that we've learnt in class. It was only a couple of seconds later that I realized that the ad wasn't really in Dutch. It was in English. I can only blame the 9am Belgian indoor climate. After that, I drank my coffee.

We had our first major exam last Thursday. Upon getting our results on Friday I was so disappointed with myself. One mistake!?! I felt really frustrated. So far, I haven't heard of anybody who perfected the exam coz I was 30 minutes late for class (some things never change) and I didn't really have it in me to ask...but one mistake?? I felt that I was not only a student in the class but I represented my country as well in that now 15 person class. I am the only Filipina and the best I could do was a 19 over 20? My best friend was the Valedictorian and the best I could come up with was a 19 over 20?? What impression would the other nations have about me and my fellowmen???

Hahaha...even that new girl, L, from Siberia (who is now in the carpool with me and Mr. And Mrs. Count Dracula) got a 13! IF I had interpreted her language correctly. And she doesn't even speak English! Only Russian and German.

In class we have mastered the art of sign language and pictionary since most speak only a handful of English. I speak only a handful of Spanish, one Italian word, 7 French words, and no Russian--only the accent. They say that music is the universal language but please, let us not go there.

So I didn't initally know where L was from. I only know she is the only person in class who doesn't understand English AT ALL. So I asked her in Dutch, which has now become our "common" language, what her country was. Actually, if we had more time, we could devise a way of understanding each other with the use of Dutch numerics (een, twee, drie, vier...) as our lessons become more and more complicated and learning the language completely at the end of the "semester" has become bleaker and bleaker...

But still...I should not lose hope.

Anyway, I found out that L comes from Siberia. I was shocked! I asked her what the temperature was in Siberia. She didn't know how to say it so she wrote it on paper: -50 (celsius).

Huwaaaat???? Do I thank my lucky stars now that my near death experience here was a measly -5 degrees with wind?? For a moment there I became ashamed of myself. I always find it amusing how when I tell people that in my country 22 degrees is already cold they become quite shocked. Ha! It becomes their turn to be amazed.

I told her that it's common in the movies that Siberia is depicted as a place being really cold. Ofcourse, I told her that in the simplest English I could come up with. But I don't even know why I'm bothering as she doesn't understand it at all. She understands me more with my eyes and hand gestures. If I spoke in Visayan I bet she couldn't tell the difference. Hmmm...come to think of it, maybe I should try it. hehe *wink*

And well, I found out that they still go to school in Siberia and it's rare that classes get suspended in the 1 meter of snow. Go figure how they used to go to school in her time. But in the summer they are blessed with temperatures that go to a whopping 2 degrees! Woopie.

I should stop whining and look forward to spring.

Jacki woont nog maar 9 dagen in Belgie (from the "Huis van het Nederlands series")

Today was another interesting day at school.

The title means: Jacki has only been in Belgium for 9 days...or something like that.

Our trainer, for some reason, doesn't call on me often. Now, she calls on May a lot (the Thai girl), the Italian girl, the Americans ofcourse (I even think she has a thing for this other American guy--not the one that looks like Jack Black (refer to previous blog) and three new delegates of our United Nations group: a girl from Nicaragua and a couple from (wait lemme look at my notes first)--Chechenia. I honestly don't know where that country is (I do know Czech Republic and Russia and Croatia) and I think that's the country that CNN used to report about all the time with oorlog (war) and bombings. I think they pronounced it as "Shesh-nee-yah" in CNN but that guy pronounced it differently for sure. I'll google that later. Ofcourse, I didn't want to offend them by asking where their country was. hehe

Anyways, so here was our trainer chatting away in gibberish again when after a couple of questions and answers from my classmates, our trainer asked me the same question:

"Jacki, hoe lang woon jiy in Belgie?"

Literally translated as: How long live you in Belgium?

(and this is the punchline) I answered in the perfect Belgian accent: Ik woon 9 dagen in Belgie.

Kaching! Kaching! Kaching! Points for Jacki *dance around in circles*

Our trainer was shocked and ofcourse I couldn't understand her dutch afterwards but I did get the "Prima!" (Perfect) and "Heel goed!" (Very good) and a your Dutch is already very "mooi" (Beautiful) even if I'm "woont nog maar 9 dagen in Belgie".

Ehem. Enough said. What she didn't know is that I've been trying to learn it for months now through pimsleur and ofcourse, K: my personal trainer. hehe Shhh!

The Spanish girl was still lost but it's quite funny how when we were at the "Are you married? divorced? single?" part they had a hard time explaining to her what "getrouwd" (married) meant and she suddenly said: "Kasal?". I instantly had an impulse to say, "Mao!" or "Tsakto na!". hehehe I didn't know "kasal" was Spanish. The things you learn...

Last funny part: "Woon je samen? Ja, met mijn vriendin / vriend."

Translation: Are you living with someone? Yes, with my friend.

Our trainer was explaining the difference between vriendin and vriend. Apparently she wasn't quite clear about her explanation because she said that both are used for friends or partners but nothing specific for boyfriend or girlfriend (based on our understanding of her dutch).

So I uttered: So, vriendin can be used by gays?

And our trainer was a bit shocked and said: Nee, niet gays...just friends. hahaha

I just found that funny.

On my way home (I was actually dreading the 30min walk home in the rain. I try to stay away from buses for the meantime considering my traumatic, near death experience (haha exag!) last week), I passed by Nadia, the Russian hot mama, who was smoking on the sidewalk. We got into a short conversation (she had a very interesting Russian accent) and she told me that I could come along with her "zeenz her huzzbund eez peeking her op" and anyway zey alzoh leev at zee ozzer zide of our sztreet (that is not a foreign language but just my interpretation of what she sounded like). I was delighted by the invitation. :)

When her husband arrived we got into the car and it was like a cross between Mr. and Mrs. Richie Rich (Part 1) and Count Dracula. She and her husband, who is Belgian, call each other "My Dear" and she looked a little like Mrs. Rich what with her blond hair, make up, and white coat. They both looked so sweet together and spoke with the Count Dracula accent.

I think the next couple of weeks will be quite interesting.

No headaches today and no class tomorrow. Here in Belgium there are no classes on Wednesday. Woopie!

Huis van het Nederlands / The House of Dutch: My First Day of "School"

My turn to be a trainee instead of a trainer.

Yesterday was my first day of Dutch school. I was planning on bringing my laptop but I wanted to see first how the "environment" was. I didn't want to seem too geeky or intimidating. hehehe so I just brought with me a pad...and my barbie doll pencilcase (don't ask).

Well, there were 12 of us in the class. Some coming from Turkey, Russia, Italy, USA, Tunisia, Thailand, France, Peru, and ofcourse, one delegate from the Philippines. It was quite interesting actually...just like a mini United Nations thing. Next thing you know we'll be discussing world cultures and stuff like that. ;P

Maybe once a trainer always a trainer. The moment the introductions started I wrote down my co-trainees' names and where they were from. haha I noted that our trainer didn't do that so during the course of the class, she had to ask for our names over and over again and only called on those whose names she remembered. Apparently, with a bit of bitterness, she found it hard to remember my name and my Thai seatmate's name: May. Duh? :)

At the end of the 3 hour session I had a nasty headache. I dunno if it was because our trainer spoke in Dutch all the time and gave me the impression that she did not really have a very good command of the English language, coz seriously, she would just speak in Dutch ALL THE TIME. Yeah, she would translate a word or two in English every 30mins or so but jeez! You should have seen the look on our faces. My Thai seatmate on the left was like: "Wha doo wee doo agehn? Wha dus dah mean? I dow undahstan..." and my French seatmate to my right just had a blank look on her face and just spoke French most of the time coz even English she wasn't very good at. I would ask her every now and then if she was okay and she just had this pained look on her well made face. But I think I pity the Spanish girl the most coz all she kept saying was: Nee comprende. I agree, it was very difficult to internalize things if all you focus on are her actions and try to make sense of the words through her gestures.

But then again, that is still Day 1. Maybe I'm just used to Pimsleur (www.pimsleur.com) that translates everything in English and explains a bit about Dutch grammar rules. And repetition is very essential.

Oh, I forgot to mention the fact that the 3 Americans, well one in particular who resembled Jack Black a lot, were just so annoying. Maybe it's because my competitive mode button was turned on. He just kept on participating and pronouncing words incorrectly like English for example. In Dutch English is "Engels" pronounced "Eh-nguls" but they just kept on pronouncing it as "Eng-gulls". Well, the Tagalog might pronounce it as "Eng-gel" or Visayans as "Eng-gol" haha but that's another story. ;P

The trainer was not also very particular with pronunciation. Tsk tsk tsk. Even after mispronouncing English she would still say "Prima!" which means "Perfect". :)

But then again, I should always think that it was still Day 1. They say that in learning a language, "immersion" is the key. So I will stop writing now (more like whining actually) and start with home study so I get a heads up...just don't tell them that. *wink*

P.S. I was the only one in class wearing 3 layers of clothing. So embarassing. ;P

The Tale of the Filipina who got lost in Belgium

This is "Verloren" (Lost): A tale of a young pinay who, on her first time out alone in the cobbled streets of Belgium, expectedly ended up getting lost.

The story goes a little something like this...let us call the young lady: "J".

J had to be enrolled in a dutch class. Being a Filipina who only knew English, some tagalog w/ a visayan accent and ofcourse, Visayan, her native language, living in a country like Belgium requires a mastery of a couple of things, apart from layering. One of these things is the mastery of Dutch. Hence her trip to the House of Dutch.

Our tale begins with J being dropped off by her partner at the school. K, the partner, needed to get back to his workplace after lunch thus could no longer accompany J to the school to process the admin stuff. The independent J didn't mind. She was even able to make friends with the belgian registrar, who was ehem...quite impressed by her mastery of the English language and high test scores (NOTE: The day before, J took what she thought was a cognitive test for dummies at the same location (Google: Covaar Test). The registrar, not having had an inkling as to what a Philippine Peso looked like, was promised by J to be shown such the next time they met. He was most certainly pleased. No marks for extra belgian points were gained from this exchange though.

So, after asking the registrar to google for her what a bus stop looked like (as J knew for a fact that there were bus stops in Belgium, however, did not know how to detect one YET), J left the building took a right, then a right in search for the elusive bus stop. She finally arrived at the same bus stop her friend oriented her on the day before. (NOTE: Her friend, A, had to take her to the same building the day before, by the bus route, so J can be oriented as to how to get there should she need to do it more often in the future).

It is to be noted that the following instructions were noted / remembered:

1. From the house go straight to the city center and get on bus number 5 ONLY.
2. Swipe your bus card with the front facing you and don't hold on to it. Just insert it and wait for the machine to spit it back out.
3. Put the card back in your pocket. There is no need to punch out. As long as you don't exceed an hour, you can get on as many buses as you can. Additional note: Don't lose the card.
4. Ring the bell on the first bridge you pass and get off on the next bus stop. Additional note: NOT THE RED BELL. Ring the BLUE bell.
5. After getting off at the bus stop, just go straight and in the next intersection that forms a Y go left to Congostraat (Congo Street).
6. Destination reached: Inbergering / House of Dutch.
7. On going back: Just retrace your steps and take the same number 5 bus or any bus as these will pass by the city circle.

Easy, noh?

Yeah, it should have been a piece of cake and it really seemed like it except for one minor thing. I missed the part about having to get on the bus in the bus stop AT THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE ROAD. So poor, provincial J whose common sense had most likely been greatly affected by the cold, took some bus at the same side where she initially got off and ended up in the outskirts of Ghent that could not even be found in the main map and could barely be identifiable in Google Maps.

Confession: She doesn't even know if she got on bus number 5.

But after a couple of phone calls, some walking, waiting, and more freezing...after battling the fear of dying from hypothermia and getting frostbite, an hour and 45 minutes later she was back at the City Circle and had never been happier to see civilization, more so a familiar location.

8 hours later she is writing this note.

Her only consolation from this whole dummyscapade was that she thought she saw Gavin Rossdale get off the bus she was first on...

But then again...that could still have been the effect of the cold.


---The End---

Editor's Note: Crying has been censored from this essay.

What I Like About Belgium

I have been meaning to write this. I have always tried to be an optimist if I can help it and I think making this list helps me appreciate my new home even more. So here it goes (and not in any particular order):

1. The fresh air (most of the time anyway *wink*).
2. The cool breeze (that more often than not, ends up being a cold, bone-chilling, icy breeze--hehehe)
3. The way the government and the people are concerned about the environment. So here, waste segregation is a must, companies give their employees environmental certificates that they can use to buy environmental products like Ecover www.ecover.com, how the government give subsidies for house renovation if you make your house more environment friendly...and many more. :) This makes me very happy.
4. The chocolates ofcourse!
5. Speculoos pasta! and the new and improved crunchy Speculoos (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speculaas)
6. The systems (even the government systems ;p) are very organized.
7. Hot and cold showers and bubble baths!
8. A warm welcome in a cold country.
9. SALAMI!!! My favorite.
10. Yummy cheese.
11. I would say varieties of wine and beer but I seem to have recently developed an aversion for anything that contains alcohol lately. waaaah! Don't worry folks, this is just a phase. I will soon appreciate their wine and beer. :)
12. Cute clothes. It's interesting to just sit and watch the people that pass by. In my country, it's shorts / jeans, sandals or closed shoes, and a blouse / shirt. Here it is completely different and even just that, I find interesting.
13. Fast internet. Need I say more?? ;P
14. It's so easy to find somebody to do sports with...I haven't tried it though coz I'm still adjusting to the cold. Give me about 3 years and I'll start playing again. :P
15. The amusing dishwasher. ;P
16. The museums. We might visit the Magritte museum this weekend. Remember "The Thomas Crown Affair"?
17. The continent. Instead of island hopping this time it's quite easy to go "country hopping" coz they are ofcourse, all connected. This time, I am not in an archipelago.
18. The free library! I just found this out yesterday. It even has a whole music collection.
19. Cool houses. Belgians, apparently, are very good at interior design.
20. The fact that I don't have to miss K anymore...that much. ;P