This weekend I traveled to various points in Belgium and felt very European. Actually, scratch that; I felt very American in a European city. I wonder if I will ever assimilate or if I am forever doomed to have people overcharge me for cabs and take snapchat videos of me while I wait for the train. Yes, both of these things happened this weekend. Prepare yourselves.
On Friday we went to Dinant, which is a lil town in Belgium somewhere. I wish I knew more accurate info but alas I am not a cartographer or a geographer so "in Belgium somewhere" is what you're gonna get from me, people. The weather was beautiful and the spirits were high and the activities were FREE so the trip was an automatic success. Everything else was just the icing on the cake. Or should I say, the mayonnaise on the fries? That would be much more Belgian of me.
Dinant had narrow streets, glistening canals, and copious amounts of saxophone street art. We appreciated these saxophones in their own right, but were at a loss as to why there were so many until the man directing our brewery tour (yes, I went on another brewery tour) revealed to us that Dinant is the birthplace of the inventor of the saxophone. They are evidently very proud of this fact. I guess I would be, too. The saxophone is a very impressive instrument. However, I did not enjoy the hit song "Mr. Saxobeat" circa 2010. It has tainted my view of saxophones for at least three more years.
Dinant definitely had character, though. We were observing the quaint beauty of the canal when a small car zoomed by with King Kunta blasting through it's tiny windows. It was perfect. Kendrick always makes me feel more at home.
We explored a cave while in Dinant, which was truly thrilling, as I have not been spelunking since I was a prepubescent youth in Pennsylvania. I saw stalactites and stalagmites, climbed way too many stairs, and had a cave photoshoot that was nothing short of Vogue. It was every young girl's dream. After we explored the cave, we hopped on over to the brewery that I referenced earlier to educate ourselves and taste some beverages. For some reason the mascot of this place was the snail, but all the snail art was extremely creepy, which kind of took away from the pleasantries of being at a European Brewery. I will insert an example below.
On Friday we went to Dinant, which is a lil town in Belgium somewhere. I wish I knew more accurate info but alas I am not a cartographer or a geographer so "in Belgium somewhere" is what you're gonna get from me, people. The weather was beautiful and the spirits were high and the activities were FREE so the trip was an automatic success. Everything else was just the icing on the cake. Or should I say, the mayonnaise on the fries? That would be much more Belgian of me.
Dinant had narrow streets, glistening canals, and copious amounts of saxophone street art. We appreciated these saxophones in their own right, but were at a loss as to why there were so many until the man directing our brewery tour (yes, I went on another brewery tour) revealed to us that Dinant is the birthplace of the inventor of the saxophone. They are evidently very proud of this fact. I guess I would be, too. The saxophone is a very impressive instrument. However, I did not enjoy the hit song "Mr. Saxobeat" circa 2010. It has tainted my view of saxophones for at least three more years.
Dinant definitely had character, though. We were observing the quaint beauty of the canal when a small car zoomed by with King Kunta blasting through it's tiny windows. It was perfect. Kendrick always makes me feel more at home.
We explored a cave while in Dinant, which was truly thrilling, as I have not been spelunking since I was a prepubescent youth in Pennsylvania. I saw stalactites and stalagmites, climbed way too many stairs, and had a cave photoshoot that was nothing short of Vogue. It was every young girl's dream. After we explored the cave, we hopped on over to the brewery that I referenced earlier to educate ourselves and taste some beverages. For some reason the mascot of this place was the snail, but all the snail art was extremely creepy, which kind of took away from the pleasantries of being at a European Brewery. I will insert an example below.
See what I mean? That's a creepy snail. And once again, with a saxophone. Honestly.
After we had exhausted ourselves of Dinant activities, we took a train to Brussels to stay the night. Everybody else and their mom seemed to have the same thought as us though, because the train was packed. It was so full that we couldn't even move through first class to get to our lowly regular fare cabin, and we were forced to stand and observe as high rollers sat in blue luxury and watched movies on their iPads. It was only after I creepily rested my hand above a man's head that he invited us to take a seat, please. I obliged. It was great. I don't know if the man would have agreed, though.
We were told to go to a bar called Delirium in the main square of Brussels, as it has been awarded the bar with the most beers available at once. The official paper reads 2,004 different kinds, but we were told while we were there that it has now reached over 3.000. This is overwhelming to think about, but the bar was cool nonetheless. There were lots of old men trying to hang out with us but, never fear, we stood our ground. Why are all European men so forward and flirty? It is a lot less fun then it sounds. Annoying would be the right word. Here are some highlights from my weekend male encounters:
1. Man from Dubai asks, "why are you so beautiful?" I kindly explain to him that one really can't answer that question and he should probably think of a different introductory line. I don't think he appreciated my advice.
2. Man selling Kebab (don't even get me started on Kebab) at 3 am asks to shake my hand to "say hello". Then he asks if he can kiss it. No, merci.
3. Boys from "Belgium not Brussels" try to hit it off with us on Saturday night. We ask them to take us to a restaurant, "anything but Kebab". They take us to get Kebab. The world is against me.
4. Three boys wave to me from across the tracks at the train station and tell me to call them. I make the head chopping motion with my hand, the "cut it out", if you will, which I'm pretty sure is a universal sign for "NOOOOO". They did not understand and came over to sit by me. I was featured on a snap story and told I had "beautiful eyes" but it sounded like "beautiful eggs", which somehow redeemed the entire situation for me. But I was largely unamused.
The rest of the weekend was a blur of tourist-style mix-ups, beautiful sights and general hilarity. When we ordered a side bacon at breakfast, the bill read "supplemental lard", which did not make us feel good about ourselves. In lieu of leaving the key to our Air Bnb at the place, I left my host family's house key. We went to a Discotheque that played "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" - Jet, "Mamma Mia" - Abba, and "In Too Deep" - Sum 41 all in the same 40-minute span. We gave our seats up to elderly folk on the train who spoke to us in French about dancing the jitterbug and fighting with GI's in the '40s and then gave us all Werther's as a mid-day snack. A vending machine at the train station in Brussles was stocked with nothing but loaves of bread. I am starting to think that everything is funnier when foreign.
PICS PICS PICS!!!!!
After we had exhausted ourselves of Dinant activities, we took a train to Brussels to stay the night. Everybody else and their mom seemed to have the same thought as us though, because the train was packed. It was so full that we couldn't even move through first class to get to our lowly regular fare cabin, and we were forced to stand and observe as high rollers sat in blue luxury and watched movies on their iPads. It was only after I creepily rested my hand above a man's head that he invited us to take a seat, please. I obliged. It was great. I don't know if the man would have agreed, though.
We were told to go to a bar called Delirium in the main square of Brussels, as it has been awarded the bar with the most beers available at once. The official paper reads 2,004 different kinds, but we were told while we were there that it has now reached over 3.000. This is overwhelming to think about, but the bar was cool nonetheless. There were lots of old men trying to hang out with us but, never fear, we stood our ground. Why are all European men so forward and flirty? It is a lot less fun then it sounds. Annoying would be the right word. Here are some highlights from my weekend male encounters:
1. Man from Dubai asks, "why are you so beautiful?" I kindly explain to him that one really can't answer that question and he should probably think of a different introductory line. I don't think he appreciated my advice.
2. Man selling Kebab (don't even get me started on Kebab) at 3 am asks to shake my hand to "say hello". Then he asks if he can kiss it. No, merci.
3. Boys from "Belgium not Brussels" try to hit it off with us on Saturday night. We ask them to take us to a restaurant, "anything but Kebab". They take us to get Kebab. The world is against me.
4. Three boys wave to me from across the tracks at the train station and tell me to call them. I make the head chopping motion with my hand, the "cut it out", if you will, which I'm pretty sure is a universal sign for "NOOOOO". They did not understand and came over to sit by me. I was featured on a snap story and told I had "beautiful eyes" but it sounded like "beautiful eggs", which somehow redeemed the entire situation for me. But I was largely unamused.
The rest of the weekend was a blur of tourist-style mix-ups, beautiful sights and general hilarity. When we ordered a side bacon at breakfast, the bill read "supplemental lard", which did not make us feel good about ourselves. In lieu of leaving the key to our Air Bnb at the place, I left my host family's house key. We went to a Discotheque that played "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" - Jet, "Mamma Mia" - Abba, and "In Too Deep" - Sum 41 all in the same 40-minute span. We gave our seats up to elderly folk on the train who spoke to us in French about dancing the jitterbug and fighting with GI's in the '40s and then gave us all Werther's as a mid-day snack. A vending machine at the train station in Brussles was stocked with nothing but loaves of bread. I am starting to think that everything is funnier when foreign.
PICS PICS PICS!!!!!
While you look at the above picture:
Nice Gothic style, very moody, I like it
Dinant, bridging the gap between saxophone haters and saxophone lovers.
Belgium agenda: walk on street, eat lots of chocolate.
That's all folks! Be on the lookout for more adventures and mishaps coming your way very soon! Peace & Blessingz.
That's all folks! Be on the lookout for more adventures and mishaps coming your way very soon! Peace & Blessingz.