I found it again: the one sign in Belgium that says something about America. No ‘Eat American cheeseburgers!’ or ‘Buy American cars!’ Nope. This is what we’re known for.
On the walk after work today, another intern and I had an in depth conversation about sex workers. She’s from Amsterdam, and goes to school in Massachusetts. It came up because there’s a group of prostitutes that congregate on our street. One of them told me to VAMOOSE today, as if I could walk any faster than I was past the drunk old men watching them ANYWAY.
Amsterdam, red light district and all, did not prepare her for the American prevalence of strip clubs! Not even just how many there are, but how okay we seem to be with going to them, especially at our age. And to clarify, she said that’s not how we’re known, so I felt good about that. True confession, I’ve never been. Probably never will. I think they’re sleazy and nothing about it is amusing, so it’s not exactly on the bucket list. Therefore I was a bad person for her to ask about strip clubs, but I assured her that not all Americans are lap-dance happy. At least one of them isn’t anyway, haha.
Aside from all the sex talk, I hit a serious high and less-serious low today.
For the love of God and all that is holy. These. They’re like waffles on crack, baked to perfection and then cemented with a sugary coating, BEFORE you put chocolate or whipped cream or cherries on it. I will never buy frozen waffles again, thank you for changing my life in some small way Belgium.
Full disclosure: A few minutes later I tripped in my new shoes on the cobblestones and all the whipped cream slipped right off and into a puddle. Karmic payback for walking out of H&M earlier, when I was supposed to help this lady in line behind me with her BOGO deal by buying things together… long story. Sorry, lady. I lost my creme fraiche if it makes you sleep better.
‘Low’ didn’t get any pictures because it was me wandering around the city again, with a full bag of groceries*, my laptop bag, and my purse; then not only did it rain on me, but I was only fake-lost because my bus stop has been closed for the summer. GAH. So I had to ask for directions so many times, and when they spoke in French back I only half understood, hence the wandering. Thank the lord I met this wonderful bellhop on Bld du Jardin Botanique – he spoke French and English perfectly well, and he was somewhat delighted at my Franglish. (Is that a word? It is for this summer anyway. Englench is ugly.) I nearly hugged him when I left, and as I walked away three old ladies walked up to ask him directions too, haha. You did a good thing today, sir.
I was a minor stress case when I got home and I was a bit teary so I called boy and he helped me. (Thank you.) We’re going to solve these problems, and soon! I will (duh) keep you updated.
*At the grocery store part deux (I could only carry so much), I found another brand I recognized… Babybel! They also had Boursin, and “La vache qui rire”… Laughing cow. 🙂 Hopefully some of you learn some completely useless French phrases as a result of this blog. I have a problem with cheese, also, if you didn’t notice. I got some frozen vegetables to make a frittata (a la Mai, thank you for the idea and delicious dinner before I left) and some chicken, which is wrapped in these weirdo individual plastic boxes.
Oh well, I won’t be starving! Just lost.
More pictures from the day: