As an experiment to reduce jet lag, Mary and I started to get up early, 4:00 am, and to bed around 8:00pm to make up for the seven hour time difference between Minneapolis and Amsterdam. I had plenty of quiet time during the early morning hours to read and drink lots of coffee. The last two mornings I filled by going to to health club at 6:00 am. I ended up being tired at work, especially the first days of this experiment.
In anticipation of the coming Thanksgiving and our trip, our daughter, Kim, returned from her studies at Winona State University and our son, Nicholas, stayed, since his last minute plans to visit his cousin, Greg, in Detroit didn't materialize due to flights being completely booked.
On Thursday before our departure, we couldn't find Mary's passport in our safe deposit box. We made plans to fly to Chicago that Monday am to get a quick passport before our Wednesday flight. Thankfully she found her passport in the basket on her dresser where it had been for the past two years.
The flight to Amsterdam
November 22, 2000
The flight has lots of open First Class seats*, but while waiting standby at the gate, these seats are filling up fast and we wonder whether we will get on board the overnight flight at all.
We have no idea if the strangers who are to meet us at the Antwerp train station know we are indeed coming, how we can identify ourselves, or whether we even made the flight. We must trust in "the Force".
In our First Class seats, Mary is next to a mixed race couple from Minneapolis (another Northwest employee) flying with their two children for a weekend in Amsterdam. I sit next to a man from Kuwait who had a knee replacement in Milwaukee and spoke no English. The Kuwaiti's accompanying son tells me his father was a farmer in Iran, left home at age 12 for Kuwait and eventually built a huge construction company. The son is on his way to be married in a couple of months. Over 1,400 people are invited to the wedding. All the man's four sons are successful professional people.
From my window seat I can see the lights of cities that ring the coastline of Canada's Maritime provinces. Off the wing tip I can see the flashing lights of what seems like an armada of other aircraft flying parallel to us, all in a race to Europe. Upon awaking the cloudy skies of the Northern Europe replace the clear winter skies of North America.
*Note: Mary is an part-time employee of Northwest Airlines. As such we can fly "non-rev", which means on a standby basis is either free (must pay taxes) or for a small fee First Class, which we chose when available. "Non-rev" is the only way to fly for not only can you get on any flight whenever seats are available, but the service from cabin attendants serving fellow employees is terrific.
Belgium
Arrival
November 23, 2000 Thursday
Our Antwerp host, Ann DeDekker, at her home.
Rear gardens of DeDekker home
Mary with the Cathedral of Our Lady in background
The giant, Brabo, throwing his hand across the river
Antwerp street scene
Rowing Competition
Before the start
Mid-race
Nearing the finish
Osnabruck, Germany
With Maurtiz family in Osnabruck, Germany
Osnabruck Incidents:
Hike in the Woods
11/26/00 Sunday
Wolfgang is the father of Jakob who was a foreign exchange student I met in Minneapolis and who accompanied me when I took a group of students to the Black Hills in South Dakota. He is a robust man, retired early, after a bout with level IV lymphatic cancer. We seem to share many of the same interests and enjoy tramping through the woods.
Wolfgang belongs to a seniors hiking club who get together on Sunday mornings to walk the trails around Osnabruck starting at and finishing at a country restaurant. The group of about twelve, 60-80 year old Germans meet no matter what the weather may be, today's being overcast with light rain. The older women are the faster hikers and soon became angry at Wolfgang's and my slower pace as he explained the sights to me. A heavy lunch with beer and schnapps await the end of the trail at the Gasthof Giebenburger restaurant, and proper old German ladies like their schnapps, nor do they like to be kept waiting.
These hikers are survivors as children of World War II with vivid memories of hiding in the nearby caves as British bombs rained down destroying their city at the end of the war. A garrison of 6,000 British solders is still in Osnabruck, some of whom locate and dig out unexploded bombs buried in the soft earth. Indeed it is an education to get the hiker's perspective on the terror through which they lived and their worries about what they see as the loss of the German culture by the young. The restaurant owner loves New York City and came out wearing funny glasses he got on a recent trip. It is a uneasy feeling to sense both the warm welcome with numerous toasts and the apprehension of my presence amidst this private group. Wolfgang's father, a veterinarian by trade and whom he never met, is a statistic from the Siege of Stalingrad. Yet, I can not help but notice his deep respect for the suffering of the Russian people. This hike makes bringing my eight pound hiking boots worth the effort.
Rowing on a real river
11/26/00 Sunday
I have never been in a racing skull, strictly a rowing machine guy am I. Off to Jakob's rowing club I go there to find myself with Jakob and his mother, as Coxswain, in a high performance racer. No rowboat this is. It shots through the water like a rocket. Strength and synchronization are the skills needed. Quickly I realize that rowing on water is a lot more difficult than in the movies. My Golden Oar seems to pale as I struggle to keep in sync with Jakob and disregard the chuckles from Jakob's mother at the helm.
Requiem for the Dead
11/26/00 Sunday
I have been to many high school concerts, but none more moving than Wolfgang's son, Jakob's class, performance at Osnabruck's central Catholic Church, St. Marien's Cathedral, of Mozart's, "Requiem for the Dead". For those unfamiliar with the piece, it is musically very difficult. The church's stone walls reverberate with voices and the orchestra so beautiful and haunting. You become the recipient of the student's two years of preparation.
Afterwards we go to a Spanish restaurant to celebrate the performance with friend's of Jakob's and the Mauritz's. You can be noisy. You can drink a lot. You can sing. The dead have ascended. This too is part of Germany.
Berlin, Day 1
November 28, 2000 Tuesday
Off to Berlin, first on a local train to Hanover, then the high speed, ICE (inter-city express), smooth as glass, 200 miles per hour train to Berlin. At Wolfsburg is the giant Volkswagen plan, then the former East Germany. Here are the lower quality houses, each with its own satellite dish. Suddenly, all of Germany is reunited, electronically anyway.
At Berlin's Zoological Station we arrive exactly on time, then with luggage dragging to the Plaza Hotel just off Kurfurstendamm, the West Berlin Boulevard with opulent shops made famous during the Cold War. Our own afternoon stroll on Kurfurstendamm brings us to a small bar and a lecture by its West Berlin patrons. They bend our ears about the laziness of East Berliners and the mistake of reunification. This coupled with remarks throughout Germany about their own regional differences and biases reinforces my feeling that Germany, indeed Europe, is still a bunch of tribes.
At the end of the day, we collapse early in a room to ourselves and to celebrate my birthday. We feel good about making it this far East, anxious to see what tomorrow brings.
ICE (inter-city express) train
On Kurfurstendamm in Berlin (West)
Berlin, Day 2
November 29, 2000 Wednesday
Berlin is a grand city. We awake to the city being plastered overnight with posters of Claudia Schiffer advertising lingerie. Claudia is everywhere. Buses, sidewalk kiosks, the sides of multistory buildings show Claudia. Indeed most of Germanic speaking Europe is blessed with her smiling face and scantily clad body. I rejoice; Mary not so enthralled. Alas, I digress.
There is a sense of power in Berlin. You feel you are in a mighty place. Maybe it is watching too many movies, ready to much into history, walking along Unter len Linden Boulevard, standing next to the massive Russian (formally Soviet) Embassy with its iron fence, seeing the new Berlin government buildings under construction, straddling the snaking yellow line which denoted the Berlin Wall, visiting the Pergamon Museum housing an entire ancient Greek City lifted from Turkey, or the Brandenburg Gate now a piece of art with a mural depicting Paris when looking from the side and Moscow when looking from the west side. The city is the heart of German culture whose art, literature, theater, science, and military might shaped the world of today.
Claudia Schiffer in the morning
Unter len Linden street
You almost can almost feel history passing under your feet
Brandenburg Gate looking towards the East
Brandenburg Gate looking towards the West
Pergaman Museum housing most of the ancient Greek city of Pergaman,
excavated from Turkey.
Brussels and Arnaud
November 30, 2000 Thursday
At Berlin's Tegel airport, inspection of my luggage reveals a strange and potentially dangerous object, the Golden Oar. German airport security questions me about this mysterious object. I try to explain what it is, and how it came to be. Our Brussels bound plane awaits. Finally liftoff, the Golden Oar still in my possession.
At Brussels airport, we try to call our exchange student, Arnaud, to pick us up. There hangs the public telephone with both written and spoken instructions in French and Flemish. It is shear torture. After numerous attempts, a panicky Arnuad discovers us around the corner where he had been waiting. Contact made, now it is off to Brussels.
Brussels is an industrial, somewhat schizophrenic, city where French and Flemish is spoken, and the king is Spanish. Yes, it has a lot of old buildings, palaces, museums, and its most famous 1618 landmark is a fountain of a boy pissing, Manneken Pis. One story is said the two year old boy saved the city by peeing on the fuse of a bomb thus saving the city. The statue gets a different outfit several times a week. As for Belgium cuisine, the national dish is mussels, served in a variety of ways. It is easier to get a Belgium waffle at iHop than here. Dogs in restaurants doesn't enhance the dining experience either. But, the 100's of different beers and fantastic chocolates make visiting Brussels worth the trip.
It is seeing Arnaud again
At the Grand Place in Brussels with Arnaud
Arnaud at the Atomium
Manneken Pis
Brussels metro station and Claudia
Bruges/Brugge, Belgium
November 31, 2000 Friday
Burges or Brugge (Dutch) is an old city with swan-filled canals and a lots of old-like stuff to buy. At one time it was a major port on the North Sea, but silting of the waterway connecting it to the ocean has left it as a major tourist attraction. Many people call it charming.
My two vivid memories of our day in Burges are of us not understanding the train conductor and having to wait somewhere in the Fields of Flanders for a connecting train back to Bruges, as well as, having to eat next to dogs in restaurants.
Mary waiting for a train somewhere in Flanders.
Note poster of Claudia Schiffer. She is everywhere.
Two drooling Newfoundlands from the next table outside a restaurant in Burges
Dinner with the Arnaud's Family
December 1, 2000 Saturday
Arnaud is somewhat hesitant about us meeting his parents. We know from his stay with us they have had their problems. However, we find them to a very welcoming family. It is fun to discuss Arnaud's year with us and to learn about how he became an exchange student. Being with them marks an end to a most enjoyable and educational first trip to the "Old World".
Arnaud with father, Luc, and mother, Francoise,
outside their home on Avenue Gilisquet, Brussels
Mary and I with Luc, Francoise, Arnaud, and brother, Jerome.
Younger sister, Julie, missing.
Our dinner, including daughter Julie.
November 23, 2000 Thursday
Amsterdam's Schipol airport is one of the world's best. It is easy to get around, lots of glass, good signage, and no hassle from immigration or customs officials. Getting on the right train at the airport is a little confusing. We end up going into Amsterdam's Central Station instead of the opposite direction to Antwerp. What the heck, a chance to see downtown Amsterdam with all its bicycles.
Antwerp
Standing along on the platform at Berchem station in Antwerp, we wonder if we may have been forgotten. Then at the end of the platform stands a very looking athletic man who seems to be looking for someone. Us? Happily it is Paul DeWert, a former Belgian Olympic rower (Rome 1952), and who with his wife, Christel, are indeed the people we are scheduled to meet. The relief on all of our faces is apparent, as all the anxieties we must have shared disappear with a handshake. Paul and Christel are a warm and friendly couple who have accepted the responsibility of our well being while in Antwerp and for the coming indoor rowing competition. Paul has an indoor rowing studio where he sells Concept 2 rowing machines in Berchem and conducts fitness classes. Christel does something with computers and is the designer for several rowing related website.
Paul DeWert at his Rowing Studio
The DeWerts drive us through heavy traffic in their Mercedes (everyone, even the cabbies, seem to drive them) to the home of Peter and Ann DeDecker in suburban Antwerp (Hof ter Linden, Sylvesterlaan 28-32, 2970 Gravenwezel, Shilde). There we meet Ann and the DeDecker daughters, Chris, Karen, and Eva.
For our lodging, the bed is like having two singles within the same bed frame with twin mattresses and sheets. We both liked this setup. The bathroom has a heated floor, towel rack, and curved glass shower with jets to cleanse every orifice.
The DeDeckker house is a posh affair amongst other posh affairs. We have a meal of wine, lamb and of course Belgian fries. (Belgians are not shy in telling you that what are commonly called French fries are in fact Belgian). The walls have various rowing trophies, oars, and Olympic rowing competition memorabilia which should have given us an inkling as to what may lie ahead.
Our Antwerp host, Ann DeDekker, at her home.
November 24, 2000 Friday
Breakfast is a simple meal of homemade bread for toast, various cheeses, jams, and a thinly sliced Spanish ham (petranegra?). Paul DeDecker is a person who leaves before we arise after coming home late from work unseen the night before. The DeDeckers own the largest distribution center for plumbing supplies in low land countries and a recent fire at the warehouse is the cause for much of the family's anxiety. Nonetheless, they treat us like celebrities.
Paul DeWert drives us to downtown Antwerp on the banks of the Schildt river to spend the rest of the day/evening by ourselves to tour the sights. Here are some thoughts about our day:
-Antwerp is a major seaport on the Schildt which was leveled during World War II. The city is Flemish which gives it a distinct old world flavor and sophisticated air. The people are chauvinistic about their city. They are very smartly dressed and appear prosperous. Here lots of small expensive shops. Antwerp is also considered the diamond capital of the world. This is not a city to stay on the cheap.
-"Grote Markt" (Grand Place) is the center of both the old and rebuilt city, surrounded by old Guild houses and a statue of the giant, Brabo, from whom legend has it had his hand cut off then threw it into the Schilde river. Thus is the name Antwerpen, Flemish for "hand tossed in".
-The Antwerptrain station is being remodeled, but already is spectacular with its glass ceilings and lighted posts as you enter the station by rail.
-Flemish is a language related to English, Dutch, Frisian, and German. Seems like everyone speaks them all fluently.
-Restaurant food is a disappointment.
-Roosters crowing in the night, hedgehogs running about, and youths singing "Who let the dogs out?" keep us awake for most of the night.
Mary with the Cathedral of Our Lady in background
The giant, Brabo, throwing his hand across the river
Antwerp street sceneRowing Competition
November 25, 2000 Saturday
Finally we meet our host, Frank DeDecker, at breakfast. He is an Olympic 1952 Belgian rower and a crew-mate of Paul DeWert. He is now a heavy smoker, type A personality, expects a lot from his children who are also rowers, and no longer a rowing competitor.
The community arena in Bechem is the site for the rowing competition. It is bedecked with balloons, large TV projections screens, bleachers, beer hall, and flags of participant countries with a very large American flag hung in the middle. We soon discover that this is the first time someone from the U.S. has competed in this event. Fellow rowers ask me American Olympic rowers, when and where I competed. Jesus, all I want is a T-shirt. This whole idea is a lark. What in the hell am I doing here?
My race, the men's 50+, is the first one. The emcee announces the twelve others in my event, each one a gorilla with bulging muscles and clad in spandex uniforms of their respective rowing clubs. Four of them are them current European Master's champions for four man shells. He makes a special point in Flemish and French to point me out as the sole American.
I am the oldest. My outfit is the same I use when working out at the health club, grubby headband, t-shirt, mismatching gym shorts, Chuck Taylor Converse high top basketball shoes without socks (I forgot to put them on). If ever there was an Ugly American, I am it!
I am the oldest. My outfit is the same I use when working out at the health club, grubby headband, t-shirt, mismatching gym shorts, Chuck Taylor Converse high top basketball shoes without socks (I forgot to put them on). If ever there was an Ugly American, I am it!
Alas, I finish in the middle of the pack. I receive a metallic "Golden Oar', not as a prize for my finish, but because I came the furthest for the competition. This is a nice gesture, but what I really want is a t-shirt to commemorate this adventure. Not only don't they have any t-shirts, but they won't even sell me one their club's spandex shirts. The "Golden Oar" it is then.
Before the start
Mid-race
Nearing the finishOsnabruck, Germany
It is off to the Antwerp train station for Amsterdam with connections to Osnabruck, Germany to the house of Wolfgang Mauritz
Germany
Germany
Osnabruck, Lower Saxony
November 27, 2000 Monday
With Maurtiz family in Osnabruck, GermanyLeft to right: Jakob, Barbara, Wolfgang, Martin, and friend
Missing is daughter, Anika, who is teaching scuba diving in Egypt's Red Sea.
Missing is daughter, Anika, who is teaching scuba diving in Egypt's Red Sea.
Osnabruck gets it name from "Oxen Bridge" where there was a ford of the river Hase. It is the site where the "Peace of Westphalia Treaty" was signed in 1648, ending the Thirty Year War and also was the site where agreement was reached ending the Hundred Years War, 1337 to 1453. Now it is at the junction of two main railroads connecting east with west and north with south. The hills around the city have mines and mark the beginning of the Germany's hilly mid-section. Wolfgang is also a trained guide for the city.
Tucked away in the achieves of the city's Rathaus (City Hall) is a model of the old town. Not on display are photos of the city before and after the British firebombed Osnabruck two weeks before the end of the war as part of General Harris' night bombing campaign to avenge German attacks on England. It is at times as these I try to reconcile my emotions and sympathy for humanity with vileness that overtakes people during war. I am thankful not to have experienced what these photos so poorly convey.
An evening stroll near the Turkish quarter of town brings me to one of the dilemmas facing Germany and Europe. Today more than 7 million Turks live in Germany. They are guest workers, unable to become full citizens, looked down upon by ethnic Germans, housed in ghetto-like communities, yet providing the low salaried workers for Germany's economy. Being Muslim also makes their likelihood of acceptance and for Turkey's admission into the European Union ever more unlikely.
My tour of Osnabruck's reconstructed city walls, churches, and buildings, its organized transportation system of commuting times and bike ways, its history, and especially the dear friends who live there, all leave me with a desire to return.
An evening stroll near the Turkish quarter of town brings me to one of the dilemmas facing Germany and Europe. Today more than 7 million Turks live in Germany. They are guest workers, unable to become full citizens, looked down upon by ethnic Germans, housed in ghetto-like communities, yet providing the low salaried workers for Germany's economy. Being Muslim also makes their likelihood of acceptance and for Turkey's admission into the European Union ever more unlikely.
My tour of Osnabruck's reconstructed city walls, churches, and buildings, its organized transportation system of commuting times and bike ways, its history, and especially the dear friends who live there, all leave me with a desire to return.
Osnabruck Incidents:
Hike in the Woods
11/26/00 Sunday
Wolfgang is the father of Jakob who was a foreign exchange student I met in Minneapolis and who accompanied me when I took a group of students to the Black Hills in South Dakota. He is a robust man, retired early, after a bout with level IV lymphatic cancer. We seem to share many of the same interests and enjoy tramping through the woods.
Wolfgang belongs to a seniors hiking club who get together on Sunday mornings to walk the trails around Osnabruck starting at and finishing at a country restaurant. The group of about twelve, 60-80 year old Germans meet no matter what the weather may be, today's being overcast with light rain. The older women are the faster hikers and soon became angry at Wolfgang's and my slower pace as he explained the sights to me. A heavy lunch with beer and schnapps await the end of the trail at the Gasthof Giebenburger restaurant, and proper old German ladies like their schnapps, nor do they like to be kept waiting.
These hikers are survivors as children of World War II with vivid memories of hiding in the nearby caves as British bombs rained down destroying their city at the end of the war. A garrison of 6,000 British solders is still in Osnabruck, some of whom locate and dig out unexploded bombs buried in the soft earth. Indeed it is an education to get the hiker's perspective on the terror through which they lived and their worries about what they see as the loss of the German culture by the young. The restaurant owner loves New York City and came out wearing funny glasses he got on a recent trip. It is a uneasy feeling to sense both the warm welcome with numerous toasts and the apprehension of my presence amidst this private group. Wolfgang's father, a veterinarian by trade and whom he never met, is a statistic from the Siege of Stalingrad. Yet, I can not help but notice his deep respect for the suffering of the Russian people. This hike makes bringing my eight pound hiking boots worth the effort.
Rowing on a real river
11/26/00 Sunday
I have never been in a racing skull, strictly a rowing machine guy am I. Off to Jakob's rowing club I go there to find myself with Jakob and his mother, as Coxswain, in a high performance racer. No rowboat this is. It shots through the water like a rocket. Strength and synchronization are the skills needed. Quickly I realize that rowing on water is a lot more difficult than in the movies. My Golden Oar seems to pale as I struggle to keep in sync with Jakob and disregard the chuckles from Jakob's mother at the helm.
Requiem for the Dead
11/26/00 Sunday
I have been to many high school concerts, but none more moving than Wolfgang's son, Jakob's class, performance at Osnabruck's central Catholic Church, St. Marien's Cathedral, of Mozart's, "Requiem for the Dead". For those unfamiliar with the piece, it is musically very difficult. The church's stone walls reverberate with voices and the orchestra so beautiful and haunting. You become the recipient of the student's two years of preparation.
Afterwards we go to a Spanish restaurant to celebrate the performance with friend's of Jakob's and the Mauritz's. You can be noisy. You can drink a lot. You can sing. The dead have ascended. This too is part of Germany.
Berlin, Day 1
November 28, 2000 Tuesday
Off to Berlin, first on a local train to Hanover, then the high speed, ICE (inter-city express), smooth as glass, 200 miles per hour train to Berlin. At Wolfsburg is the giant Volkswagen plan, then the former East Germany. Here are the lower quality houses, each with its own satellite dish. Suddenly, all of Germany is reunited, electronically anyway.
At Berlin's Zoological Station we arrive exactly on time, then with luggage dragging to the Plaza Hotel just off Kurfurstendamm, the West Berlin Boulevard with opulent shops made famous during the Cold War. Our own afternoon stroll on Kurfurstendamm brings us to a small bar and a lecture by its West Berlin patrons. They bend our ears about the laziness of East Berliners and the mistake of reunification. This coupled with remarks throughout Germany about their own regional differences and biases reinforces my feeling that Germany, indeed Europe, is still a bunch of tribes.
At the end of the day, we collapse early in a room to ourselves and to celebrate my birthday. We feel good about making it this far East, anxious to see what tomorrow brings.
ICE (inter-city express) train
On Kurfurstendamm in Berlin (West)Berlin, Day 2
November 29, 2000 Wednesday
Berlin is a grand city. We awake to the city being plastered overnight with posters of Claudia Schiffer advertising lingerie. Claudia is everywhere. Buses, sidewalk kiosks, the sides of multistory buildings show Claudia. Indeed most of Germanic speaking Europe is blessed with her smiling face and scantily clad body. I rejoice; Mary not so enthralled. Alas, I digress.
There is a sense of power in Berlin. You feel you are in a mighty place. Maybe it is watching too many movies, ready to much into history, walking along Unter len Linden Boulevard, standing next to the massive Russian (formally Soviet) Embassy with its iron fence, seeing the new Berlin government buildings under construction, straddling the snaking yellow line which denoted the Berlin Wall, visiting the Pergamon Museum housing an entire ancient Greek City lifted from Turkey, or the Brandenburg Gate now a piece of art with a mural depicting Paris when looking from the side and Moscow when looking from the west side. The city is the heart of German culture whose art, literature, theater, science, and military might shaped the world of today.
Claudia Schiffer in the morning
Unter len Linden streetYou almost can almost feel history passing under your feet
Brandenburg Gate looking towards the East
Brandenburg Gate looking towards the West
Pergaman Museum housing most of the ancient Greek city of Pergaman,excavated from Turkey.
Brussels and Arnaud
November 30, 2000 Thursday
At Berlin's Tegel airport, inspection of my luggage reveals a strange and potentially dangerous object, the Golden Oar. German airport security questions me about this mysterious object. I try to explain what it is, and how it came to be. Our Brussels bound plane awaits. Finally liftoff, the Golden Oar still in my possession.
At Brussels airport, we try to call our exchange student, Arnaud, to pick us up. There hangs the public telephone with both written and spoken instructions in French and Flemish. It is shear torture. After numerous attempts, a panicky Arnuad discovers us around the corner where he had been waiting. Contact made, now it is off to Brussels.
Brussels is an industrial, somewhat schizophrenic, city where French and Flemish is spoken, and the king is Spanish. Yes, it has a lot of old buildings, palaces, museums, and its most famous 1618 landmark is a fountain of a boy pissing, Manneken Pis. One story is said the two year old boy saved the city by peeing on the fuse of a bomb thus saving the city. The statue gets a different outfit several times a week. As for Belgium cuisine, the national dish is mussels, served in a variety of ways. It is easier to get a Belgium waffle at iHop than here. Dogs in restaurants doesn't enhance the dining experience either. But, the 100's of different beers and fantastic chocolates make visiting Brussels worth the trip.
It is seeing Arnaud again
At the Grand Place in Brussels with Arnaud
Arnaud at the Atomium
Manneken Pis
Brussels metro station and ClaudiaBruges/Brugge, Belgium
November 31, 2000 Friday
Burges or Brugge (Dutch) is an old city with swan-filled canals and a lots of old-like stuff to buy. At one time it was a major port on the North Sea, but silting of the waterway connecting it to the ocean has left it as a major tourist attraction. Many people call it charming.
My two vivid memories of our day in Burges are of us not understanding the train conductor and having to wait somewhere in the Fields of Flanders for a connecting train back to Bruges, as well as, having to eat next to dogs in restaurants.
Mary waiting for a train somewhere in Flanders.Note poster of Claudia Schiffer. She is everywhere.
Two drooling Newfoundlands from the next table outside a restaurant in BurgesDecember 1, 2000 Saturday
Arnaud is somewhat hesitant about us meeting his parents. We know from his stay with us they have had their problems. However, we find them to a very welcoming family. It is fun to discuss Arnaud's year with us and to learn about how he became an exchange student. Being with them marks an end to a most enjoyable and educational first trip to the "Old World".
Arnaud with father, Luc, and mother, Francoise,outside their home on Avenue Gilisquet, Brussels
Mary and I with Luc, Francoise, Arnaud, and brother, Jerome.Younger sister, Julie, missing.
Our dinner, including daughter Julie. 