Coffee, please

Oh my. I thought the alcohol was always the main culprit of my feeling sick on school mornings following a night out. Turns out sheer lack of sleep might also have something to do with it. This is what happens when I update this thing, then have dinner, then take a quick shower and go to bed with the papers at 1:30am.

Allow me to discuss French matters today. Here's what The Guardian prints this morning: "Bruno Dumont, the award-winning golden boy of French independent film whose recent offerings could be described as a mix of extreme violence, extreme sex and extreme boredom, is the latest victim of audience desertion." I love this. French cinema, at long last, getting embarrassingly real. This story is merely stating the obvious but, as one of my smartass colleagues puts it, someone's gotta do it.

On a more political note, there's something happening in France foreign press doesn't seem to have picked up on yet. Most of you know we're electing a new president in a few months (if not, where have you been?). Disillusioned by Socialist Party's candidate Ségolène Royal, a dilly-dallying populist with no clear vision for her country, and scared of right-winger Nicolas Sarkozy, an economic revolutionary (good) with fascist tendencies (bad), a growing minority is seriously (yes, seriously) considering François Bayrou (who?) as a viable option.

The Third Man, huh...? Just look at the length of the wikipedia entries for each of them. It says it all. A few months ago, I would have laughed at the prospect and I wouldn't have been the only one. Papers like Le Monde are still snickering at the thought of it, but with apparently diminishing confidence.

People who would traditionally vote for the Socialists are letting go of the past and reluctantly moving forward, for lack of a better choice. The European constitution, the state of the tax system, the level of unemployment call for some sort of change. So far, 'Ségo' hasn't offered more than a (most un)comfortable status-quo. 'Sarko', on the other hand, told the Americans that he was ashamed of being French (I'm sorry, Mr. I-Want-To-Represent-The-French-People, what did you just say?).

Whatever it is, people are desperate for inspiration and ideas that will go beyond the anachronic right-left debate, which, I'm sorry, is totally last century. "Can we please move on?" is the question that seems to be in everyone's minds. Anyway, Paris Link is the only one so far (along with a couple of obscure Canadian publications) that has bothered writing something up on it in English. Wonder if others will catch up.

Good day, now.

Sunday afternoon tea

Here's what The Guardian says about the place I just got back from: "Reopened in a vast new venue just off the Grand Place is Le You (18 rue Duquesnoy, 00 32 2 639 1400) - a labyrinth of dancefloors and chill-out rooms that has a wild reputation for its Sunday afternoon gay-friendly tea dances."

Surrounded by men of all ages, styles, shapes and sizes (including a few specimens of the very elusive pocket gay) and on a very high dosis of apple juice, I danced my heart out to some of the first house hits, as well as the unavoidable "It's Raining Men" and other "Sing Hallelujahs" (and, what can I say, I may have also sung along). Some of the boys had the good taste of coming accessorized, so I wasn't the only girl. Though when a guy tried to set me up with his lesbian friend only to watch her run in the other direction, I wasn't sure how to take it. I thought about it for a second, decided she was shy and carried on dancing.

I left my gay prince at midnight. Tomorrow's Monday, even for fucking Cinderella over here.

Random Brussels

More of Brussels, you

, you.

A whole lotta whatever it is at the Place du Jeu de Balle.


"Very Gilbert & George..." I mean... Pierre & Gilles of course.*


Chillin'.


Leaving the Place.


Way to advertise a repair-shop...


Boule & Bill are on the house... Roba, 1992.


A fat-ass priest helping out a sexy lady and her panther... Only in comics.

From all over

Please join me in welcoming the newest member of this ever-growing community: fashion reference, creative business genius and would-be dominatrix Y is letting us in her innermost thoughts and hilarious adventures. Long live Mungbean. So happy to have you here.








While I spend my day struggling at work, repressing smiles at those whose core belief is that Brussels is the very center of the universe, deservedly stuffing myself with Belgian chocolate and staring at the aquariums where fish either eat each other or reproduce, depending on their mood (or who of their companions has died that day), friends from all over Europe send me comments and suggestions in an effort to show their support.

From my English-accent coach:
"Brussels must come down as the worst European capital. It's the capital of Flanders, but the Flemings don't like it because it's mainly French speaking. It's the capital of Belgium, but there is almost no-one who claims to be Belgian. They are all either Flemish or Walloon. It's the capital of Europe, but Europeans are largely stuck in a narrow nationalistic mindset, especially when it comes to paying for Europe. So, Brussels is left to its own devices, burdened with a large Arab minority which is not known for its will to settle in and invest. Consequently, Brussels is filthy and run down, despite its location in the wealthiest European region. It is said to be the only capital with a net loss in population every year."
(in the comment section of this BBC news story)

Dude, thanks. As much as I miss London, I don't think I could be this harsh on Brussels. Then again, I am surrounded by expats.

On a more positive note, an attentive reader in Madrid noticed this morning that a huge name was missing in the Musical Belgium section. I didn't wait a second to correct this. Here's to make it up to both my friend and Django:



Happy weekend everybody.

London snow

It snowed in London last night and I'm not there to see it. So thank God for Steel's eyes and 2-megapixel phone camera.


Here he is, half an hour ago, outside, taking pictures just so I don't miss out. What a star.


Lovely, lovely. Wish I were there.

A ray of sun

Following up on Mr. Cool's complaint, here's making up for the three days without an update. Two posts in only a couple of hours... Man, I hope you're happy.

Also, I want to point out that I am back in action. The PowerShot 400 is dead, long live the Ixus 60. Because the blog must go on and I can't do without my images.

As it appears, Le Pain Quotidien isn't the only (or the closest, or the best) breakfast place in my neighborhood. There's a little shop with foggy windows on Place Brugmann which deceptively calls itself "boulangerie." But step inside and you will see one huge wooden table surrounded by a bunch of smaller ones. You'll hear German, English, Spanish, Italian, as well as French (with both French and Belgian accents) and Flemish. All of this with the added value of it not being part of a chain - I am a bo-bo (remember those? The new dandies?), so shoot me.


It must've been around ten this morning when I stopped there. I only meant to get a bit of bread and I ended up sitting down for tea, orange juice and a pain au chocolat, while I read a book purchased earlier at Candide, the multilingual bookstore. It was lovely.


This English guy and I wanted to get the Sunday Times or the Observer or something ("Sil voo play, le Sunday Times?"), but the international newspapers distributors were on strike today (huh...?). So i spent a few minutes browsing through the Francophone books. Found this one, which poses an interesting question:


(Whatever happened to French writers?) Yeah, that I would LOVE to find out. Too self-absorbed, maybe? So desperate to write something new without renouncing the classic standards they become repetitive and boring? Who the hell knows. I refused to get all worked up on a sunny Sunday morning, so I placed it back on the shelf. I walked out with The Concubine's Monologue, a 21-page rant about love, lust, passion and unhappiness. Amusing, at best.

And this is all from me tonight. Happy week, people.

Green city

Brussels is by far the most environmentally-friendly city I've ever lived in. Maybe because the capital of Europe has to set an example, ecology is most definitely not a new concept for anyone here and saving resources is no laughing matter.

First of all, waste is color-coded. Every self-respecting Brussels resident has at least three trash cans. A yellow one for paper, a blue one for plastic and tetrapacks, a white one for non-sorted waste. If you have a garden, you can add a green one to these, for organic waste. Glass goes into huge containers you can find at every street corner.


(I'm a total loser, I only have two. But I'll get the blue one soon. I promise.)

I know this now, but it was so confusing at first that I had to ask a young mother at the supermarket to help me pick out the trash bags. She was thrown by my question, a second later she was blushing, nervously avoiding my gaze and mumbling something about being a terrible citizen who doesn't recycle. She gave me a quick explanation, smiled apologetically and walked away as her little girl, with her high-pitched voice and imploring look, demanded to know why they didn't recycle. Yeah. They're dead serious about this.

They make it easy, though. If, like me when I moved in, you have a bunch of cardboard boxes you need to get rid of, you can leave them outside to be collected with the rest of the trash on a night I like to call Recycling Night (Tuesdays in my street). But do make sure it's only cardboard and paper. If they find anything non-papery in your boxes (like plastic), they WILL shame you by leaving them on your portion of sidewalk. You WILL get lectured by your neighbors AND you'll have to hang on to them for another week. Serves you right for coming from an environmentally retarded country.

It doesn't stop there. If you choose to pay extra for eco-friendly appliances which will save energy, water and gas, you will be rewarded. This becomes a great argument in the sales pitch. Not only will you feel good about yourself for contributing to looking after your planet, not only you will save money in energy bills, you will be paid for it. For my AAA washing-machine, I can ask the IBGE (Brussels Institute for the Management of the Environment) for 75 euros. Not bad.


Then you have individual initiatives in the form of little gizmos, like the one pictured above. You'll find it in your shower. It looks like a useless gadget, don't it? Well it ain't. What it does is cheat you into only using 50 percent of the flow (half the pressure you would get if you lifted it all the way, and that's already pretty good pressure) and to keep the water at a temperature of 38ºC (the "comfortable" temperature, one degree above your normal body temperature), so that you control your consumption of gas. If you want more pressure and more heat, you have to slightly force it up and left. Which I do everyday, because I like my showers boiling hot. Sorry. I see what they're trying to do, though, and I like it.

You have to respect these guys. They work hard at showing us natural-born-wasters the way. They would make Al Gore very proud. And... What can I say? It's impossible not to find a bit of personal satisfaction in obliging... No child of a French socialist do-gooding teacher can escape their history. Or can they?

A blue hug and rose-tinted glasses

This comes from a story in the New York Times about an exhibition of Monet's drawings. I'm not an impressionism freak, but I saw this one and loved it. Etretat, in Normandy.


Even the toughest need a break from time to time. Apologies to those who won't be able to handle the cheesiness.


Everyone Must See This! - video powered by Metacafe

Hopes up

Yesterday, as I was browsing through The Flyer, the Guardian's travel section newsletter, I found this thing that listed the top-10 European flea markets. Turns out three of them are in Belgium. Not that I'm particularly big on flea markets, but there's something reassuring about getting validation from a foreign newspaper. I can't say that I'm surprised: everywhere I look, it's decoration and antique shops. The Belgians like their interiors fancy.

More pragmatically, my living room is in dire need of tables... Coffee, dining, corner tables. I'm on a table frenzy. I want to put tables everywhere. Different styles, colors and sizes, wood, metal, mosaic. So I can cover them with cute things and throw my papers and handbags and scarves around, desperately look for my left shoe under every piece of really pretty furniture and be über late for work. Place du Jeu de Balle it is, then.

I gave The Bulletin another try. The "Web Guru" did well this week - did he hear my complaint? Made me discover this really cool - yet conceptual: practical people, start running - site that "scans through millions of pages (blogs) searching out keywords relating only to feelings." Kind of useless, but incredible: We Feel Fine. Good job, Guru.

Last but not least... I saw in the New York Times this review of a book written by Calvin Trillin, about his dead wife, Alice. I'd never heard of the man, but it intrigued me. So I found the complete story: "She was, as Roger Wilkins later wrote, so very pretty, but that wasn’t the first thing that struck me about her; it might have come as much as two or three seconds later. My first impression was that she looked more alive than anyone I’d ever seen." And this, my friends, is probably the most wonderful compliment a woman could ever hope to get.

Jovanotti, old(ish) but fun:

"I think my butt gett'n big"

Sunny Sunday in Bxl - brekkie at Le Pain Quotidien. Found out Cortázar was born in a house a couple of blocks from where I live.


My mother and her man went back to Paris, leaving my home looking... Kinda like something, finally.


This one still has me laughing out loud. The U.S. version has the Arch. Ah, the memories.

"These things take forever"

Bright Eyes.

Exploration mode

In a hopeful attempt to get a better grasp of Brussels' cultural life, I stopped by the newsstand yesterday and bought a copy of The Bulletin, also known as "The Bible", according to the newsstand guy. To give you an idea, it's supposed to be the local equivalent of your Time Out in London, the Parisian Pariscope and Madrid's Guía del Ocio.

I tried not to let its thinness bother me, despite the fact that it is a weekly publication. Entirely in English, i assume it is targeted at expats who, like me, clearly miss the big-city buzz. Flipping through the pages, I couldn't help but feel put off by the cinema listings (a full page and a half, woohoo!), the poorly written portrait of Axelle Red (seriously, people, is this all you have?) and the "Web Guru's" latest discovery (BookCrossing, whose newsletter I've been receiving for about five years now).

Still, I went on, brave little soldier that I am, and came across a couple of spaces which, fingers crossed, should be interesting enough. First one is Ad!dict, an organization that promotes creative research. Graphic design, photography, architecture, fashion, gaming, shopping and art in general. It reeks of too-cool-for-schoolness, but after London (and with a little help from CH, LVHRD and others), I'm more than ready to take it on.

Argos is the other. Argos, as in Brussels' contemporary art and media center, not UK's home retail chain. This one seems to be closer to a more conventional art... Museum. For lack of a better word.

Wish me luck.

In the meantime... The gallic shrug and other Parisian gestures, by Charles Brenner, accompanied by this article. And C'est So Paris. With no thanks.

This story is killing me. Reminds me of this parrot, Paco, we had when I was little, who could whistle the Cucaracha, play tricks on me by imitating my mother's voice and make fun of her very chatty guests by reproducing their intonations. Not thanking anyone for that either.

For the memories. And I'm gone.

Back in business

Back in Brussels and back to work. With my camera died my inspiration. Haven't replaced her yet (yes, it was a "she").

Nothing new, really. I'll have the internet and the telephone at home by the end of the week, which means I'll be updating this more regularly.

In the meantime, here's the Orange TV ad that used a song by Joanna Newsom.

And, courtesy of The Dude, Bran Van 3000, innit.