Well, I’m moving again, though this time for positive
reasons, meaning that I want to be closer to my daughter’s new school and to
preserve the morning ritual of being close enough to ride the bike, or
eventually bikes, down the tree-lined boulevard each morning, weather
permitting, to drop her off. It is something that has become such an integral
part of my life that I can’t imagine it otherwise.
Perhaps one of the greatest things for me living in Belgium
is that, weather permitting, I do almost everything on the bike, and the most
significant one of those things is that I take my daughter on the bike to
school. At present, it is a good 5km/2 ½ mile ride and she is not exactly small
anymore to be riding behind me like Rerun of the Peanuts comic series. But, the
route we have to take is too dangerous and too long for her to be on her own,
which will all change when I move to my new apartment.
Moving and switching schools is tough. And, I don’t think
that anyone will disagree here, but, you know, life is tough.
But, like Roberto Benigni showed us, even in the most
distressing, horrible and trying times, life can be “beautiful.”
My life is beautiful. Tough, but beautiful.
Each day here in Belgium I am communicating in a language
that is not my own, and one that is rapidly becoming second nature to me
because of all that I have to deal with on a daily basis, and for the most
part, I am alone. That is not a result of merely being an introvert, which I
am, but also because of the social clime and norms here. An American in Antwerp
in 2012 is not the same as Gershwin’s American in Paris in the 1920’s and 30’s.
It is not Hemingway’s Time. It is Fact, not fiction, nor self-pity. Just the
facts, mam, and those are they, as they stand. It is very hard to be here as an
American cut adrift (partly self-inflicted, partly otherwise) and most ex-pats
of this time will agree. Times have changed. The world has changed. Norms have
changed. And, with them, I must change.
But, again, my life here is beautiful. Would I wish that
things were different? In some instances a definitive “yes” is on the tip of my
tongue, in others, a clarion bell of “nay” resonates quite soundly throughout
my day’s thoughts.
I am moving soon away from the very neighborhood that
brought me back to Antwerp, to Belgium, to Europe, that is Zurenborg, without a
doubt, one of the most uniquely architectural wonders of Europe, and a true
sense of community. I will miss it, I had a house here, a sense of place for a while,
but again, Times change, and I will with them. I am moving to a new part of
Antwerp-Berchem, one that is less urban, more sub-urban, but not without its
own charms and more importantly, it has direct access to some stunning city
parks, not to mention Europe’s second-largest outdoor sculpture garden of
Middelheim, a treasure I was alerted to a quarter of a century ago as an
exchange student, and a place that I have retreated to for solace in the
intervening years.
Fall is coming to Belgium, which is a big change. Belgium is
verdant to put it mildly, and when the fall comes, it comes with great fanfare
that would rival the peeper tours of New England.
So, change is in the air, both physically and metaphysically
as I am adjusting to new things, new environments, and new horizons. In the
past two weeks, in Dutch I have bought a used car, rented a new apartment,
joined a water polo team, helped integrate my amazing daughter into a new
school, dealt with a myriad of financial, social, and logistical situations,
and with the added benefit that now, no one really knows where I am from,
meaning, I’ve lost my accent. Now, they are surprised when I say that I am
American rather than assuming and switching to English.
Things have changed.
