Swine flu

There, that should get me a few extra hits!
But I’m really going to write about it.
On my way from Cork to Belgium, I had to catch a connecting flight in London: posters everywhere warning all passengers for the dangers of the flu, newspaper headlines about nothing else,... And I have to admit, I started to feel a bit ill at ease, thinking “the virus did also come through this airport”.
Soon after, I discovered I was not the only one feeling itchy. At the gate, a Dutch guy behind me sneezed. Immediately 5 scared looks in his direction. One lady even moved seats. When I sneezed a couple of minutes later, I felt as if I had a scarlet letter F (for flu) sewn onto my jacket.
Landing in Brussels, thinking I’d left all the flu-craziness behind me, someone from the National Health Service was distributing flyers to everyone leaving the airport : “feeling feverish? Nauseous? Etc? Stay indoors and immediately contact your family doctor.”
So now, every time I sneeze or have a slightly aching muscle, my mind goes, unwillingly: swine flu?? Something tells me my paranoia will not improve when P’s mom returns from Mexico in a few weeks...

Paddy’s Green Shamrock Shore: some travel notes

Friday morning, 5.00 AM
Hopping into a taxi to Belgium’s low-cost airport “Brussels South”, which is nowhere near Brussels, but is in Charleroi.

Friday, 7.30 AM
My first experience on the best known low-cost air company. A guy in swimming trunks, goggles, snorkel, flippers and inflatable duck is standing in front of the plane, singing “row the boat, row”, and everybody’s singing along, waving arms from one side to the other. 5 minutes later, the cabin attendants are selling lottery tickets to the passengers. Welcome aboard!

Still Friday morning, Dublin
Arriving in Dublin, with...ok...5 minutes left to catch the next flight to Cork. Running across endless hallways. And with no time left, I still manage to stop at the Accessorize shop and buy a new rain hat. Of course, the price tag is lost, and the sales girl goes on a 10-minute search for it. I curse myself, but catch my flight to Cork :-)

Friday – on the flight to Cork
“Lme hlp ye wif tha” Um? What? But the nice steward is already carrying my little, but heavy suitcase up the stairs and into the plane.
“D”ye wn mi the git t fr ye?” Sorry? But the guy in the business suit is already lifting my suitcase in the overhead compartments.
Nice people, those Irish! (but I don’t understand a word they say)

Friday evening
Getting motion sickness from first experience with driving on the left side of the road.
And having an absolutely great dinner in Kinsale. Where the lovely staff finally kept moving all the tables in a desperate attempt to kick us, the final five guests, out.

Saturday
Exploring Cork, visiting Blarney Castle (where we risk our backbones to kiss some stone, which will make us eloquent for the rest of our days), and finding out how whiskey is made at the Jameson Distillery in Midleton (and realizing that it’s really not my drink).

Sunday
Road trip to the Killarney Lakes, the Beara peninsula, and the Healy mountain pass. *sigh*...nothing but beautiful landscapes, wild nature....and a lot of tuned racing cars for the yearly car rally held in these parts of the country.

Monday
Other road trip along the coast, more breath-taking sights. Bringing our rental car back in one piece to the airport.
Followed by the most relaxing facial treatment I ever had in the hotel’s spa.

Tuesday
Sad to be leaving already. The taxi driver bringing me to the airport senses my mood, and puts on some Irish folk song that goes : “farewell my dear Ireland, farewell Paddy’s green shamrock shore. Farewell my love, the one I adore”.

On the other side of town

With me getting desperate ‘cause the language school still hasn’t called back, my future mother-in-law decided to take matters in her own hands. And so the word that I’m a language teacher is spreading through the Brussels’ expat-community. If I wanted, I could be teaching teenagers extra Dutch or English lessons every single week night – but I’ve pushed the brakes a little bit (“no, I’m not sending my cv to the complete mothers-mailing-list of one of the poshest schools in town”).
Anyway, today I’ve started teaching again, and I realized – once more – how much I love it. So far three kids of one French family have to put up with my enthusiasm on a weekly basis. There’s cute A, a 10 year old girl, and then there are A and T, the twin boys of 13 – trying to be cool, but actually cute as well. Home alone with the nanny, while mom and dad were still out working. Living in a huge house in one of the more expensive parts of town. Smiling at me ‘cause they actually had fun while doing one of their most hated subjects at school.
This won’t pay my bills – or my new wardrobe – but I didn’t feel so good while “working” for a very, very long time. So maybe I’ll make P’s mom happy, and take on one more evening-duty :-)

Little escape

Monday morning I jumped on a train to the Belgian coast, visiting my parents who are staying in De Haan for one week. I spent all the spring breaks of my childhood in this little seaside town – and I should probably mention here that this is a typically Belgian thing to do: every family always goes to the same town on our North Sea coast. You never change. If your parents always went to, let’s say Knokke, you keep going to Knokke. And so do your kids. Don’t ask me why – that’s just the way it is.
Back to my little get-away. I did everything that you are supposed to do at the coast: make a very long beach walk, eat waffles, eat shrimps and fresh fish, get soaking wet from (un)expected rain, and collect sea shells. I enjoyed every minute of it.
A very relaxed N returned to Brussels this afternoon, realizing once again that a good dose of nature can do wonders. Or how a shrimp can be as good as a shrink.

An excel (-lent) wedding!

(I promised I wouldn’t write about the wedding preparations all the time, but ok, please, just once more...)

After a bit of a slow start, P is starting to enjoy this – even taking initiatives! There’s a reason. And it’s called “Excel”. That’s right, he discovered he can use one of his favourite toys to work on a state-of-the-art guest list, with, if I’ve seen it right, formulas and all. Obviously, the meaning and logic behind all this is not as straightforward to me as it is to him, but I’m doing my best. And this is just a list with names. I already fear the lists with numbers – that are inevitably on their way. Better get my "Excel for Dummies" from the shelf if I want to keep up with him.
P: “So you see, that’s why we have to calculate the attendance-probability”
Me: “Umm, uh-hu, sure (*what the hell is he talkin’ about?*).

Honestly though: I really like it when he takes charge of things. It makes me feel safe, and I know it’s the perfect completion for all my wild dreaming, impatience and impulsive decision-making (which are also needed, and valuable, by the way). The day we’ll walk down the aisle, we’ll have our dreams come true, and the excel-sheets to prove they’re real ;-) !

However, don't be surprised if our wedding cake ends up looking like this:

A bit of both

The last week has been one of mixed emotions. In my mailbox congratulations for the engagement and condolences for the loss of my grandfather follow eachoher up. One day I’m looking at engagement rings, the next day I’m helping choose the coffin. A friend invites us to go out for some champagne this evening, to celebrate – but doing this on the day it’s the church ceremony for my grandfather just feels wrong.

Taking a look at my dairy from last year, I see that the same thing took place. Exactly one year ago, we heard that my mom had cancer. What followed was a crazy double-life between Belgium and France.
19-23 Mai: “big” chemo mom – stay in Belgium
23 Mai : evening – drive to Fonty
24 Mai : Summerball
2-6 June : other chemo mom – stay home
7 june : drive to Fonty
7 june : Montmelian Ball
And so on, and so on......

Frankly, leafing through that little booklet again, I really don’t know how I managed to keep it up, month after month...

First steps

I promise this will not become a “wedding-blog”, where I talk of nothing else but all the preparations that lead to the big event. God, I hate those myself. But just to warn you: from time to time, it will come up. Please indulge me.

The dress. After quite some hours on the web, I came up with 3 dresses that I really, really like. Conveniently, all from the same designer, and all in the same shop, which is like 100 metres from our place. Today, I decided to enter the shop. Part of me still wondering “What am I doing here?”. ..
First question: “When is the wedding going to be Madame?”
Me: “Ummm, hmm, somewhere after the summer, I think....
Followed by a very French answer: “Oh-la-la” – “then you have to hurry! It takes about six months to make the dress – it is made to measure, in our ateliers in Paris”. And apparently I also have to make an appointment if I want to try any dresses on.I walked out of the store with the first twitches of dress-stress, immediately calling P: “Help, I already have to choose a dress, like..quickly!”

Next, I walked along one of the venues we have in mind for the Big Day. I stood in front of the building, and the first thing I thought was: “Nope, not everyone will fit in”. Right, that’s me, N, who always insisted on having a SMALL wedding.

Then I entered a department store and tried on some of those cheap rings that look like an engagement ring – I stood there, just looking at my hand, for about five minutes (I hope no one was observing me).

So you see, I’m taking small steps to convince myself that this is really happening. That I’m marrying the love of my life (wow, did I just write that?!).