Poetry, etc.

Hey guys! Not much going on in the world of me, sadly. It's been sort of a dead week.

It's spring. That means trees are blooming, things are sprouting, and pollen is everywhere in the air. It's by no means as bad as South Carolina here in Belgium, but it's all newfangled European pollen and what not that my poor, southern body has never had to inhale before. Said body is therefore flipping out. I missed 2 days of class this week because breathing outside my bedroom is difficult. Oy.

Yesterday (Friday) I had a poetry reading of sorts at a school sponsored event. Truth be told, I got suckered into it by my Japanese teacher--if I had actually been paying attention I would have NEVER agreed to do it. It was simple: just recite 2 haikus in Japanese at the shindig and be done, but I was super nervous about it. It's sort of nerve-wrecking to perform in your third language in front of a room full of people who speak your second language as their first language, you know? I didn't choke, though, surprisingly enough, and it turned out well! The program's supposed to be put on youtube; when Mariken gets me the link I'll post it so you guys can see!

Exchange rate is still bonkers. This is breaking my poor, cheap heart.

There's something else I'm supposed to tell you all, but I definitely can't think of what it is!

I think I speak better French when there aren't any Americans around. Actually, I know that for a fact., I say that because I know me. I'm lazy. The Americans speak English, so I don't put my best effort into speaking French because I know I can fall back on English with them. When they're not around, I don't have a crutch, so I have to step my game up.

Greece in 2 weeks! :D Get excited.

The African-American Experience

Hey guys! Long time, no post, I know, but I've been busy conquering Europe. Sorry! Really though, I haven't even been keeping up with my journal. I am slack. Really I've just been saving up to talk about a specific event.

Philippe, one of my teachers, who is pretty down as far as Europeans go (I've mentioned this before), invited me to as a special guest to one of his classes. It's an English class on American history, and right now they're talking about "The African-American Experience" (hence the title of this entry). As I am probably the only African-American who has ever been through Louvain-la-Neuve, he asked me to come help him out with the class.

Have I ever mentioned how awesome being the only Black chick for miles (exaggeration) is when it makes me a hot intellectual commodity? Oh? I haven't? Well it's awesome. I should patent myself.

Anyway, this was a series of 2 classes, and the first one was last Friday at 8:30 AM. I know. Already off to a bad start, right? We talked about slavery mostly, and segregation. We made it all the way up to the 1950s, and stopped right at the Civil Rights movement. We talked about Negro spirituals, songs that were sang in the field, the Black church, house slaves vs. field slaves; we even got into the colorism a little bit (colorism is just a fancy word for valuing one complexion over another), and Thomas Jefferson and all his illegitimate slave babies. The reference to TJ cracked me up; for some reason I find him really hilarious, and it didn't help that Philippe already knew why I was laughing.

THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT JIM CROW LAWS ARE IN EUROPE. When no one knew what Jim Crow laws were, I kind of bugged on the inside. Then Philippe and I taught them, and now Europe is a more educated place. On day 2, we talked about the Civil Rights movement all the way up to Obama. They wanted to know my stance on Obama, the healthcare proposal, and the tea party. When we talked about certain things, I got to tell fun family stories. Here's an example: when we got to the part in the I Have A Dream speech where it says, to be brief, that Black people are living on an impoverished island in a sea of prosperity, I told the story about Sick Granddaddy where he put his own gas tank in the yard when no one in Clinton would sell him any. We talked about passing for white, and why the blues was called the Devil's music, and The Great Migration.

Philippe asked me how I managed not to hate white people (really, he did) considering all the dirty stuff that went down between my people and, well, them, and I just shrugged, and told him that no one I knew had ever enslaved anyone, or taken their rights, or lynched anyone, etc. (I did, however, also mention that there are certain movies that I cannot watch because they make me hate all white people for at least a week. Mississippi Burning is one of them) He also asked me if, growing up, I was afraid of white people, to which I again answered no. I wasn't raised like that. And what's there to be afraid of, anyway? Have you met me lately? 2 words: ill-tempered hoodlum. 4 more words: prone to violent outbursts. That answers that, simple and plain.

I talked to two guys Friday after the class, because one asked me how I felt about Obama's relationship with the Middle East and Africa, and how he always seems to have encouraging/positive words for them. He compared Obama's messages to the region to Bush's fear mongering, and I said, "It's easy to create that fear--we don't learn about Africa or the Middle East in school, and the region has been demonized to us." (don't play like it's not true) They both sort of gave me the "...you're joking." face (I'm not kidding; they both went completely flat), to which I said, "Twelve years of public school and I've never learned about Africa."

That is not entirely true. As a child, I learned that Africa is where slaves come from, and in 10th grade we spent a week on the 5 great kingdoms of Africa.

Long story short, they couldn't believe it. They didn't understand how the educational system could skip an entire continent--2, really, because all I know about Asia is the silk road went to China and World War II. I don't get it either.

Truthfully, I agreed to come to the class to see how a Belgian viewed my history, and I was impressed. He knows his stuff, that Philippe, even though I think me being there made him a little nervous. It made me feel important that he even asked me to come, and I felt even better when one of the girls said to me that she thought that it was really cool that I came to speak to the class. I like to feel appreciated.

All in all, it was worth getting up at 8 AM on a Friday morning for.

I love boxes!

This box of wonderfulness came from my mommy in the mail yesterday. I came home from classes, pumped about my impending visit from the FedEx man, only to have Laura, one of my co-locataires, say "Lyssa? Lyssa, j'ai un surprise pour toi!" I got all giddy because I already knew what it was, and we opened it on the kitchen table.

Inside the Box

* Valentine's Day card
* Fluffy pink puppy
* Chenille throw for my bed
* 2 bottles of ranch dressing
* Box of Oreos
* Box of double-stuffed Oreos
* 2 boxes chocolate chip coconut cookies
* 2 8 packs of Reese's cups
* 2 packs of Nestle Crunch Bars
* 2 packs of razors
* Tweezers
* Manicure set
* Valentine's heart full of tiny Reese's cups
* Olive Oil hair cream

I have named the doggy Valentine, in honor of the holiday, but you gotta say it like you're French. Def fell asleep cuddling him last night and yesterday afternoon. I'm obviously 5 years old.

In short, my mom is pretty much the best mom ever.

Valumtime's Day!

Happy Valentine's Day to you lot! I hope you had an amazing day full of chocolates and/or general splendor. I had a great day getting haircuts and lunch with my Valentine Kim (one of the girls here from Clemson), and going to the movies with my other Valentines, The Karens and Nick! Nick was even a darling and brought chocolate.

I know y'all are like, "I DON'T CARE ABOUT CHOCOLATE WHAT DO YOU MEAN HAIRCUT." Calm down. It's not that big a deal. Kim and I spent Saturday scouring Brussels for hair salons because she really wanted to do something to her hair, and I figured, "You're in Europe. Why not get a fashionable bang/layer combo?" so I went along. Turns out it's cheaper to get it done here in Louvain-la-Neuve, so today we went to CN Celini to get our hurr did. Kim's hair looks great. The girl that did it, however, was nervously eying me the entire time she was washing Kim out, and when I said, "Just do a side bang." because I was not going to risk layers with Nervous McTwitcherton, she seriously cut 2 strands of hair and declared herself done. Thank goodness I told her to cut it long, so I don't look ridiculous. I'm just going to have to suck it up and find my way to Matongé to get my hair done, it seems.

We went to see Rien à Declarer, a comedy about these French and Belgian customs officers who work in a town directly on the border between France and Belgium. The Belgium officer hates French things/people, and the French officer is having an affair with his sister. It was hilarious! It didn't help that the only song in the movie was "I Believe I Can Fly" by R. Kelly. Yes. The song from Space Jam. I almost cried I was laughing so hard. The cinema is 5 € for everyone on Mondays, so we just made a date of it.

I think that's it... I made garlic green beans for Sunday dinner and they were apparently a smash hit! Before this is over, I will know how to cook. Watch.

Things I've learned about Belgium:
1. PDA is everywhere. People will stop in the middle of the road to start kissing. They don't need an excuse like Valentine's Day.
2. Rain is to Belgium as fog is to London. I will just have to learn to live with it
3. The SPAR is the only grocery store in Louvain-la-Neuve that is open on Sundays apart from the White Knight, but that is all the way up the mountain (i.e., very far from me)
4. Dogs here pretty much have free reign, but they're pretty well trained
5. In Belgium, it can go from being gorgeous and warm outside to raining to freezing. In the same day. In a 5 hour period.

Rawrawrawr

Thursday in class, I had what I call a "slave rant". "Slave rants" are what happen when I need to rail on someone about how unfair society in general has been to black people. They happen completely spontaneously, and I have absolutely no control over what comes out of my mouth during one.

Anyway, we were in Philippe's class (French Civilization), discussing the differences between English and French like subtle nuances, different ways to say things, etc., when somehow we got on the topic of whether or not it's better to embrace everyone's culture or keep your own under a chastity belt. I made a face (completely on accident) when someone said to embrace everyone else's, Philippe saw me, and asked me my thoughts on the matter.

I told him that I think it's better to keep your own. That is not to say, I added, that you shouldn't learn about other people, but you need to keep what's yours. I kept going, saying that maybe people would disagree, but I was speaking from the perspective of a black American: my people's culture was forcibly taken from them.

I then went on a 2 minute rant about how because of this, I know nothing about myself, really: I don't know where my people come from, I don't know what language we would have spoken, what food we would have eaten; I have nothing that, by divine right, is mine and that I can rightly call my own. There's "American culture", sure, but at the end of the day, is there even such a thing? I don't think so. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Not even gonna lie, afterwards I was very impressed that I did all of this in French and didn't mince words too badly.

Now, Philippe's pretty "down" as far as Europeans go. He used to live in Louisiana, he knows what gullah means, that sort of thing. Turns out he's doing a class in a couple of weeks on the African-American experience, and invited me to come. It should be interesting; I'll let you know how it goes.

Philippe also told me that my French is very good and seems effortless. Just thought I'd throw that in. Really though, it's nice to get compliments on it because I think my French is awful. :]

I call shenanigans.

It has been beautiful for the last 2 days in Louvain-la-Neuve. Pleasant weather, sun shining, fluffy clouds... Clearly God is rewarding me for something. Probably for not doing what I'm about to tell you about.

Also, that hair salon I thought I found? Not a hair salon at all. Disappointment.

Today, I'm going to get political on you guys. I've been typing this post for a few days now at the suggestion of a few people, but nothing important like Sunday Dinner has happened so I can finally upload it today. I've probably told this story a thousand times since it happened (okay, 4; whatever), but one more time won't hurt. This, ladies and gentleman, is the story of last Thursday night.

WARNING: if you want to keep believing that I'm not a snarly beast, stop reading right now.

Thursday, Nick decided that I was going out; no excuses. To be fair, I've had a lot of excuses. I've been sick since before I went to Prague and I just don't like parties, especially ones where you're told to "dress to get dirty". I don't own things that can get dirty. No thank you. It was a convenient excuse. After a bit of half-hearted kicking and screaming, I gave in and sacrificed a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of shoes to the great kraken known as The Cercle Party.

Let me explain. The "cercles" are fraternities here. They throw crazy insane parties Sunday-Thursday, and none on the weekends because everyone's gone home to recover. According to our Belgian associates, Thursday is the biggest party because it's the last one of the week. These parties, from what I've been told, are disgusting. There's beer on the floor, some may get on your body, and there's a good chance you will be vomited on. There is no way you can convince me that this is fun. It's just not going to happen.

But I went, mostly so I could say, "That was miserable, I'm never doing it again." and never do it again. I digress.

We started the night at Kate's apartment. Kate is one of the girls here from Clemson; her roommates (all guys) are cool people, and they do a pretty good job of taking care of us poor, hopeless Americans. This is especially pathetic as half of them are American freshman age. I am being chaperoned by high school seniors: look at my life; look at my choices. Anyway, we hang out at Kate's for a few hours, playing card games and generally enjoying ourselves, and when the time comes we head to Casa, which is where the night's big shenanigans were supposed to happen. We're a pretty jolly bunch, all skipping and singing down the road.

And then it happened.

We're walking down the street in a mob acting like your typical 18-22 year olds on a Friday night only it was Thursday. Dylan (on of Kate's roommates), and I are making up the back of the line; we all love each other and everything is wonderful, and when Romeo, the only other black kid with us, makes what I assume was a joke (I honestly have no idea what he said), Dylan laughingly responds with, "Somethingsomethingsomething, you crazy n-word-which-I-refuse-to-say."

Oh no. He. Di'n't.

Yes. In fact, he did.

And I went from 0 to 500 in a very impressive half second.

Nick, bless him, was in the middle of Dylan and me, and I think he knew exactly what was about to happen because he looks at me with this miserable look on his face as if to say, "Oh God we are all going to die."

Me being me, which is to say an ill-tempered hoodlum prone to violent outbursts (no, really; it's true), reached across poor Nick and shoved. Hard. And then I stomped off, glaring and still pretty unhappy (to make the understatement of the year and it's only February), to the front of the group with Grace and Karen O., who I think saw me shove but did not hear what happened, and who now want to know why Dylan is looking after me, horrified and afraid for his life. (mild exaggeration; but if he wasn't he should have been)

I got over it in record time, and that says a lot because I get mad and stay that way for at least 3 days (no exaggeration). After a minute or 2 I stopped snarling, and I was almost okay with the world again when I look up and who is in front of me but Dylan, with Nick behind him for what I assume was moral/physical support: moral because the kid still looked petrified, and physical in case I decided to break his nose for funsies.

Dylan, poor boy, tried to explain to me that he didn't mean it like that, and it doesn't mean bad things here in Belgium, and he's not a racist (exact words: "I love black people!"). I'm not hearing it. I'm about to pound on dude's face, and I think Nick can sense this because he starts saying to him, "Say you're sorry. Say you're sorry. Tell her you're sorry." It was a step in the right direction, but we're a bit past sorries, love. Sorry. (see what I did there?)

Eventually, Dylan and I hugged it out in the street, but he spent the rest of the night coming up to me at random intervals and apologizing, even after I told him it was okay. We ended the night dancing together at Casa, and we all agreed to come out again together this week.

Now let's get down to business.

Truth be told, I was waiting on it from someone. Not from anyone in particular, but I was waiting on it because I've been around people and I know what to expect. People never grow out of that good old trial-and-error "let me see what I can get away with" thing kids do. The n-word is a big shiny diamond of "I might get my butt kicked for this but I'm gonna see how far I get", and who do you know that wouldn't go for a big shiny diamond? Exactly. NO ONE.

I do not expect this from everyone. Really I don't expect it from most people. But you never know. Even I've been wrong before. (EGO)

Moreover, I, for one, am having a hard time believing that the n-word is not offensive here. Everyone has their own version of it, and it's horrible in any language; you tell me it's not and I'll call you a liar. I fully realize that "punk" was originally British slang that referred to prostitutes, but the n-word was created to dehumanize and demoralize an entire race of people--it worked, too, and it looks to me like it's still doing a pretty good job of working to this day. It's an evil word, and I've never known evil things to reform themselves. I'm going to look into this, and if I'm wrong then I'm wrong, but as of right now, I call shenanigans.

If you don't know what movie that's from, you're obviously neither my age nor in college.

Rub your hands against the snake!

Feel free to ignore the title; it's a bit of an inside joke hahahaha.

I was going to do another political post, but that can wait for later because today (Sunday), I practiced being a housewife when I graduate college and made dinner.

Actually, Nick made dinner, and I made dessert and a side item or 2, but those are minor details.

We've been tossing around the idea of cooking dinner for a while, and this weekend we finally did! Nick and I went to the grocery store Sunday afternoon and got pretty much everything we needed for around 25€, and the stuff we forgot Karen O grabbed on the way over. We had Moroccan chicken, couscous, roasted chickpeas, and a spinach salad with roasted tomatoes. For dessert, I made chocolate chip orange scones. They ended up being more like cookies because I got distracted by making lemonade, but apparently they were still delicious. That made me happy, because I was pretty bummed that I browned them a little too much.

Pretty much, we fed 7 people for under 40€. And there are leftovers. That's impressive. I think it's pretty safe to say that Sunday Dinner is a new tradition.

First week of serious business!

Classes have started! Schedules are mad confusing, and everything conflicts but I'm slowly wading through this. I made a chart on Excel to map out all the overlaps, and if only I could figure out one last class I'll be all done! It's exciting. I like making lists.

I had my first Japanese class in Belgium yesterday. Not gonna lie, I was terrified about it. Here I am, with my English speaking self, taking a Japanese class at a French university. How many things in that sentence don't match? What am I thinking? Look at my life; look at my choices.

Turns out it wasn't so bad! We mostly watched a series about a guy named Yan who likes this girl Okata, but Okata has OBVIOUSLY friend-zoned him and is moving to the country with her parents anyway. Sucks to be that dude. In class I met 2 girls: Amélie (like the movie!) and Bathilde. Maybe one day I'll make Belgian friends? Fingers crossed!

This story I'm about to tell is proof that I can make just about anything a political statement and/or a lesson Black People (it should honestly be class). Today, we had Modern French Civilization with Philippe, who is the lovely, whimsical Belgian man that helps run our program. He wanted to spend some time getting to know us, and I don't rightly remember how exactly this exercise was relevant to the class (it was though), but he went around the room asking everyone where their families were from (historically).

Now I know what y'all are thinking. How am I supposed to answer that question without doing 1 or a combination of the following:
1: looking totally lame and going "America" since I can't rightly break down what countries my ancestors came from because of that whole slave thing
2: going off on a rant that would go something like, "What the heck kinda question is that my people were SOLD and no one kept records RAWRAWRAWR!"
3: just going, "Africa." and give everyone the gimp eye
4: just going, "I'm Black." and being done with it.

All those options ran through my head. I have no idea what country my people came from for obvious reasons. This has always worked my nerves, so to speak, because I've always been really interested in genealogy and that sort of thing. Everyone I've ever known can go, "Oh, my family is -insert 10 countries/nationalities here-" and I can't and I hate it. Fortunately, I recently learned a bit about my family history and was at the end of the line, so by the time Philippe got to me, I had formulated a proper response.

Philippe: Et toi, Alyssa? (And you, Alyssa?)
Me: Ma famille vient des pays africains, et de l'Allemagne, et j'suis amérindienne aussi. (My family comes from African countries, and Germany, and I'm American Indian as well.)

He made the greatest face at me. Philippe always makes REALLY great faces; he's very expressive. This one was sort of like a kid that's found a really fascinating toy. Anyhow, he makes this great face at me, and then says,
Philippe: Tu est comme Tiger Woods! (You're like Tiger Woods!)

I laughed on the inside. Seriously I did. Never made that comparison before, but I guess it works.

Who wins at being fascinating? I do.

Yes, that picture was necessary.

Happy Black History Month!

An Ode to Food and City Art

Do you see this? This, my friends, is what we have affectionately nicknamed "pizza waffle". It's a waffle. WITH STUFF INSIDE. Technically, this one has nothing to do with pizza at all: it had chicken, curry and tomatoes and IT WAS DELICIOUS. It was 3,40€ at Waffle Factory, this little place close to school. The guys who own it are really nice, and did I mention that it was only 3,40€? 4,50 if you got a drink. Will definitely be going back. Possibly today, if it is not raining and/or disgusting outside.

I have also found popcorn in Europe! Trust me, it's harder than you think. They serve as an appetizer of sorts at this crêperie in town that is mad expensive because they're supposed to have the best crêpes and milkshakes. They average out between 14 and 20 € a crêpe. Yeah. The one I got was 8,95 and suffice it to say that I will not be patronizing them often.


THIS IS ON THE SIDE OF OUR MOVIE THEATER. If you pay attention to how the city is on top of a highway and a railway, that is what I mean when I say that Louvain floats on top of a highway. I actually think this city is meant to be Louvain. Either that, or Minas Tirith in the 21st century ('nother LotR ref!).


And this I just think is cool. Check out the roots coming from the columns! Don't ask what that building is for; I have no idea.

I don't rightly remember if I said this before here, but Wednesday, I AM GOING TO PRAGUE. Every time I think about it, I want to sing "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" by Cher. I'm actually listening to it right now! :]

Of museums and false hair

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I am buying Prince cookies like they're going out of style. Someone stop me or else I'll weigh like 546987631637868764 more pounds when I come home and they'll make me buy out the whole plane to accommodate my massiveness.

Today was a beautiful day. Sun was out, pigeons were being huge in the middle of the street, there were throngs of children were everywhere... AND I LEFT MY CAMERA AT HOME. Don't worry; tomorrow promises to be just as gorgeous, so I will remember my camera and snap photos around town then.

WE WENT TO THE HERGE (airhh-zjay) MUSEUM TODAY OH MY GOSH. For those of you don't know, Hergé is a very famous Belgian comic strip artist/advertiser/media tycoon. He came up with The Adventures of Tintin back in the 1920s, which was one of my favorite things ever back when Saturday morning cartoons were worth watching. THERE WAS TINTIN STUFF EVERYWHERE. I'm pretty sure I was the most excited person to be there. I love Tintin. I love comics. I love museums dedicated to Tintin and/or comics. What's there for me to be unhappy about?

We didn't have time to go by the gift shop, which made me sad, and they wouldn't let us take pictures inside the museum, which also made me sad but is understandable because then you could duplicate the comics and sell them for profit and THAT'S STEALING. Darn copyright infringement laws. There was this nifty little room there, though, that let you do THIS:
IS THAT NOT EXCITING?!! I KNOW IT IS.

We're also doing a photo-comic book project in class. My group's doing a detective story parody: my character goes "missing" but it turns out she's just playing a joke on her sister/roommate/boyfriend. It's going to be pretty awesome, just saying. Also, I am going to Prague for the break. It's going to be freezing and awesome. Can't wait!

Things I've learned:

1. Girls in Belgium don't wear their own hair. It makes me sad, because y'all know how much I hate weaves. If you don't know how much I hate weaves, I'll tell you: I hate them a lot. As in, I wish they had never been invented. But they all have weaves, and they're not even good. Your hair looks like steel wool at the root and then BAM! you have Hawaiian Silky on the bottom and just who exactly do you think you're fooling? Not me! And they all do these RIDICULOUS bouffants and end up looking like this:
only more to' down and raggedy. It's a crying shame.

2. People in Belgium stare. They stare because you speak English. They stare because you don't wear a weave. They stare because you wear colors. They stare because you don't scowl all day long. I'm going to start handing out autographed photos of myself and charge 2€ for them. I'm cute enough; I could totally make money that way.

3. There is an African district in Brussels called Matonge (or something similar) and lots of Black hair care places in Ixelles (near Brussels). I must go visit, because I cannot find product in Louvain-la-Neuve. That is my project for the weekend.

4. Aldi is amazing. I got a loaf of bread, 2 sandwich meats, cheese, Nutella, q-tips, and pain au chocolat for 7€. This excites me. I am a fan.

Louvain-la-Neuve!

LONG TIME NO BLOG, GUYS.

First things first, I fixed the comments section so that you guys could leave comments without having to sign in. Just make sure you put your name SOMEWHERE so I know who's talking to me, k? Awesome!

I'm keeping a normal journal to chronicle adventures, so I can catch you guys up! We spent Sunday-Tuesday night in Brussels, and it was full of frites and moules and cool dinners and loooooots of bars. Y'all know I don't drink, but it was fun to go along! We got to Louvain-la-Neuve (Loo-vanh la nuvv) Wednesday morning after a really sketchy van ride. The distance between the two places is most comparable to Greenville/Spartanburg, and by train it's more like Greenville/Simpsonville. We have free train passes, so we'll definitely be going back soon! As a matter of fact, a few girls went back this weekend.

That's the view from my window in Brussels! That great big spire is part of the Grand Place. SO MANY IMPRESSIVE BUILDINGS IN ONE PLACE I SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN ARCHITECT.

We've done A LOT of administrative work. We had to send off for student cards, and apply for residency in the city so we can make use of the open borders. I'm searching in vain for somewhere to get my hair done (one day I'm just gonna ask someone), and even though y'all know how much I hate the "ETHNIC HAIR CARE" signs I would welcome one right about now because my little jar of olive oil is half empty.

Right now, the students at l'Université Catholique de Louvain (henceforth to be known as UCL) are in the middle of exams, and apparently Euro exams are INTENSE so the city is a ghost town and I never see my roommates. 5 other people share this apartment with me, which is CRAZY to me. It's a bit intimidating that there are so many!

UCL is split up into a lot of buildings across town, kind of like SCAD. The student housing is split into 5 quartiers (kar-tee-ay), which are like boroughs. There's Quartier de Lauzelle (lo-zell), Quartier de la Baraque (like the president), Quartier de Biéreau (bee-ay-ro), Quartier des Bruyères (brew-yehr), and Quartier de l'Hocaille (o-kye-yuh). We're split up pretty evenly between the quartiers, but Hocaille is up this HUMONGOUS mountain-like hill that we have nicknamed Mount Doom (like in Lord of the Rings) because dear goodness getting there will put a hurting on you so we never go there. I live in Bruyères, along with Nick, Anna, Megan, and Janine. Right now my room is bland and ugly, so I will put up pictures when I decorate. Megan and Anna are in the building next door to me, and Nick's building is in front of me. Bruyères is very close to the center of town (though not as close as Biéreau, which practically IS the middle of town), so I don't have far to walk to class or food or shopping. Did I mention the mall? There's a mall on campus, complete with an H&M, Pimkie, Zara, and 2 new places I've fallen in love with called Bershka and Pull & Bear. Love it. I'm going to be so fashionable when I come back you won't even recognize me at the airport. Watch.

There are LOTS of fun, magical-looking places around here! There's a lake behind my apartment, and a giant white globe thing that looks like a dragon egg (we call it Norbert; if you read Harry Potter you understand what I'm talking about), and a tower that's the first thing you see when you take the long way to l'Hocaille that we have nicknamed Isengard (also a reference to Lord of the Rings) because it looks EXACTLY LIKE IT. The tower is apparently part of a church though, and that's intriguing. It's a Catholic university, so there are 4 Catholic churches in LLN as well as several organizations for Catholic students, but there's also a United Protestant Church, a Baptist church, a Orthodox church, and a mosque. If I ever figure out how to get to these places in a timely manner, I'll most likely go to the Catholic churches.

I realize I haven't put up any pictures of Louvain-la-Neuve. Truthfully, I haven't taken any. It's been raining nonstop since we got here, and cloudy/overcast/drizzle is NOT the ideal weather combination for taking pictures. If the weather ever clears up, I'll run around Louvain like a proper tourist/obnoxious American and snap pictures EVERYWHERE.

Food around here is surprisingly pretty cheap. You can get a foot long-ish sandwich for 2-4€ at most sandwicheries (sandwich shops) and BIG cone of frites for 2€ at the friterie, which is ALWAYS open. There's an Aldi across the street from Nick's place, apparently, so tomorrow I think he and I are going to go grocery shopping because it's much cheaper than Delhaize, the other grocery store, which I think is owned by the same people who own Food Lion because they have the same lion emblem. Apparently, Nick is a really good cook, so one day we're going to have an Italian night, and I promised to make legitimate American burgers and tartiflette.

While the legitimite UCL students are taking their exams, we loud Americans (seriously we're so loud everywhere we go) are taking a crash course in speaking/grammar. It's 5 hours a day, everyday, from 9-12 and then 2-4. It's torture for me having to sit in one room for so long/so early; I haven't done that since elementary school! Luckily, there's a boulangerie (boo-lon-jerr-rie, a pasty shop) on my way to school where I can get coffee and/or breakfast, if I so desire. I got a pain chocolate (chocolate bread) this morning for 0,85€! That's another thing about French: where we put periods, they put commas.

There's a week long break starting this Friday (goodness I love Europe), so the gang's all splitting up and going different places. Most of the people I'm with on a usual basis are going to Germany, where Nick's, one of 2 guys in our group, parents live and Kim (one of the girls) has a friend studying, but Karen G. and I are going to go do our own thing somewhere else. We may very well end up in Spain with Megan, Kate, and Chelsea, but that trip is sounding a bit more expensive than either of us care for, so we'll see!

I'm going take another minute here and talk about the food. It is ALL delicious. I think I've had maybe one thing I didn't like. It's called estragon (ess-strah-gohn), and I tried it at Caprice, a sandwicherie/tea room in the Grand Place (city square) after I gave up yelling at Nick across the restaurant. He had had it before, and I couldn't remember if he liked it or not. IT WAS PRACTICALLY CHICKEN SALAD. Do you know how much I hate mayonnaise?! I couldn't chew it and I couldn't swallow it and I couldn't spit it out so I just kind of held it there in my mouth and nodded at the lady even though it was coating my teeth and just ugggghhhhh. Later, he said to me, "I thought you were saying escargot! Yeah, that stuff is nasty; I didn't like it." Thanks, homie. Thanks.

Instead of the chicken salad disguised as estragon, I got a sandwich japonais, which was smoked salmon, cucumbers (conconbres in French! I learned a word!), something else I don't remember, and wasabi sauce. IT WAS SO DELICIOUS EVEN WITH WASABI GOING UP MY NOSE OH MY GOSH. Everything is so good! Seriously, I'm having a spaz attack over a COLD CUT SANDWICH, so you know it's good. Also, there is curry EVERYWHERE and I love it. There's this great noodle restaurant called Woké that generally costs around 6€, but I generally have leftovers when we go so it's totally worth it (last time I was super hungry though). How am I going to go back to American food after this?! I suppose I better learn to cook/wok/make bread.


I HAVE PRINCE COOKIES. REJOICE WITH ME. Seriously, Prince cookies are the best things since sliced bread. I've been flipping out so much about how good they are that everyone else decided they had to try them just to see if I was a complete nutter, and between 4 of us we ate a container and a half while watching Bollywood movies at Nick's last night. Baow.

This is Nick and Karen G. having fondue at Blackfriar's, the Irish pub that is literally next door to me and Nick.

This was my dinner that night: sausage, cheese, and peach beer, hahahaha. Seriously, though, that was the best sausage I've ever had in my life. I've come to appreciate the occasional brew in the week I've been here. I even impressed one of my suitemates, Pierre. He asked me if I knew about abbey beers (beers brewed by monks; I think the concept is unique to Brussels) and I gave him a specific example (Rochefort). I was proud of myself, hahaha.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED IN BELGIUM:
1. Europeans let their kids run RAMPANT all over the place. It drives me nuts.
2. It is impossible to keep a hairdo here. Freakin' humidity.
3. Americans are loud and obnoxious. Seriously wherever we go we're the loudest bunch.
4. All European malls have grocery stores inside of them. It is a fact of life.
5. Cobblestones are horrible to walk on.

FOR COMMUNICATION PURPOSES
* My skype username is lyssalouu. It's free to talk on, unlike my phone, so long as you have a computer and/or smartphone.
* My address is Rue des Bruyères, 28/208 1348 LOUVAIN-LA-NEUVE
Y'know. Just in case you want to write me letters or send me prezzies.

You'll hear from me again soon!