Brussels in Belgium
I came to Brussels in October, in order to do a five month placement at the European Commission. It is a well-known program known as the Stage, where twice a year, six hundred people are chosen for a structured program to work in a chosen area of the EC, with a zillion extra work activities to become involved in.
Imagine - in a week it is feasible, to slot activities into the time that other urbanities usually spend commuting. So as well as being able to attend an event after work, you could slot in Belly dancing, Salsa, Yoga, Swimming, Basketball, French, Tango, Tennis and Modern dance before lunch and/or dinner everyday of the week, if you wish (as I did;-)
This is the beauty of Brussels. It is small, creative, and there is a lot to be involved in. In my first week, I along with 4 others, were elected to organise the activities of the stage, and anything you can imagine is on offer. It was a mini period in which you can get involved in whatever you wanted. If your interest is dance, there are free dance classes, and then the opportunity to stage a show at the end of the period. There are plays performed by the theatre group, a short feature produced by the film club, and tournaments held by each sporting team. Since the people gathered here are from each of the 25 EU member countries, every language can be taught for free, and cultures were exhibited and enjoyed through flamboyant National Parties. Debates, conferences, trips and exhibitions are organised, and a journal is produced.
Saying all this, there is something missing. It is strange, and I can not quite put my finger on it but it is almost as though the city lacks a soul. I found that it had everything, but yet nothing really. Our stage period would explain my theory well. People from all over Europe are bought to this tiny city because of the European institutions (The Parliament, Council and Commission) and bring their cultures with them, yet nothing is authentic (except the chocolate). Now I will be stepping on some toes, and I do not mean to offend, but my feeling is that Belgium itself was such a hotchpotch of invasions, and it manifests itself today as an amalgamation of Flanders, the Flemish speaking region, and Wallonia, the French speaking region. You are reminded of this everywhere, for everything is written in at least French and Dutch, and often in English and German as well. So Belgium to me was confusing, and therefore interesting.
Little things amuse me everyday, in these seemingly flat, plain lands. Wherever there is a slight difference in level, be this in a Metro station, or at a bridge outside, there will be escalators awaiting you. I say this, because this is how it feels when they lie dormant, until the sensor picks up that someone is close, and they begin moving before you. Yet, just as that makes me smile, on more than one occasion I think that I may have offered the same pleasure to the Belgians, and this is because of their love of rules. A simple act like going swimming is not as straight forward as it seems. When I finally found the pool, paid, was given a card, which opened the gates to the swimming complex, I thought that the hard part was over – that had taken an hour so now I presumably I could just swim. You would think. I went into the changing rooms only to find that there was door on either side of which neither had a lock. Plus they were so far apart that you could not hold them both shut at the same time. A rather clever and perverted system designed by the men hanging around this unisex changing room, I thought. Too shy to ask, as I had already partly undressed in my excitement of swimming, I now had to just wait and see what others did when they arrived. I then am helped by one of the aforementioned perverts, in a very polite manner (so I take the other p adjective back;-), only to learn that the entire bench that runs through the cubicle comes down to wedge each door shut. Ingenious, and something that presumably you should just know.
Another thing that you should know, is that you must always shower before swimming. I hate to say it, but not many British know this common European practice, and when I finally get into the pool I discover that there is a lot more unknowns. I had barely begin my first lap when a very loud booming voice on speaker, makes everyone stand on alert in the pool. What could have happened? Is there a bomb scare? I look around at people’s faces, to see what to do, as my French is not so clear, and they all look at me back. I then realise that they are not looking at each other, this is not a polite – it is good to look people in the eye at such moments – they are only looking at me. Then I receive a prod by a long metal pole. I follow the pole, which has been extended by ‘Mr P(olite)’ who motions for me to get out of the pool. Oh my God, how embarrassing, I think I can handle this depth, God, is my swimming so bad? I did not know what to think, but realised that ones whole body can blush. Realising that my French is not quite up to speed Mr P points to my head, and then to other peoples head. It takes me some seconds of looking to spot the difference, and then I get it – they were all wearing a cap. Another thing that is common practice, here. Ok, pas de problem, where do I get one from? Mr P points to the cashier lady who is back at the entrance – so I have to dress and buy a cap.
Second time in the pool, a good 15 minutes later and I am stopped swimming again! What? I checked my attire, and showered again, am I just not destined to swim here? Perhaps. This time I was pulled out and shown that the changing room key that we had been given on a rubber band to put upon our wrist can cut us if the band is not put on in a certain way. Ingenious, again, but I am becoming tired and soon will be too infamous and tired to want to swim. I get into the pool for the third and I vow myself the final time. Barely 30 seconds past when there was another very fast, loud and echo-y French announcement. What now? Synchronised swimming practice is taking place, the pool has been booked out by a school.
I told this story because it is a small example of what we take for granted when we know the language. When you don’t know the language so well, everything takes a lot longer, a lot more effort, and you still do not accomplish your plan, no matter how basic. From getting to a given destination, at a given time, to opening a back account – it can all become a surreal drama or story. Secondly, the rules surrounding swimming are a good example of what Belgium can appear to be – a nation obsessed with rules. The European Institutions naturally are large, bureaucratic and therefore inherently ridden with rules, so I did not want to give an example from work. But even after work, when you walk out onto the street, if you do not notice that the pavement is different colours in different places, that is your problem, the cyclist that has right of way on the red section, will happily stress this by running you over, though the rest of the pavement is free. I am not getting this opinion through only personal examples, but from talking to people that have been here for years, as well as my fellow peers.
Now, this is where I have a theory. Perhaps rules are a way of minimising the chaos that has so often enveloped this country without its will, via wars, invasions and the hoards that come to work in the European Institutions. I shall allow the Belgians themselves to please give their opinions on this one.
Saying that, I do appreciate that rules are very much needed, given the influx of non Belgians into Brussels. There are 42,000 employees at the European Commission alone, and these are an amalgamation of specialists from all over Europe. What surprised me are the numbers of migrants here that are not involved in the institutions. Over 20% of Brussels constitutes of North Africans for example. One trip on public transport here will show you the world, and you’ll hear a complete myriad of languages. Tragically however, the European Institutions do not reflect such diversity; regulations for this aim are non existent. When I asked one official where the wheelchair entrance was, for one of the largest buildings of the European Institutional Framework, he looked at me, puzzled by the question. ‘Why would we need that, there is no one here in a wheel-chair?’ This is what puzzled me. In my whole time here, I have not once seen a disabled person, none of my massive hierarchy of bosses are female, and walking down the corridor last week I remember stopping, I had just passed a black person – the first time in all my months here. Our stage would again me a microcosm of what exists. Out of six hundred people accepted onto the program there is only one black, one brown, and one oriental person of each gender. It was an odd feeling, looking around the arena when I was making my election speech, to realise that I was the token brown girl. It is really hard not to think this when you look at the statistics, and perhaps this is not the case, but when talking about disabled people to the official, it appears, that there are not even tokens present. All observations of a relatively young organisation which is still very much finding its feet and own way of doing things, still I bought it up because I have never heard this even in the form of a causal dialogue. As a good French friend would remind me, my obsession with PC is just so Anglo Saxon. I guess the European-ness in me still needs work;-)
I am coming to the end of my third page, and so here I should stop and invite you to respond to my observations and perceptions. Overall, I am learning lots, surrounded by incredible people, and feel as though I am at the heart of Europe – a concept that I have never experienced before. I am quickly changing from being your average Euro sceptic Brit, and am very grateful for the opportunity to do so.
Imagine - in a week it is feasible, to slot activities into the time that other urbanities usually spend commuting. So as well as being able to attend an event after work, you could slot in Belly dancing, Salsa, Yoga, Swimming, Basketball, French, Tango, Tennis and Modern dance before lunch and/or dinner everyday of the week, if you wish (as I did;-)
This is the beauty of Brussels. It is small, creative, and there is a lot to be involved in. In my first week, I along with 4 others, were elected to organise the activities of the stage, and anything you can imagine is on offer. It was a mini period in which you can get involved in whatever you wanted. If your interest is dance, there are free dance classes, and then the opportunity to stage a show at the end of the period. There are plays performed by the theatre group, a short feature produced by the film club, and tournaments held by each sporting team. Since the people gathered here are from each of the 25 EU member countries, every language can be taught for free, and cultures were exhibited and enjoyed through flamboyant National Parties. Debates, conferences, trips and exhibitions are organised, and a journal is produced.
Saying all this, there is something missing. It is strange, and I can not quite put my finger on it but it is almost as though the city lacks a soul. I found that it had everything, but yet nothing really. Our stage period would explain my theory well. People from all over Europe are bought to this tiny city because of the European institutions (The Parliament, Council and Commission) and bring their cultures with them, yet nothing is authentic (except the chocolate). Now I will be stepping on some toes, and I do not mean to offend, but my feeling is that Belgium itself was such a hotchpotch of invasions, and it manifests itself today as an amalgamation of Flanders, the Flemish speaking region, and Wallonia, the French speaking region. You are reminded of this everywhere, for everything is written in at least French and Dutch, and often in English and German as well. So Belgium to me was confusing, and therefore interesting.
Little things amuse me everyday, in these seemingly flat, plain lands. Wherever there is a slight difference in level, be this in a Metro station, or at a bridge outside, there will be escalators awaiting you. I say this, because this is how it feels when they lie dormant, until the sensor picks up that someone is close, and they begin moving before you. Yet, just as that makes me smile, on more than one occasion I think that I may have offered the same pleasure to the Belgians, and this is because of their love of rules. A simple act like going swimming is not as straight forward as it seems. When I finally found the pool, paid, was given a card, which opened the gates to the swimming complex, I thought that the hard part was over – that had taken an hour so now I presumably I could just swim. You would think. I went into the changing rooms only to find that there was door on either side of which neither had a lock. Plus they were so far apart that you could not hold them both shut at the same time. A rather clever and perverted system designed by the men hanging around this unisex changing room, I thought. Too shy to ask, as I had already partly undressed in my excitement of swimming, I now had to just wait and see what others did when they arrived. I then am helped by one of the aforementioned perverts, in a very polite manner (so I take the other p adjective back;-), only to learn that the entire bench that runs through the cubicle comes down to wedge each door shut. Ingenious, and something that presumably you should just know.
Another thing that you should know, is that you must always shower before swimming. I hate to say it, but not many British know this common European practice, and when I finally get into the pool I discover that there is a lot more unknowns. I had barely begin my first lap when a very loud booming voice on speaker, makes everyone stand on alert in the pool. What could have happened? Is there a bomb scare? I look around at people’s faces, to see what to do, as my French is not so clear, and they all look at me back. I then realise that they are not looking at each other, this is not a polite – it is good to look people in the eye at such moments – they are only looking at me. Then I receive a prod by a long metal pole. I follow the pole, which has been extended by ‘Mr P(olite)’ who motions for me to get out of the pool. Oh my God, how embarrassing, I think I can handle this depth, God, is my swimming so bad? I did not know what to think, but realised that ones whole body can blush. Realising that my French is not quite up to speed Mr P points to my head, and then to other peoples head. It takes me some seconds of looking to spot the difference, and then I get it – they were all wearing a cap. Another thing that is common practice, here. Ok, pas de problem, where do I get one from? Mr P points to the cashier lady who is back at the entrance – so I have to dress and buy a cap.
Second time in the pool, a good 15 minutes later and I am stopped swimming again! What? I checked my attire, and showered again, am I just not destined to swim here? Perhaps. This time I was pulled out and shown that the changing room key that we had been given on a rubber band to put upon our wrist can cut us if the band is not put on in a certain way. Ingenious, again, but I am becoming tired and soon will be too infamous and tired to want to swim. I get into the pool for the third and I vow myself the final time. Barely 30 seconds past when there was another very fast, loud and echo-y French announcement. What now? Synchronised swimming practice is taking place, the pool has been booked out by a school.
I told this story because it is a small example of what we take for granted when we know the language. When you don’t know the language so well, everything takes a lot longer, a lot more effort, and you still do not accomplish your plan, no matter how basic. From getting to a given destination, at a given time, to opening a back account – it can all become a surreal drama or story. Secondly, the rules surrounding swimming are a good example of what Belgium can appear to be – a nation obsessed with rules. The European Institutions naturally are large, bureaucratic and therefore inherently ridden with rules, so I did not want to give an example from work. But even after work, when you walk out onto the street, if you do not notice that the pavement is different colours in different places, that is your problem, the cyclist that has right of way on the red section, will happily stress this by running you over, though the rest of the pavement is free. I am not getting this opinion through only personal examples, but from talking to people that have been here for years, as well as my fellow peers.
Now, this is where I have a theory. Perhaps rules are a way of minimising the chaos that has so often enveloped this country without its will, via wars, invasions and the hoards that come to work in the European Institutions. I shall allow the Belgians themselves to please give their opinions on this one.
Saying that, I do appreciate that rules are very much needed, given the influx of non Belgians into Brussels. There are 42,000 employees at the European Commission alone, and these are an amalgamation of specialists from all over Europe. What surprised me are the numbers of migrants here that are not involved in the institutions. Over 20% of Brussels constitutes of North Africans for example. One trip on public transport here will show you the world, and you’ll hear a complete myriad of languages. Tragically however, the European Institutions do not reflect such diversity; regulations for this aim are non existent. When I asked one official where the wheelchair entrance was, for one of the largest buildings of the European Institutional Framework, he looked at me, puzzled by the question. ‘Why would we need that, there is no one here in a wheel-chair?’ This is what puzzled me. In my whole time here, I have not once seen a disabled person, none of my massive hierarchy of bosses are female, and walking down the corridor last week I remember stopping, I had just passed a black person – the first time in all my months here. Our stage would again me a microcosm of what exists. Out of six hundred people accepted onto the program there is only one black, one brown, and one oriental person of each gender. It was an odd feeling, looking around the arena when I was making my election speech, to realise that I was the token brown girl. It is really hard not to think this when you look at the statistics, and perhaps this is not the case, but when talking about disabled people to the official, it appears, that there are not even tokens present. All observations of a relatively young organisation which is still very much finding its feet and own way of doing things, still I bought it up because I have never heard this even in the form of a causal dialogue. As a good French friend would remind me, my obsession with PC is just so Anglo Saxon. I guess the European-ness in me still needs work;-)
I am coming to the end of my third page, and so here I should stop and invite you to respond to my observations and perceptions. Overall, I am learning lots, surrounded by incredible people, and feel as though I am at the heart of Europe – a concept that I have never experienced before. I am quickly changing from being your average Euro sceptic Brit, and am very grateful for the opportunity to do so.
posted by Mandeep Rai at 5:49 AM
0 comments
