Brussels, You're Pissing Me Off!

A Costa Rican swimming pool 

My family spent a couple of weeks in Costa Rica last summer at a house overlooking the pacific ocean.  During that time my mother read a book entitled 'Karachi, You're Killing Me!' . Judging by the plot description on the back cover, it sounded like the novel mostly was about a girl whining about her boyfriend problems who just happened to be in Karachi. When my mom initially offered to loan me the book after she'd finished, I declined.

Once she was done, she told me that the book would be enjoyable for anyone who'd been to Pakistan's largest city.  According to her, the more 'personal' sections were easy to skip over. Indeed, the tome turned out to be mostly about journalism and Karachiite life. I have to admit that I enjoyed the author's observations about the city. I even  admired the stream of consciousness through which she conveyed her perspectives on Sindh's capital. I laughed profusely as she described living among the city's fragmented bureaucracy.  Constantly caught among contestant linguistic and ethnic groups, the main character lives a hectic, emboozened  life. Her woes largely revolve around writing stuff which is seldom appreciated and even more rarely gets paid for on time. As the last sentence of the  back cover plot description puts it: "It's a comedy of manners in a city with none".   

Two months later : in Belgium 

That was two months ago. Now I'm in Brussels. The capital of the EU. I've been here for a month and a half on a Doctoral program. I've drafted a 40 page literature review, helped submit a panel proposal and attended a mandatory pedagogy seminar about teaching in English as a foreign language. I still don't have any proof of enrolment, any health insurance, or any payment delivery. This is even after going through hell to get a bank account.

I've had to ask 'mommy' to pay my rent. The funds in my Austrian bank account were depleted a few weeks ago. I'm relegated to paying American travel banking fees just to get cash. These would be minor annoyances if I didn't have to provide proof of enrolment at the university four days from now as part of a complicated registration process in Belgium that I am subject to even as an EU citizen. I received an email today saying that said proof won't arrive for another two weeks.

This is my first time living totally west of the former Iron Curtain. I'm used to countries where the bureaucracy is somewhat particularized . At first, I thought the Belgian delays were due to interpersonal politicking.  They're not. My bank account application documents were misplaced and needed approval by the head office. My enrolment documents were lost twice. The final step of receiving my stipend  has not been completed despite assurances. It's not because those in the administration want me to kiss their behinds.  As one of my coordinators explained: "they're just fulfilling a job description".

Laughing at western culture

Ok. So Brussels isn't exactly a free-for-all of target killings and outright municipal mismanagement.  It's kind of the opposite extreme. Still, like Pakistanis, Belgians are oddly proud of their country's complicated nature.  Belgians will proudly tell you how eleven separate parliaments meet in Brussels alone. Said bodies work out endless complicated compromises between Belgian linguistic groups, civic interests and EU Member State positions.  In this environment, it's easy to get lost in the red tape.  

The hold-ups aren't fun.  I've noticed that since being here I've developed my own mental narrative of western Europe's crazy workings. 'Karachi, You're Killing Me!''s main character often used humor as a means of dealing with adversity that was beyond her control. I'm beginning to think that it may be a common human defense.

 As an example,  I spent most of yesterday's afternoon talking with an Algerian who lived in UK and France.  We both  noted the gently condescending attitudes of Brussels' residents. She laughed in sympathy  when  I told her that that I'd taken to answering airs of superiority from western Europeans in Belgium by lauding the organization of east European administration over their own.  To paraphrase the last sentence of  'Karachi You're Killing me!''s  back cover:  It's a comedy of defunct manners where one can only respond with none.

        

The Shock of Civilzation

I made it to Brussels ready to start a new academic year.  I had a bit of an adjustment phase when I started studying full time in Europe two years ago. But even then it was the Central-East. I'd been,  studied and worked there before.  I'd never been to the West as much more than a tourist. When there, I enjoyed the attractions and then usually left deciding that I'd rather live in the 'unfashionable' East.
Living in the EU's eastern region made cultural impressions on me. I didn't begin to realize their extent until Belgium. In the western world eastern Europe is stereotypically regarded as backward, behind the times, or at best 'catching up' to civilization. This January, during a weekend with Slovak family friends, one of them told me that the East is the new West. I took his meaning. Countries in the eastern regions of the EU tend to have less socialist governmental policies, less de facto complicated regulations and more rules about things like drinking or smoking (say what you will about their enforcement).
After coming to Brussels I  understand that Vienna, what I thought of as being the West at the time of that visit to Slovakia, was really the bridge between two worlds. Sure, it looked a lot more manicured. But, its bureaucratic processes were more familiar to me from time spent in Poland, Hungary and Romania. Now I've formally ventured into the former Western bloc. It's a whole different animal.
One of my Polish friends once told me, that in his country: "There are the rules...and then there are the rules for getting around the rules". They have an abundance of the former in Belgium. But, the latter appears nonexistent. I am an EU citizen. I've never before had to go through a complicated registration system or get a residence permit as a European. In Belgium it's required. Opening a bank account has taken over 3 weeks so far, thanks to all of the forms and approvals necessary. This would not be more than an inconvenience if I were not required to set up standing orders and take out insurances from the bank just to rent an apartment.
Speaking of my building: at first, reminded me of a dystopic sci-fi novel. There's always a person manning the lobby like the minder at the main entrance to the apartment my family rented in Moscow. People enter your apartment while you're gone and open the window like the time I accidentally rented from the mob in Bucharest. And here, there are also the surveillance cameras in the hall. It's like Big Brother really is watching you!
The subject of housing came up during a walking tour of Brussels. I was talking with a Montenegrin and a Dane. I voiced said concerns regarding my accommodations. The Montenegrin agreed with my assessment; saying  "I could never live in a place where my privacy was not respected". The Dane defended the apartment complex. When I told my parents of the hallway cameras  they said they are common in large US cities as they prevent crime.
I've been to many places. But, I've only ever lived 'as an adult' in Central Eastern Europe. Maybe its culture shock. It seems to me that some of the things I grew up hearing about as the ills of the communist world - the impenetrable bureaucracy,  the rigid codes of conduct and the surveillance- are more present in my impressions of the West than they are in the eastern EU. Westerners have a more positive interpretation.
At the end of the walking tour I took the bus home with a Ukrainian who'd also taken part. She remarked on how comfortable she felt around what she called  "East European" culture. At least for the time being, I cannot disagree.

Suspended Shoes. And A Dive Fin.

Not exactly the ghetto

 South Hills area is a pretty stable place. I grew up there. My upbringing afforded a background of education and culture. To say it provided a limited sense of street life is a gross understatement. I haven’t seen most other areas of Los Angles. But, I’ve been to countries that most US citizens will never experience.  To say it plainly, my life’s produced a person of sheltered bombast when it comes to some things. One who wouldn’t have it any other way. Look no further than this post for evidence.

Now, I’m going to talk about Belize. You could think that the above paragraph has nothing to do with this. Or that it served merely as an excuse to pontificate about my favorite subject. And you’d be right. At least in part. Belize isn’t South Hills. Nor is it Poland, Luxembourg, or Europe in general for that matter. It does happen to be located in Central America. That was about the extent of my expectations as I boarded the plane.   

Observing the cayes of Belize 

Upon arrival in Caye Caulker what I found reflected my concept of Caribbean island culture. This isn’t surprising. The place happens to be a Caribbean island.  Still, I found some aspects a bit novel. Caye Caulker attracts tourists. However, it remains relatively undeveloped.  The island has three dirt roads. There’s one stop sign and a few stores and street vendors. Pools are a rarity. The standard of living didn’t shock me. The way of life stood out.

It’s impossible to spend any time at all on Caye Caulker without noticing the prevalence of deadlocked bohemians who live there. ts also hard to ignore the presence of what can go along with them: marijuana.  I’ve spent time in countries where a third of the population is addicted to opiates. This was my first experience being anywhere near drug culture.

An island thoroughfare

 Drugs are illegal in Belize. Caye Caulker’s local constabulary expends great effort making this abundantly clear to anyone who visits by posting a sign on their office. We noticed the effectiveness of police measures from our fist day.

My mother worked as a reporter for many years. She’s been to some of the downtrodden neighborhoods that I’ve never seen. After our arrival she pointed out a pair of sneakers hanging form an electrical line. “That means you can buy drugs there” she educated. I looked around and noticed 6 other pairs suspended in front of various establishments. The practice seems so obviously unusual as to draw law enforcement attention. I’d still find in implausible if I could think of any other ostensible reason why one would wish to hang shoes from a utilities line.

The in-your-face-ness of it doesn’t stop there. After 8 at night it’s difficult to walk down the street without being propositioned to purchase some ganja. It’s so blatant that we thought it must be a police setup. Then we saw the substance changing hands between a dealer and a boy of about 10 years. If you want it. You can get it.      

Heading to the Blue Hole

I ended up getting high before my time in Belize was up. No drugs involved. The diving is noteworthy. It can act like a drug. To produce aforementioned effect, take one Great Blue Hole and a dive tank. Descend past sharks to 135 ft. (40 meters). Remain submerged amid stalactites for roughly 6 minutes or until the nitrogen in your blood starts making this underwater world seem really slow and awesome. You can even add the Belizean booby reserve as a bonus afterword!  Minor side note: this process could possibly be incredibly dangerous and may include negligible side effects such as death. In fact, it would probably be a lot safer to just go back to Caye Caulker and smoke some weed.  Its not like the cops appear to care anyway.

View from the balcony

Don’t get me wrong. The ‘herbs’ aren’t the be all of Belize. The coast is beautiful and the diving amazing. The street vendors too relaxed to be pushy. The cuisine served seaside in front of peoples’ homes.  These aspects seem to coexist with the shoes hanging above it all. And yet, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. This life is positively unique; what I saw seemed real. Almost too real in a way. Unbelizeable, if you prefer the pun that’s used all over the island. I’ll always remember Belize’s teaming reefs and the tropical view from our 3^rd floor apartment. But, what will always make Belize different in my mind is the bohemianness going on in the street below.  Its nice for a change. Especially when viewed by this sheltered know-it-all.