We got off the bus in Brugge (after two hours on the harrowing highways of Belgium, through which I slept the majority because I was forced to awaken at 7am and wasn't co-ordinated enough to operate my french press) in front of this strange modern structure, just a little ways down from the train station. We crossed a bridge just on the other side over the Minnenwater (I know I'm spelling that wrong) which was commonly called the "lovers river" but actually from the old Dutch means something more like "the ghost of the water." From the bridge we could see this other big beautiful building that turned out to be a hotel/restaurant, and this tower that used to hold gunpowder safely away from the city center. We walked through this area outside the city that used to be a community of religious women, (I believe Benedictine nuns) and there was mass going on so we couldn't go into the church. The whole area was very hushed except for the plethora of tour guides, and the cobblestones were very uneven due to their being incomprehensibly old.

For the most part, that was when I stopped listening to the tour guide. He wasn't bad, but it didn't really make a difference to me what he was saying. I took pictures mainly for you guys, because you're not here. So what follows (above) is really just pictures upon pictures, and you can take them as you will, just like I did. My one real regret about Brugge is that I didn't see the modonna and child by Michaelangelo. But hey, it's only two hours away and I'm going to be here for another 9 and a half months! Please enjoy...

Okay so, I know I'm behind on the happenings, but I think you'll all just have to forgive me. Classes have now started, even if the next two weeks are only a trial period, but let me rave for a moment. Today I had Dr. Moyaert's class which was inocuously titled "Advanced Course: Philosophical Anthropology." Had I been able to read the student guide the way it was meant to be read (i.e. to be informative) I would have known that the entire class was on Lacan's seminar on transference!! As it was I realized only a few hours before stepping into the room. Through a broken French (?) accent his introductory lecture had me rapt, the likes of which feeling I have not experienced since the high days at UofT. Yeah, we're talking Comay/McGrath intensity here, and on Jacques Lacan! I was so excited I could barely write my extensive notes. Talking to him at the break was a big challenge, given my awkwardness in the midst of such intense experiences, but he pointed me in the right direction for beginning research on my thesis, so at least I was able to function.

Just after the break he launches in again, and the utter high point proceeded from the following (quoting from notes): "Lacan wants to protect/save the complexity of our spontaneous moral experience from the violence of the major moral theories (utilitarianism, the categorical imperative). Thus, a hermeneutical moral philosophy (!!) that uncovers the elements of our experience which are otherwise obscured, without making the facile judgement that the value of moral decision/action is relative to the particular context."

Okay, seriously. If you have heard anything remotely philosophical that I have said in the last 5 years or so, even if you don't understand any of this, you must be able to appreciate how the smile just split my face. My head practically nodded off my shoulders, I could barely contain myself. I am SO excited about this class. It's gonna be a bear, there's no doubt about it, we're reading not only the seminar on transference, but also the preceding one on ethics. But all the anxiety and melancholy of the last bunch of weeks just paid off in one shot, and it's just the first day!!

I'm going to end this one just here and bury it under some pictures of Brugge, because I don't have the patience to wait until after I wrestle with pictures and half-remembered descriptions. But there you have it, my first day of school!

Happy Birthday to ME!!

Thanks for all the various greetings and congratulations you guys, you warmed the cuckles of my heart as always. In addition, Elena and Ksenia very sweetly got me a card, which was waiting under my door this morning, so all in all, it's been a pretty community-love kind of day. I did in fact go to Brugge, and took a buttload of pictures for you guys (so much so that the tour guide asked me if I was a photojournalist) but I haven't decided how I will lay them all out on here, since it's a big pain in the butt and I am super, super exhausted. The big opening day parade is tomorrow too, so I need to be up and ready for that bright and early. It probably won't be as great as the frosh parade in Toronto, but you know, who can beat walking en masse through the streets of a major city chanting "These are your tax dollars at work!!", "The beast from the East!!" and what not.

Overall, I think the day exhausted me for two reasons: (a) I didn't take the boat tour the way I should have and wanted to; (b) looking at buildings all day and not getting any sense for the people leaves a hollow feeling in my chest. I love buildings, and Brugge is beautiful. Really, really beautiful. But all I can think of when I look at them is how much work must have gone in. Maybe it was 70-30 love-suffering, maybe more, maybe less, but here are your ancient gilded statues, here are your mile-high clocktowers, and here are the cobblestone streets teeming with tourists craning their necks to see these things, and the people who made them are forgotten. Now it is Brugge that is so beautiful, SO beautiful, and so abstract. There's no one to thank or embrace or even ask how hard it all was, there's just the sound-byte stories about the judge who was flayed here or how some Dutchess of Burgundy fell off her horse and died at 25 ("She couldn't have been that nice-looking since she only had two teeth! HA ha ha ha ha...") I get tired of it.

There was one really nice moment though, when I went into the chocolatiers. I ordered a lot of chocolates and it took him a while to get them all ready, so we chatted a bit about Brugge and the U.S. and the differences. He told me that his was the oldest Chocolatier in Brugge (surprisingly only from 1955) and that all the others had either gone under or had changed families. I had veered off the busy touristy streets as soon as I could get away from the group (hopefully not offending anyone) and I was the only person in the store. He gave me a piece of dark chocolate while I waited and I felt like a little kid, like it was Christmas back before I was jaded. It was round and flat and pressed into the shape of an elaborate budding rose, just so GD wonderful it made me want to cry. I bought some sour gummies in the shape of sea shells just to postpone the effect, and since they came in this cone shaped plastic bag that made me feel very European. That was wonderful, talking with people is wonderful.

Another really beautiful moment not (directly) involving people was when I wandered into the modern art garden and came across these sculptures by a Uraguatian artist whose name I will look up and post when I get a chance. There were all in either white, grey or pink marble, and something about them made my heart expand. It was another of these moments when I was just tired and unsatisfied with the way I had spent my time, and here was this little encouragement. They fairly glowed, especially against the deep green of the garden.

I think I'll stop there and leave the architectural musings for tomorrow. After all my birthday is almost over in this timezone and I haven't licked any knives yet.

I know this is silly, but one of the things I love about this city is the little tray you get your coffee on in cafes. You get your coffee, in a cup AND saucer, a little thing of creamer, two sugar cubes (or tubes), a spoon and a cookie or chocolate. Yesterday I had a coffee that came with a little dish of whipped cream, and you KNOW I'm going back there. I've been saving up my cookies for the last few days so that I could share this trivial delight with you. There are all kinds of cookies, though my favorites are the little chocolate wafers and the fruit creams from the Cafe Universum that remind me of my beloved Peek Freans. Sometimes you get chocolates instead, and of course the chocolate here is bomb. I haven't forgotten my promise of chocolates to many of you, don't worry, they're coming, as soon as I figure out the postal system.

I also changed the comment settings on my blog so you don't have to be a member to leave one. I didn't realize that was the case or I would have changed it earlier. Please don't post anonymously though. If I think I don't know you, I might erase your comment.

Today was a day of spending money, and getting things. I finally got a mobile phone, which cost me a fortune, but that's Europe I'm told. On the other hand I got a wicked phone (Sony-Ericsson Z520i if anyone's curious) and I am now able to give my number out when I meet people, which thus far has been quite the stymie on continuing social relations. I also bought a sweet coat that I had eyed in the H&M here (you better believe this store is even better in Belgium! And cheap compared to everything else on the fancy strip), but I hesitated because they didn't have a size bigger so I could wear a sweater under it. But it's such a sweet coat that I figured, F it, it's almost my birthday. That's me all zipped up and shadesed to make the coat look all the more badass, but it still doesn't do it justice. It's hard to take a picture of yourself with a tripod upon which the camera can only be oriented laterally, if slightly at a diagonal (thanks for the mini tripod Mike!). I also bought a pepper grinder (which as many of you know I cannot live without and will someday have the balls to carry around in my purse like a finicky old lady) and a small french press. The coffee here, with a few exceptions, sucks ass, it's mostly Nescafe, and I would rather just make some in my room in the morning before I'm out of my PJs.

So that was a lot of money spent, A LOT of money. I didn't feel too bad about it though since these are all things I need, and I have some extra startup cash because September (as well as blessed March, the month after dread February) is a three paycheck month. Anyhoo, when I got home there was waiting for me my first piece of mail in the new place, a little slip of paper that said a flower delivery person had come and gone not finding me at home. I had my suspicions, since there are certain longstanding traditions between certain beloved persons and I with regard to flowers, but I wasn't entirely sure and called the place on my new mobile. I walked down to Brusselsestraat to pick them up, and my goodness the fuss! The people in the flower shop were so taken with the bouquet (which presumably they had designed themselves) and the note my poetic Maman had written me that they were cooing and congratulating me to high heaven above. It is, indeed, a beautiful bouquet, and I felt very happy and special walking all the way home with it. There's something lovely about walking around with a fancy bouquet, everyone smiles at you and thinks they know what it's all about. I wouldn't rob them of their private versions for all the world, whatever makes strangers smile at me is A-okay.

I really didn't do anything after that. I hung out on the internet, made myself a lovely dinner, and then went for a constitutional. All of three blocks down Tiensestraat to Erasmus, where the evening regulars smiled and made jokes to me about my perpetual writing in my journal (I am only recently comfortable with being so noticeably hypergraphic, but it does serve as a good conversation piece with utter strangers). It's nice to start feeling like I belong here and people know me. It's a small thing, but it's why I repeat my visits so often to the places I like. People are emboldened to talk to you when you are a) alone, b) young and female and c) in their face all the time. I don't know anyone's name, but I like hearing the Dutch spoken and spending time pretending I've been here all my life.

Now it's 10:30, or rather 22:30, and I should be thinking about bed. I didn't sleep well last night at all because the international party was such a clusterpoop that I left early feeling pissed off, lonely and homesick for some decent dancing music and partners. Such feelings come and go, but whenever they come I have to sit up with them for a while. I bought some Jim Beam at the nachtwinkel the other night because I've been eyeing it in the window. The clerk was so surprised he had to ask me twice what exactly it was that I wanted, and when I finally convinced him, he made the comment that Belgians don't drink Jim Beam. I said something like, ah yes, well... this is maybe why I am so homesick. "Ah! You are American! What is it like to live there now?" So when I'm feeling blue I sip my Beam out of the bottle and wish you would all just hit the numbers and come drink with me.

This is a canal that runs across Brusselsestraat. I like to stop here on my way to the only grocery store that's open on Sunday (GB Express).

Where did we leave off? Ah yes, at the Alma. Alas today was a lot of blah blah that I had already read off the intraweb, so we'll just confine our talk to the events of yesterday since I am pretty poopin' tired and I need to take a nap before "internationally partying" again tonight. Le sigh, life is so hard.

So after lunch I met a whole whack of new people, including a few from the States, but generally I reach critical mass around seven or eight, so when Kristjana and Antonella went off to hang in the park with some of their buds, I hung back and found a quiet spot to finish my excellent book (No God But God, an excellent history and interpretation of Islam by the religious scholar Reza Aslan, I know a lot of you have heard me talking about it, featured on the Daily Show yada yada, but it's a great book, I highly recommend it). Eventually we headed out for our guided tour, on which I took a bunch of pictures some of which I don't have explanations for because the tour guide spoke quietly and was generally inexperienced, so I didn't get a lot of what he said. Some are just neat architectural things I liked, especially old and new juxtapositions that have always fascinated me.

Yet, I do remember the top two. The very top is the clock and bell guy from St. Peter's cathedral in the Grote Markt, of which there are other pics from other days. The second down is a part of the old city wall (circa 13th century!!) that is currently being restored. The second to last is the economics faculty building, which I took for my Dad because I think it's a pretty sweet modern building (correct my genre, Dadiji).

The tour ended abruptly a block from my house, so I went home tired and uncomfortable. It's freezing in the mornings here, but by afternoon it's easily mid-eighties, so when I go out in a sweater I'm usually pissed off by the end of the day. I decided to finally do laundry and headed down to the laundromat. After putting in my wash I slipped into this little sandwich shop across the street and had a really nice conversation with the owner, who was very curious about the American domestic situation. True to my persistently bleeding heart, I almost started crying talking about health insurance, university tuition and Louisiana, not to mention the military spending/escapades and the very generous gentleman bought me my first coffee, which was really nice.

Overall, with very few exceptions, the citizens of Leuven are really wonderful. Almost everyone speaks English, which makes me feel very spoiled, and almost everyone has the patience to help me when I need it. Today I went to a sandwich shop and told the woman behind the counter that I had never ordered a sandwich before and she took ten minutes explaining the process and translating the Flemish for me. I have heard some stories about anti-student sentiment and acts of racism and discrimination, but so far I have not experienced any of that. I think people who don't speak English are far worse off, so again, I am very spoiled here.

After my truly lovely coffee break (during which a student came into the shop, overheard us talking and turns out he's a first year in philosophy as well, his name was Peter, I have to try to remember) I went back to the laundromat and tried to dry my clothes. The stupid dryer was broken. Even though it was turning it wasn't heating up, so I was just throwing money into it without realizing. Stupid laundry, all told, cost me 8.10 euros and almost three hours. I was so pissed off by the end that I just wanted to come home and bury my head somewhere.

Alas, no such luck. I had to eat, so I fixed myself some pasta, and by the time I was done with that Elena was knocking on my door, ready to go to the faculty bar hop. I hastily dressed and headed out with her and Ksenia to Pangaea, which is sort of like the central student union for all of K.U.Leuven. I met Kristjana there, as well as Riszard and Julia, and they separated us out by faculty and off we went. It turned out not to be a bar hop, so we ended up at a really expensive bar on the Ladeuzeplein that was very chic and fancy, with english quotes all over the walls (e.g. "I'm not young enough to think I know everything." -Oscar Wilde)

The night progressed very nicely. I started with a Guinness and then had a Wild Turkey and soda, which the bartender didn't understand at first but was particularly wonderful with the bubbly mineral water they have here. I had another beer after that and that was it, yet I was both drunk last night (stopping at the nachtwinkel for a microwave lasagna on the way home) and hungover this morning, which I attribute to the extra strongness of the beer and my lack of adequate hydration. I'm trying to fix the latter, as I found out today that the tap water in Leuven is especially nice. Oh Leuven, let me count the ways...

Our philosophical drinking crew was also thrown in with the theology and applied ethics people, since we are all so diminutive in numbers, so I got to know a couple of theology students too. Among them Jerome, a pastor from Nigeria and Benjamin, a theology graduate student from Switzerland. It was really very nice, and many lovely conversations were had. I always end up talking about American politics in the end though, because everyone is so curious and surprised to find that I am not a happy American. I let it slip that I am looking for a nice Belgian boy to fall in love with, and everyone thought that was good idea. We'll see how that goes. The orientation people told us today that the vast majority of Belgian students are not even back yet, so I suppose the streets will be even more teeming when they get here. I believe it, if only because there are still only around 5 of us in a house with 15 rooms, and we are all international (did I fail to mention my Bulgarian housemate, Rozhen? He lives on the floor below me).

Phew, so today I got my bank card for the KBC, and it has a little sweet chip in it (like my old UofT card) for Proton transactions (it makes me laugh that one of my friend's names is emblazoned all over Belgium as a sign of financial convenience). It's a neat thing with the small change stuff you have to do, (soda machines, lighters, one beer) you just put it in the little machines they have at all the stores and vending machines and press "yes" and whatever it is comes off a designated section of your bank account that you can refill at ATMs. It's nice, I love the money systems here. Everything is signed for even though it is electronic, and to make large payments (rent, tuition, utility bills) all you have to do is a bank transfer, which can be set up as "permanent instruction" at any interval you want. It's pretty F-ing sweet. I wish all my money systems were so thoughtfully engineered, although I do love my PNC and my little Tompkins Trust account (who incidentally are sending me 50 free checks all the way to Belgium at no charge).

Okay, well now I'm just rambling because I'm exhausted. Enjoy the pictures and know that I miss you.

Love,

Cakesta

P.S. I know I write a lot in this blog, but let's just curb the incredulousness okay? It's the same kind of annoying as saying I think too much (even if I do, let me land on my face when it's in the cards, no?). I assure you I enjoy it and I spend plenty of time outside (hence pictures?!). Besides, I'm pretty sure these entries will dwindle once the grind gets going and the newness dulls.

Here's the real Orientation days post, although it may come in two parts since the time is drawing near to head down to Naamsestraat (the center of all of this).

Today we learn about trash disposal, which in Leuven is very special and complicated. Blue bags, brown bags, green bags, white bags, curfunf. In a house with this many people (15 or so) I have a feeling this is going to be disasterously complicated.

But yesterday, the Orientation Days for International Students started off with a couple beureacratic speeches and then this old video about Leuven that was centered around many of the famous statues in town. I took notes, so later on I'll take you guys on a tour. For now, all you have is a picture of a statue that we passed on the walking tour that I didn't hear the tourguide explain, so you'll just have to make something up for yourselves.

The opening business took place in the gigantic place called University Hall, which was very grand with the carved wood stage and balcony seats, and lo, this is where I will be defending my dissertation! I didn't take any pictures because it was too crammed with people and chaotic, but I'll take one later, probably when I start freaking out about my defense.

Then we were filed (all 1,500 of us) into Jubilee Hall to get our name and department tags and look around at a series of information stations about cultural and religious resources, health insurance etc. I walked around for a bit, then went and got some free coffee and OJ and sat behind the empty coatracks scanning the room for Philosophy people. I heard someone laughing far in the distance but I didn't realize who it was until I spotted Mr. British Douchebag from across the room. My eyes narrowed and as he drew closer I realized that it was Murphy laughing at me, dangling his law over my head like some kind of sadistic mistletoe. Mr. British Douchebag is in my GD department. Yes, that's right. I get to be in intimate contact with him for the rest of the year! I stayed where I was in the discretion of the coat racks until a little group of philosophers gathered and then went over and introduced myself. He looked at me as I spoke with the others, and when it was his turn he shook my hand with that limp, clammy way that douchebags have. I said something along the lines of "oh yes, I remember you from the blah blah blah..." but he only looked at me. Blood boiled, but inwardly I comforted myself with the knowledge that a nemesis only serves to motivate me. Such is life, it can't all be moonlight and Cyrano.


As far as I have met the philosophy people seem quite diverse. I haven't met anyone else in the Master's programme yet, but everyone is fairly advanced in their studies. There were two Canadians from Carleton (Scott and Shannon), a Brazilian in applied ethics (Alf) and later on at the pub I met Jenz (I'm butchering all of these names, I'm sorry) and Barbara, both from Germany. There's also a lovely couple from Poland, Riszard and Julia, who are (I believe) both doing logic and/or aritificial intelligence. So far Jenz is the only one that is doing anything remotely related to what I'm doing, as he's into German Idealism. Most people here seem to be more interested in the practical side of philosophy, ethics, economics, logic etc. which in my ignorance seems strange to me, since I AM on the continent. More often than not, the world operates in defiance of my expectations anyway, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

After the info session, I walked down Naamsestraat to go to one of the student cafeterias scheduled for lunch. They are called ALMAs and we were to have lunch at Alma 2. On the way, I ran into the two Maltese girls that I had shared a hostel room with when I first got here. We walked and talked, and ended up having lunch together. Their both in medicine, and both very fun and funny, so it was a nice bit of socializing. This is them to the left, Kristjana is on the right and Antonella on the left. There's also a picture of part of the inside of Alma 2, which is an immense and very colorful place, but the food was meh. Cafeteria food is terrible anywhere I suppose, but cheap as dirt, so that's the benefit.

Well, alas, it is almost 10am here, so I have to get my turban off and go to the thingy. I'll write more later...

I had all this elaborate stuff planned, so much happened today with Orientation Days and so many pictures were taken. But they scheduled us to the hilt (9:30am-2amish... though the ending time was of course our choice) and the only time I took off was eaten by a faulty dryer at the laundromat, so now I'm drunk and I have no time to explain. Plus I have to get up at 9am to do it all over again.

Suffice it to say, I had fun, this place is great, and philosophy people can still talk up a GD storm even in broken English, through several dozen ounces of strong European beer. I will leave you with this sole picture of a wicked doorknob and promises to tell the whole story either tomorrow or the next day.

ALSO, just as a point of yee-haw--but especially with my Mother in mind--I will be spending my birthday in Brugge, which is called the Venice of the North. I think I will have to buy something shiny for myself, something I will never wear but will keep in a box at my Mother's house so as to wax nostalgic when I pass through my past.

Love,

The Cake (back to her old habits in a new place, huzzah)

Today I'm a little sad. The weather is cold and rainy, which I'm learning is far more typical of Belgian weather than the 90 degree temperatures I arrived to. Much to my joy, I rushed home to find that my open window does not let the rain in (onto my bed), so unless there's a storm I won't have to worry. They think of everything in this country.

I woke up late this morning (having stayed up with my melancholy until almost 3 this morning) and went down to the bank. My usual teller remembered me, and it was nice to have that smile of recognition. Unfortunately, my American cash hasn't cleared yet, so I am confined to 20 euros until my financial aide finally comes through. I can always take more money out of the Pittsburgh account, but I'm resolved not to. I'd rather take money out of the ATM in big chunks, and I'm saving the two or three hundred dollars I have in there to pay for that huge gas bill Mike the Douchebag left me holding.

After the bank I headed to the stationary store, where I was alarmed to find they had only the cheapest of the Clairefontaine line. I really like my notebooks, and I figured in Europe it would be easier to find them. No such luck, so I bought a small but decorative hardcover journal instead. No pockets, but it has an elastic band to hold it together and one of those silk page markers. It's classy, but I would still prefer to have my usual spiral bound with the pockets. With all that's been happening, I filled my present one in less than three months, which is fast even for me.

On the way to the stationary store I passed this church, St. Michel's, which I took a bad picture of for you. The streets are so close I couldn't get far enough away to get the whole thing, but you get the idea: old, impressive, ornate, European. You can tell I'm a little down I guess, no enthusiastic descriptions. I suppose I can muster to say that one of the nicest things for me about the architecture here, especially the really old and elaborate state houses and religious buildings, is that they are nestled and tucked away into the tightly packed streets like little unceremonious secrets. Besides the Grote Markt and whatever smaller square is just behind it, there aren't any grand plazas or boulevards in Leuven. There is of course the Ladeuzeplein in front of the Central Library, but right now it's densely packed with some kind of fair, complete with carnival games, pony rides and those big whooshing machines that whip people around just for the thrill of it. I like it though, the microcosmic scale of all that history all piled on top of itself, it's comforting. The drawback I imagine is that these buildings are, after all, incredibly old, and one of the little four storey shop/apartments collapsed kitty-corner from my house yesterday. No one was hurt, as far as I know, but the owner was understandably upset.

By the time I got out of the stationary store it had started to mist in that way that drives me crazy. It's like a cloud is just sitting on the city, and when you move you can feel the moisture clinging to you. My hair immediately did its thing and by the time I ducked into the Quasimodo restaurant I had a halo of dew and frizz. "Oh how lovely," you exclaim, "a halo of dewdrops!"Not so much, hippie, it's more like a cold sweat that covers every available surface. I've never much appreciated dew, to me all it means is that I can't sleep in a grassy field overnight.

Anyhoo, in the nice restaurants of Leuven you can always get a small tourine of soup for around 4 euros, and because it typically comes with half a baguette, I've figured out that it makes a pretty good meal on the cheap. Today I had the stock tomato soup, which every place has, and I was surprised to find a heap of little pale meatballs at the bottom. They tasted like tiny meaty snowballs to me, just disintigrating in the mouth. There's some strange difference between North American meats and cheeses and their European counterparts. Duh. But I can't put my finger on the exact difference, they just feel like they're made of different stuff. Maybe it's a chemical thing, I just don't know what fresh food tastes like. That would make sense. I took a picture of my soup bowl, despite the strange looks it garnered for me, because it was just so damn awesome. Aesthetically, that is. Pragmatically the shape made it difficult to get all the soup out of the bottom, but I solved that by unceremoniously upending it onto my spoon, which again won me some strange looks. Look people, I paid good money for this soup, there's no reason I should leave two or three ounces of bought food at the bottom just because my bowl has an attractive bevel.

I have to find a laundromat today, I have a pile of very stinky clothes frustrating my dressing efforts every morning. I think for now I'm just going to listen to some more Kings of Convenience and nurse my homesickness. Tomorrow the busy-ness starts with orientation and the like, so I have only a few more empty days. I missed the registration deadline for going to Brugge, but I think I'd rather go alone anyway. To tell you the truth, after the whirlwind of socialization that was my time in Ithaca, I'm happy being alone with my thoughts for a little while. That is, I suppose, alone with this blog and the lovely people who read it.

Here's just a little sidenote re: things I love about Europe...

I'm enjoying a tallboy that I bought for 90 European Cents out of a vending machine.

A VENDING MACHINE!!!

As always my younger, bigger Brohan makes me think, so this will just be a short one (ahem) to air my thoughts on his thoughts regarding my philosophical ruminations of the previous post. His leaving such thoughts on my Myspace page disturbs my sense of continuity, and although my sense of continuity is narrow and tyrranical I will give him shit anyway. (Insert image of my giving the stink-eye here. I have tried to take the picture, it doesn't work.)

My brother Adam is indeed one who has emerged from a spiritual crisis into a spiritual maturity, I certainly wouldn't presume to speak for him, but so it seems to me from my very often exceedingly distant geographical location. Moreover he is embarking on a promising career (at Stony Brook, which just for bragging rights didn't give me the time of day) that will impell him to say as much, and to use his experience to help others. Watching him work through this latest stage of his young life was heart-rending, even as I never really had any doubts that he would come through. My brother is made of stern stuff, and over-educated as I am, he's always been the smart one.

So I suppose I misspoke when I criticized Constantius' description. I certainly believe that one can come out the other side, even though many don't, and may their souls rest easy. I think the analogy to puberty is very apt, because I am changed by a spiritual crisis, even if it is precipitated by what others would perceive as a detail. I suppose my point of difference is that I don't believe the cracking of the voice ever goes away, I hear it in my brother's voice sometimes and I see that secret smile in the faces of other people I know who have survived something that makes the everyday noise of everyday life seem quieter, beautiful and amusing. But I shouldn't say that these are the only signs of a deeper understanding, I don't know that much. I only think I know that the signs Constantius describes do not pass like the symptoms of puberty, they remain and in my experience renew themselves.

As a further windy word, when I say that I can't count on any benefit from such crises, it is only because I have been warned against taking them for granted. They are not tools to be used, or rungs to be climbed, and once they break over you there's no paradigm or template to cling to, everyone finds their own way and for their own reasons. I suppose that's why they always make the best stories, because if they are described well they are both utterly new and deeply familiar. Maybe that's what Constantius means to indicate with "repetition"? I would of course love to think so...

Have I pressed "The Dream of the Ridiculous Man" on anyone lately? If not, I meant to. Let that be the picture of this post in fact. This is the best/cheapest edition by the best translators, The Dream is the last story. Or you could ask Andrew Chute to recite the first few paragraphs.

There will shortly come a time when I no longer have the time to do these entries daily, so let's take advantage of my short-lived freedom, shall we?

Sundays in Leuven are sleepy, sleepy days. Everyone stays in their houses or about their private business (church? sleeping one off? waiting for everyone else?) for the large part of the morning and the early afternoon. Tiensestraat (my straat) is ordinarily very busy from very early in the morning, but I slept undisturbed until 10. My coffee joint was closed until well after 2 (pictured below in all its charm) so I was roughing it with some tea I found in the cupboards upstairs. I walked around, took some pictures, one of which was the rather gloomy picture to the right of the cathedral that sits directly across the Grote Markt from the Stadhuis. Apparently Saint Peter's Church in its current 15th century Gothic incarnation was initiated by the architect Sulpicius Van Vorst (I think that'll be the name of my first born child) and it took 72 years to complete, so there were other architects with names that were not quite as cool: Jan Keldermans II and Mathieu de Layens (no offense Jan or Mathieu, if you're reading this).

The afternoon passed uneventfully, and I went back to Erasmus to start reading Repetition, which I should have read a long time ago. It's good to be reading a work of Kierkegaard's that's new to me, even though I haven't been long from him. Quite a few beautiful thoughts to be repeated, but here's the description that I was still thinking about as I sat down to write this:

"A certain toss of his head and flippant air convinced me that he had a deeper and more complex nature, while a certain hesitation in inflection suggested that he was at the captivating age in which spiritual maturity, just like physical maturity at a far earlier age, announces itself by a frequent breaking of the voice." [133]

While the recognition of this "frequent breaking of the voice" struck me beautifully, I would disagree with Constantius insofar as he believes such a rare and important vulnerability comes at a certain age. I believe I have met many people who disdain the very idea of spiritual maturity, though perhaps I am wrong in believing that therefore they have never experienced the inescapable insecurity of living at the mercy of the unknown. I know quite certainly that I can never count on such transitions culminating in a higher awareness or being or spirituality, but I think (at least at this point) that anyone who experiences that helplessness in its full shaking of their convictions never really emerges out the other side. Maybe that's where the disdain that seems so common to me comes from, but who knows... just elaborations on a theme. I hope no one expected me to exclude my philosophical ruminations from this record, however half-ass. I will of course do no such thing.

Anyhoo, when I got back to the huis my housemates Elena and Ksenia (two exchange students studying law from London--though originally from Russia) were bored to tears by the sleepy Belgian Sunday and so suggested that we all go out for dinner. I had resolved not to take any more money out of the ATM since I have a bunch of American cash clearing tomorrow, but when you're alone and the wind blows other people in your direction, I've learned you just put up your sails and stow the punctilios. We wandered around a bit, but most of the restaurant-restaurants are pretty expensive, so I suggested this awesome Indian take out place that I had discovered last night called Taj Mahal. I had been confirmed in my choice by meeting the one and only student from the department that I have met as of yet, Margherita and her partner who told me it was one of the best Indian places in Leuven.

It bears mentioning at this point how super small Leuven is. I met a couple on the bus to IKEA yesterday and I have now seen them three times on the street. There's another somewhat surly gentleman that I "met" while waiting in the International Student Housing office, where he thought that in my confused state of near-dead exhaustion I was trying to cut the line and barked something like: "You know all these people have been waiting longer than you!". We pass each other routinely and frankly, if he continues to snear at me, one of these days I will have crusty British face for dinner, and I'll boil it for the sake of cultural pluralism.

Taj Mahal, despite the fact that it is primarily a take-out place and sits lonely on the end of a row of very large and expensive touristy restaurants, still has a few tables outside. So we sat outside and had a lovely and very large dinner for 10 euros each. Pictured to the right, sated and smiling, Ksenia is next to me and Elena farthest to the right. They are my floormates and I think we will have quite a quiet floor once our studies get started. From what they say and certainly what I've heard, studying law is no joke and I'm sure European law is no exception.

Okay, that's pretty much my Sunday, and now it's time to log onto Myspace for my daily three hours (I miss you all so much!) before reading some more and going to bed, so I will break this post off rather abruptly by saying simply:

Lates!

So let's discuss my room, which I am in right now, looking forward to sleep, especially since I managed to get to IKEA out in the Belgian boonies today and got myself a proper mattress pad and a good blanket and pillow. I'm no longer roughing it, officially!Here we see the view from the doorway, just after I lugged my devil-take-them belongings up four steep and narrow flights of stairs. I've since changed the bed to be lengthwise under the window, which is probably a bad idea since the heater is that beige square you see right there. But hey, I'm paying for fire insurance right? I'm on the fourth floor (under the roof) so the view isn't much, but it's got that terra-cotta, marble figure European thing going for it.

On the right you'll see my lovely sink area, which really is quite nice compared to some of the ones I saw, and I have both hot and cold water from it, which I've been told is quite luxurious for a student room. Note especially the little plug hanging from the faucet, which is for sponge baths! Alas the shower on my floor blows chunks, so that'll come in handy.

Aright, it's almost midnight here, and ya'll can now picture my going to sleep, so g'night.

Hrm, so the first post went up without much frill or fanfare, so we'll try to make this one a bit more fancy. I have yet to muster the courage/energy to walk around during the day with a camera, but I have some night pictures to share. I always get motivated right around sunset when it's all beautifully unphotographable.

Let's begin with the Stadhuis, which I will definately have to take better pictures of. It's impossible of course to share the incredible magnificence of this building and how it struck me when I saw it for the first time. I was exhausted, sad, frustrated, overwhelmed and just about to sit my ass down where I was and wait for some miraculous energy to come. Lo, I looked up from my self pity and the frantic search for recognizable street signs and there it was, mocking me. "Shut up, you stupid girl," it said, "here I am, in all my unimaginable glory."

My tiredness wasn't exactly gone, or my sadness, but at least I remembered my place and sucked it up.

I have at last arrived in Leuven. It is a place that actually exists, despite my doubts during the long period leading up to the moment when I finally looked up from the maps and forms and luggage locker reciepts to find myself standing before the Stadhuis (they call it a `town hall´ here, but that only confirms my suspicion that these people know some other language better than mine).

I haven´t begun to settle in yet, but I did find an apartment, or rather a room in an apartment building, and the second day I was here! Now I know what my Mother and all you Pittsburgh people are saying to yourselves `Does she remember the last time she rushed into a rental contract and ended up paying hundreds of dollars for deadbeat douchebaggery?´ Well, yes I do, my dears, but it´s only me this time and if I hate it, I hate it. I don´t have to spend another night in the hostel and I´ve done the hating my living space enough times to know that it can´t be worse in Europe. If I can´t stand to be inside I´ll just go out and roll around on the cobblestones or bask in the voluminous shadow of the Central Library. I have previously DREAMT of such problems, and besides, my room is sunny, spacious with a sweet skylight window and it comes with a brown bear! The landlady is a nice, fashionable and efficient woman who seems like she knows what she´s doing, so fuck it, I like to find things when I want to find them, so I guess this time I´m gonna let the rationalization wash away my possible sin.