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Going through unsettling while settling in Belgium.

The past few decades have seen many species perish, and many local customs have followed suit. The world looks increasingly alike. At an airport where they serve the same food and coffee as anywhere else, I sat in the same model of chairs as I did in a lounge on the other side of the planet. Then I got on the same plane as usual, and after landing, I traveled around big-box warehouses that were like someone had copy-pasted them from the country I just left. The road had the same cars as in London, Shanghai, and in between. Once in downtown, the contemporary architecture may vary in shape, but the materials are universal. Long gone are the days when locally sourced commodities made for uniform, yet unique streets. Look at this generic high-rise; can you tell where it is?

These experiences make it easy to forget that the local realities can differ even a few miles apart. However, my recent move to Belgium served as a substantial reminder of such. This post is to share what the country has prepared for me so far.

During my housing search, I learned that "furnished" in Belgium means something different than it does in other European or American regions where I had previously rented. Every place I went to see had a rich selection of utensils, but many lacked a mattress. Also, no carpet to be seen. Mainly in the US and the UK, carpets commonly dominated bedroom floors, and chances were that the piece of fabric sported a look as if it had experienced a thing or two already. Not in Belgium, where the floors are easier to keep in like-new condition. And the houses look fab, too!

Thankfully, the availability and variety of options weren't a problem, and I found a place I fancy a lot. That sorted, I could move to experience the officialdom.

I started by filling out a form to get a Belgian ID card. It required me to have a Belgian phone number. Okay, that was on my list anyway, because my UK number started charging me for roaming — thanks, Brexit! So, I finally got rid of it and went to one of the largest service providers here. But they asked for a Belgian ID! "I need a Belgian number to get the ID in the first place," I said. "Sorry, I can't sell you a SIM card then," the guy replied. "But, go to the competition, "he added, "you can get it only with your passport there." Surprised by the corporation's profit-making approach, I went to the competition.

Back to the quest to obtain the ID: I had to submit the form and my passport, and get my fingerprints taken. Then, a smiling policewoman made an unannounced visit to my address to check whether I really live there. When I passed, I could go pick up the ID card. At the city hall's counter, the officer requested, "I need to scan your fingerprints to confirm that it is indeed you." "Sure," I said and scanned the fingers on my right hand. The machine flashed a green light, but the person wasn't convinced: "Okay, they match; now the left hand." Haha, as if I looked like I stole that hand but not the other! But they were nice and stopped short of asking whether I am a terrorist — something the US immigration officers like to do. Now, let's get shopping.

The city where I live doesn't have a shopping mall. This might seem inconvenient at first, but it is a blessing! Instead of having to walk in dull corridors to find a shop, I get this:

I get fresh air, and I get to look at diverse architecture. To me, that is a pleasant outing, not a chore. Considering the number of people who hung around on the cloudy winter day when I took this picture, I am not the only one. Oh, and I get to try street food where it belongs: on a street.

One of the things I bought here was an EU plug to fix the cable on an appliance I brought from the UK. It's been some time since I left Scotland already; but like with the SIM card, some changes just take time.

Oh, time. Sometimes, it feels like too much is happening over a short period. In the blink of an eye, things aren't what they used to be. I still remember how I played at playgrounds with a sandpit, and when lucky, a rusted iron jungle gym. And look at the playgrounds now!

Anyway. Let's leave the aging and focus on the regional changes again, such as typing. Globalization has led to the decline of many languages; yet, one thing that would make sense to have universally is a standard keyboard, but it differs in every other country. Geez!

It is like with car controls. They all look familiar at first look, but when you try to locate that dang fuel cap release button in a rental ride, it takes ages to find it, like the "!" symbol here. It feels like one of the things I could live without, but I am trying to convince myself that it's good to keep my brain on alert with all these new kinds of stuff to figure out.

The local train stations keep the brain on alert, too. The trains often come at different platforms than initially announced. So, one has to check the arrivals all the time, and occasionally, run from spoor 1 to spoor 4, just to add the thrill. But don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of the trains here.

They are cheaper than in the UK and the Netherlands, and I can simply show up at the station without checking the schedule. In most cases, the train I want is arriving in under 15 minutes. Gold! Then I cruise faster than on a motorway while I can watch the landscapes, check my emails, take a nap, or try to learn how to pronounce words like these:

This could be a good transition to discuss bikes, as riding one here is also unlike the other places where I've cycled. However, I will write about that another time; this post is already lengthy. Yet, before wrapping up, let's talk about this year's carnival parade.

After experiencing the remarkably wonderful Mardi Gras celebrations in Brittany last year, I was excited to see a parade here and went to check it out.

The floats were grandiose, and instead of old tractors, they were towed by high-trimmed trucks and SUVs. Most floats also boasted powerful sound systems blasting tunes from local songs to bass-loaded bangers. Each of these had me expecting the next float to be Da Hool.

Rather than handing away modest cards that came off a home printer, here, they threw tons of toys and candies. If I were an eight-year-old, this would be heaven on earth. Now, I thought about how that huge production value makes the event somewhat remote to me, and that it produces way too much litter. At least, the city thought about the second part. The last "float" was a group of street-sweeping vehicles accompanied by workers that left the place with no hint of what had just gone through a minute ago. I could eat from the streets, that's how clean they left them. A completely different world, it is. Strange and impressive at the same time. And here I am, being a part of it. Wow.

Okay, that's it for now.

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If you've enjoyed this article, you might also like my other posts describing the struggles and surprises of experiencing local realities through the eyes of a newcomer:

Native Stranger

It’s Normal, Isn’t It?

Alternatively, check out the Blog Archives, or my artwork inspired by the stability of the constant change. Thanks for reading!