Belgian Fragments

Ten days of torpor has turned into twenty. Exploring a new city can sometimes be exciting but sometimes daunting. I ran my food stocks down in the months before moving – so have less available ingredients than normal. I am slowly trying to restock my supply of spices, condiments, staples etc. There is a range of Moroccan and Turkish grocery stores in the neighbourhood – plus a not very good mini-supermarket. I’m beginning to work out which ones have the best range of supplies. Most of them carry a wide range of fresh fruit, vegetables and herbs (and there is a local butcher, fishmonger and bakers) – but other elements of their range are less extensive. (One has seven different varieties of feta on display though - I am looking forward to comparing them).

For some reason I it incredibly difficult to find my favourite brand of tobacco anywhere in Brussels. Some places just wouldn’t stock it – but others say they just can’t get it. The only places that reliably seem to have a supply are the kiosks at the main railway stations – so every couple of weeks I make a dedicated journey to try to stock up. Yesterday I combined that trip with making a visit to the most ethical bank (Triodos) in Belgian. A prelude to starting up all the other Belgian admin things I need to do. Turns out that (in Belgium) they only offer savings accounts, and not current accounts. Guess my French isn’t as good as I thought it was (I should have picked that up on reading their web site). Shame, I wanted to get an ethical bank account and in these days of banking scandals / crisis that seems more important than ever – guess I shall just have to go with another user, environment, small business unfriendly, bank. On the way home I stopped by a kitchen shop which sold many of its plates and cast iron pans (two essential missing items from my kitchen) by the kilo. I couldn’t get my head around that straight away and left almost empty handed, with just six teaspoons- priced by the item (0.20€ per piece) . A (very) minor victory.


I also had the police around my house today – no crimes involved – or suspicion thereof- just part of the ritual of registering as a resident. Though, rather annoyingly, they don’t give you any notice. They came round at three in the afternoon - when most people would have been at work. A Belgian friend had her registration delayed by nine months because the police didn’t find her home, as she was working during the day when they visited. I guess southern Europe (which Belgium definitely feels part of – for good and bad) – is a bit more ‘manyana’ than the Netherlands. That’s something I need to adjust to.