Rebranding

After ten years of maintaining the 'ex-pat files blog', I have decided it is time to 'rebrand'.  I want (and have already seen) the blog's content shift to more and more stuff about Hendaye, the Basque Country and the Pyrenees, so this new title is a better reflection of the content.

So far as I can ascertain the posts from the old blog will still be accessible and the 'ex-pat' url should automatically redirect readers to the new site.  There will still be some 'ex-pat' content, particularly in the wake of Brexit, but who knows if it might have to be renamed 'the refugee from stupidity files' in the coming decade?

Here's a view of the estuary to set the tone.

 

Brexit

I'm starting to sweat about this. A). I might not be eligible to vote (how fair is that)? And B) if it goes wrong I might have to have to offer myself up as a mail-order groom. Hoping the UK public isn't so stupid as to vote to leave the EU but after two Tory election victories and the Scots saying no to independence I'm not 100% confident that we''' get the right answer.  especially if refugee stories continue to dominate the news over the coming months. 

Belgian days

Friday I took my car for a technical control (EN=MOT, NL=APK). The system here in Belgium is completely different to those in the NL or UK. It’s state run rather than sub-contracted to licensed garages. As my sociologist friends would say ‘it’s a different form of governance’. But it’s very efficient (which is something that can’t often be said about state run enterprises). I was in and out in twenty minutes (though unfortunately with a red card – which means ‘fix it and come back within 14 days’ – rather than a green one). I was hugely glad that I made an appointment rather than just turn up. The queue for the first come first served service was about fifty cars long – I could have been stuck there for an hour or more.

That’s almost the end of my getting a car registered in Belgium saga. I have refrained from boring readers with it. It was by far the most complicated administrative task associated with moving country (which I instinctively knew and which is probably why I prevaricated about it for so long). In his (last but one novel) Houllebecq wrote ‘after a certain age life becomes administrative more than anything else.’ As Smokey Robinson and the Miracles sang ‘ I second that emotion’. Suffice to say it was a four month paper chase from the time I first got a ticket from customs allowing me to import it (which cost me 1 Euro, the cheapest part of the exercise by far) to actually getting those (by-now coveted) red and white Belgian plates. Now all I need to do is find a mechanic (not easy actually as I don’t have any friends in Brussels who own a car) and get into the tax system.

Later the day Henk ‘the goose’ turned up. I say Henk the goose because the last time he was here was exactly one year ago. I only know that because his visit coincided with the Brussels organic fair, which was also on this weekend. It was good to catch up – although he looked pretty tired after doing his ‘northern migration’– and perhaps for the last time. We work in the same field, know many of the same people and he generously and faultlessly hosted me for a few weeks (twice) when I first moved to the Netherlands. And I still can’t believe that was eleven years ago.

Sailing into 2013 - part 2 -words

I spent ten days - from my birthday till last Sunday without going on-line (except once to check the traffic news and weather before travelling over to West Wales).  I wanted to sit up and rest in what Laurie Anderson termed the information super lay-by.  I also just wanted to enjoy the company of friends and the expereince of being a tourist (and in part a tour guide) in my own culture. On the way home I scribbled the following lines on the ferry:

New Year seen in with talking, drinking, eating and visiting friends in England and Wales.

Touching base
And travelling for nine days with my best buddy (without once arguing)
Showing him the sights of London, the suburbs and West Wales beyond.
Seeing the clouds and mist there rise and fall; opening up and closing down vistas of these ancient hills
Goginan, Clarach, Aber, Borth, Cwm Einion
Ancient landscapes, also part of my history (this is where I….)
But most, importantly friends, the closest I have to family.

But first a paternal visit. My father, usually withdrawn staring into his lap

Sometimes trying to communicate, incoherently, but at least with a smile.
Passing his last days in a nursing home.
I feel I should do more, but what more is there to do?

New Year; tasting potcheen for the first time

Gathering pebbles from the beach
And snapshots of the places en route
And swapping texts with an occasional (but unavailable on this trip) lover

And pouring over OS maps, remembering past adventures

Driving roads on ancient tracks that crawl along the sides of forgotten valleys
Where water flows fast and furious from mountain to the sea
Or climb high above the tree line to the moors above, covered in cloud.

Talking about movies, books, songs, gigs seen in 2012

Rediscovering my copy of Kerouac’s Dharma Bums on a friend’s bookshelf
(Loaned to I forgot whom more than ten years ago - but always missed)
And my friends’ kids, bright and sparky, some already in Uni, some with jobs, one pregnant  

And kites in the sky
English (Welsh?) breakfasts
And waves crashing on the shore

And finally travelling home on the ‘comfy ferry’

With all these images in my head
Back to my adopted home city
Catching my breath for whatever 2013 has in store

Only sublimely inspired by Van Morrison's 'Hyndford Street'

Behind the scenes

I’ve been quite quiet recently. It’s because I’ve been plotting and planning something that has stretched me in all sorts of directions. Yesterday it came to fruition. I signed a contract on a luxury 70 sq. m. flat in Brussels: for the same price I pay for a piece of, lets just say, sub-prime accommodation and an office in Holland that together offer me a glorious 45 sq. m.

It’s been almost two months of plotting and planning but last night I had the keys and slept there. Still two weeks before I move, three weeks before I close the flat in Wageningen but it feels like ‘job done’. Touch wood the whole thing has gone smoothly so far- two issues remain- putting the final details to what I hope will be a memorable leaving party and working out whether I should / have to change my car insurance / number plates to the Belgian system. It’s too late to worry about that tonight.

Instead I went out with a friend to celebrate. In typical Belgian style we ate at nine-thirty and in keeping with the international ambience we ate a la Roumanie. A hearty meal – we didn’t even make it to dessert. There are so many good and affordable restaurants in Brussels and eating out is a very strong part of the culture. In Holland I eat out about once a month – here it averages twice a week. It’s what people do – part of the ‘South European mentality” – even though geographically Brussels is only 100k from Holland it has an entirely different vibe. People ask me if Brussels is expensive. That aspect of life certainly pushes up the monthly spend.

The future’s bright. The future’s not just Orange.

Speak my language?

It's difficult to count how many languages are used in Bruxelles. French is the main language. The street signs are all bilingual (French/Flemish) and most Belgians I have met speak Flemish (a variant of Dutch). Nearly everyone I meet socially speaks English, and the public transport information is in four languages (+ English , +German -because there is also a small German speaking section of Belgium). Sadly in the Flemish speaking regions around Bruxelles such linguistic diversity is not at all approved of (but that will be the subject of another blog).

It's good to use my French again. I have a much better understanding of the grammar and structure of French than of Dutch. But sometimes- having lived in the NL for almost ten years -I forget key words (a verb or noun) and can only remember the Dutch equivalent. It doesn't matter much if I pepper my French with a few Dutch words - as people understand them anyway. (Vous avez une aanstekker?).

In the past I have often received very mixed feedback about my French ' You speek fairy good French'.. pause for comic effect.. 'For an Engleeshman'. With a few Dutch words thrown into a conversation it confuses the French speakers even more

But this is a two way process - Belgians have evolved a distinct version of French - especially when counting. They have done away with sixty + ten and two times twenty +ten (soixante-dix and quatre-vingt-dix) - replacing them with septante and nonante. The first time I heard this in shops I wondered if I was hearing French or Vlaams. Now I am starting to get used to them - and I am sure next time I am in France I will sound like a Belgian (with an English accent) .

Ex-pat files

There is a brilliant article on what it means to be an expat - and indeed whether one should use the term at all- plus some very pereceptive comments. Don't think I can add to that really.

The Italian Job(s)

Living on mainland Europe doesn't always make inter-cultural communication easier - as these three sketches show.

1. Umberto Eco, one of my favourite authors, came to do a talk in Amsterdam to promote his new book. I almost went - I am a bit of a literature junkie and a signed copy of the book would not have gone amiss. But I only heard about it the day before and rearranging my schedule to include a trip to A'dam was too bothersome. The next week I was in the public library and saw a copy of it - in Dutch. So I went to the help desk and asked (in my best Dutch) if I could order an English version. Umberto is pretty difficult to understand in one's native language and there was no way I was going to try to read a 'stun an ox' novel in Dutch. She (librarians are almost always ‘shes’) hunted through the system and tried hard to find a copy. A few days later I got an e- mail telling me that the book had not yet been translated into English. 1-0 to the Dutch for being more integrated with the culture of other European cultures than the Brits.

A few days later the Champions League knock-out stages came around. There were two matches that night - Man U ('my team') vs. Marseille (one of my favourite cities in Europe) and Bayern vs. Inter Milan. I skipped out of my Dutch class a bit early hoping to watch the Red Devils trounce the Marseillaise. ITV has the transmission rights to the Champions League so I am dependent on Dutch broadcasters to show the 'right' match. They choose the 'wrong' one. Actually the Bayern - Inter match turned out to be the better one - with Milan stealing a last minute goal on the Germans (déjà vu from 1998?) to become the only group runners-up to make it through to the last eight. I asked a few Dutch friends whether the choice of match reflected a critical choice about the likely quality of the match – or a nationalistic one reflecting the number of Dutch players involved. They were disarmingly honest and almost universally opted for the later choice. But it was the better match- so we’ll give them a draw on that one (though I will have to make a note to go to a pub with cable TV to watch the Chelsea v Man U match tomorrow).

Finally, one of the banes of ex-pat life in (rural) Netherlands is that foreign movies are largely inaccessible to non Dutch speakers – at least at the movies – because they are only subtitled into Dutch. Representations have been made to managers of movie houses – pointing out that they may be losing a considerable amount of custom in a town where at least 40% of the student population (or about 20% of the total population) is non-Dutch speaking: all to no avail. It seems the system is too inflexible - or the cost of getting movies with English sub titles (as well as / instead of) Dutch ones seems too high (unless one gets lucky at a film festival and gets one that has only been subtitled into English). So non-Dutch speaking world movie fans miss out. But there are occasional victories – I can manage French language movies – at a push- and last month we went see a beautiful Italian movie ‘Le Quattro Volte’ - although secure in the knowledge that there was no dialogue, and thus no sub titles, to struggle with. (Having said that I have been to see a Thai and Iraqi movie this year and got by – most of the time- with the Dutch subtitles, only occasionally asking my Dutch companions for translations of key words). It (my Dutch) must be getting better. And things could be worse – one could live in Germany and have to watch James Bond movies dubbed into German…..

Lets call it a score draw on this cultural front.

Big things small things

My blogging has become rather intermittent in the past few weeks. Since I got back from my trip my focus has been torn between small and big things. The small things included getting a new boiler installed - and then finding it still leaks so having to ring the company back again to fix it - getting into a regular rhythm of doing some Dutch language work every day, trying to find a way to upload photos (If I could explain why it was not working smoothly then I could do it) - and watching as much football as I can squeeze in. I went though withdrawal symptoms on the days when there was a brief haitus in proceedings - but now have another couch-potato fix, watching the Tour de France. That'll take me through to my summer holiday!

And the big things. My trip bought about lots of existential issues - which I haven't really wanted to share publicly. My trip involved both revisiting the place I grew up in (and sorting out family relics and photo albums etc) - and spending some time in a place that for a while has been on my list of potentially desirable relocation spots. There's a bit of me that thinks that moving to the multi-cultural, multi-linguistic capital of Europe, where there's ample access to culture, good food, work (probably) and more singles could only be a good move. Oh and did I mention the rents are cheap? I saw adverts for several apartments for rent in the heart of the city, offering twice the size of the living and working space that I have now, for around the same price. I busted my ass trying to find somewhere stable to live in Wageningen: it proved really difficult and in the end I opted for something that was very much less than optimal. It was a decision that I have never really been happy with (other factors were at play) but learned to live with.

Yet there's another part of me that doesn't want to move away from my friends, networks and familiar and pleasant environs: and that doesn't want to go through the hassle of all the admin. changes that would be involved in shifting my business, residence, tax, social security, health insurance, driving license and insurance and god-knows-what-else to another country. The European Community is supposed to enhance the free movement of goods, services and people. But there are a number of significant transaction costs involved in trying to become a mobile person and transcend national borders (see Dave's blog to realise how significant these can be).

The last three weeks or so I have been trying to keep this mental ping pong game in the background. Its hard - but the football has helped. I am very lucky that I have a friend with a flat in the city centre who's not there at the moment. The next few months I want to spend more time there without any making major decisions and just see if anything grows.