Blog and the City

All is well

2011-12-21T20:50:00.015+01:00

Dear dad,

As this year draws to an end, I am writing my goodbyes to you. Time heals wounds, they say, but no one ever tells you how long it takes. There is no expiration date for sorrow. Some days are easier than others. But I miss you. And at the same time, I find comfort in the fact that you are with mom again. Thirty two long years without the woman you adored. I can't even begin to imagine. And yet, there was never anyone else. She was your true and only love.

A couple of months before you passed, you told me that she came to see you in your dreams. I know now that she came to get you. Do people know when their time has come? I think some do. Maybe unconsciously. We found things finished in the house. Like the stone that was on mom's grave, all covered and worn by the weather, and that you so desperately wanted to clean. You had been working on it for weeks and whenever I came over to visit you, I only saw minor progress. The day you died, we found it finished on the table.

They say our life passes in front of us when we die. Like in a movie. What did you see, dad? Yours wasn't an easy life, but I would like to think that you saw the happy times too. The three of us - my sister, you and I - in our little house without running water, no phone or central heating, but filled with laughter and music. The garden with its fruit trees and chickens. Your grandchildren. The Carribean cruise we went on together. My cat you cared for so well while I moved to Antwerp.

Your ultimate wish came true. You left this world bent over a pool table, your friends by your side. No pain, no suffering. You once told me that you were not afraid to die, just by how it would happen. A few weeks ago, I received a letter from one of your pool buddies. It said how proud you always spoke of your daughters. How happy you were to both have us close to you again. The glass is half full, dad. Yes, I was away for sixteen long years, but I got to spend the last six months with you. The best gift I ever received.

You might have been proud of us, but let me say that we were blessed to have you as our father. We had our differences, but you showed us that life is about simplicity. That happiness isn't measured by the size of your house, the car you drive or how much money you have. You enjoyed the little things. Listening to the birds outside, your favorite music, the Tour de France, a good soccer game. And playing pool. At seventy seven, you still beat them all.

I got this beautiful poem from a friend and still read it quite often:

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

It is time for LOVE

2010-11-30T02:46:00.001+01:00

Paper cup

2010-11-02T02:58:00.012+01:00

As America is getting ready to vote, I'm getting ready to leave the country.

A happy event.

Let me start by saying part of me loves America and always will. It taught me that the sky is the limit, that anyone can go after their dreams, that perseverance does pay off. It's the place where I really grew up, became independent and learned how to stand up for myself. And for all that, I thank it enormously.

But people evolve. And so have I. I'm no longer the 24 year-old who's eager to join the ratrace and work her behind off to pay the bills. For what? I'm ready for some calm. Silence. Green - and not just the Central Park kind. It may sound silly, but I'm dying to drink coffee out of a real cup again - not a paper one. Go to a bar where a good Belgian beer doesn't cost a fortune and eat at a restaurant where people talk instead of scream.

I never thought I would one day say this, but I miss the Old World. The narrow cobblestone streets, centuries-old churches, beautiful Roman languages and sneakerless people. Does age draw one back to the roots? I certainly think so. In Europe, I can be an atheist without anyone judging me. I can be a socialist and not get strange looks. I can be the individual I want to be without having to belong. And that to me is freedom.

I stand by my values and principles. Lived here during the Clinton years and was happy to see President Obama get elected. But the tide is turning. Tea parties are not my cup of tea. I don't care for guns. And don't get me started on war. Immigration, an issue? I'm sure the Native Americans would have their say about that. And if government should stay out of people's lives, then why have one in the first place?

If my 16 years of wandering around have taught me anything, it's to keep an open mind. Be humble. Give rather than take. Help other people. Do something that really matters. Ignore fear. Form your own opinions.

I know I won't change the world. But I will stick to my guns. Even if I don't care for them.

Going bananas

2010-08-25T03:54:00.015+02:00

Every morning, on my way to work, I stop by the little fruit stand across the office building and buy three bananas. Why three? Because it's three for a dollar. And believe me if I say that in New York you grab any bargain you can get, even if it means turning your work desk yellow.

Today was different, though. As I handed over my dirty one dollar bill to the vendor - a very kind and polite Middle Eastern guy in his fifties - he looked up at me and said: "Today I give you gift. Today I give you free banana."

What is the big deal, you might think. And you are right. It's just a banana, after all. Oooh, well, he's a guy and you're a woman, you might think. You are right again. But those of you who live here know that such a spontaneous act of kindness is very rare in New York. This city doesn't give, it takes. Business is business. Time is money. There really is no reason for an extra banana.

And that is exactly why he made my day. This man whom I interact with every single day. We never really speak. We hardly ever look at each other. We're always in a rush. And yet, he recognized me. In a split second, New York seemed human again. Kind. Generous. Caring. It really touched me. I felt in banana heaven.

Moral of the story? You can find happiness in a simple banana. I'm living proof of that. It's all about the human value behind it. The gesture. The connection. The kindness. People need to take better care of each other. Our society has become much too individual. I'll have my health care, please. I'll have my pension, please. Where is the compassion in that? We need to stop judging the weakest and be humble. Give.

And so I'll go to bed now. Knowing that all is not lost. My belief in the goodness of mankind has been restored. For now, at least.

Goodnight.

Balancing act

2010-07-20T05:34:00.006+02:00

"Listen to me, dear", she said. "We need to calm you down, alright? I'm going to give you a shot of valium". And then she turned to my colleague and continued "now, when you talk to her and she falls asleep in the middle of a sentence, don't take it personally". The next morning I woke up with a spinning head, an IV stuck in my arm and 3 elderly ladies in my room. For the first time in my life, I had been admitted to a hospital.

It all started a couple of weeks before. I had been feeling dizzy for some time, so I decided to go and see a doctor. A new doctor. As we finished up the consultation, all hell broke lose. There it was. Out of nowhere. My first vertigo attack. The room started spinning, the doctor suddenly had five heads and my stomach content made it all the way onto his shirt, followed by his pants. Talk about first impressions.
The poor and - may I say - very composed man tried to help me in any possible way, but to no avail.

In my half-dead state, I heard my colleagues arrive, followed by the New York Fire Department. They were all going to get me to my next destination: the Emergency Room. My misery became larger than life when the firefighters turned out to be two women. Life can be cruel.

Surely there would be some kind of reward for this. A well deserved compensation. I wasn't asking for much. Maybe a McSteamy. Surely a McDreamy. No. A chair, a urine test and a MD who looked like Stephen Spielberg. The ER was packed. Doctors and nurses frantically running in all directions. I had no notion of time, but after what seemed to be like an eternity, I got a bed. And the valium shot. Later that week, they saw me back with a second vertigo attack.

Flash forward to today. After three different diagnoses, quite a few doctors visits, several less violent attacks and too much time to think, I must say I'm slowly but surely getting better. But I'm exhausted. Both physically and mentally.

Something good came out of all this, though. My body sent me a clear message. STOP. NO MORE. BASTA. To every physical problem, there is a psychological cause. And I finally got it. How much more symbolic can losing your balance get? I. full stop. NEED. full stop. ORIENTATION. full stop. Quit that job I've come to hate. Leave the craziness of New York. Enjoy life. Relax. Surround myself with family and friends. GO. full stop. BACK. full stop. HOME. full stop.

I guess I'll be back in Belgium sooner than I thought. Brace for impact.

Home sweet home

2010-05-31T07:49:00.015+02:00

37 years. It took me 37 years to finally understand: family is everything. Family is what always will be there. Family is blood.

So I've decided to go home. Not right away. In a year or two. No rush. Challenge my patience.

I had been toying with the idea for a while. So my recent vacation in Belgium was a test. Go there with an open mind and see what happens. Observe. Feel. Listen. And then decide.

I left home when I was 21. Ready to see the world. Discover. Broaden my horizons. And what an adventure it has been. A great, passionate and sometimes hard adventure with a lot of life lessons learned. Tears and joy. Pain and laughter. Fall and stand up again. Never, ever, give up.

It dawned on me in a split second. A class reunion in Belgium. People I hadn't seen in more than 20 years. Everyone happily married, a couple of kids, still in the country. Why not me? Because I was the one who had a reason to leave. It was an escape. Mom gone, dad sad, a not so brilliant childhood, no real boyfriend. Why would I have stayed home? So I left. And I went as far as I could. To Michigan. It turned out to be a great experience. And what was supposed to be 1 year abroad ended up being 16.

If I could turn back time, I would not change a thing. Traveling opened my mind, shaped my way of thinking and taught me what no school ever could have. University of Life, as a friend once called it. Being in poor countries made me realize all that I have, being in rich countries made me realize money is not everything. One of the best sensations in the world is to step out of your comfort zone and learn. See how things are done in different cultures. Adapt. Always adapt. Breathe, look, enjoy. Drop fear. Don't judge too quickly. Liberate your being.

Time heals wounds. Age mellows. The circle is round. All the things I ran away from before, I embrace now because I finally realized they made me who I am. One's own country, no matter how long you've been away, always feels familiar. It's your roots. An instinct. You just know how to do things, where to go and what to expect. It is comforting, reassuring. A very good feeling.

'A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it' - George Moore, Irish Novelist

It's been a fabulous road so far.

Cinderella

2010-03-09T05:07:00.008+01:00

Here are two things I like in life: unexpected events and passionate people.
Something strange happened to me tonight. I had planned on a quiet theater evening and somehow ended up in a fairy tale.

My dear friend S told me a while back that she was part of a theater group that plays fairy tales for and with children. A very healing and therapeutic way to specifically help the sick. I was instantly intrigued.

But it wasn't until tonight, sitting there and listening to the lecturer, that I realized just how much symbolism there is in a fairy tale. I ended up chatting with him and he asked me about my life. 'Cinderella', he told me. 'You are Cinderella'. It hit me like a hammer. I knew he was right. Mom dying, dad not being able to care for us and growing up in the home of my aunt, uncle and their children.

The past came bubbling up and I broke down in tears. In front of this man I had never seen before. And then he asked if I wanted to join the theater, that he was looking for a French Cinderella. How could I possibly say no to that?

I'm eager to start. I have been looking for a real passion for so long. Block out work. Be creative. Let go. Reinvent myself.

I came home tonight and found a package in the mail from my sister. A magazine. With an article of her and her children about the loss of our mom. It was extremely touching.

I don't believe in coincidence. Mom was there tonight. And she probably thinks it's about time I lose a bloody shoe.

It's about time

2009-12-14T03:49:00.010+01:00

Time to start blogging again. I have been terribly neglecting my very own website. I have searched far and deep, but there really are no excuses. Oh yes, well maybe. Life. Work. Facebook. Summer. Yoga. Laziness. But just not good enough to not blog for months.

So anyway, I'm back.

Something has been bugging me. Even though I don't own a TV, I am fully aware of some famous golfer's escapades which seem to keep on getting worse. But it's not that. What bothers me is how once again things are being dealt with in the good old US of A. An official apology on the man's website and let us not forget to ask the good Lord for forgiveness of our sins.

Do we really need to drag religion into this, Tiger? Steal, rape, cheat, kill, but then when you find Jesus, it's all good again. I just don't buy that. Let's face it, he is probably not the only one bedding other women, but does the public really need to know this? Why was Clinton all of a sudden a bad President just because he slept with Monica? I'm not saying I think this is alright, but religion should not be a ticket out.

So I will just go on being who I am: an atheist who knows the difference between right and wrong.

2009-10-07T04:24:00.001+02:00

Under the Tuscan Sun

2009-08-23T18:28:00.003+02:00

The Attic versus The Empire State Building

2009-03-26T04:55:00.007+01:00

When I was little, my favorite place on earth was the attic of our house. It was full of mystery, unknown toys, dust and the constant danger of spiders falling down my neck. But most of all, it was close to heaven and thus close to mom.

My mother, Maria Verbanck, died of breast cancer in 1979 when she was 44 and I was 5. In her memory, I have decided to do the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer 2009. I personally want to contribute to the fact that no child will ever be separated from his/her mother again because of this disease.

On 10 and 11 October, I will walk up to 1,5 marathon, but I do need your help. I am required to raise a minimum of $1,800 in donations to help provide access to care for those who most need it, fund educational programs, and accelerate research into new treatments and potential cures. And because nothing is wrong with a little challenge, I am determined to surpass the $4,000 I collected last year.

To those of you who donated to my 2008 Avon Walk, I want to say thank you once again. From the bottom of my heart. Your generosity kept me going, especially during the last couple of miles which were the toughest. To everyone else, I would simply like to ask for your consideration this year. Unfortunately, breast cancer can happen to anyone, at any time and for no particular reason.

Sometimes, I still wonder what happened to that childhood attic.

But at least now you know why I moved to New York...

Please check out my personal Avon page by clicking on the link below:

http://www.avonwalk.org/goto/truikedemoor

For P

2009-02-23T07:05:00.005+01:00

Because I admire your strength.
Because I like your determination.
Because you make me laugh so hard my belly aches.
Because we share a passion for New York.
Because you used to get me Greek yoghurt with honey.
Because you understand my obsession with zuurekes.
But most of all, because you taught me to love shoes...
My Avon Walk 2009 will be for you XXX

Fly

2009-01-20T06:03:00.002+01:00

2009

2009-01-02T05:44:00.006+01:00

Some highlights of the holidays: A's incredibly cool new haircut, a satisfying harley ride up and down the hills of San Francisco, R's way of being naturally hilarious, a Russian cabdriver understanding my... Russian, a splendid loft, Dolce and Obama on seesmic.com, Miss Louise from the Upper West Side penthouse.

I made my list of 2009 resolutions. It mainly states traveling which I guess is not very different from all my previous resolution lists. But it also states cooking, painting and Spanish classes. No longer waste my time with unavailable men. Socialize even more. Laugh. Try to assemble my new Ikea table.

I was walking around New York today when a psychic came up to me. "I see a profound longing for happiness and love. A need for things to change. But don't worry, it will come. I see a black person in your future. Someone who will make a difference."
"Oh really?", I said, "That's Obama, lady. Anyone could have told me that."

And so time goes on. And life just becomes more interesting. I miss my friends in Lake Tahoe and have sworn that I will take skiing lessons next year. I will ski, whatever it takes.

But most of all I want to wish all my blog readers a very happy, healthy, fun and adventurous new year.

Yes He Did

2008-12-18T03:56:00.013+01:00

Rip out my dental implant this morning. With the force of a raging bull. And I never saw it coming. I'm glad the thing is gone, my wallet not so. To think that one tooth could cost me up to $5000 - putting the first one in 10 years ago, taking it out now because of excruciating pains and then putting in a new one because you can't chew your food with a hole - is something I try not to think about too much. But I do wonder if I could possibly make it into the Guinness Book of World Records.

My teeth have a long history. A proud history. Yes they can. My cousin with whom I grew up in Belgium is a dentist. If I was ever scared of the man with the drill before she graduted, I surely wasn't after. She nominated me her 'exam patient'. Whenever her exams came up, I always seemed to have the perfect hole to fill. The hours I spent in that chair waiting for her professors to pass and give her the green light to the next and next and next stage paid off. I now have an almost perfect set of teeth.

Some people look at shoes when they first meet someone. Others go for the eyes. I'm all about teeth. That's Mrs. Colgate to you.

So now I have 2 new dentists in New York. One is Russian, the other Iranian. And hell yes they can!

Art After Dark @ the Guggenheim

2008-09-06T20:04:00.009+02:00

The hotties of the Hamptons

2008-08-31T05:06:00.015+02:00

For ages I had been looking at those busses, drooling. Several times a day they take off from the corner of my office building. Torture and pure provocation. Until my friend A. e-mailed me and said 'hey, I am coming to New York, wanna go on a roadtrip?'. I quickly proposed the Hamptons and a couple of weeks later, off we were on the Hampton Jitney.

We ate, drank, laughed and gossiped our way through the 3-hour ride. Montauk was our final destination. A cozy and quiet little beachtown with a main road and a picturesque harbor.
Oh yes, and a fabulous fire station.

A. was the first one to see the posters. 'The Montauk Fire Department Pancake Breakfast'. We looked at each other, giggled and without saying a word, made up our minds. We left on foot the next morning. Not sure whether or not we were on the right track, we bumped into a couple of hikers and asked for directions. We were indeed heading for Montauk's Finest. The pancakes turned out to be delicious and the firemen's sausages a pure delight.

We also had the pleasure of meeting Terence, a ginger-haired and sympathetic Irish-American bartender who seemed to enjoy our company. I have to admit we slighty stood out in the all-American crowd. And that's when it happened. While I was sipping my gin and tonic, Belgium won its first and only Olympic gold medal. Hallelujah.

Walking home, I passed the Washington Heights fire station where one of the guys yelled 'hi there, neighbor, how was your weekend?' I answered 'splendid. I passed it with 10 firemen.' They looked at each other puzzled. I smiled all the way home.

Avon Walk for Breast Cancer

2008-08-19T07:15:00.006+02:00

On October 4th and 5th, I will be participating in the 'Avon Walk for Breast Cancer' in memory of my mom who died in 1979 at the age of 44.

Any donations will be greatly appreciated by clicking on the link below.

Thank you in advance for your support!

http://walk.avonfoundation.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1660&px=4357380

Remembering Mom

2008-07-25T03:42:00.018+02:00

I was very sad for a very long time. Angry at the universe. Upset with this so-called God-guy. How could he take a mother away from her 5 year-old child?
Mom's death was a difficult struggle. I got so lost. Not for one second did I think it would come back and hit me in the face at the age of 30. But it did, and hard.

I used to say I would give all the money in the world to spend just one minute with her.
Now I know she is with me. She always was.

I used to not know her.
Now I do. And I have my sister to thank for that.

I used to blame my dad for his silence.
Now I see he was just trying to protect us.

I used to think my life was one big escape.
Now I see it is extremely rich and adventurous.

Mom, you are my inspiration and my energy, my sun and my moon, my strength and my courage. You gave me life and cradled me. As I see you sitting on that bench in front of your own mother, I can't help but think how much you would have enjoyed your grandchildren and your trips around the world with me.

But in the end I guess you did. You might be gone, but you really are not.

And for you, I have decided to participate in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in New York(http://www.avonwalk.org/). Ready. Set. Hope.

21 July - Belgian National Day (are they looking for a government...?)

2008-07-22T05:27:00.002+02:00

Pretty in pink

2008-07-20T05:22:00.011+02:00

I am faced with a terrible dilemma. I need - or rather want - a new cell phone. Iphone, Blackberry, Iphone, Blackberry, Iphone, Blackberry... and the more people I talk to, the more I get confused.
There are your Iphone fans who say it is the best device ever invented, cool and visually a miracle. Then there are your Blackberry fans who say their tool is more practical, smaller and has a real keyboard.

What to do?

I went to T-mobile the other day and asked the sales guy if I could see a pink Blackberry. "Sorry, ma'am, no pink Blackberries. What do you mean?! We don't have them in pink, Ma'am, that's what it means. But I saw them at Verizon and at&t! Yes, exactly, that is where you saw them and that is where you can get them. We don't carry them at T-mobile. Whatever. But then I do need the pink cover." The guy rolled his eyes. Sometimes I think it's good that you can be so anonymous in New York.

I woke up this morning with the door bell ringing. The exterminator. He comes every 3rd Saturday of the month. Cheyenne doesn't like him and hides under the bed. I think he's kinda cool. When he first saw my huge Sex and the City poster, he admitted he was a big fan. And while spraying the flat against mice and cockroaches, he told me he could see Samantha Jones in me. You gotta love a guy for his honesty. Would it have something to do with the fact that I always open the door in my nightgown?

Wait a minute... doesn't Samantha have an Iphone?!

It's all in a t-shirt

2008-06-28T20:40:00.002+02:00

And then there was Austria...

2008-06-06T21:56:00.004+02:00

Sitting at my new desk in my new office with a full frontal view of the Empire State Building -
any closer and I will have King Kong up my sleeve – I am counting my numerous blessings.
And knocking on wood.

The Belgian restaurant I started off working at did not turn out to be what I expected – it’s a long story – and so I decided to broaden my horizons.
Something I tend to do when I no longer feel happy.
Two weeks later, I found the ‘Austrian Mission to the United Nations’ and signed my contract.

Sooner or later, I knew it would work, I just never thought it would happen so soon. I am over the moon. Thrilled. Excited. And oh so intensively speaking German. All day, every day. Concentrating very hard to try and understand my sweet colleagues’ funny accent.

Before starting the job last Monday, they invited me to their party called ‘Rock the Edelweiss’.
Forget the waltzing, it was all about ‘rock until you drop’.
Continuously flowing Grüner, a splendid buffet – ever seen mini-schnitzels? – a superb brass band and people from all over the world.

A whole new universe is opening up to me.
I came here with nothing but dreams, 3 suitcases, my laptop and Cheyenne.
And now I am living the American Dream.

I had a purpose. And I made it there in 3 months.
Should I die tomorrow, I’ll rest in peace, with written on my tombstone:
‘Here lies Truike – in the end, she got her United Nations badge’.

Amen.

God Bless You

2008-04-20T06:37:00.013+02:00

"Look, daddy! The Pope!!" I turn around and see a homeless guy with a long beard. I can't help but smile and feel sad at the same time.
New York is currently going crazy over the holy man. Flags, posters, candles, mugs. You name it, they sell it. It must be said that this is the land of consumption, after all.

I am becoming a New Yorker all over again. How do I know?
I drink lots of take-out iced cafe latte.
I go to the gym 3 times a week.
I have pedicures all the time.
I go grocery shopping at 2 o'clock in the morning.
Strangers stop me in the street and ask me for directions.

What I like most about this city is the energy it gives me. And the fact that it is so cosmopolitan. Take the restaurant I work at for instance: the waiter is Albanian, the chef and the bartender are both Belgian, the dishwasher is Mexican, the kitchen aid is Peruvian, the busboy is from Bangladesh. Most of the cabdrivers I've had were Indian. My hairdresser is Hungarian.

Such an interesting mix of nationalities, cultures, languages and life stories. And most of us have a common goal: to work hard and succeed. To know that the sky is the limit. To constantly push boundaries. To balance on the edge. To live to the bone.

Spring has finally arrived. Walking through Central Park from West to East every day on my way to work, I stand still and admire the cherry blossoms. Babies take their first steps and dogs chase after each other. Joggers inspire me to run a marathon at least once in my life.

New York gives me wings. It's my drug.

A gato in the ghetto

2008-03-25T02:04:00.004+01:00

I thought I had lost him forgood. Gone in the jungle of Harlem. Torn to pieces and eaten alive.

Let me go back in time. My first week in The Big Apple I spent in a youth hostel with some rather strange individuals. Tiny room, disgusting common showers. But hey, I was finally where I wanted to be. The second week, with the help of CraigsList.com and some luck – right time, right place – Cheyenne and I moved in with our brand new roommate, a 23-year old great gal from Michigan.

The apartment is located in Harlem-Washington Heights, the very Upper West Side of Manhattan. A for the most part uniquely Spanish-speaking Dominican neighbourhood, which I was about to find out.

As soon as I moved in, I figured I’d need a bed and so I went to Sleepy’s to buy one. After some negotiating and trying out different shapes and sizes, I was all set to get my queen size purchase delivered the following day. Sure thing, the next morning, two strong New Yorkers unloaded their truck in front of the door and there it was, the first symbol of my long term stay in New York…

Once they had left, I needed to get ready for my first day at work. But I couldn’t find Cheyenne anywhere. I called him, shook his food, opened the fridge, but nothing. Nada. Next thing you know, I was crawling around the apartment on hands and knees. No Cheyenne to be found. I started panicking and gradually went into a state of shock, tears streaming down my cheeks. I love this little fellow. He’s been with me for 7 years and it took me weeks to prepare him for the move.

I tried to get my brain to unlock from a panic mode and get into a thinking mode. Think, think, think. Maybe he slipped out the door as the Sleepy’s movers came in. So in my pyjamas – it was still very early – I started running up and down the building’s staircase telling everyone who crossed my path: “Mi gato! I lost mi gato!!” They all started searching with me. Nothing. Outside, he must be outside, I thought. Oh God, no! Poor baby has never been outside in his life. Still in my pyjamas I took on the snow. It was freezing. “Que pasa, Senora?” “Mi gato. I lost mi gato!” Before I knew it, the whole Dominican Republic got involved in the search.

Where the hell was he??

I had to go to work. I had no choice. Tears still running down my cheeks, I went back up and started changing. Then I heard a sound. And there he was, coming from behind the stove with sleepy eyes, looking at me thinking ‘drama queen, what is your problem?!!’ I almost hugged him to death.

Upon walking home tonight, I passed in front of the Fire Station next door and noticed a stunning black cat, so I stopped in admiration. A uniformed and very handsome fire fighter came out and said: “Ma’am, did you lose your gato? Need help?”

“Oh no, Sir, thank you. My gato was never lost.”

I don't like cats

2008-02-01T23:12:00.000+01:00

Seated for at least 4 hours in Starbucks on 93rd Street and Broadway now, I can't help but think how good life is. I know, I keep repeating myself. What can I say, I'm just so in love with NYC.

In those 4 hours, I have seen a colorful palet of people come and go. It started with a grumpy young French couple. Just my luck. You think you're an ocean away and there they are.
Correction, he was not grumpy, she was. Moaning and bitching. First about the weather - wind, rain and cold here, well yes, it's winter in NY - then about the airconditioning, then about her boyfriend working too much. I plugged my ears.

Then, it was 2 women talking about their weekly visits to the shrink. I hate to admit I listened in. Quite interesting conversation. Someone told me yesterday that 20% of all New Yorkers are in therapy. I'm happy to say I'm not one of them. Yet.

Right now, it's 2 fancy Wall Street brokers seated to my left, stressing themselves over figures and talking very loud.

Did I tell you I am currently apartment hunting? Not an easy task to say the least. I have sent out at least 30 e-mails, got 3 replies and have visited one place. A cave. I couldn't believe it. A real dungeon. 2 floors down from the main entrance, next to the washers and dryers, a couple of wooden walls (well, walls is not really the correct term) hammered together and all that for a lovely $950/month. And the owner stood there selling it with a straight face. My next visit is Sunday morning, in Brooklyn. Figured I might check out the suburbs. No harm in that. I think I'll get more lucky there. We'll see.

And for all the trouble I went through getting Cheyenne ready for the move, they didn't even check his papers!? Upon arrival at customs, I had to step aside and proceed to the 'animal guy'. I was ready for it, proud even that I had all the official documents right in my hands. The 'animal guy' looked at him, looked at me and then said: "You can go. I don't like cats."

Tuesday evening was happy hour cosmopolitans with my new friend R. He's such a sweetheart. And the cosmos were fabulous. So was dinner. Thanks, R!

Right, before becoming a real geek, let me get my sundried tomato creamcheese bagel and a chicken noodle soup.

Sex and the City - the movie

2008-02-01T19:13:00.001+01:00

The move

2008-01-23T22:42:00.000+01:00

Lately, I seem to be listening a lot to 'I did it my way' and 'New York, New York'. Not that I'm in any way a die hard fan of Frank Sinatra, I guess it's just that the songs go well with my new future.

Even Eleanor Roosevelt has become one of my favorite persons with her 'the future belongs to those who believe in the power of their dreams'.

I've never been one to sit and wait for life to happen. I take things into my own hands. Because aren't we the masters of what lies ahead, after all? Part of it, at least.
'Just do it'. I like Nike. I agree with Nike. I'm not a dreamer, I'm a doer.
There's always an emergency exit somewhere if things go wrong.

And so here I am, in my nearly empty apartment, a martini on the rocks by my side, Cheyenne on my lap and three suitcases right behind me. I like to travel light. Start fresh. What does a person really need? The clothes on his back, a good book, and in my case, my furry friend. For the rest, I improvise. I don't get attached to materialistic stuff.

The other day, I was thinking of what I'd miss most in Paris. My friends. The laughter and bonds we've created. Coffee with S at our café. A's listening ear after yet another painful break-up. Girls' weekends. The pizza place in my street. My talented and sweet hairdresser. The owner of the downstairs cybercafé who's become a part of my life. My cute little apartment I put my heart in decorating. Ladurée macarons.

But I know it is time to go. Start a new period of my life. I told you a couple of months ago in my blog that I would be back in New York to stay. This is it. I fly across the pond on Saturday. I am both eager and excited. But most of all I'm happy.

I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way.
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way.

And then I also thought of the first things I want to do when I get to The City. Go and admire the view at South Street Seaport. Visit the Egyptian section at the Met. Finally do brunch at the Tavern on the Green. Jog in Central Park. Chat over a glass of wine with B. Go and see the 'Mamma Mia' broadway show. Have chicken noodle soup and a sundried tomato cream cheese bagel. Eat about 20 cupcakes in a row.

I wanna wake up in a city that doesn't sleep.
I'll make a brand new start of it in old New York.

New York, my old love, I am coming back. And this time, it's to stay.

So long, Paris. It was nice while it lasted.

Paris to New York (one way)

2008-01-09T21:44:00.000+01:00

I consider myself extremely lucky to currently be unemployed in Paris.

Because no matter what I have ever said, written or thought about it, Paris remains a magnificent place. I've been roaming around taking pictures for days now.

My reason for leaving is not so much abandoning the city but rather its mentality.

I just never found the same drive, energy and boost that hits me like lightning when I get to New York.

And that's all, folks.

Yesterday, I went to an RATP (Parisian metro) office to cancel my year pass. I got to deal with what looked at first sight like a very nice, charming older employee.

"What a shame you are leaving Paris. Where are you moving to?" he said.

"New York." I couldn't hide my excitement at the mere thought of it.

His face changed in a couple of seconds from open and bright to horrified.

He gave me a look as if the devil himself was sending me straight to hell without a trial.

"But it's ok, Sir, because I love New York. I lived there before and I miss it terribly. It's such a vibrant place." I said.

"Well, it's a free world. Up to you. But I could never live there."

For a moment I thought of asking him if he had ever been there because here is the thing: I'm always in for a healthy and open discussion, but only with people who know what they are talking about. But in the end I just smiled, cancelled my year pass and left.

And then I booked my ticket online. I called Air France right afterwards as they prefer to add pets with a reservation straight away. My tiger is coming with me, of course. No way in the world I would ever leave Cheyenne behind.

"He has been registered, Madame. There is a supplement, however."

"Sure. Can I pay that over the phone now?"

"Oh, no. Standard procedure is that you arrive at the airport well in advance, you proceed to the Air France counter, pay for him and pick up his ticket."

"Pick up his ticket?!! My cat has his own ticket?"

"Oui, Madame."

Isn't that just great? My Cheyenne is all set to fly to New York.

He now has his very own pet passport and will soon discover his boarding pass.

How exciting!

Incredible India

2007-12-30T09:25:00.000+01:00

Palm reading

2007-12-26T14:53:00.000+01:00

I will die at 86, my good fortune started on 25 December and my happiness lies in the East. That is what a Hindu priest read in my palm a few days ago.

I am short of words to describe India. It is incredible. Exhausting. Busy. Colourful. Gorgeous.
But today, I had a misery overdose. It gets hard to see so much poverty.

The group is fantastic. 15 of us. I have now officially been invited to Australia, New Zealand and South Africa.
My roomie A from Scotland left the tour last night and I already miss her. It's just amazing how you can get attached to someone in such a short time. But then again, we share so many impressions every day.

Travel really is my life. I feel happiest when I move, see, learn and laugh.

We played 'Secret Santa' for Christmas and I got a lovely purple woolen scarf. A pure delight.
And boy, do I enjoy the lassi. Sweet, mango, banana, bring it on!
The Bollywood scene is a must. A 3-hour Indian movie, popcorn included, is something you probably only do once in your life.

Tomorrow, we are going for a boatride on the Ganges river here in Varanasi. I have waited for that moment for years now.

Namaste from Rajastan!

Visa challenge - part 1

2007-12-07T13:48:00.000+01:00

I believe one has to be extremely motivated to travel to India. Especially when living in Paris.

With my travel vouchers, flight tickets and backpack all in possession, there was only one thing left to take care of: a tourist visa. Piece of cake, I thought. Well, not exactly.

The Indian Embassy in Paris is dealing with a major logistical problem: too much demand and not enough personnel. Which I was soon about to find out.

Visa applications are only dealt with on weekdays between 9:30am and 10:30am. Excellent, I thought to myself, not too early to get out of bed, plus the Embassy is only about a 15-minute walk from work.

I arrived there on Wednesday at 8am and was greeted by an impressive line of about 100 people. Right, I thought, I'll be here for a while so I started reading and I-podding (a word I just invented).
But they close when tickets are up and so I never made it inside the building, let alone the ticket counter.

Anyone who knows me, also knows that I am a pretty determined chick. I thought, well, tomorrow I'll just be here at 7am. Upon arrival the next morning, the line was shorter and the people nicer. We all started chatting. I kind of made a mini-trip to India before even leaving as some of these people had traveled there lots of times before. Fun and interesting stories.

Yes! I made it inside this time, thinking that was the end of it...
Lady at the counter: "Passport, application form and 2 identical passport photos, please."
Me: "Here you go."
Lady at the counter: "Oh, you have a Belgian passport. I need to see your carte de séjour."
Me: "Well, I used to have one when I arrived in Paris in 2001. Then it got stolen and when I wanted to replace it I was told the carte de séjour had been abolished for people from the European Union. But I do have an electricity bill that proves I live here, though."
(any foreigner living in France knows you ALWAYS, ALWAYS have to walk around with your electricity bill)
Lady at the counter: "Yes, right. Well, then you have to pay 30 euros extra."
Me: "?!**§/?!!*&!?"
Lady at the counter: "Madame, it's either that or you don't get a visa."

I ended up paying the 30 euros, scandalized, but knowing that I did not have a choice.

I was told I can go and pick up my passport on Monday.
And that the wait will be 2 hours...

I'm tellin' ya, ya gotta be motivated to go to India!

Aloha

2007-12-04T17:05:00.000+01:00

Not too long ago, I was pleasantly reminded of a magnificent holiday I once spent in Hawaï.
Based in Los Angeles as a tourguide in the late 90ies, done for the season with some time left on my visa, I thought I might go and visit the 50th American state.

The trip started off on a rather festive note. Our captain was on his very last voyage before retirement and offered us champagne throughout the flight. You can imagine what I must have looked like upon arrival. We are talking about a 5-hour trip, after all. I really did have trouble aiming for the flower necklace someone put around my neck at the airport.

I had booked my roundtrip flight, several rental cars (in several sizes and colors for use on several islands) and a 7-day island hopping pass. And boy, did I hop.
But the decision had been tough. I am just not your average beach bum, I get bored frying. And I thought that that was what Hawaï was all about.

Turns out I was wrong. My numerous cars took me to the Polynesian Cultural Center where I learned to dance the hula, Pearl Harbor which really touched me, the Dole Plantation where I stuffed myself with pineapple and Molokai, an important part of Belgian history we learn about in school because of the fact that our famous Father Damien lived there in a leper colony.

And I did manage to put one toe in the boiling sand of Waikiki Beach for a total time of about 3 seconds.

Upon arrival in Molokai, an island without any traffic lights if I may mention, I drove off to my beach hut hotel and checked in.
"Oh my goodness! Suzy, Veronica, Sharon, Bill, Richard, come here! We have a guest from Belgium!!" Turns out the whole front desk had been on a study trip to Tremelo, Belgium the year before where Father Damien was born.
So I told them I had come to see the former leper colony. Damn, the group had just left and the trip took place only once a week. But I had an advantage. I was Belgian. Doesn't happen very often. So Suzy, Veronica, Sharon, Bill and Richard all pulled together, shoved me into a minivan and called the tourguide to ask him to stop the donkeys. Well yes, you can only go down there by donkey.
It is one day in my life I will never forget. The kindness of those people... no one had ever stopped a donkey for me before. I was touched.

Mauno Loa Volcano is what happened next. An exursion offered by the youth hostel I was staying at. 'Dangerous - we do not take any responsibility' it was mentioned on their poster. One more reason for me to go.
The volcano was very active that evening, our guide said, and we found ourselves standing next to lava flows dripping down the cliffs. Earth being created right in front of our eyes. No words can describe the feeling that went through my bones at that moment.

But most of all, the people were what made my trip such a success. They are kind, friendly and they simply take their time to live life...

La grève

2007-11-22T10:24:00.000+01:00

The divorce

2007-11-21T13:40:00.000+01:00

It is now official. I'm divorcing Paris. On the grounds of 'irreconcilable differences'. Enough is enough.
7 years in the City of Light has left me drained, negative and a grumpy old nag.

Some will say oh stop it, you're just saying that because of the strike. Which is probably true. But it's more than that. Call it the 5(or in this case 7)-year-itch to change things. Change life. Change routines. I'm a big fan of change.

During the last week, I have spent more time going to work than actually at work. And that during my notice. My friends tell me I'm crazy to even bother. I just see it as finishing my contract.

But then I got punched in the ribs 3 days ago. While trying to get on an already full bus - just like everyone else during a strike - a guy decided he'd had enough and kicked me off. People get agressive, which to some extent I do understand. But you don't go punching people around, now, do you? Old or young, cute or ugly, fat or slim, none of it matters, during a strike it's every man for himself. But I guess that's what any big city will do to you.

The highlight of my week: a movie night at my friend S' place watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' while having cupcakes. Nothing in the world beats a good cupcake. Even my ribs felt better all of a sudden.

Paris, it's over. I need to spend some time away from you. Who knows, I might learn to love you again...

Memories

2007-11-19T14:07:00.000+01:00

We're all still the same. Except for a few more wrinkles. We hadn't seen each other in years, but we got together over the weekend, mocking the Parisian strike.
One thing connects us deeply: our love for travel and the United States. Miami is where we first met, 1997, working for a Dutch touroperator.

We picked up where we left off. Almost as if it were still 1997. Add maturity, champagne and some French cuisine to that and voilà..., that's us.

People come and go. They stay or they leave. These girls will always be in my life, no matter what. We are roamers & adventurers. We all have the urge to live life to the fullest. We know what the others are thinking just by looking at them. It's called true friendship.

Thank you, girls, for a truly wonderful weekend. I love you dearly. Next year, we'll do New York.

Police nationale

2007-11-07T18:05:00.000+01:00

I spent the morning at the police station interpreting for my Polish boss M. He had been hit by a car a couple of months back. A hit and run. Result: a broken foot. The guy who ran him over never bothered to stop. But there was a witness who saw everything. At least a bit of luck.

So, 2 days ago, M got a call from the police station where they told him: "We found your guy. You need to come over for a confrontation."
M didn't like it one bit but we went.

Picture this: a sterile, boring office with 3 postcards of Guadeloupe, a desk with an ancient computer and a full ashtray on it; the police officer on one side of the desk, the hit and run-guy, me and my boss on the other side of the desk. I felt like I was in a bad movie.

I'm still trying to figure out whether to define the police officer as funny or mad. He obviously thought he was hilarious, but M and I aren't so sure. After finding out that I am a Belgian native, he 'went French'. The French love to make jokes about the Belgians. We laugh along the first 3 minutes and then we get bored. Not because we feel insulted, but because they always say the same things. Then, he was attacking me head-on about the 'Belgian failure to create a government' and M about the 'Polish twins' being crap.

That wasn't all. He suddenly started hitting on me in the middle of filing the report. 'Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? Why not? Do you have anything to hide? Are you running from something or someone?'. What the hell. I thought I was there to translate for my boss!

But let me tell you this. Even if I tend to over-critisise the French, I was quite impressed with their follow-up on this matter. And as for the police officer, what can I say, you have to love a guy in a uniform even if he is a complete nutcase...

I strike, you strike, we all strike

2007-10-29T16:05:00.000+01:00

Here is something the French love to do: strike. They consider it their basic right. Strikers do have the power of paralysing an entire city. Quite scary. I once read that in America the people are afraid of the government and in France the government is afraid of the people. That pretty much says it all.

So 2 weeks ago Paris ended up with no trains, no busses and no metros.
I decided to walk to work. It took me 3 hours. Roundtrip, that is. It felt great. Like a positive side effect.

I have stopped asking myself what it is the strikers want. Early retirement? More money? Additional holidays? There will always be something even though the working conditions are already quite good. I guess if you start giving, people just take and come back for more.

Then I tried getting my hands on a bike. We have Vélib in Paris: a bike rental system which is pretty good. It was set up in July and has worked quite well so far. Pretty nice bikes too.
As I was standing in line, I noticed there were 3 bikes left and I was number 4 in line. Damned. Rollerblades and skateboards everywhere. People do get inventive and are well prepared.

I got so pissed off that day. Until I read the newspaper online: A cab strike in New York.
I guess I shouldn't always blame everything on the French.

;-)

Mussels and kriek

2007-10-17T19:47:00.000+02:00

Have you ever heard of banana beer? Neither had I, until last weekend.
My dear friends A - German, S - American and I had decided to go on a girls-only excursion to Bruges. The Venice of the North.
S told me she had never been to Belgium. I was not surprised, I'm actually quite used to hearing 'I passed through it' when asking people if they have visited.
But don't ever - never - mention Jean-Claude Van Damme to me. I simply don't want to be aware of him.

We were extremely lucky with the weather. Because in Belgium, you just never know.
Sun, sun and sun. That kind of sums up our time in Bruges. And beer, pickles chips, chocolate and mussels with fries. Mountains of it.
We chatted, chatted and chatted throughout the weekend, but whenever the food and/or beer came out, you could hear a pin drop. Not a sound. We were 100% in foodville.

Now here is a misconception: French food is better than Belgian food.
I do not agree with that. Belgian food is surely based on French cuisine but I would say we are a lot more daring and creative. We are not afraid of preparing and serving the most crazy combinations.
Really good food in France is expensive and to be found in upscale restaurants. Really good food in Belgium is to be found everywhere, even when simply ordering a croque monsieur.
Check out Pastis on http://www.pastis.be/

Oooooooh, I just remembered my marshmellow hot chocolate at Bar Choc. Yummy.

Of course I know Bruges, it's the region where I was born. But I hadn't actually visited it as a tourist. So when my friends suggested to go on a canal boatride and a horse and carriage tour, I was in. I really liked Bruges before, but now I love it. Almost as much as New York. ;-)

We got lucky staying in a cute 4-star hotel through a dear Belgian friend of mine who works there.
Lovely room in the middle of town with view on the canals.
The ultimate definition of pure happiness.

Before leaving Bruges we stocked up on... pickles chips, chocolate and beer. Cherry beer, raspberry beer, cassis beer, peach beer and, yes, banana beer.
In Belgium, that sweet stuff is known as 'beer for women' and, boy, did we empty the store.

And after a stop in Knokke at the Belgian seaside on Sunday, we headed back to Paris in our blue French rental car.

Vive la Belgique!

A weekend in Bruges

2007-10-15T18:11:00.000+02:00

Murphy's law

2007-10-10T21:16:00.000+02:00

Some days are just meant to be quickly forgotten:

7:30 - I wake up with an intense backpain - which gets worse during the day
8:20 - I get stuck in the metro - no lights - for 10 minutes due to an 'accident voyageur' (that's how they call suicide here)
9:30 - finally at work, where I get into a huge fight with my boss - call it pushing buttons
9:45 - I go down for a cup of coffee... and spill it all over me
12:30 - a homeless guy asks me to marry him - that was actually the funniest moment of the day
15:40 - I'm dying to eat my cheesecake, open the box... and see it's gone bad
19:00 - Home at last, with a huge bill stuffed in my mailbox

But the good news is: I BOOKED MY TRIP TO INDIA! Hurray!

Which one is your favorite?

2007-10-07T21:46:00.000+02:00

Traveler's advisory:
All any of us need is a very light suitcase - O. Wynd

On departure:
I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move - R.L. Stevenson

En route:
I might be going to hell in a bucket, but at least I'm enjoying the ride - B. Weir

Being there:
The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are - S. Johnson

I have wandered all my life, and I have also travelled; the difference between the two being this, that we wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfilment - H. Belloc

Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living - M. Beard

I think that maybe we do not climb a mountain because it is there. We climb it because we are here - J. Carroll

Coming home:
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes - M. Proust

Once you have travelled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers... the mind can never break off from the journey - P. Conroy

How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you - you leave bits of yourself fluttering on the fences - little rags and shreds of your very life - K. Mansfield

Coming out

2007-10-07T11:46:00.000+02:00

I finally decided to put my face on my blog, accompanied by... Sacha, my hairdresser. Who else?

Cocktail inspiration

2007-10-04T21:49:00.000+02:00

Am I an artist? No? Then why do I feel more inspired after a few drinks?
Tonight, it was one Pina Colada and one Cosmopolitan.
Is the latter a sign? Or is it just me challenging fate and having a go for New York?
Am I allowed to firmly believe in my Big Apple Future?

Whenever I decide to move on, change things and take off to a different city is when I meet the most interesting people. Like P, tonight. A Finnish girl I used to work with. From a distance. Her boss in Brussels and my boss in Paris trying to arrange meetings. Through us, of course.
With some people, you just have the feeling that you've known them all your life. I had that experience with P tonight. Quite amazing.

And so here I am. At home. But already elsewhere. Now that I know I have 3 months left, I gaze, walk, bike, observe. Paris is a beautiful place. There is no denying that. I am not so much leaving behind a city, but rather a mentality. I have fought it for years, but somehow you do get sucked into the negativity... and I'm a positive person. I need to be able to be spontaneous again, laugh, go crazy, be silly and not care about what others think. And I'm convinced I'm not in the right place for that. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right, who knows.

I have always loved to travel. It's like food to me. Or breathing. I die without it. It gives me so much. It puts my life in perspective, it makes me appreciate things even more, it simply makes me think and grow. So I have decided to go to India for Christmas. A country I have always wanted to visit. I'm intrigued by its culture, its religion, its colors. For some reason, when I think of India, I think of bright colors and children's laughter.

Tonight, I wanted to send un clin d'oeil to my favorite cousin T. I think you are fun, intelligent, humble and cool. I love you dearly and I think you know that. You and I are forever glued together by ice cream. You inspire me.

Right, I'm getting sentimental. Better off to bed... ;-)

Sushi anyone?

2007-10-02T21:51:00.000+02:00

The first time I ever had sushi was in the summer of 1996. On the way back from a Los Angeles - New York trip, I caught the bus at Kennedy airport to go to Manhattan and was seated next to the pilot of my flight. Pure coincidence. So we started chatting. And we hit it off right away.

He was really nice, handsome (of course, any guy in a uniform is handsome) and asked me out for dinner. Sushi it was. Of course, I didn't dare to tell him that I'd never had it before. We were seated around the bar where a little river presented us with the most colorful little things floating by.

I didn't like it. But I didn't tell him. I just swallowed the stuff with liters and liters of water.
I'm also not a ginger girl. I hate ginger. Which is what I discovered then and there.

It took me a while to try sushi again. But I did. And now I truly love it.
I have sushi at least once a week. It is quite affordable in Paris and there is lots of choice.

With thanks to Continental Airlines.

Liberty

2007-09-28T14:47:00.000+02:00

Yesterday was a happy day. Yesterday was the day I took back what is mine; my freedom. Yesterday, I resigned.

Yesterday, I felt 95% happiness and relief and 5% anxiety.
Today, I'm up to 98% and down to 2%.
I'm going for the full 100% this weekend.
Things at work had been bad for a while but I sat it out.
Because when T is not happy with a situation she waits, thinks, observes, thinks again, talks, tries, spills her guts, thinks more and eventually, she takes a decision. Once that decision taken, she doesn't look back. Ever.

It is time for a change. High time. The excellent salary and no-tax scheme blinded me about 3 years ago, when I signed my contract.
Now, I can honestly say that all it has ever done for me is make me unhappy. Very unhappy. I have never felt more demotivated, unrespected and transparent in a job.

I once read that you cannot cage a free bird. And that is exactly how I feel. I am a restless soul. I need change, challenges and adventure in my life. I am 34, healthy, ambitious and I only have two responsiblities: my apartment and my cat. The apartment has been put up for rent and I'm taking Cheyenne with me wherever I go.

I jump, fly and always land on my feet. I have no other job waiting for me, I am playing the adventure-card. Security? No, thank you. I prefer to live life in the fast line. No one, absolutely no one, will decide things for me.

My colleagues have come into my office one by one congratulating me.
I even got a card that read 'you are a true inspiration'.
That is how bad it is here.

I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference.

Right on, Mr. Frost.

Life after death

2007-09-26T13:47:00.000+02:00

I have always had a passion for Egypt. It started in school, when I was about 14. I have been there twice and I know I will always go back. It's a place I can not get enough of.

As well as the beautiful views and impressive art, it is mainly their advanced way of viewing life and death so early on that has always intrigued me.

I guess it must be linked to my mom dying young...

Yesterday, I read that a new wing of Tutankhamun's tomb has just been discovered. The rest of the treasure is exposed in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. I would fly back there just for the weekend to stroll around for hours and hours. Food for the soul.

Cats were considered demi-gods in ancient Egypt. I'm sure Cheyenne would dig that. He already considers himself a full-king. And so do I, to be honest.

I spent Christmas 2006 with my dear friend R doing a cruise on the Nile. My best Christmas ever. We both got back with fond memories. Whenever I look up from my work desk, I have Osiris watching me and R picked up Arabic again...

What am I wearing right now?

2007-09-18T21:14:00.001+02:00

Or rather, what am I not wearing? I've been exhausted lately: big changes, important decisions, lotsa work and a fun but tiring weekend in Zurich. Soooo, when my friend S (http://www.lapagefrancaise.com/) invited me to a blog game entitled 'what are you wearing right now?', I'm afraid all I can answer is: my little black nuisette, as the French so lovingly call it. Just about ready to travel to dreamland.

I love fashion. Always have, always will. Come to think of it, last time I went to see my hairdresser (now famous from my blog), he was telling me about a color analysis. I was intrigued. My sister had done it before and said it was fun, so I thought, why not? I found out that I am a cold person. Cold people should wear anything that is close to blue and white. Warm people should go for yellowish tones. While watching the girl put different colors of tissue around my neck, I caught on rather quickly. It's true that orange, chocolate brown, gold and all other yellow-based colors make me look tired, whereas the cold tones make me look lively and en forme. An interesting experience. And I must admit that since I did it, I buy my clothes differently. I pay a lot more attention to color.

But what I really am is a shoe addict. I haven't counted them lately - I don't dare anymore - but I know that half of them are stuffed in my basement because I just don't know where to put them anymore. I guess I picked up the bug from my friend P while living in NY... and yet, with age, I always seem to end up in sneakers and flip flops.

Looooooooooooooooove jeans, black, sweatpants and silver jewelry too.

Night, night.

La pêche aux canards

2007-09-11T22:23:00.000+02:00

I'm 6 years old. I close my eyes and smell the cotton candy, Belgian waffles and caramel apples. I open them and see my favorite merry-go-round, a scary ghosthouse and a flashy spider spinning around all whilst hopping up and down.

I used to love fun fairs. I still do. I'm 34 now, but I still think back of them with plenty of nostalgia. Paris has a couple of them every year and I'm always the first one to go peak. The last time I went, I came back with a huge teddy bear. My nieces were thrilled.

But to me, there is nothing like the ducks. Thé DUCKS. I used to grab them with my hands instead of a stick when I was really small. Of course I did it when no one was watching, especially dad. All I ever won were cheap plastic dolls and gold-colored bracelets, but it made me happy and it only cost dad 20 Belgian francs.

A long time ago, one could also win goldfish. I had so many, I lost track. But one stuck with me forever. It was a tiny but energetic little fellow. Dad insisted that I always keep the fishbowl clean. So I did. But this one day, while I was cleaning Freddy's house, he slipped out when I poured the water in the sink and he landed right next door, on the... cooking stove... the hot cooking stove. Freddy got grilled right there and then.

I never had another goldfish. But I did have nightmares for 3 weeks.

Nowadays, they can't give them out anymore. Animal protection.

Sometimes I wish I could still go duck fishing.

With thanks to my friend Katrien and her great photographer's eye, especially where ducks are concerned

My favorite joke ever

2007-09-09T16:30:00.000+02:00

A Blonde walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the loan officer. She says she's going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5,000.The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for such a loan, so the Blonde hands over the keys to a new Rolls Royce parked on the street in front of the bank. Everything checks out, and the bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan. An employee drives the Rolls into the bank's underground garage and parks it there.Two weeks later, the Blonde returns, repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41.The loan officer says, "We are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5,000?"The Blonde replied, "Where else in New York can I park my car for two weeks for 15 bucks?"

La Méthode Cauet

2007-09-08T19:47:00.000+02:00

My friend A and I decided to go to the movies today. As we were standing in line to buy tickets, all of a sudden a guy shoved a board in our hands. He was holding a camera and told us: "Nous sommes de La Méthode Cauet - lisez ce qu'il y a sur le panneau et commentez, s.v.p.". Right. So we read. "Have you ever used a sextoy?" it said. What a silly question. "Of course! Every open-minded woman who truly respects herself has used a sextoy", my friend replied.
"Et vous, Madame?" He looked at me and asked to elaborate on my yes-reply. "Me? Oh, I go to great lenghts to get the good quality stuff. You should know that I am a huge fan of Sex and the City. I actually just got back from New York with a rabbit."
And then, we had to sign a form saying that we agreed to pass on national TV next Thursday.

Stuff like that happens to me all the time and I find it absolutely hilarious.
If someone had asked me that question 10 years ago, I would have turned red, run and never looked back.

By the way, the movie was fantastic. '2 days in Paris'. It's a story about a couple; a French girl and an American guy dealing with cultural differences while in Paris. Extremely funny. An absolute must!

Oh, and you know what? I just sold my TV on ebay...
I'm thus counting on my friends here in Paris to let me know how my, hm, performance was.

Tree trunks

2007-09-07T14:30:00.000+02:00

When going for lunch today, I got hit on by 5 enormous guys in the street. Muscles and tattoos all over the place. "Hello there, chérie. Beautiful eyes!" As I ignored them, it dawned on me: we are exactly 5 hours and 26 minutes away from the Rugby World Cup!

I must admit I'm not much of a sports fan. When I lived in Michigan, I went to see a baseball game a couple of times, but it was more for the beer and the pretzels than anything else. Go Tigers!

Soccer is my dad's thing. When I was little and a game was on, the house could have burnt down to the ground, my dad would never have noticed a thing. Same with cycling. Our nation is still very proud of Eddy Merckx and the Tour de France passed in my very own hometown this year. Dad was right there, in the midst of it all.

On a positive note, I do like to go swimming. And once in a while I run around the block a few times but only accompanied by my Ipod.
But you'll never see me do the NY marathon. I'm way to lazy for that.

So I have decided to take salsa classes. I picked up the passion while going out in Miami's South Beach. You basically have no choice over there. All the bars are full of Cubans who grab you off your chair. When guided well, it is truly a pleasure.

I will be on the lookout out for handsome tree trunks in the next couple of weeks... let the games begin!

Our boudoir room at the NY Carlton Arms Hotel

2007-09-07T12:42:00.001+02:00

I want the Apple

2007-09-05T16:21:00.001+02:00

My last day in New York City.
It was all I hoped for and much more.
I just can't get enough of this place.
Almost like having lived here in a previous life.
I recognize people I've never seen, I don't have to look for places I've never been to, my instinct just guides me there.
It is indeed true love. I have tried denying it, fighting it, but I can't anymore.
This is where I want to be, live, work, eat, breathe.
It might be a bit of a bumpy road but I am sure now.
And for those of you who know me well; New York, I will be back to stay. Just watch me.

11, rue des Epinettes

2007-08-30T14:42:00.000+02:00

Meet Bessie

2007-08-30T13:31:00.000+02:00

Why is it that men give their hogs a female name? Most people would probably say - and who could blame them - 'because they ride them, of course!', but I need something more than that. So I started digging.

Here's a thought: a Harley Davidson is beautiful, strong, shiny, loyal and unless you really mess it up, very reliable. Doesn't that sound like a woman to you?

I first met Bessie's master - A - in San Francisco while working as a US tourguide. A bloke full of energy, intelligence and wit. A tourguide too. We hit it off right away and started cruising together.

Now, I've never met Bessie myself. But I knew the gal before her. Or even before hér? A used to take me for rides whenever he got a chance. And boy what a difference from a tourbus or a rental car.

The sun burning on your skin, the wind blowing through your hair. Aaaah, the good old days...

Seeing Sedona, Malibu or even Las Vegas from the back of a hog, well, I still can't think of anything better than that.

So I have decided to fly to San Francisco and meet Bessie.

Get my helmet and leather pants out, A. I'll be over before you know it.

But before I leave, something I've been dying to ask you. In order of importance, how would you rate - from 1 to 4 - with 1 being the most important thing in your life, the following 'life ingredients':

- Bessie
- women

- work

- your mom

And no cheating, please! ;-)

La Belgique: et ça continue...

2007-08-29T16:52:00.000+02:00

Le Monde, mercredi 29 août 2007:

L’ambassadeur de Belgique à Paris, Pierre-Dominique Schmidt, a été relevé de ses fonctions. Un arrêté royal en ce sens a été signé la semaine dernière et doit être publié ce mois-ci par le Moniteur belge.
Il est accusé d’abus de confiance et aurait commis un faux en écriture. Le dossier aurait été transmis au Parquet.

Toujours selon P-Magazine, l’ambassadeur aurait payé des festivités privées avec de l’argent des Affaires étrangères et aurait falsifié des documents pour obtenir davantage d’argent.
L’affaire aurait été mise au jour lorsque la banque Fortis a averti les Affaires étrangères du solde négatif du compte bancaire de l’ambassade, qui aurait été gelé lorsqu’il a atteint 75.000 euros. Une fausse lettre attestant d’une soi-disant garantie de la part des Affaires étrangères pour obtenir une rallonge de crédit aurait aussi été écrite.

Le porte-parole du SPF Affaires étrangères a confirmé la décision de relever de ses fonctions l’ambassadeur de Belgique à Paris, Pierre-Dominique Schmidt, et de le rappeler à Bruxelles, « dans l’intérêt du service », selon les termes administratifs utilisés.

J-2

2007-08-29T11:12:00.000+02:00

I'm crazy in love. It's a passionate story.
Me and New York City.
Beauty, energy, class. Nothing like it.

I grew up in the Big Apple. Arrived at the age of 22 and stayed for a couple of years. There are places in the world where you just know you are happy. That is the feeling I get every time I go to New York.

We are having a girl-reunion, A, R and me. Sipping coffee in Starbucks, reading books at Borders, dining in my friends' Belgian B. Café, biking in Central Park, savoring cheesecake at Eileen's, shopping at BeBe, Victoria's Secret and Bath & Body works. I have my habits in New York.

I'm a city girl. Love the hustle and bustle of it all.

Or as NY cabdriver once told me: 'Vietnam war is finished but 6th Avenue construction is never finished.'

New York, get ready, here I come!

Belgium no more?

2007-08-28T10:14:00.000+02:00

For being such a tiny country, it is becoming a huge mess.

First things first. For those who are not all that familiar with my homeland, here is a brief picture. Split Belgium in 2 even parts horizontally: up north you get the Flemish who speak Dutch, down south you get the Walloons who speak French. 10 million inhabitants of which 60% are Flemish.

Belgium became independent in 1830 after having been occupied by Austria, Spain, France and the Netherlands - they were all after us. But we fought back.

The Flemish and the Walloons don't get along. They never really did. It is a cultural as well as an economic problem. Or maybe it's just a problem of not knowing each other and not caring about it.

A century ago, there were more than 300 coal mines in Wallonia and in the 1950s the mines still employed about 120,000 workers. The south was a lot wealthier than the north.
But the situation turned around when Flanders started setting up its own businesses, which soon flourished . Today, Flanders is a lot better off economically than Wallonia.
Wallonia has a high rate of unemployment and so the Flemish - who like money and are big savers, it has to be said - are becoming very tired of financing their poor counterpart.

Then, there is the cultural and language barrier. People simply refuse to understand each other. It's not that they don't - at least not my generation -, it's that they are too stubborn. "The Walloons should adjust and speak Flemish once in a while", the Flemish say. "The Flemish should adjust and speak French once in a while", the Walloons say. A never-ending story.

And last but not least: Brussels. Our - and the European Union's - capital. A complicated matter. Brussels is located in Flanders but yet 80% of its population is French-speaking. So what to do with it if Belgium ever split up?

And we are getting dangerously close to a break-up.
Just recently, I read in a Belgian newspaper online that they had done a survey in Belgium: 'who wants the country to split up with Flanders joining the Netherlands and Wallonia joining France?' 53% were in favor...!

I thought that people from my generation would come to their senses. But it seems that things are only getting worse. Forget the happily-ever-after, we are heading straight for the brick wall.
And the politicians sit, watch and sometimes make it worse. One has to be honest, as long as the problem exists, most of them will keep their jobs. A simple and sad reality.

I left Belgium when I was 21 and haven't lived there since, apart from regular family visits. Looking at things from a distance now, I realize that it's - despite all the problems - still a damn good place to live. People are friendly, they know how to enjoy themselves, they like to chat, eat and drink and they smile a lot. They are bright but they don't feel like they have to prove it to the world. They remain humble but confident and prefer action over words. They are positive and don't take themselves too seriously. And they are hard workers.

Let us resolve this crisis soon, form a government and get on with life. And if all else fails... move to Paris, like me! ;-)

Ze French

2007-08-25T23:05:00.001+02:00

Feed me or I'll jump!

2007-08-23T17:00:00.000+02:00

Never a bad hairday

2007-08-23T13:32:00.000+02:00

My hairdresser is sweet, gorgeous, 23, gay and extremely professional. Come to think of it, he's the best hairdresser I've ever had. Forget New York, London or Milan, Medley (formerly Headscape) in the Marais is thé place to be. Ask for Sacha.

When I first met Sacha, he said: "copper, we must do copper on you". I like it when people are sure of themselves. Especially hairdressers. So we did copper and I just knew it was him. Since then, I've gone black, brown, red & brown, brown & copper and as off yesterday I'm now officially a redhead.

I get fed up with my hairdo very fast and give Sacha carte blanche most of the time. He loves it and I trust him 100%. On my birthday last May, I told him I wanted something completely different, so he proposed a coupe surprise. I had no idea what color he put on and when he started cutting he installed me in the middle of the salon with no mirror. The outcome was very rock & roll. Fabulous. Young. Funky.

I will not stay loyal to my salon, but I will stay loyal to Sacha. I've told him that I will follow him to the end of the world, go with him near and far, travel with him day and night.

He's crazy about his job and I love passionate people.

But here's something funny. When I went there last night, Sacha told me he'd been to Djerba. "Really? Me too.", I said. "Which hotel?". "Haroun". "Really, me too." And when I got round to telling him about Ali, he knew exactly who I was talking about. It seems one of his girlfriends he traveled with had ended up in Ali's hands as well... It's a small world.

Sacha, I officially declare you the best hairdresser in the world. I will never leave you. You are the best.

A wee bit of nostalgia

2007-08-21T12:07:00.000+02:00

K and I go way back. All the way to 1995. I was living and working as an au pair in the USA. She arrived 6 months into my stay and we hit it off right away.

M was there too: Austrian, to-the-point and witty. A great gal.

We stuck together like glue. 3 Europeans in the American Midwest.

The state of Michigan is not exactly your main tourist attraction but it worked for us. We took care of 8 children combined, but left with the family car as soon as it all got too much.

I had clearly told the agency in Belgium that I did not want to go to a big city and be surrounded by other au pairs. My aim was to live the real American life with as few Europeans around me as possible.

So they sent me to Midland. Freezing cold winters, deadly hot summers. Not all that exciting but a great place to live. For fun, booze and laughter we went to Bay City, Saginaw or even Chicago.

I had the time of my life. 21 years old, fresh out of school and oh so innocent. But that quickly changed.

And what was supposed to be 1 year in the USA turned out to be 6...

Ever since, K and I have met up yearly. Most of the time in Scotland, where she is from. A beautiful country with friendly people but bloody cold summers. She has introduced me to Noddy, her dad-in-a-kilt, haggis and driving left.

Here's to Campsie Glen, K! And to you, with love.

Torn (hilarious sign language version)

2007-08-20T11:36:00.000+02:00

Je t'aime moi non plus

2007-08-20T10:43:00.000+02:00

J'aime beaucoup Paris en été. Et surtout au mois d'août. La ville est vidée de ses habitants et ça fait du bien. Ceux qui sont là sont souriants, agréables et ils prennent tout simplement le temps de vivre. Le stress du train-train quotidien devient inexistant et on respire. Un regard absent devient un regard vrai, intense. Les dragueurs sont en pleine forme.

Mon bâtiment est vide. Je divise mon temps entre 3 voisins absents. Je m'occupe des plantes et des chats. Je cours d'un étage à l'autre et cela m'amuse. Les plantes poussent et les chats sont contents.

C'est vrai qu'on a de la chance dans ce pays. 5 semaines de vacances minimum par an. Ensuite il y a les jours fériés, les ponts, les congés exceptionnels. De quoi pouvoir profiter de la vie, voyager, dormir, se promener. Pour l'instant, nous sommes 3 au bureau. Dolce farniente.

Cette année, j'ai décidé de prendre mes vacances en 2 parties: la Tunisie et l'Ecosse en juillet et New York début septembre. Cette formule me plaît et je pense faire pareil en 2008.
Les vacances en France, c'est toute une culture...

J'aime Paris et je déteste Paris. Comme pas mal de Parisiens.

Wise words

2007-08-15T15:31:00.000+02:00

From: 'Follow your Heart' by Susanna Tamaro

Take care of yourself. As you grow up, you'll often get the urge to change things, to right wrongs, but every time you do, remember that the first revolution, the first and the most important, has to take place within yourself. Fighting for an idea without having an idea of yourself is one of the most dangerous things you can do.

Every time you feel lost, confused, think about trees, remember how they grow. Remember that a tree with lots of branches and few roots will get toppled by the first strong wind, while the sap hardly moves in a tree with many roots and few branches. Roots and branches must grow in equal measure, you have to stand both inside of things and above them, because only then will you be able to cover yourself with leaves and fruit at the proper season.

And later on, when so many roads open up before you, you don't know which to take, don't pick one at random; sit down and wait. Breathe deeply, trustingly, the way you breathed on the day when you came into the world, don't let anything distract you, wait and wait some more. Stay still, be quiet and listen to your heart. Then, when it speaks, get up and go where it takes you.

Home sweet home

2007-08-14T15:10:00.001+02:00

The cat in the hat

2007-08-14T13:34:00.000+02:00

"You simply must ask for Docteur François!". That was my neighbor on a Tuesday. On Wednesday, a friend who lives closeby said: "Are you still looking for a new vet for Cheyenne? Docteur François is the man".

Cheyenne is my treasure. The King of all Cats. He is cute, funny and tender. But he has an obsession: food.

On Thursday, I stop by the office to fix an appointment for the next day: "Docteur François est en congés. Je vous mettrai avec Docteur Lenoir, his replacement."

Docteur Lenoir is young, shy and very, very serious. Just out of school, I imagine. I want to break the ice by trying to be funny, but I guess I'll have to come back some other time for that.

"Madame, votre chat est obèse. He will need to go on a diet. 30 grams of light food a day and green beans à volonté." I go into shock.

Cheyenne just sits there and stares at me, trembling like a leaf. He's lost half of his coat by now, a result of pure stress.

Poor darling.

I look at the vet and say: "Docteur, he has no clue what you're talking about. He does not understand French. I will explain things to him when we get home. Quietly and calmly. In Flemish."

By now, the guy thinks I'm nuts. I've been talking to Cheyenne non-stop, with a high-pitched voice, in my mother tongue which to him must sound like a girl on speed.

So yesterday, I went to buy the food. And there he was, Docteur François... My friends were right and their description completely accurate. Handsome, friendly, ocean-blue eyes, souriant and oooh so married.

Cheyenne has not decided yet whether he likes the beans or not, but I clearly explained to him that his 'Shrek-look' will not save him anymore. I put my foot down. "You're only six and maman still wants to keep you for a long long time. We have to get you healthy and toned."

Cheyenne, Mister Paris in a couple of months. You'll see.

(update 15 August 2007: Cheyenne does not like green beans... at all)

Lose hands

2007-08-08T14:00:00.000+02:00

I love massages. I absolutely, truly adore them. They make me sleepy, happy, they put my head up in the clouds and most of the time I just doze off after a while. Until the famous "Madame, ça y est, c'est fini" wakes me up, of course. But that is Paris for you: when the next customer arrives, off you go.
Not in Asia. Bangkok is thé place to be for excellent massage service. When traveling through the area a couple of years ago, I would get up at 9am every morning, get the equivalent of about 5 Euros out of my pocket and go for a 2-hour massage. Pure heaven. And that's where I got hooked.

My friends offered me a massage for my 34th birthday. I had secretly hoped for it and was thrilled to have my wish come true. Indian music, deliciously smelling oils, aaaah, what more can a gal wish for...?

And then I decided to go to Tunisia on a thalasso holiday. Ever done one of those? Hammam, algue therapy, mint tea, scrubs. Yummy.
That is, until I was put in the hands of - let's call him Ali. Ali was cute, smiley, friendly and very motivated. Ali guided me into this tiny little massage room where I got on the table expecting only the best. Ali was very confident in his movements. A firm hand that touches you to the bone. As I was dozing off he asked me: "Are you married?". I should have seen it coming. But in my relaxed, vegetative state I didn't think much about it and said no. Wrong answer. To Ali it was crystal clear that I had come to Tunisia for some TLC (Tender Love and Care).

From the next day on, I put down a request for 'women only' masseurs. And got them.

But I'm sure Ali got over it. He probably pops his famous question every single day hoping to get lucky...

A glorious day

2007-08-07T15:58:00.000+02:00

Today is Tuesday 7 August 2007 and it is truly a glorious day...
Welcome to Blog and the City!
It will house fun, laughter, joy and probably also a bit of sadness and despair from time to time.
Writing is one of my most favorite things to do, so keep coming back.
I promise I will make you laugh and cry, shout and dream.
And don't forget to add your comments. They will keep me going.

Mesdames, messieurs, let the blogging begin...!

From Funky Cheyenne, with love