Feet under the table

OK, I've been here six months now and life in general is seeming less alien to me. I've started Dutch lessons, I have a car that is happy to drive on the wrong, oops, right side of the road (I did scare a lot of locals when I moved here). I don't buckle at the knees when I'm asked 'Hoe gaat het met u?' and I know the best cure for a hang-over is frietjes met stoofvlees sauce. In a word life is good, in two words heel goed !

Not long after moving to Belgium I joined an ex-pat group in Brussels and although I wasn't sharing similar experiences to many of the members, many come here on short term work contracts (I'm here for the duration), I was given some very good advice from an ex-citizen of Madagascar. And that was to expect to feel home sick, then displaced, then at home. I'm in my second stage of settlement. I love living here but feel on holiday, when I recently returned to the UK I also loved it, but felt on holiday too.

Where is home?! Here everything is exciting, you throw yourself into every new experience as if you were on a package holiday. Salsa classes, balloon trips, food tasting and village festivals (another story altogether), they are all so appealing, ”yes, sign me up Red-Coat!”. And in the UK too, English pubs seem quaint, fish and chips shops nostalgic and miserable Post Office staff amusing. At the moment I'd say I'm a European tourist.

I have my feet unfirmly 'onder de tafel'. But watch this space!




Aalst U Blieft