An odd night for a Spanish woman in Europe.

17/08/2009

            We wake up and go to the lobby of the hostel. We talk about what we did the night before. We go upstairs and a few of us bring the small sandwiches that we ate the day before for breakfast, and some water sparkling and otherwise. We talk about traveling and other such things and are given 10 voyage passes that may be transferred unlimited times within the hour.

            We dig into the sandwiches. One really good one is the bloody roast beef, which is eaten by taking the cheese off of another sandwich, eating that roll, and then eating the new beef and Gouda sandwich.

            A large woman with a slight British accent enters during lunch and talks with the coordinator, a young woman named Emily. A significantly skinnier girl comes into the room looking rushed and takes most of the class away to teach those without any experience a little French. We are left with the large woman, who speaks to us in French for a little while and then we play some games obviously intended to test our ability. We first go around and say I’m traveling in Belgium and in my suitcase there is…We go in a circle and list things, including everything previously mentioned. The first 20 or so things are pretty conducive to Belgium or at least traveling, but it quickly deteriorates to Hippos and stoplights. It becomes harder to remember the order and items exponentially. Then we make up sketches for the other group. We make things that we think that they can have fun with. But they decide to be dignified, and any potential of our skits is dashed. The professor leaves and we are each given a French dictionary with a section for romantic phrases, which of course we all find independently and within 30 seconds of receiving the books. Mine is to be left in the room of our hostel.

            We talk more about traveling and safety, and we are given phones. They are used; mine has no credit on it. I fall asleep while they are talking about area codes and how to dial us from the US. The room is hot and I am jetlagged, so I don’t feel sorry. After we finish talking we take our metro cards and prepare to go to the last open-air brewery in Belgium. On the way we see a man in a Fifty Cent shirt with his pants around his knees, shaking to support the weight of the chain around his neck, leaning against his cane. He is my favorite person in Brussels.

            The brewery is a large building in the working district of Brussels. We pull open a garage door and enter. There is a huge space, with the sigh of the brewery “Cantillon” above an area for tasting. We are given a tour of large mixing machines, thousands of bottles stacked against walls after being corked, big oak barrels, fermenting pans as big as our hostel floor, and various mashing pumping and boiling instruments. We are told that they do not use brewer’s yeast, but let the air ferment the barley, which they can do because they only brew for a few months in the winter when the beer bacteria and not the vinegar bacteria are floating around. They also explain that the wood in the brewery contains the bacteria needed, and so only former open-air breweries can do this. If the place every burns, then they are sunk forever. They take us through the steps and show us the storage rooms. It smells exactly like a winery. We are told that it takes 3 years for the lambic to ferment, and when it does, it is sour, because none of the sugar is left and flat because the carbonation does not occur. During this time the owner goes into how when the Americans brought Coca-Cola all of the humanity left beer. He goes through the history of beer. Women as it turns out, invented beer. They made it sour and flat and it was that way of over ten thousand years. We clap and go to the tasting. We try some Gueuse, made from a 1,2, and 3-year-old batch, and a kreik made by throwing sour cherries into the beer after 2 years. I like the Gueuse, which is like drinking a thick lemon. I debate whether or not to pay an extra 2 euro to try the lambic. The choice is made for me, we are leaving, and the owner is dealing with some other tourists.

            I take a shower and a nap and we go out to find some falafel. It is cheap and delicious, and gives me the worst stomach cramp I’ve had in a long while. We go for drinks afterwards and  after a few beers I am ready to go to sleep. We walk around for awhile though, and when someone else suggests that they will go home, I take the opportunity to leave also. We pass by my roommate that I never see and I persuade him to give me his room key since I’ve lost mine. He sings with a friend and pees on a wall after I take it. I say good night and go to take a shower. I walk out in just a towel and I am greeted by the door opening. I look over and am greeted by a woman, naked from the waist down with her pants around her ankles. She yells, but doesn’t move. By the time she screamed I had already turned around, but I can’t help but laugh. Some other people with their clothes on run past me to get to her, apparently they are acquainted. They yell in Spanish and I walk back to my room. When I turn the corner one apologizes in Spanish. “De nada!” I am already halfway in my room. I put some pants on and go to sleep.