Wrapping It All Up

The end of the school year is rapidly coming to a close here in Belgium and as such, the procession of projects, art work and papers are making their way home by the armful. While I feel as though I'm being inundated with paper that we must keep ("because it is all important work"), the process has been enlightening and has provided me with insight as to what Sidney has been doing all year. Because up until this point, with the exception of a few rare glimpses, I've been pretty much in the dark.

I've loved our experience with Sidney's Belgian pre-school. While many things are different and what I call quirkier than what I would expect from an American school, he has been happy, has made friends and has been fortunate to have strict but loving teachers. And most importantly, after a year and a half of attending, he professes to love school and is sad that the year is winding down. Communication between the school and parents has been virtually nonexistent, however, so I've struggled to figure out exactly what Sidney is learning or doing on a daily basis. (Despite seeing his teacher twice a day communication is essentially limited to notices that are put into his communication notebook. If we have concerns we are encouraged to raise them but rarely are issues actually brought to us as parents. Its a much different approach than the American over involved, over communication approach and I've adjusted for the most part. It appears that this is just the Belgian way). But, with the avalanche of papers coming home I'm getting a fuller picture of what Sidney has been doing all year and I must say, I'm quite impressed.

There is something to be said for receiving an entire year's worth of school work at one time. I can clearly mark Sidney's progress from September through June, watching his handwriting go from shaking and quite undecipherable to clear and confident. The same goes for his artwork; paintings and drawings from the spring are clearly identifiable. But what has impressed me the most is what he has clearly learned. His lessons are entirely in French, leaving me to wonder how much he is able to read and write. After perusing the pile of papers, my answer is that yes, Sidney can read and write in French at an ability clearly beyond mine. But it is the way he has learned that I'm most in awe about since it is a world away from the Dick, Jane, Sally (Spot and Puff) characters I learned with. Last fall the focus was on the outdoors with the class taking a field trip to some Belgian caves. The lesson clearly extended beyond the day at the caves since Sidney brought home intricate work where he labeled the components of caves as well as trees, leaves, mushrooms and plants. All of this was done in French of course and as we reviewed his work he reiterated what I was looking at by reading each label in perfectly accented French. Fall gave way to winter with the Christmas and Carnival holidays being diagramed. Spring brought snails and tadpoles as well as a several month unit on Vincent Van Gogh and Mons 2015. Each lesson included art work, writing exercises in both printed and cursive script, word searches and crossword puzzles and activities testing spacial and hand-eye coordination. All in all, its quite impressive. Back in September I never would have thought that my son would be able to correctly diagram the anatomy of a snail, discuss the lifecycle of an egg, and correct me when I confuse stalagmites with stalactites.

So now my little boy in on the verge of entering first grade (in a bi-lingual French-English program this time). Sidney has visited his new school, met the principal and asked the all important question of where he will eat his snack and lunch. (He also asked, in French, how much of his day would be spent speaking French and how much would be spent speaking English). But first we have six short weeks of summer vacation. It will include French camp, a three country family road trip and time to simply hang out and enjoy living at a slower pace. We can't wait.

O' Canada

As a parent I often find myself wondering whether or not I am making the right choices for my son. Some decisions--what's for dinner, whether or not to go to the playground or what to wear are minor ones. Some days (or moments) my decisions might not make him happy but the choices do not have lasting results. Others are a bit trickier--such as discouraging a budding friendship that doesn't seem healthy or encouraging him to try a new sport or activity (I'm looking at you swim lessons). The consequences are not necessarily life altering but do effect him longer than the wrong colored shirt does. But then there are the big ones. These are the choices that are life changing and do stay with you forever. And the big, life changing decision for our household in recent months has been that of school choice since in reality, the decision we make know will effect him for the rest of his life.

Sometimes having multiple options is harder than having none at all. After all, with limited choices you power ahead and make the best of it. Here in Belgium we are fortunate to find ourselves in the situation of having several options when it comes to enrolling Sidney in elementary school. As Americans, the obvious choice might be the American section of the international school on base. It is by far the largest school and the one that most people, regardless of their nationality (with a few exceptions of course), naturally gravitate too. There is also the Belgian option, which is actually two separate options really. We could enroll Sidney in our local commune school where his peers would be all Belgian children or the Belgian section of the international school on base which is a combination of local children whose parents work on base and more adventurous internationals. And then there are the other smaller international sections on base which are hosted by various NATO countries with the intent of educating their own students as well as a handful of students from other countries. (Of course there is also the home schooling option as well but for a variety of reasons, including both my and Sidney's sanity, that really isn't an option). So what is a parent to do?

Making educational decisions for your children is such a personal choice. What works for some doesn't necessarily work for others and vice versa. This isn't a good or bad thing; rather it is simply reality. But as a family we've never been people to blindly follow the crowd and opt for the easy choice, so over the past few months we've been doing a lot of school research. Because of this, the obvious choice wasn't so obvious for us. Blessed/cursed with a November birthday, enrolling Sidney at the American school would place him in kindergarten for the upcoming year. But, having spent the past year and a half at the Belgian kindergarten, he would essentially be repeating this past year's curriculum with the biggest difference being everything being done in English rather than French. Due to his pesky birth date, there is no negotiating his being bumped up to the first grade regardless of his abilities. So the repeated curriculum,  combined with large class sizes and my general unhappiness with the school when it comes to communication, had us exploring the alternatives. All of our other alternatives had him skipping kindergarten and moving right into first grade which raised another set of lasting issues. For us, the curriculum is more important than the grade number, but what would always being the youngest student in his class do to him? Sidney's aptitude for the French language had us exploring Belgian schools. My French ability, while increasing, is still limited making me uncomfortable about my own ability to speak the language with his teachers. But, as parents you put aside your own discomforts and do what is best for your child.

A first look at the Belgian options looked promising with a curriculum that would be both challenging and reinforce his budding French capabilities. Then I discovered the close to home bi-lingual option of the Canadian school on base. The program was bilingual and everyone I spoke with absolutely adored the school and the education their children were receiving. The school has small class sizes (a plus for an easily bored and distracted boy), a curriculum that emphasizes music, art and physical educational (subjects that have been downsized into virtual nonexistence in too many American schools) as well as the traditional subjects. Field trips and experiential learning are a regular part of the academic program. Plus the combination of English and French instruction would allow Sidney to continue learning French while honing his English language understanding. (Never having lived or gone to school in an English speaking community has wrecked havoc on his grammar). The more we learned about the school the more we wanted to be a part of it. So the minute the application process opened up we submitted our application then crossed our fingers and waited.

But because I am one who believes in contingency plans, I continued looking into our options. The waiting list for the British school immediately eliminated it as a possibility so I returned to investigating the Belgian options. With the assistance of Google translate, I toggled between the French and poorly translated English pages and liked what (I think) I saw. The Belgian school looked like a viable option should the Canadian school not work out. Sidney even visited the Belgian school with his kindergarten class and reported back that it "was fun, they had great snacks (waffles of course) and that one kid even spoke English". I was ever gearing myself up to attend a parent orientation. It felt great to have two viable options where we would be happy regardless of the outcome. And then our acceptance letter for the Canadian school arrived.

After we did our happy dance and breathed a sigh of relief, the reality began to sink in. While the rest of his five year-almost six year old peers are entering kindergarten our little boy will be starting first grade this fall. How did this happen? Academically he's up for the task but we are setting the stage for his always being the youngest child in his class. This isn't necessarily a bad thing but combined with his small size, I have to wonder whether he will be at a disadvantage in the years to come. Are we making a mistake? A small part of me wonders, but at the moment the advantages far outweigh any doubts we may have. So we are plowing forward. Communication from the school is flowing in and the planner in me loves the fact we already have both a supply list and the academic calendar for the coming year. As a new student Sidney has been paired with a second grade "school buddy" who will welcome him on the first day of school and show him the ropes. Over the next two years Sidney will truly master the French language and this will stay with him for the rest of his life. He'll make new friends and experience and see things that we never dreamed of when we were his age. And he will also be learning English which will make his inevitable transition back to the United States easier.

Are we making the right decision? We think so but only time will tell. I know it won't be all fun and roses and there will be inevitable bumps in the road. But what I can say with confidence is that I am excited about the opportunities that lie ahead for the next two years. They are opportunities I could only have dreamed about as a student. Sidney may not fully appreciate them at the moment but I hope that some day he does. In the meantime, come August he will be a first grade student at the Canadian school complete with swim lessons in gym class (bonus!), new bi-lingual friends and a moose for a school mascot.

Did I mention that I am excited?

Guests In A Foreign Land

Today is another day of national strikes here in Belgium and more than ever I reminded that while I live here, I am not from here. Rather, I am a guest in a foreign land and because of that it is not my place to call into question, criticize or be disrespectful of the way Belgians live their lives. Facebook has once again been abuzz over the past few days about the strikes, what is open or closed, how inconvenient it all is and even how unfair it is to us foreigners since it isn't our problem. Statements like these make me shudder and frankly, I find them embarrassing. Because like I said, we are merely guests here and as guests, we need to respect our hosts whether we agree with them or not. And this attitude serves me (and other guests) well not only today but on every day that we call Belgium (or any other city or country) our temporary home.

For me the best thing about living abroad is experiencing living abroad. This includes the good and bad, familiar (if it exists) and the foreign. I mean, as Americans (or insert whatever nationality is applicable here), what is the purpose of moving overseas if we try to recreate a little American community for ourselves in our new home. All too often I hear people complaining about how bad things are where they are living yet the "bad" is more like different than what they are used to. This criticism is hardly fair since the American way isn't necessarily the "right" way of doing things. (Hardly). I know that some people move under duress with no real desire to experience a foreign community. They may come because of their job, their spouse's job or other circumstances that they feel they have no control over. This may or may not be the reality but it is their reality and regardless of one's circumstances, that does not excuse them from being respectful of and observing the customs of their new, albeit temporary, homes.

Perhaps I'm just feeling a bit peevish today but I am tired of hearing people complain about our host country. There is a strange sense of self righteousness amongst some people who feel as though they deserve special treatment because.....well...I'm not sure. Some feel as though they should be exempt from following the rules and laws of the country, that they shouldn't be temporarily inconvenienced by events (such as today's strikes) or even have to deal with circumstances they are unfamiliar with. There are complaints that houses are too old or small, the roads too narrow and parking is difficult. I hear that everything from food to electricity to fuel is too expensive here.

Maybe all of this true or maybe it isn't. What we need to remember is that we are living here temporarily while this is a permanent home to people who are from here. While unemployment rates in Belgium are soaring, we are here because someone in our family has a job. Many of us are lucky enough to be able to buy food and fuel on a tax free basis while Belgians must pay even more than we do. So rather than expecting the locals to adjust to my expectations, I feel as though I should adjust to theirs. It is the least I can do. I shouldn't expect them to speak English because that is my language, rather I should (and am) attempting to learn theirs. My not being able to find a favorite food item in the grocery store doesn't mean the store is inadequate, rather I need to seek out a local equivalent (if it exists), tap into my other resources to find it or do without. If shop hours aren't convenient for me or the customer service isn't at the same levels of what I am accustomed to, that is my problem and not a deficiency with the country. If I think the roads are too narrow maybe I need to be driving a smaller car.  But just think; if so many people have all of these complaints about living here, imagine what the locals think of us.

Like I said, perhaps I am feeling a bit peevish today. But if others can freely complain about what they don't like about living overseas, then I can talk about what I think is wrong with their behavior. Call it my own small counter protest on a day of national protest.

And Then It Just Clicked

People say it takes a good six to nine months to settle in and acclimate when you move to a new country. It doesn't matter how many times you've done it before; with each move comes the need to reestablish routines, find your way around, make new friends and generally figure out how to do things in this foreign place you call your new home. Experts call this the cross-cultural adjustment cycle. Having gone through it more than once I call it the roller coaster of hell. There are ups, downs and more ups (hopefully) before you level out and find your comfort zone.

The first phase of the cycle is the honeymoon period where the newness of everything is exciting; you may not understand how to go about daily life but since it is new, it is all an adventure. But soon the newness turns into cultural shock and adjustment as you struggle to figure out how to manage and live your life in your new environment. While acclimating even the most basic of tasks become chores and frankly, it is just plain exhausting. This phase is often accompanied by mental and physical isolation from the world that you know. (This is repeatedly my roller coaster of hell phase). But once you reach the other side, things are so much better. Here you find acceptance and integration into your new environment. The pieces begin to fall into place and your new world starts to make sense. It is the blissful place to be before the final stages of the cycle---return anxiety and reintegration to the place you call home--make their appearance. Fortunately for me, these final stages of my Belgian life are still several years away. Because right now I am focusing on my acceptance and integration phase of Belgian life, which is a place that I only reached within the past couple of weeks.

Frankly this past spring, and even a part of the summer, were a struggle. Between finding and moving into a house, receiving our household items from both Albania and long term storage in the United States and figuring out what we needed to buy to make our house a home, these past months were just frustrating and tiring. Add in the adjustment of a new school, new job and new routine and I feel like we had more downs than ups. We got a brief reprieve by spending a good chunk of the summer back in the U.S. but returning to Belgium and a new school year involved readjusting to our "real" life all over again.

But gradually things just fell into place. The daily and weekly schedule of school, work and activities started to make sense and feel comfortable. The new school year has brought about a new class for Sidney with a nicer teacher, better behaved classmates and more opportunities. Activities for the entire family have us getting out and enjoying our hobbies both as a family and individually. The quirkiness of Belgium that I spent months trying to figure out is suddenly making sense to me because I am simply accepting it for what it is: the Belgian way of doing things.

All of this dawned on me the other day as I was stuck in traffic. (Americans complain about the traffic in Belgium but after living in major metropolitan areas along the East Coast, even on the worst of days the traffic here is nothing). As I sat there taking in the long line of cars, cargo trailers and tractors vying for the same narrow lane, I suddenly felt at home. It helped that I knew which turn to make to avoid the worst of the traffic but it was more than that. I realized that our family routine is now smooth and when hiccups do occur, we take them in stride. We all have places to go each day and enjoy our time spent there. My French is still very shaky at best but I am comfortable enough to talk and ask my way around most situations. We're continuing to make more friends and now having been here since the beginning of the year, can offer assistance and advice to people who have only recently arrived. I've found my groove as has Glenn and Sidney. Belgium is suddenly feeling like home. And that is the most wonderful feeling of all.

Because.....You're Just Supposed To Know....

.......The longer we are in Belgium the more I'm realizing that this is the way it is here. Forget clear signage, instructions or directions (in any language) directing you on how to find an item, how to complete a task or where you can locate a site. These guides seem to simply not exist with any consistency in our little part of Belgium. Rather, you are just suppose to know how to do it. Some days this lack of clarity is frustrating while on others I simply shrug and embrace it for what it is--Belgian life.

Perhaps I am still too accustomed to the American way of labeling--even over labeling-- everything. In America signs inform you of an impending turn miles before it actually appears; here in Belgium the sign, if it even exists will simply tell you to turn now. If you are in the wrong lane or unprepared, well, that is your fault. Or signs might lead you through several intersections before disappearing all together at others leaving you to wonder where you should turn next. Exact addresses are equally vague. Yes in urban areas there are street numbers, if you can see them, but more often than not billboards will simply tell you to take a certain road in one direction (in our case either towards Paris or Brussels if we are on the main highway) then to turn onto a specific road. After that you are on your own so you had better be on the lookout for your destination since it may be a few yards or a few miles down the road. When out driving through the country street numbers seem to disappear and you must rely on a sense of what is right or in my case all too often, wrong. And if we are lucky enough to have an actual street name and number, more often than not our newly updated GPS doesn't even recognize it. We've taken to studying Google maps before leaving home then looking for familiar sights along the way. Sometimes it works; but then again other times it doesn't. Of course, once we figure out where we are going it is very simple making me feel foolish that I was confused in the first place.

But my problems aren't limited to the roads. Take stores for example. I've always carried my own grocery bags with me so it was never a problem, but here in Belgium you must either bring your own or purchase reusable ones at the cash register. There isn't a sign telling you this; rather if you are so unfortunate as to end up at the register without your own bags and don't want to spend the money on buying them, you are forced to dump everything back in your cart and push it out to your car. So if no one prepared you beforehand, you could be in for a rather messy or heavy surprise. But beyond the bag issue, in most larger stores in general I have found there to be a definite lack of signage. Even knowing how to say something in French doesn't really help me much. I've learned that the key to survival is forgetting my American logic of where something should be and taking the time to learn the layout of each particular store. In the mega sports store, don't expect shoes to be in a single section. Rather soccer cleats for athletes of all ages are in the soccer section, running shoes in the running section and bicycle footwear in the bicycle section. There is a certain kind of logic to it all but I have yet to figure out where  everyday, non-specialized sport, sneakers are located. And when I asked? My question was met with a stare, shrug and sputter of "non".

Even on SHAPE, an international military base that I (somewhat naively) assumed was organized with military precision, I find myself running into confusing situations where I am "just supposed to know" what to do. Who knew that the directions for submitting a claim for a VAT (tax) refund, which are clearly laid out on the base's main website, applied to everyone except the Americans? They certainly don't tell you this on the site. We apparently have another set of rules, forms to fill out and procedures to follow. They aren't hard but how are you supposed to know what to do? Wait, that's right. You are just supposed to know...........

A Fish Out Of Water

Recently I've been feeling a bit like a fish out of water. I feel like I'm in limbo and don't really have a community to call my own. Maybe its because we recently moved (if you can call five months ago recent) and I have yet to find my niche. But as I look around me I find myself wondering just what my new "community" will be. Atypical of most military postings, there isn't a spouse group associated with Glenn's command. Add in the fact that I'm not working and Sidney attends a school without a PTA or other parent's group where I could easily meet my peers, and I'm actually finding it quite difficult to meet like minded people. Because from where I'm sitting, I really don't see a whole lot of people like me. That's not to say that I need to be surrounded by people like myself; rather I want to find at least a few people with whom I share similar interests and values.

I've had civilian friends tell me that by being a part of a military community I must be surrounded by people like myself. In a superficial sense this is true; we are all families who get uprooted every few years, understand than most the true costs of your country being at "war", and therefore can offer support to one another. This is most often the case. But just as our country is diverse, so is our military. Ethnically, spiritually, politically and yes, socio-economically we have variety. Add in the fact we are in an international military environment and the current level of diversity surrounding me so that much greater. Amidst all of this I'm finding myself feeling quite alone.

The American footprint here in Mons is much smaller than I expected and from what I've experienced, it is nothing like the close group of friends we've had at other duty stations. I feel as though the American community here is younger, more openly Christian and a lot more conservative than I am comfortable with. Now I'm not begrudging anyone their individual freedom to be open about these qualities but to be honest, they just aren't qualities I am comfortable with. I keep telling myself that there have to be fellow Americans here whose beliefs are more closely aligned to mine but I have yet to find them. I'm looking though.

And then there is the international community whom I do feel more comfortable around. Despite my inability to speak French in a meaningful way I find the greatest pleasure in interacting with them. Whether it be fellow parents at Sidney's school or Belgians in the community, this is where I am more comfortable. But I have yet to make a strong connection with anyone. But again, I'm looking.

And if I keep looking I'm eventually going to find what I'm looking for. Right? So, friend wanted. Must be socially and culturally open minded, enjoy good food and even better wine, have a spirit for adventure and love to explore. Parents of young children optional but a bonus. Any takers?

Fireworks & All That American Jazz

A towering cone of cotton candy: the
verdict? Sweet. And sticky

Last night was a first for us; on what was our fourth Independence Day spent overseas, we attended our first "real" 4th of July celebration. And by real I mean all of the food, games, festivities and of course fireworks that I remember from the Independence Days of my childhood. The celebration wasn't huge but it gave us the little piece of home that we didn't quite realize we were missing. And, most importantly and my absolute favorite part of the night, was introducing Sidney to his first All-American celebration. And that was pretty amazing.

Even when we were in the United States, we weren't carnival or fair people but last night's small dose of Americana was pretty darn nice. A portion of the base had been transformed into a fair grounds with super sized tents, music, food vendors and rides. With the exception of a few intermittent showers (which is impressive by Belgium standards) the evening was dry. While DJs played their music, pimply teenagers were on the prowl, toddlers ran around underfoot and crowds milled around the tents drinking American beers and eating all of the foods I associate with fairs. My pulled pork sandwich followed by funnel cake was one of the best things I had eaten in a long time. I contributed this to the fact that I have eaten neither of these items in years if not decades. Sidney's first foray into cotton candy was a sweet and sticky adventure but then again what child doesn't have memories of eating mounds of spun sugar.

Sidney watched the carnival rides with fascination immediately declaring that he wanted to ride on the biggest and scariest ride of them all. We talked him out of it and instead he happily rode the bumper cars with Glenn. I remember riding the bumper cars with my own father at the same age and little seems to have changed. Each bump was met with a peal of laughter and a request for more. Then there was the fun house and the giant slides that Sidney slide down over and over again. He contemplated a tilt-a-whirl which he studied for a long time. Sidney initially wanted to take a ride but after watching it spin for several turns decided to wait "until he is six". But because we are on a military base in Belgium the entertainment went beyond the traditional carnival rides. Period actors dressed was World War II attire stood along side jeeps and weaponry of the time. Kids tried on the helmets and tested the guns as parents snapped pictures. (I'll be honest, I never dreamed I'd be watching my son hop amongst the artillery at a carnival). But he loved it.

Because this was the Fourth, the highlight of the evening was the fireworks that concluded the evening. Now we saw a lot of fireworks while we were in Albania; they regularly lit the sky in bits and spurts throughout the year with New Years bringing about the biggest bang of them all. While their scale was impressive they were noisy, chaotic and tinged with a bit of danger. They lacked the artistic design of well orchestrated shows and most often left me feeling agitated. Sidney was equally impressed and scared by the Albanian fireworks. But last night? That was an entirely different story. As he laid on the grass on the edge of the baseball field looking up at the sky, he provided us with an ongoing commentary about their color, size and shape. His descriptions were punctuated with giggles of laughter and such adjectives as amazing, wonderful and magnificent.

Watching him watch the fireworks filled me with motherly happiness since my little boy was finally experiencing one of the joys from my own childhood. Sometimes I worry about the simple things he is missing out on because of our living overseas. He may have visited most of Europe's capitols but he's never experienced a real American Fourth of July. Until last night that is. And as we drove home close to midnight (after all it stays light really late here in Belgium) he continued to chatter excitedly about his evening. As he said, he had so much fun. I'm sure that many of his memories of his overseas childhood will only be fleeting in later years. I'm hopeful that last night is one of the ones he remembers.

Fireworks 

Observing one of the rides. After
studying it Sidney informed us that when
he is six he will be big enough to ride it.

A License To Drive

Can you identify all of these
road signs?

As part of settling into Belgium we are required to apply for a Belgian drivers license. Prior to arriving here, we had been warned that not only were the Belgian roads horrible but their drivers were even worse. I guess it is all relative since coming from Albania I immediately found the roads to be very good and the drivers to be quite civilized. Even the big tractors driving down the highways seemed to be following the rules of the road. I did notice that there were a lot of signs along the roadsides--most of which I recognized but a few that I didn't. But, acclimating to a new country, I wasn't sure whether there were truly a lot more road signs than in other countries or just a lot more than in Albania. It turns out it was a little bit of both.

While nothing is as easy here as it should be the process was more cumbersome than difficult. First, we had to schedule an appointment to take the class where we would learn everything we needed to know cruise the Belgian roads. When filling out my application I was asked if I had European driving experience. This question caused me to pause because, well I do, but I don't. Or do I? When I explained that I had been driving in Albania for over two years (yes, Albania is a part of Europe), he looked at me in a horrified way and hissed that Albanian driving did not count as the requisite experience. (I later learned that if you had true European driving experience, you would only have to take the class and not the test in order to receive your Belgian license). It looked like I would be taking both all at the early hour of eight in the morning. I was then handed a thick driving manual and a handout with pictures of a hundred plus roadsigns. I was told to only skim the book but to memorize the signs because knowing all of the signs would be very important.

Bright and early on my appointed day I sat in a cold classroom with a handful of other recent arrivals listening. The instructor immediately launched into a Power Point presentation covering you guessed it, the road signs. (Actually, he prefaced his entire lecture with the warning that we must follow the rules of the road and not drive like Belgians.  Maybe Belgium is more like Albania than I want to admit?). For over two hours we went around the class identifying road signs and what we were to do when we encountered them. What I heard was essentially common sense but it made me realize just how rusty my western driving skills have gotten over the past couple of years. Repeatedly I found myself nodding in agreement with the instructor yet realizing that such rules just wouldn't work in Albania. Police in the road? In Belgium you stop your vehicle and obey their instructions. In Albania? You go blazing by them not making eye contact. Stopping for red lights, not turning left from the right lane, or stopping for an approaching train rather than trying to outrun it. These rules are common sense here but not where I am most recently coming from.

There are two Belgian (or actually European) rules that have been taking me the longest to grow accustomed to. First, there is the sign with a little red rimmed white triangle with an "x" in the middle. When we see these signs, whether we are on a main road or a country lane, we need to yield to the right, meaning that whatever traffic is approaching from the right actually has the right of way. Sometimes this makes sense but as I have already encountered during my drives through the area, yielding to the right is counter intuitive. However, we were sternly warned that if we get hit broadside by a car that we were supposed to yield for, we are without a doubt at fault. Secondly, on many sections of secondary roads, the traffic alternates on the more narrow sections with cars yielding to oncoming traffic. This alternating of lanes seems to be a built in speed control mechanism. Signs with red and black arrows indicate who has the priority and as I quickly learned, drivers-Belgians and foreigners alike- take this rule seriously. All drivers seem to be exceptionally civilized about obeying who has the right of way; disregarding the signs could result in a nasty head on collision.

Three hours later I took my 100 question exam where we were allowed to miss a total of ten questions. Half of the test was multiple choice questions and the other half was identifying those pesky road signs. We had to know the difference between a wild animal crossing sign and one for farm animals; the specific rules and lane restrictions for bicycles, motorcycles, and mopeds; when we can park totally on the verge, partially on the verge, and only on the street. The list of signs just goes on. And low and behold, this girl who spent the past two and a half years driving in Albania where anything and everything goes, aced the test. Yes I did. So I am now licensed to drive in Belgium with my SHAPE license. However, I must wait until the arrival of my Belgian protocol card (in six, seven, eight weeks maybe) before I can go to the Commune of Mons and apply for my Belgian drivers license. It sounds easy enough but I now know better than that.

(Consumer) Culture Shock

I remember the first time I stepped foot in an Albanian grocery store. Looking around me I felt overwhelmed and out of my element as I didn't recognize any of the items I saw. At first glance the shelves were filled with a variety of items with foreign labels written in Italian, Greek, and sometimes Albanian. Items were not organized the same way they were in American stores leaving me wandering aimlessly through the aisles unable to find what I was looking for. At first I wasn't sure whether the item was simply unavailable in Albania, I was searching in the wrong place, or I was looking right at it and not recognizing it. After awhile, by looking closely at items, thanks to pictures, I was eventually able to figure out what was inside of most cans and jars but I still erred every once in awhile. I remember thinking I was buying capers and once they were added to my chicken piccata discovering that they were actually green peppercorns. Oops! Over time, however, my comfort level at Albanian shopping grew to the point where I knew what was located where and what was available, meaning on a good day I could be in and out of the store in a matter of minutes.  I learned to love the products that were available and became incredibly innovative in making substitutions when needed. And then we moved...............

I'll admit, here in Belgium, I'm once again feeling a bit overwhelmed about stepping foot in a grocery store. After living in a second world country, the choices available to me are stymieing me from the moment I grab my shopping carriage. Because we are now located in close proximity to an American military base, I now have regular access to commissaries. For the unfamiliar, commissaries are essentially military grocery stores that sell American grocery products. Regardless of where you are in the world, whether you are in Virginia, San Diego, Japan or yes, Belgium, the store layouts are the same and you can buy your Oscar Meyer Bacon, Old El Paso Taco shells and Bounty paper towels. (It is like having a little piece of America in your shopping cart). Stepping into the commissary for the first  time I felt like I was immediately transported back to  northernVirginia. But I was overwhelmed just the same. I was simply not used to having so many options.

By the time we left Albania many of the most popular American brands were available in the stores. Heinz ketchup lined the shelves and it even came in a "spicy" version which wasn't all that spicy. Coke was always available but the European version was made with sugar rather than corn syrup, which produced a drink with a totally different flavor. Pringles were readily available in every store in Albania but the flavors were different and limited. Sidney's favorite in Albania were called "spicy" which in reality was a red pepper flavor. Here the choices are endless; while not including red pepper you can even buy pecan pie and guacamole or one of many other varieties. Who knew?  Looking for an easy dinner option, I selected boxed pasta and Barilla sauce from the shelf. First, the number of brands available to me was overwhelming. While the pasta tasted the same as the Albanian version, the sauce, one that I regularly bought in Albania, was different. Despite being the same brand, what was in my jar was sweeter and thicker than what I had bought in Albania. Looking closely at the label I saw that my Italian Barilla pasta sauce had been imported from the United States. I suddenly found myself longing for my European sauce. And rice for risotto, my go-to meal? None could be found on the shelves but I could have bought ten different varieties of instant or quick cooking white rice. But some of the differences in products were wonderful. My name brand paper towels purchased from the commissary were soft and absorbent rather than the flimsy yet stiff paper products I had grown accustomed to. My hands actually felt soft rather than shriveled and dry after washing a sink full of dishes with my American dish detergent. These are a few of the "luxuries" I had been missing.

But my options don't end there. In addition to the American commissary, there is a whole variety of European grocery stores in Belgium. The most prevalent appears to be Carrefour, a French grocery chain that also established a small footprint in Albania during our final year there. But all Carrefour stores are not created equal. I know stores cater to their market and in that respect I suppose that the Albanian Carrefour stores meet the needs of their clientele. In fact, the items they carried were not all that different from those sold in the other grocery store chain in Albania. Choices were limited but somehow it seemed to work. But Belgian Carrefour stores? They are a whole other beast that are

overwhelming in their own (good) way. Looking for cheese? Forget one aisle, there are several. Do you want crackers to accompany your cheese? There is an entire aisle of different varieties dedicated to just this. In Albania you might find an entire aisle of crackers but they were all the same saltine-style cracker. Juice? With the exception of the red orange juice that Sidney loves, this Carrefour has every variety imaginable. And yes, there are American brands as well. In addition to European brands, the cereal aisle is filled with Kellogg's varieties that again, I never knew existed. Need to fulfill your Mexican cravings? You have choices here too. And the options just go on and on.

Honestly, at the moment I feel as though I have too many choices. While I still love certain American products, I've grown used to shopping in local markets and for the most part, buying European products. (For all you bakers out there, those gourmet European butters that cost an arm and a leg in America are everyday inexpensive here!). Even in the midst of my cultural shocked daze, I'm realizing that I now have the best of both worlds. I can buy the American products I love (cleaning and paper products) and the European brands I've grown to prefer all while discovering items unique to Belgium. Once I recover from my initial shock, this is going to be fun. And if history holds true, I'll soon be in and out of these stores in a matter of minutes as well.........or maybe not since I do have a lot of options.