Well, the flight is over and I have arrived in Belgium. To be honest, I wasn’t thinking so much about actually getting here, as I was pretty sure that I would die in a fiery plane crash somewhere over the Atlantic. Uh oh. That didn’t really happen, so now I have a million other things to think about.
To recap, even getting here is something of a major achievement. The prospect of living and working in Belgium can be a daunting one, and I’m not even near having completed the process of getting all of my paperwork in order. In case anyone wants to know, this is what you’ll need to do should you decide to follow in my footsteps:
1. Get a passport: I know, this seems like the easy part, but, when I finally began the process of applying for one, I was under the impression that I had about two weeks to get it. Things were moving fast. I heard from the post office people who process my request that they were probably running about 6 months behind on processing passport requests. Erg. Of course they were. The post office guys did tell me, though, that I could expedite for a measly $300 beaners. What choice did I have. I did it. Even then, the post office guys were not optimistic that I would get it in the next month. I did it anyway, and had my passport in a about a week and a half. Turned out I didn’t actually leave for another two months, but it felt good to have my passport.
2. Certification that I would be paying American social security taxes while in Belgium. This is to save you from paying into Belgium’s costly welfare system/state. This was fairly easy to get. Only took about two weeks.
3. Criminal record. There are one of two ways to go about this one. Get a local criminal report, or go for the FBI report. I took the local option, as the FBI claims it can take up to 16 weeks to process and return an FBI report. I have no idea whether my local report is going to satisfy the Belgian powers that be, but, on the plus side, it took about ten minutes to get.
4. High school diploma and/or college diploma. I am not a college graduate, so I had to contact my old high school and get a copy of my transcript. I am not a 100% certain that my new customer understands that I am not a college graduate, so they may see the high school diploma and put me on the next plane out of Belgium.
5. International Driver’s License. This was the easiest thing to get in the world. I simply went to AAA and they took a gander at my Virginia driver’s license and gave me an Intl. license. Little did they know that I was a wanted fugitive when they gave me this thing. More about that later.
Now that I am finally here, I have a couple of other things to worry about.
First, where am I going to live? A friend of my mother’s was nice enough to pick me up at Brussels’ airport, and he drove me to my hotel in Casteau, which is about a mile from the NATO base at which I will be working. Upon my arrival, we stopped for some coffee, and then headed into the Mons market district to do some shopping.
First things first: I don’t know a word of French. This might be a minor impediment, as nearly everyone in the market district speaks French. Exclusively.
Now, not to be an Ugly American, but, really, what the hell? Why can’t these people have had the common decency to learn the English language? I mean, come on. Luckily, the family friend who accompanied me was able to speak a close approximation of the gibberish that passes as the local language, and I was able to acquire the items that I needed. Unfortunately, he has a job and a life that does not, shocker, revolve around me, so he is not always going to be there to help facilitate my interactions with the local populace. I know, I know: how could anyone’s life not revolve around my own, like the Sun around the Earth? But, the fact remains, I am in serious trouble here. I have to learn this gutter language, as much as it offends my sense of American superiority and aesthetics to do so. Otherwise, I will have to learn to pantomime everything to make these primitives understand. And I am no mime, my friends.
That aside, there remains the question of where I will reside. The problem is that I want to live close enough to everything to not need an automobile. That leaves my choices fairly restricted in terms of where I am going to be able to live. This wouldn’t be a problem, except that most of Mons looks like any number of failed coal mining towns in, say, the mountains of Pennsylvania. As a single and upwardly mobile denizen of the wealthier suburbs of Washington, DC, I quickly realized that this might be a problem.
Look, I am used to modern conveniences in modern settings in areas populated by the moderately wealthy. Today, I realized that that way of life may have come to an end, at least while I reside in the Centralia of Western Europe, Mons. For instance, the family friend and I were quite famished, and decided to visit a local eatery, named Uncle Sam’s. The sign out front had a picture of an American flag, superimposed on which was, well, Uncle Sam. It advertised fine American eating. Perfect, we stopped and examined the menu posted in the window.
Of course, it was all in French.
Besides that, we fell victim to a peculiar Belgian phenomenon. Namely, the place was locked up tight as a drum. It was 2:30 PM, local time. No sign in the window, not indication as to why it might be closed. The family friend chuckled and blithely informed me that this was just the “Belgian Way”. Businesses closed at irregular and seemingly random times. No schedule was posted in the window. The place was just closed. When would it open again, I inquired of the FF. Who knows, he chuckled. Luckily, another establishment was right next door, so we headed over. Of course, it was closed, too.
Now, this is completely foreign to the typical American mindset. A business is meant to be open, preferably 24 hours a day. In other words, I want what I want when I want it, and I expect someone to always be attuned to this simple fact. Who closes a dining establishment at lunch time?
Belgians, that’s who.
Of course, I have gone off on a tangent. I believe I was pointing out earlier that I need to find some place to live, preferably someplace close enough to work to require but a short bus ride. The problem, aside from the fact that the inhabitants of the town in which I would prefer to reside stubbornly refuse to learn English, is that also much of it looks fairly down trodden and poor. Which brings up this question: if I decide to buy a 42 inch HDTV, how long until and angry crowd, wielding flaming torches, bangs down my door and absconds with it? In other words, what’s the crime situation in Mons?
Luckily, I chose to drink my dinner at the hotel bar, and was able to ascertain from the bartender that Mons is relatively crime free. Or, at least, I think I did. What she really said is that, compared to Brussels, Mons is pretty good. When I tried to dig a bit deeper, my bartender threw up her hands and asked, exasperated, what I expected from a poor region. She then asked where exactly I might be living and when, exactly, I might be buying that HDTV.
Ok, I made up that last part.
The point is this: I have no clear idea where I will be living and, more importantly, where I should be living. The whole issue is complicated by the fact that the standard Belgian lease is 9 years long.
Yes, you heard that right. 9 years long. And that is the most flexible lease available. If you leave before the 9 years, you need to give 3 months notice and then pay a penalty of 3 months rent.
Ok. The standard rental rate for a decent place in Mons is between 800 and 1000 euros. You do the math, because, frankly, I am too drunk to care at the moment.
The fair bartender did assure me that while she might not walk around downtown Mons by herself at night, it would be different because I am a guy. While I, of course, quickly agreed with her, I did not mention that nearly every woman I have ever met fights better than I do.
But, as it looks now, I will probably be living in Mons. Pray for me, and then pray for the backward merchants who have been too lazy until now to learn to speak the King’s English. We are both going to need it, I am sure.
On a related note, I had planned to post pictures with this post, but I cannot figure out how to get them off of my phone and onto the computer, so, until I do, well, these posts will be unadorned.
