The Lizard King

One last day in Barcelona, and I hopped on the metro early to get up to Parc Guell, a public space designed by Gaudi. For some reason my guide book directed me to an entrance at the top of the mountain, but didn't tell me NOT to follow all the signs pointing down the hill. So I walked down the hill. Only to later have to walk up it again.

But after I got to the bottom, I found the remarkable monument area and main entrance, pictured here. The area between these two staircases are this incredibly elaborate fountain, all covered in mosaic tile, a Gaudi staple. Below you'll see a photo of perhaps the most famous part of this fountain, the Drac (a big lizard.) The fountain was really spectacular, and at the very top of it, which you can just see the railing of in this picture, there's a big open pavillion overlooking the city. The benches up there are amazing -- they're one long bench, really, in a big semicircle, that are all designed to look like one giant serpent.

Above that part of the park the design elements were mostly limited to landscaping, but it was still pretty nice. And there was another viewing area near the very top that had pretty fantastic views all the way across the lower city and out into the Mediterranean.

After visiting the park, I tried to go to Palau Guell again -- did I mention that before? -- and once again got frustrated with the system. Not to mention the group of four or five French tourists who kept stepping in front of me while I was trying to ask questions, even though I was there at least five minutes before them. (I had several bad experiences with French tourists cutting in lines. Strange. Perhaps their reputation is deserved. I never really disliked the French, just the Quebecois.)

After giving up on that quest, I went around the old city some more and saw a few more of the churches I had missed before, either because I wasn't in a church mood or (in most cases) they were closed when I arrived. I think I forgot to mention in my post about Sunday that I visited the Picasso Museum, too. That just occurred to me, now. It was neat, and I think fairly essential if you're going to be in Barcelona, but his best work is undoubtedly displayed elsewhere.

Anyway, after a few more hours of walking around, I ran into siesta time, when a lot of things closed. I stopped in a bar that looked cool and dark, and struck up a conversation with an American woman who was living in Catalonia for a few months. We had a nice chat for a while over a beer or two, but I started to get the itch to not waste away my last few hours, so I left to visit the Contemporary Art Museum. It was ok, but if you're visiting Barcelona, don't feel obligated to go unless you have a ton of time.

After that I went back to the hotel, fetched my bag, and headed toward the airport for my evening flight back to Brussels. I got in to my apartment around 1 a.m. -- I had a crazy conversation with a Spanish guy on the train from Brussels Airport downtown who just would not accept that I wasn't a student but I was Canadian. I'm still not sure what he was on about. He spoke French, and we conversed alright, but every now and then he would throw out a word that was, I swear, not French nor Spanish, and completely lose me for a second. And despite my protestations that I was not a student and that I was working in Brussels, he kept asking "Vous etes etudiant?" Very bizarre.

Anyway, I was very tired by the end of the trip. All that walking in severe heat took its toll. Tomorrow I'll get you caught up on this week. By the way, that last photo is taken from the stairwell of Casa Battlo. Notice how the tiles get lighter as you go further down, and the windows get larger. To let in more light to the lower floors. Seems simple, but Gaudi thought of it first.

Gaudi Doody

On my second full day in Barcelona, I got up early (for me) and headed back to Sagrada Familia, the mammoth but incomplete cathedral and final obsession of Antoni Gaudi. I got there around 9:30 in the morning, went in to the grounds, and discovered that the elevators that served the spires were out of order. So I walked up the stairs.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked some more. It was, the signs said, almost 200 metres to the top (that's about 650 feet to the metrically challenged) and by 10 a.m. when I started my ascent it was probably already 30 degrees in Barcelona. But despite the sweat and hard climb, it was well worth the views of the city -- SF is by far the tallest building in its part of the city, and rivalled by very few elsewhere, so the view is quite spectacular. And you get to see the nave that is under construction, still, and as a worker at the church explained to me, is expected to be finished in either 20 or 80 years. (I assume he meant between 20 and 80 years, not one or the other.)

After crossing a bridge from one spire to the other that was narrow and a bit acrophobia inducing, I descended the other side and visited the museum beneath the church that explains some of Gaudi's techniques and displayed many of the clay models he made for the project, or that subsequent architects and artisans have made. It was very cool.

Next, I took a short break in the park next to the cathedral to rest my legs, and then walked back toward the city center. After about 15 minutes, I arrived again at Casa Batllo, which is another Gaudi landmark. After paying the €16 entry fee (which allowed me to see the attic, roof garden and the main part of the house) I marvelled at the brilliance of this house, which is said to have no straight lines anywhere in it. The design elements that Gaudi incorporated into this house -- that are all the more impressive because each of them also serves a functional purpose, be it increasing air flow, light dispersement, etc. -- are truly stunning. I think after spending an hour or so seeing this house it ended up being my favorite thing in Barcelona.

After that, I walked back to La Rambla, had a quick bite to eat, and ventured toward Barceloneta, where the Olympic Village was in 1992, and near the beach and the Mediterranean. I wandered about for a while, soaking up as much of the atmosphere as I could, but eventually the 35 degree heat started getting to me, and I headed back to the hotel for a quick siesta. After a nap of about an hour, I awoke to a commotion on the street below me (my room was only one floor up, so there was a lot of street noise.) I opened the curtains and after watching for a minute or two, realized the Olympic torch was being run right past my hotel. This marks the second time in my life I've seen the Olympic torch, the first being from my dad's shoulders in 1976 a block or so from our Beaconsfield, Quebec, home. (I wish I had a picture of that Kodak moment to share.)


Continuing my Olympic moment, I next took the tram up to Parc Montjuic, and then a gondola/cable car thing even further up to the Castle at the top, which used to be used by the Castilians to bombard the Catalan masses below. The castle was kind of interesting, but I mostly went to see the views of the harbor and the rest of the city, and I walked by the Olympic Stadium, too. I walked back down the mountain to my hotel, grabbed some dinner, and called it a night.

The (Lack of) Rain in Spain

In the interests of keeping the excitement up in the blog -- can't you feel the tension building already just by reading that sentence? -- I'm going to post about each day in Barcelona separately (though I will combine the few hours I was there Friday night with Saturday to expedite things a bit.)


So I got to the airport in Brussels without incident, and breezed through check in and security. After about a 90-minute flight, I was in Barcelona, and despite it being about 8 p.m., it was still probably 30 degrees celsius (that means hot to you Yanks.) I took a train into the city, hopped on the metro, and was at my hotel on Avigunda de Parallel, near the district called El Ravel, by about 9 p.m. I ditched my bags and after a bit of consultation of the map to figure out where I was, went wandering through the city. The photo to the right is my hotel room. All of it. No joke.

I went first to La Rambla, which is probably Spain's most famous street, where traffic flows in two narrow lanes around a wide promenade that features cafes, bird shops, newsstands, plant shops, and myriad street performers. It was a pretty interesting introduction to Catalan culture. After walking about half the length of it -- it gets a bit repetivie as it goes on for almost a mile -- I ducked into the old city, Barri Gotti, which is a veritable rabbit warren of narrow windy streets that are barely wide enough for one car to pass through.


To give you an idea of how narrow the streets are, this is the opera house, and this was as far away as I could get to photographi it. The streets are all the old, Gothic part of the city (gotti, get it... it wasn't a reference to the New York crime family) and they connect a series of chapels, houses and, most importantly for Barcelona, public squares which now house tapas restaurants and cafes. I stopped at a few of these the first night, had a few beers and some delicious food, and in between stood outside a crazy ice-cream store that was jam-packed with Greek football fans watching their team stun France in the Euro 2004 quarterfinals. I can't really comment on the game, because I could only see a corner of the screen, but I saw the end, and the Greek fans were psyched -- their revelry continued well into the night. This was Barcelona; I can only imagine what Athens was like.

I went to bed fairly early that night -- had been up since 6 a.m., and wanted to get an early start Saturday.

SATURDAY A.M.
I got up fairly early, and went ot Casa Guell, one of the Gaudi masterpieces in the city. Tickets were sold out for the mandatory guided tours until well into the afternoon, so I decided to do a modernista architecture walking tour, sort of combined with another walking tour listed in my guide to the city. I walked and walked and walked in 35 degree heat, and saw impressive building after impressive building, including some pretty stunning Gothic churches.


Several hours into the walk, though, everything else I had seen was put in perspective when I came across two of the most impressive examples of architecture I've ever seen, both by Gaudi, again. Le Pedrera (aka as Casa Milla, I think) and Casa Battlo were probably my favorite things of the trip. The design is quirky and playfun and fun, but ultimately utilitarian and brilliant. Gaudi's use of ventilation and natural light were amazing, and his buildings are truly works of art. Of course, on the rooftop garden of Le Pedrera, which is like some bizarre nightmare filled with gnomes and ghouls and elves, my camera battery ran out. Sigh. (And it's rechargeable, so I couldn't just buy new ones.)

I continued the tour for a bit until I got to La Sagrada Familia, this massive cathedral that was Gaudi's last work before he died. Except it's not finished. Work began in the 1880s, and continues today. The RC church in Barcelona has decided that it will only be funded by the donations of visitors, so I guess that limits the pace of construction somewhat.

Anyway, upon seeing this church close up, I knew I had to go back to the hotel and recharge the battery. So I did. While it was charging I went back to La Rambla and had lunch -- paella this time -- at a cafe. When the waiter asked if I wanted a small or a large beer, I looked around and saw everyone was drinking from pretty large steins, clearly more than a pint. Figuring that was the large, I replied "grande, por favor." Memo to my readers: When in Spain, don't ask for a large beer! The thing he brought me was so big I had to use two hands to lift it. I was at the cafe nursing this beer for like 90 minutes almost. I think it must have been three or four pints.

After finally polishing that off, I went back to the hotel, got my camera battery, and headed back to a point beyond the cathedral to resume my tour. (I opted to go back to the Cathedral the next day because I wanted to do it justice. More on that in the next post.) I continued wandering, and eventually found myself back in the old town, where I had dinner at a bar that seemed kind of empty. Turned out to be a big ex-pat soccer bar, and by the time I was done eating I was completely surrounded (to the point of not really being able to leave) by Swedes and Dutchmen (and women) gearing up for their quarterfinal match, which I gladly stayed and watched. After about four hours of drinking with a bunch of Swedes (and a few Brits who seemed to be merely trying to atagonize the Dutch and, ahem, befriend the Swedes) I had to call it a night. Oh, Holland won on penalty kicks.

So ends my first day and second night in Barcelona. More to come, including the addition of some photos to this post.

Not So Jolly Old England

Sadly for England, its run in the Euro 2004 ended last night on penalty kicks, after a questionable call by the referee, pictured to the right, disallowed what would have been the winning goal as the game neared its end. The English commentators were pretty hilarious afterward -- they just wouldn't stop talking about the biased refereeing. Speaking of which, football referees over here have their own Web sites, and in some cases fanclubs!!!! I just can't imagine that happening in North America. Take a look for yourself.

I don't really know if England should have won or not. A Belgian friend here thought the call was totally fair, so maybe the English are just pissing and moaning because they lost.

Anyway, I'm about to jet off to Barcelona for the weekend, so this is going to be a fairly short post. But, if you care to keep up with European football, I highly recommend the minute-by-minute accounts of big games published by the Guardian. They're really very entertaining, and give you a good sense of the drama of the game, too.

Deutschland Unter Alles

OK, so last night I did watch Germany play for its soccer life in the Euro 2004 tournament. Needing a win against the Czech Republic, which had already clinched advancement and apparently rested some of its top players, Germany took a 1-0 lead about 20 minutes into the match. The Czechs tied it about 10 minutes later, and took the lead midway through the second half.

Germany tried to even the score, and came close on several occasions, but ultimately lost. That, combined with the Netherlands' 3-0 win over Latvia eliminated Germany.


Coach Rudi Voeller (pictured to the right) was so ashamed of the performance that he resigned his position on Thursday morning. We watched the game at a different place, and the crowd seemed a lot less into it this time around. I found that a bit puzzling, since Belgium is nestled so squarely between Germany, Holland, England and France. I figured there would be boisterous supporters of Germany and Holland just as there were of England and France two nights before. Maybe it was just the venue. Which was a place called Gekko in the St. Gery section of Brussels. You can read about Saint Gery if you like. I make no claims about the authenticity of this information, nor do I endorse any political slant it may have.

Since I'm on the topic of sports, one of the odder experiences of being in Brussels has been feeling completely and utterly disconnected from the world of North American sports. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's a bit strange reading articles on ESPN.com and not having seen every replay 50 times. Maybe Sportscenter is a bad influence after all.

I also sampled two new Belgian beers last night, one called Westmalle Triple which pretty much all the travel guides said was a can't miss. It was pretty tasty, but very strong. Later in the night I sampled a Kriek cherry beer that was actually pretty good, too, though I'm not sure I'd want to spend a night drinking it. It seemed like it could be very dangerous -- it sort of tasted like cherry Kool-Aid.

Tonight I think I'm being required to watch England play Portugal. I have a feeling based on what I've read that the English fans are going to be sad when this one's over.

Then tomorrow after work it's off to Barcelona for the weekend. As such, there may be a publication hiatus for a few days.

Farewell Italia

OK, OK, so I have failed my mostly North American audience. Last night's matches were Sweden-Denmark (a 2-2 draw) and Italy-Bulgaria (a 2-1 victory with a last-minute goal to win that still was for naught as the draw in the other game eliminated Italy.)

Anyway, TONIGHT is Netherlands-Latvia and Germany-Czech Republic. Oops.

More later...

Hooligans Rejoice

Yesterday was my first full day at work here in Brussels. Sooner or later I'll take some pictures of the massive office complex that is the WSJ presence in Brussels, as well as the hive of activity within.

But aside from some pretty standard journalistic fare (editing, messing with html code, etc.) my work here isn't a lot different than it is in New York. So I'm not going to bore you with the details.

After work yesterday I went to an Irish pub with my colleague Tina, her husband Thorsten, and Robin Moroney, an editor at the Wall Street Journal Europe, to watch England play Croatia in a key Euro Cup 2004 matchup. It was the last game of the first round for their group, and England needed a draw to advance. Croatia had to win to advance, and if it had won, England would have been eliminated.


The bar was, unsurprisingly, packed. The crowd looked more or less like this, at least in scope. They were more excited last night. It was a two-level bar, and everyone on the ground level was watching the England-Croatia game. The upper level, which was more a balcony than a separate floor, however, was entirely focused on the France-Switzerland game, which made it pretty interesting, because as dull play would dominate the game we were watching, you would suddenly be overwhelmed by raucous cheering as play in the other game got exciting. France won its game, and placed first in the group, earning it a quarterfinal match with Greece.

England fell behind 1-0 very early on, and played very tentatively for most of the first half, until scoring a goal with about five minutes remaining to even the score. Then, as the teams played in injury time in the first half, England scored again, sending the crowd into a frenzy. 2-1 at the half. England came out in the second half, and when the announcer opined it would take a "massive turnaround" for Croatia to tie it up, I shared a knowing look with my German friends (Tina & Thorsten) about how silly a statement this was, and how it might well jinx England.

But England was having none of it, taking a 3-1 lead, until Croatia began to press and quickly pulled back within one. Croatia continued its aggressive play, and generated some nice scoring chances, but also gave up a lot with so many players attacking. Eventually, England capitalized, and went on to a 4-2 win, setting up its own quarterfinal match with the host country, Portugal. Apparently I will be watching footie again come Thursday. (Actually, I may well watch tonight at home, though I think doing two nights in a row in Euro soccer bars is more than I can take.) Tonight's games feature the Netherlands taking on Latvia and Germany facing the Czech Republic. The German side is facing elimination, so that should be a good game, I think. If they win they advance, but if they lose, the Netherlands can advance with a win over Latvia.

On another note, the French is gradually starting to click. I'm still somewhat reluctant to get too involved in conversations because my vocabulary recall is very slow, but I'm understanding more and more of what I hear no the streets, and adjusting to the differences between the Quebecois accent and the (much nicer) one in use in Belgium.

Blue and Wonder

Sunday marked my third day in Brussels and I did basically nothing. I couldn't really face museums or the like, so I went for a walk around Parc Cinquinnitaire, which is right across the street from my apartment. It's pretty big, and separates where I am living and working from the heart of the European Union.

It's a nice park, with a monstrous arch that emulates Paris's Arc de Triomphe somewhat at one end, and a few museums as well. After that I went to do some shopping before I remembered the stores were closed Sundays, so I went to the office and wrote yesterday's blog entry, basically. Then I went home and spent the rest of the evening reading.

Even that limited activity, however, exposed me to one realization: Brussels, and perhaps all of Belgium, has crazy weather. It can literally go from blue sky and sunshine to dark clouds and rain in seconds -- I've already witnessed this on a handful of occasions. While this is a bit of a downer and does require you to carry an umbrella at pretty much all times, as near as I can tell so far, the rain is usually brief and mostly light, so it's not that bad. And the sun usually reappears pretty quickly, too.

No photos for today, regrettably. I would show you some pictures of the Parc, but I didn't have my camera with me on that trek.

The Monk at the Disco

Day two in Brussels. I came to the office to post yesterday's blog entry, did a bit of shopping for basics in the apartment, and then set out to see some sights. After a short metro ride downtown -- the Metro is conveniently only about a five-minute walk from both my apartment and the office, almost immediately between the two -- I found myself in Brussels' city centre.


The outside of my apartment, btw, looks like this. My apartment is the balcony slightly to the left of centre with the white triangular sign on it.

From the city center, I visited Cathedrale des Sts. Michel et Gudule, pictured below. It's a pretty impressive building, as is true of most of the big, old Catholic churches of Europe. It took more than 300 years to build, apparently, and has a reputation as a church in need of renovation, though it was refurbished over a 16-year period that ended in 1999, so it seems to be in pretty good repair now.


From there, I walked in what I thought was the right direction to go to the Museum of Musical Instruments, but apparently I went in completely the wrong direction. After finding my way around a large office complex that obstructed my path, and walking past (though not through) the Botanic Garden, I ventured back toward the city centre and sought out The Belgian Centre of Comic Strip Art. which was pretty neat, though there was a VERY heavy emphasis on the brilliance of Tin Tin that I'm not sure I can get behind.

I then ventured to the Grand Place, where I ate a quick meal in a cafe. I watched some dance exhibition on a stage set up there, but it wasn't very good. There was one woman in the front of the company who was completely out of time with the rest of the dancers, which was a bit comical, but ultimately grew tiresome.


Having grown tired of the crowd and the performance in the Place, I decided to walk down the street to the Mannekin Pis so I could take a picture, since I hadn't had my camera with me the night before. If I was trying to avoid a crowd, this wasn't the way to do it. But here's the photo, anyway.


After that, I walked through Sablon, which is the most French neighborhood of Brussels, or so I'm told. There were lots of nice cafes and bars, but I was feeling like walking, so I ventured toward Musee des Beaux-Arts and on to the Royal Palace. I then walked through Park Bruxelles -- it's the biggest park downtown, though nowhere near the size of Central Park. Think more along the lines of Boston Common or St. Stephen's Green in Dublin. I kept walking at the other end of the park, and eventually realized I wasn't that far from home, so I walked back to the apartment, getting there around 7 in the evening. I made some dinner (grilled cheese... mmmm... I told you I only bought basics!) and then put my feet up and started reading a good new book, David Liss's 'A Conspiracy of Paper'. As of barely 24 hours later, I'm almost halfway through it, so I guess that's as much endorsement as I need to offer.

Around 10 p.m. my friend Barbara called to ask if I wanted to join her and some friends for drinks that night at 11:30. (These Europeans start everything, except their workdays, really late.) I took the metro downtown to meet them, and met a bunch of other people from the WSJ Europe team. Among our group were one American, two Brits, two Belgians, two Spaniards, and, to my surprise, a Canadian woman who grew up about half a mile from where I lived while I was in high school. I went all the way to Europe to meet an almost neighbor....

After spending a long time at that bar (which was so loud that all the yelling to be heard caused Barbara to lose her voice) we went to another bar, which I was promised was "cool." We were forced to line up while a doorman selected people based on their plea -- luckily one of the Belgians took charge and got us in. After entering, we were told there was a cover charge of 10 euros (about $12), but were helpfully told the ticket we were handed was good for one drink at the bar. $12 for a drink -- I felt like I was right at home in New York!

The bar was a crazy Euro disco. I can't say I enjoyed it that much, but it was an experience to see, at least until all the strobe lights started making me feel nauseous. I left around 4:30 in the morning, and after wandering a bit downtown upon realizing I had no money and no idea where there was an ATM, I found both an ATM and a taxi and went home for a good night's sleep.

So ends the story of my second day in Belgium.

Waffling About

Having arrived in Brussels, I took a cab to the office, after struggling a bit to resurrect enough French to give adequate directions. I picked up a key to the apartment I'm staying at, and then continued on there. Here's what it looks like:



I unpacked, searched in vain for an iron after realizing that every piece of clothing I brought was wrinkled to the point of not being wearable, and then decided I didn't really care. (Meaning, I didn't find an iron.) I took a quick nap of about two hours, got up at 3 p.m. and walked back to the office to check in with Jones and the Brussels crew.

After spending an hour or so getting to know the desktop-support guy -- sound familiar? -- I was up and running. And conveniently, it was quitting time!

Jones took me to a mobile-phone outlet to buy a SIM card for the phone Tina loaned me. 28 euros later I had an operational phone. Take that AT&T Wireless! Jones and I then met Ben Vickers, and ex-WSJ.com guy who is now living in London but who happened to be in Brussels for the weekend. We had some kind of wheat beer that was pretty ok as far as blanche goes. (Not a big fan, but don't totally hate it.) We also had frites with mayo, marking my official baptism into brussels.

As we were getting ready to leave, another WSJer from Brussels, Barbara, came by and took me to the center of the city. We walked to the Grand Place, which is breathtaking (photos later, I didn't have my camera with me.) We walked all over the city center and Sablon, a very fashionable district next to it with lots of cool cafes and restaurants and some nice parks. We saw a section of the old wall around the city, just sitting there between two buildings. No fence or anything. So different from New York, where something like that would be covered in barbed wire.

Here's another picture of the apartment, btw:


Anyway, after a bit of wandering and a stop at a cafe for a beer, Barbara and I went to a pretty cool restaurant for dinner. I had chicken tandoori, which was delicious, and Barbara had something called Stoemp, which was basically sausage served over mashed potatoes that had vegetables mixed in them. I tried some of hers and it was pretty tasty.

Then we met up with her friends and went to a few bars. I held up surprisingly well considering my lack of sleep. Maybe it's because I have so much less hair to cart around now:


Anyway, we ended up at a pretty cool jazz/blues bar somewhere in the city center, and I discovered that I quite like Chimay Bleue, at least among the Belgian beers I have tried so far. We left the bar around 2 a.m. and I was home and in bed by 2:30 after a short taxi ride home.

In case you need extra verification, here's another picture of my head, showing, albeit a tad blurrily, how short my hair is now.


C'est tout pour maintenant

A Wing and a Prayer

The journey began. With traffic. Lots and lots of traffic. I got a close-up view of parts of Brooklyn I'd never seen before in a two-hour car ride to JFK.

Then, after being hustled through check-in by a well-meaning but still painfully inept American Airlines staffer, I raced to the gate, only to find out the flight was already unboarding. That's right, unboarding. A mechanical failure in the plane's brakes discovered while the flight was boarding led the captain to ask all the passengers to be deplaned while the repair was made. That delayed us an hour. Then, after the brakes were replaced, the mechanics couldn't get the wheel back on the plane. (Now THAT inspires confidence.) So another 45-minute delay. Then, the second we were ready to go, thunder and lightning hit the area and JFK locked down for an hour.



So we finally took off around 10 p.m., for a flight that was scheduled to leave at 6:30.

Seven hours later, we landed in Brussels, to discover (surprise!) that there was no gate available for our plane. We sat on the runway another half hour. Then they finally got a gate for us, though I'm not entirely convinced, given the distance I had to walk to get to passport control, that the gate we deplaned at was actually in Belgium. So maybe I can now add Luxembourg to the list of countries I have visited... who knows?

"Passport control" was the biggest joke I've ever seen. Unlike in the jolly old U.S.ofA. where I repeatedly get grilled despite having a valid work visa, the EU immigration officer looked at me, at my passport, said "Are you staying in Brussels a long time?" I replied "For about five weeks, though I am also going to travel elsewhere in Europe." Without another thought he stamped my passport and handed it back to me without even looking at me again.

A cab ride to the office and then on to my apartment complex later, I caught a two-hour nap and came to the office. But right now it's almost quittin' time in Europe, so I'm getting ready to take my leave for the weekend.

More later, including a picture of my very closely shorn head.

Six hours to go

Six hours to my flight, and the drama of the past 36 hours is finally behind me. If I can impart one piece of wisdom to the masses based on my nine years of experience in New York, it's that one should think very carefully before becoming president of a co-op board.

I'll spare you all the gory details though. For some reason Foreigner's "Hot Blooded" is running through my head though. There's really no upside to that, I have to say.

I'm now in the midst of packing and trying to figure out just how much clothing one needs to bring for a five-week trip that involves mostly work. It's harder than you might think... work clothes, casual clothes, sightseeing clothes, shorts, sandals, etc. I think I'm going to end up taking 10 bags.

With that, back to the packing. The next missive will likely be from Brussels sometime tomorrow.

48 Hours

I'm about ready to go to Brussels. All packed and good to leave.

And if you believe that, you don't know me very well.



I have 48 hours left, and I've packed nothing. I've run a few errands I needed to run -- travel guides, some speakers for the iPod, a power converter -- but in terms of overt planning for this trip, I've done virtually none. This is, in fact, my first exercise in planning for this trip. To wit, a planned packing list:

Clothes
Shorts (three pair)
Pants (five pair)
Shirts (8)
t-shirts (10)
boxers (10)
Socks (10 pair)
Belts (2)
Suits (1)
Ties (2)
Sandals (1 pair)
Running shoes (1 pair)
Dressy casual shoes (1 pair)
Windbreaker
Hat (1)

Survival necessities
iPod (currently storing 3,407 songs)
Speakers (1 pair)
Books (8-10, incl. travel guides)

Other stuff
Hairbrush
Razor/shaving cream
Advil
Toothpaste/brush
Contact lenses/solution/case
Umbrella
electric plug adapter and converter

I also hope to have some chocolate moulds while I'm there. Really... how can you resist?