Dans les Champs de Flandres

In Flanders Field.
A delightfully kind Belgian family with a penchant for chocolate mousse were my parents' neighbors when they lived in Abuja, Nigeria. Enthused that I would be studying in Belgium, they sent me to visit their parents who live in Ipres (French) aka Ypres (Flemish), near Flanders Field. Ipres lies in the Flemish region of Belgium. Even though it is just a few minutes away from French speaking Brussels, the residents speak surprisingly little French. In fact, they seem to take pride in this inability. It was ironic to have come from an ocean away and be correcting the French of someone who could drive 20 minutes to be immersed in native French. My pride was certainly flattered. Most Flemish seem to know English better than French.

Anyways, back to Flanders Field. Remember how veterans distribute paper poppies on Veteran's Day? That tradition comes from the crimson poppies that blossomed in the fields of Flanders after WWI, a poignant reminder of the blood bath that occurred there. After hearing Belgians recount stories of the wars that have devastated their country it is no wonder they are so against war in general. Belgium is a small country with no natural barriers, making them an easy target and convenient meeting ground for more potent armies to collide. Although today it is securely affluent, war still lies near the front lines in the Belgian memory.













Sandbags from WWI remain just as they were.

Dans le Metro

In the Metro.
The beggars are there quite often. Today there is a woman, kneeling with a little toddler squirming on the mat beside her on the harsh concrete floor. She is of middle eastern descent and has a head covering folded over her forehead and around her temples, carefully concealing her dark hair. She wants money. That's why she's begging down here in the sour smelling metro. She knows just as well as the rest of us that we have money in our wallets and purses. She leans on one of the five pillars of Islam, hoping that one of us will stop and give alms. But no one is stopping. There is only the uninterrupted plod of shoes echoing down the underground corridor.

Slideshow

Here's a slideshow of trips to Switzerland, France, the Netherlands, and the UK (in reverse chronological order). I struggled paring the shots down so there more than a few pics there. Oh well.