The Belgium Story: Part 1

Back in school, I had a book of paintings. One of the pages showed a water colour of a countryside. Two bands made the background- blue for the sky and a lush green for the meadow. Set on the landscape were tiny brown and gray houses with conical roof tops, chimneys and window panes of wood. Around them were a number of trees, close in space yet separated enough for their foliage to achieve a perfect symmetry. Wooden fence poles crisscrossed the landscape.

It was a beautiful picture yet unfamiliar and unreal.The half an hour train ride from Brussels to Ghent saw many replications of the same scene. Once the frame was occupied by a couple of horses. Often white cows with large black spots or dull gray sheep walked across it. My first image of Belgium was of this counrtryside through the train's window. I was too preoccupied catching the right train and then finding a seat to notice the city of Brussels pass by.

Belgium was a rather quick decision. What it had to offer, i had no idea of. I decided to go to Belgium because Reuben and Keerti were there. I was getting lonely and sad in Macao.Now there was some one to wait for you at the railway station. After each evening's exploration I could go back home and narrate the adventures and plan the next day. It turned out to be five great days.

***

Thr trip, however, started on a slightly disturbing note. The man at the counter of Iberian airlines in Portugal started speaking to me in Portuguese. My request to speak in English was met with a blatant 'NO'. There was no humour in the man's eyes as he told me that as I have a Portuguese residence permit I should speak in Portuguese. He turned to his colleague and told her what he thought of people like me being in possession of the permit. As usual. my response was five minutes too late. I should have informed him that I do not intend to stay on in his land even at gun point. As Appa says, how many languages from India or Brazil did the Portuguese manage to learn over the centuries they were busy in loot.

Portugal as a nation feeds on a blown up self image as the scaffold is falling apart. The economic crisis is eating the nation. Pension cuts and privatisation spree are on. And the notable response is an increase in the conservative vote share. Anti immigrant feelings strengthen which often get translated into racism. To be fair, there are persistent yet disparate left responses also. My friend and archaeologist Sara's is one such lone voice. She says the greatest challenge is to make the people realise that the issues are not distant but of their backyard.
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But for now, let me go back to Belgium.

The night I reached Reuben took me for a stroll through Ghent. On the days to come I would explore Ghent in more detail. But that first sight of Ghent was unparalleled. From over the St.Michaels Bridge the three towers of the St. Bavo's cathedral, the Belfry and the St. Nicholas church shone in an yellowish glow. The people of Ghent had come out into the night on the banks of the river Leie to music, breeze and beer. And as one zooms out on either side of the river the medieval and modern facades spread out in a tasteful blend..

(cont..)