Confusing, creepy, cool: Rebecca's trip to Belgium.
I woke up and left the school extremely early on Wednesday morning, only to reach the train station just as my train was pulling away without me. So I had to wait an hour for the next train to Paris, and exchange my ticket to Brussels for another one at a later time. After changing trains in Paris and Brussels, I finally reached Ieper that afternoon. I had printed out a map of the town and managed to find my hotel, even though 1) the people in Ieper apparently don't like to bother with a lot of street signs, and 2) their streets, sidewalks, and parking lots all look pretty much the same. I really hated crossing the street there.
After I checked into my hotel, I went out to see the town. It was much warmer there than in Villers-Cotterets, which was very nice. My hotel was located near the Lakenhallen, a huge Gothic building that used to be used for wool storage (Lakenhallen means "Cloth Hall"). It was built in the 13th century, then destroyed during World War I, then rebuilt, and now housed the town hall offices and a World War I museum. It was very big, and for some reason I found it rather creepy. Just behind it was St. Martin's Church. It was also destroyed and rebuilt during World War I, but some ruins of the original 15th century church were still standing.
I also saw the Menin Gate Memorial, an archway over the town bridge that was engraved with the names of over 54,000 World War I soldiers whose bodies were never found or buried. Most of the soldiers were from England or Scotland, but there were also many from India, Australia, and South Africa (I think becuse all of those countries were British colonies at the time). The archway was several stories high and covered with names, inside and out, so many names that it was hard to believe. Inside the arch visitors had left poppies and notes.
The best thing about my hotel room was the television. I got a lot of channels, and there was that broadcast American shows in English with Dutch subtitles. That night I watched The Simspsons, According to Jim, My Wife and Kids, and Extreme Makeover Home Edition. None of those are shows that I regularly watch in America, but it was really wonderful to finally watch something in English besides CNN International.
On Thursday I paid my respects to George Llewelyn Davies (JM Barrie's eldest adopted son, who, like so many soldiers, was killed in action here). George was not actually buried in Ieper but in Voormezele, a tiny neighboring town, so my plan had been to rent a bike and ride there. But problems started right away. I couldn't find the place to rent bikes, and I couldn't read the map - again, people in Ieper don't like street signs - or ask directions because I don't speak Dutch. After wandering around lost for over an hour, I finally decided to screw the bike and simply walk to the cemetary. Even more difficult. I couldn't even find my way out of Ieper, much less walk all the way to Voormezele. I was frustrated almost to tears, and very tired from all the walking I had done, so I when I passed by the train station, I went inside to sit down and be depressed. Inside I saw a sign for a taxi service. Voilà. My cab driver was very nice and spoke English. Once we were in Voormezele, finding the cemetary and George's grave was easy.
When I got back to Ieper, I visited the World War museum in the Lakenhallen, which was really interesting. There was a stone slab at the entrace engraved with names of cities that had been completely destroyed in war - Berlin, Beirut, Hiroshima, Jerusalem, Leningrad, My Lai, Nagasaki, Warsaw, and this one, Ieper. I found the whole museum haunting and beautiful, even though it was crawling with loud obnoxious students from England and Belgium.
On Thursday I did some shopping before I left. I bought a little Belgian chocolate that I will mail home later (if I don't change my mind and decide to keep it for myself!), probably once I have used up all the film on my current disposable camera. I had waffles and ice-cream for lunch, then caught the train to head back to Villers-Cotterets. On the way to Brussels I had a nice conversation with little French girl who said my pants were pretty (I was wearing the pair I bought last week with the glittery designs).
I think I understand what it must be like for Nakeisha to be in France and not speak any French. It was very hard to be in Belgium and not know a word of Dutch.