Earthquake?

Although we don’t live in an earthquake risk zone, we’ve had some small ones in the past. They usually strike overnight. The first one I every experienced was in the early eighties. My late husband and I were living on the fourth floor of an apartment complex, when I woke up in the middle of the night from the noise of one of the ornaments in our glass display case falling over. I heard a faint rumbling sound and the bed was shaking ever so slightly. It didn’t wake my husband though and I turned over and fell asleep again. It wasn’t till the next morning, when I heard the news on the radio that I realized that I had awoken by an earthquake.  

My second earthquake experience was more frightening. I occurred a few years after my husband had been killed in a car accident. I was still living in the same apartment, on my own, when I woke up one night because the bed was shaking violently. Still semi-unconscious from sleep, I cursed the young couple next door for making such violent love that it make shake the walls. However, I soon realized that the newlyweds had nothing to do with the noise and shaking. This was an earthquake! I jumped out of bed and did what I had read in a magazine: positioning myself in a doorway, because the concrete beam over it would protect me from falling stones and rumble … if or when the building decided to come down on me.  

Okay, it was silly of me and can hear and see you, the people who live or have lived in an earthquake zone, rolling on the floor with laughter! But we are such novices on these matters. Well, nothing happened, except for the same ornament – a primitive wooden African statue with a wobbly base – falling over again. The next morning I learned that the centre of the earthquake had been located near Liége, a large town in the East of Belgium. Several houses in Liége had suffered damage, from falling chimney stacks to crack in walls. A house under construction had completely caved in and a few people had been injured by falling debris.  

Why am I telling all this? Because we had another earthquake? Not that I know of. However, last night I thought we had. Around 8.30 p.m. when I was watching TV, I heard a rumbling sound … approaching. A few seconds later the floor and the walls started to shake and … the same African sculpture fell over again (Maybe I should get rid of it! What do you think?) 

Let me reassure you. It wasn’t an earthquake. This is what caused the rumbling and shaking …

 

A huge truck pouring hot asphalt over the parking strip
in front of the apartment building.

 

 Two men and a devilish machine spreading
the hot asphalt over the parking strip...

 

 They are three by now by the machine, following the truck.

 

And here comes the guy with the steamroller (steam-less nowadays)
flattening the new layer of asphalt.

 

So, just in case you are wondering ... we now have a seamless and 'dandy' parking strip. A nice change from the quilt-like pattern we had to live with since last year's roadworks!

Rooftops and ceilings

Time for another post about my June trip to the Loire Valley ...

On Thursday, the day after our fantastic blogger party, the weather unexpectedly turned grey, windy and rainy. My initial plan was to visit the Garden Festival at Chaumont in the morning, have lunch there and then to return to Vouvray, stopping over at Amboise to visit the castle and the Clos Lucé, Da Vinci's last home.

However, seeing the overcast sky and menacing clouds I suggested to switch the visits around and start with Amboise, where we could easily search for shelter if or when the rainclouds decided to open the tap. Mats and Vera agreed and off we went. To my surprise, the town was almost deserted. I've never seen Amboise so quiet and devoid of activity in the 14 years that I've visited the place. We found a nice parking spot at the foot of the castle and strolled up the stairs to the ticket office. And that is where all the people were ... The queue was manageable though and pretty soon we were walking up the steep entrance lane to the spot where the tourist guides were waiting.

The vaulted ceiling in Leonardo's chapel.

We agreed on taking a solo visit, depending on the leaflet to learn all about the château. This was my third or maybe even fourth visit of Amboise castle, and I therefore decided to explore the place at my own pace ... meaning faster than my friends. Nevertheless, I spent quite a bit of time in the chapel where Leonardo Da Vinci is buried, admiring the vaulted and beautifully sculptured ceiling and the stained-glass windows.

The sculptured door in and out of the chapel.
That's Mats on the left, coming in just when I was ready to leave.

 

Next I took my time to admire the rooftops of Amboise and the surrounding countryside.

Notice how quiet the town is!

By the time we had finished visiting the chapel, it had started to rain. Not much, just a few drops and not enough to flee inside. However, Vera looked very uncomfortable seeing the dark clouds overhead. "I don't want to stay up here in the open with a thunderstorm brewing." she said. I can't blame her, because one never knows what is inside those clouds. So we made our way into the 'Logis' ... where it felt like 'la rue Neuve' (Brussels' busiest shopping street - What's your equivalent?) during the week before Christmas. Groups of school children (utterly bored), pensioners, tourists from all four corners of the world (like the three of us!) ... shuffling through the great hall, stumbling up and down the stairs.

We tried to stay away from and ahead of the moving 'mob' and I'm sure my friends enjoyed the visit, reading all about the castle's history and features in the leaflet. Occasionally we looked out of the window.The rain was pouring down and we congratulated ourselves on choosing the castle as a safe 'haven' ...

Need, theft or arrogance?

Ever since I’m living in a first floor apartment I’ve drastically changed my shopping habits. In the ‘old days’, when I was still living on the ground floor, I went shopping once a week. I parked my car by the back door and dragged all the heavy shopping bags containing a week’s or even more supply of groceries into the apartment. 

Nowadays I visit the supermarket twice or even trice a week, buying food and other household goods according my daily needs. That way the bags remain manageable and I’m not likely to hurt my back carrying them up the stairs.

 

Pretty violets in a courtyard
in Candes-Saint-Martin in June 2012.

 

These regular visits to the supermarket have made me more aware of the daily life in those vast spaces when people of all ways of life and origin meet. Lately I’ve seen some strange things. Like a young guy sitting on the floor, carefully examining a series of pots and pans: taking them one by one from the bottom shelf, opening them, turning them around and caressing them. His behaviour was very strange and had caught the attention of the security guard who was standing behind a corner, watching the strange man’s every move. 

 

When I passed through the same aisle 10 minutes later, the situation was still the same. I’m not sure what happened after I had left, but I’m pretty sure the young man was an inmate of a nearby psychiatric hospital where they mainly take on university students who suffer from stress or medication abuse because of their fear of failing their exams. They also take in anorexia patients and people with all kinds of neuroses. The ‘ambulant’ patients get the odd afternoon off, and we often see them walking around in groups or on their own, strolling into stores or having a drink in the local cafés. I’m not sure if they are actually allowed to have alcohol, considering the medication they are given, but some of them don’t seem to pay any attention to it and indulge in several heavy beers on their afternoon off.

 

During this week’s visits to the supermarket I noticed two ‘new’ things, which can only be the result of need, theft or arrogance. In a ‘special offer’ crate filled with flip-flops I saw a bag which contained a half eaten baguette. In the drink section, barely hidden by a six-pack of Leffe beer, stood an empty can of Redbull, a high-energy drink.

 

What makes people behave like this? And is it really worth it? There are security cameras and guards all over the place and yet some people take the risk of ‘stealing’ food and drink. Can they be that desperate or is it sheer arrogance? Do you have a similar phenomenon where you live?

A long overdue post

There is more to this post than meets the eye ...

The heat wave is over. Outside temperatures are back to normal for the time of year: a pleasant 22° to 25°C, with some high clouds and a nice cooling breeze. 

The sky last over my apartment last Sunday morning.

Inside temperatures are another matter though. At the office, where we have air conditioning, it’s almost too cold now – but I’m not complaining, because it makes a nice change from my apartment, where, despite my efforts to keep the place cool, the thermometer is oscillating between 29.2°C, when I got home from work yesterday afternoon and 27.8°C this morning at 6.30 a.m. (the coolest since last Saturday). On Monday evening it climbed to an almost suffocating 30.2 C when I had in-avertedly opened all windows around 8 p.m. to let some air in after a blistering hot weekend. Little did I know that the evening air was still warmer than the inside temperature! 

Thanks to my recent investment, a Dyson air-multiplicator – which is just a fancy name for a bladeless, yet very efficient table fan – I was able to sit out the heat wave. I never needed a fan in my former apartment which was located on the ground floor and had electric shutters on the south facing windows.

A hi-tech air-multiplicator.

After a rather mediocre month of June, and a cold and rainy July, nobody had expected the weather to turn tropical almost overnight in August. Looking back, I realize that during my recent trip to the Loire Valley, we had little to complain about weather-wise, or anything else for that matter. We were especially spoiled on June 6^th, the day of the blogger barbecue party at Susan and Simon’s. The weather was sunny, not too hot and best of all … dry. There was a sudden gust of wind in the afternoon which almost blew away the screen that S & S had put up to protect the table which was laden with food and drink. But apart from that, the Touraine weather was on its best behaviour, living up to its reputation. 

Almost all the attendees have already posted about this fantastic, once-in-lifetime experience. Once-in-a-lifetime, because – although I sincerely hope we will have the opportunity to meet again in a not too distant future – for most of us it was the very first we met after having exchanged blog posts and comments for a year or even more. A thrilling and exciting moment … 

I’ll let the photos speak for themselves …

Susan, our hostess, presenting the buffet.

Simon (left), our host, taking a break from barbecueing,
enjoying a drink with Tim (right), Gaynor's husband.

Charles-Henry and 4-year old Florence: senior meets junior.

Relaxing after a wonderful meal.

(left to right : Charles-Henry, Ken, Tim (both mostly hidden),
Simon, Nigel, Gaynor, Vera, Mats, Diane and Susan.

Nobody feels like leaving ...

You’ve probably seen similar pictures of the people and the gorgeous food on other blogs, but these are my personal souvenirs of a most enjoyable and extremely well organized party, great food and fantastic company!

What’s hot in Brussels ?

If you’re expecting a post about nightclubs, bars and other places of nightly entrainment, you’ll be disappointed. This post is all about a bi-annual event that not only blows the tourists' socks off, but also attracts a lot of Belgians. I’m talking about the unique flower carpet that is ‘rolled out’ on the world famous Brussels’ Grand’ Place. 

The carpet, which measures 77 by 24 metres, is made up of almost 1,000,000 begonia flowers. It is punt into place in 4 hours time by 120 begonia growers and volunteers.

Where to start?
Photo: www.nieuwsblad.be

Almost done!
Photo: www.morgen.be

The carpet features a different theme every two years. This time ‘Africa’ is put in the spotlights, with reproductions of authentic fabrics and symbols from the African continent.

The final result.

Photo: www.morgen.be

If you still want to see the carpet in real life – free of charge on ground level, 5 euro per person if you want to go up to the balcony of the city hall to have a general overview – you will have to hurry though, as tomorrow, Sunday, Aug. 19^th, is the last day. Moreover, our current heat wave isn’t doing the carpet any good. Overnight approx. 50,000 flowers had to be replaced to preserve the colour pattern. We’ve been having very high temperatures since Wednesday, with an over 30°C peak on Thursday and 34°-36°C expected for today and tomorrow. 

While I’m typing this the temperature in my apartment has risen to a still ‘comfortable’ 28°C. But I know that by this afternoon, 30°C will not be far away!! But I’ve taken my precautions and have invested in … 

Boating on dry land

When I told you that I recently went boating, I wasn’t totally honest; because, although ‘La Péniche’ used to be a working barge, it hasn’t seen a river for at least two decades. The barge is part of a restaurant in the town of Wavre, some 40 km south of Brussels. In the last quarter of the 20^th century, the owner of the restaurant, which was originally located in a house and specializes in fish and shellfish, had asked the town for a building permit. The aim was to add an extra dining room to accommodate the fast increasing number of patrons.

The permit was never granted, but the landlady refused to look for new and larger premises. Without the required building permit, erecting an edifice on the land adjoining the restaurant was impossible though. However, she found a loophole in the Belgian law on urban construction that stipulated that a building permit was not required for constructions that were put into place overnight, between sundown and sunrise. Bringing in a barge and fixing it in concrete proofed to be the solution. It took the stubborn landlady nine months to find the 120 year-old barge and to organize the transport and delivery. A formidable task that was completed successfully. I think the law has been changed since then, especially as it is now possible to put up a wooden pre-fabricated house in a few hours time.

The interior of 'La Péniche'.

Since then the barge sits fixed in a concrete slab around which a shallow pond with reeds and (gold)fish has been created, making it look as if the barge is actually lying anchored in a canal or a river. It is connected to the main house by a covered gangway. The interior has been done up beautifully with respect for some of the original features, like the wheel, the planking and some of the rigging. The food is 90% seafood: fish and lobsters and shellfish (oysters, clams, mussels, etc.) when in season. 

This was my very first visit to ‘La Péniche’ and I thoroughly enjoyed it; because of the food and the company. I had been invited by my colleague and friend F., who wanted to thank me for my advice on a professional and legal matter.

And here we are, ready to 'attack' our pot of mussels.

We both had mussels, me ‘fisherman’s style (onions, celeriac, parsley, pepper), F. ‘Italian’ style (onions, tomatoes and basil). With it we drank a bottle of ‘Muscadet Sèvres et Maine’, a dry white Loire Valley wine from the area near the city of Nantes. For dessert F. had a generous helping of lemon custard cake and I had an apple tart and vanilla ice cream over which the waiter poured a big splash of calvados that he set on fire, allowing the alcohol to evaporate in a dancing bluish flame.

 

After lunch, F. suggested we’d drive into Wavre to walk off our lunch and to do some window shopping. The last time I was in Wavre was in the early 80-ties and I therefore took up her offer gladly because I wanted to see how the town had changed since then. It somehow seemed smaller than I remembered and not as lively as it had been 30 years ago. But maybe it was just because it was Saturday afternoon and people were at home or on vacation. Anyway, the shops were great! And before I knew it, I found myself buying two handbags (one - not the red one in the photo - was from last year’s collection and therefore a real bargain, considering the quality of the leather and the design) and a pair of extremely comfortable Mephisto shoes.

Mephisto is a well-known French brand that I favour whenever I find them in a Belgian shop. The shop in Wavre is an all-Mephisto store that only carries the home brand. Although the assortment was amazing, I only had eyes (and feet) for a pair of red suede shoes that worked surprisingly well with the red leather handbag I had bought. By the time we left the shop my credit card was showing signs of exhaustion, so it was time to go home.  

F. and I had had a lovely time and we both agreed that we should do this more often. Next time I will show her Leuven, its historic buildings and the Grote Markt (with the longest outdoor bar counter in the world). I’ll take her to d’Artagnan’s, a cosy restaurant that serves delicious food and we’ll go shopping in the pedestrians-only Diestsestraat and the elegant Bondgenotenlaan. But first, we are going to give our credit cards a rest …

Boating

Two weeks ago, I went boating ... on this river barge!

But there was more to this outing than meets the eye.

For instance this ...

A pot of juicy mussles, fisherman's style!

And this ...

Any idea what the story behind these photos is?

Local celebrities

Our encounter with Vouvray’s local motorized police having no serious or costly consequences, we set out on our journey to Preuilly-sur-Claise ; but not without instructing Vera to fasten her seatbelt.

Arriving at the main road that runs along the Loire River, Mats looked in the rear-view mirror and said: “Oh, nice … we have an escort!” While waiting to turn left in the direction of Amboise we saw the policeman who had stopped us driving up the road behind us. He slowed down and stopped beside the car, but didn't even look at us. When the road to Amboise was clear of traffic he headed in the direction of Amboise at great speed. We didn’t see his companion, and supposed that he was off on an urgent call. We followed him at a leisurely pace, still discussing the incident, until we suddenly saw him roaring back in our direction in the opposite lane, peering into the car to check whether Vera was still wearing her safety belt. There is a large roundabout further down the road and we were sure that he had made the run and the U-turn on purpose trying to catch us on some other traffic offence. 

Luckily this was the last we saw of him. However ...

Vouvray - the village bar in on the right,
where you see the 'Tabac' sign.

Two days later, after spending the afternoon at the Garden Festival in Chaumont, I went to Vouvray’s local bar to have a drink and buy some stamps for my postcards. I was chatting with Valerie, the young landlady, when I noticed that one of the patrons by the bar was staring at the seams of my trousers. I looked at him, inquiringly. He smiled and said “Madame, vous allez perdre votre pantalon.” (Madam, you are going to lose your trousers). At first I felt slightly offended, because I don’t like that kind of talk. But then he added: “... car vous n’avez pas attaché votre ceinture!” (... because you haven’t fastened your belt!)
 

I immediately knew that he was referring to our encounter with the local police. I quickly learned that his sister had witnessed the whole incident and had reported about it to the rest of the village. You can say that for the last 48 hours we had been the ‘talk of the town’; celebrities so to speak!
 

The people in the village were very angry about the whole incident, and found it bad enough that the local population was being ‘harassed’ by the police. The fact that they even ‘bothered’ tourists’, who, beside the wine, are their main source of income, was considered as being over the top.
 

I’m sure that, even days after we had left, the village was still talking about our ‘ordeal’ and the next time that they see a tourist being stopped by the police, the story of the ‘Swedish’ car will surface again ... and that they will recognize me and give me a warm welcome when I return to Vouvray.

Swans - but not the kind you think

In colloquial French, in both Belgium and France, policemen are commonly referred to as ‘flics’. In Flemish it’s ‘flikken’. In France you’ll also hear the word ‘poulets’ (chickens). And in Flemish ‘flikken’ who ride motorbikes and always come in pairs are called ‘zwaantjes’ (baby swans!). The name ‘zwaantjes’ finds its origin in the early days of the motorized police. In those days they used to ride Harley Davidson’s. They wore a white crash helmet, black-rimmed goggles and – when it was raining – a long raincoat, which used to float elegantly in the air when they were cruising at high speed. With a bit of imagination, it wasn’t too difficult to see the resemblance with a swan gliding over the water surface.

An elegant swan, photo from the internet. 
See the resemblance?!

Today the ‘zwaantjes’ ride on BMW’s, wear orange helmets and blue and black leather protective clothing. Very un-swanlike, yet the knick-name remains …

Contemporary Belgian 'zwaantjes'.
Photo: www.vab.be

Just one advice when travelling in France (or Belgium for that matter) and finding yourself face to face with a policeman never, and I mean NEVER, address him as ‘Mister Poulet’ or Mister ‘Flic’, unless that is the name showing on his badge. You could find your fine doubled or even ‘win’ a night in prison for offending an officer on duty. 

During my recent stay in the Loire Valley, we had a short and rather worrying encounter with the French equivalent of our Flemish ‘zwaantjes’. We had just left our B and B at the foot of Vouvray’s bell tower and Vera was sitting on hands and knees beside me in the back of the car, putting the two fruit tarts we had bought for Susan and Simon’s BBQ party in the cool-box. While she was doing this, I was thinking that moving around in a driving car wasn’t very safe and that the police, if they were to see it, wouldn’t be very pleased. She had just jumped back in the passenger seat in the front when we saw the two motorized policemen standing at the end of the road ahead of us.  

They couldn’t possibly have seen Vera jumping into place. And yet, they signalled to Mats to pull over and stop the car. One of the ‘flics’ strode (motorized policemen don’t ‘walk’ but ‘stride’ as if they have a broom stick stuck down their jacket and trousers) over to Mats' side of the car.

“Vous parlez français?” he asked. Mats shook his head put pointed to me sitting in the backseat of the car, adding “No, but she does.” The man looked at me and said “La personne dans le siège passager ne porte pas sa ceinture de securité. » (The person in the passenger seat isn’t wearing her safety belt.) I translated the message for Mats and Vera. In the meantime he asked to see Mats driving license. He studied it carefully, while making the mandatory tour around the car. He handed back the license and asked for the ‘papiers du vehicule’ (car papers). I translated the request and Mats and Vera looked very bewildered. “This is a company car. We don’t carry the car papers with us”. Outch!!! I tried to explain to the policeman what they said, adding that in Sweden people in company cars never carry the car papers with them.

By the look on his face, the policeman found this very unusual but had no arguments to proof the contrary. “The fine for not wearing a safety belt is 90 euros.” he said (in French, of course). Once again I translated the message. And then Vera made an almost crucial mistake – thank heavens French policemen, or at least this one, don’t understand English, because she said “I haven’t had time to fasten it yet, because I have been busy in the back and was just sitting down when you saw us.” “Keep quiet” I whispered- “You’re making it worse!” The policeman looked at me. I had to come up with a translation. “We have just left our B and B up there” – pointing at the bell tower – “And she forgot to fasten it. She didn’t do it on purpose”, I pleaded.

The man frowned and in French said “I suppose you are on vacation and don’t have that kind of money on you?” I didn’t even bother to translate it back into English and nodded “That’s right.” “D’accord, continuez.” (Okay, you can go.), he said. I noticed that he looked puzzled though. He must have recognized my Belgian accent and was probably asking himself what a Belgian middle-aged woman was doing, travelling with a Swedish couple in a Swedish car with a Stockholm license plate.

For a moment there I thought that he was going to confiscate the car and that we wouldn’t make it to the party I had been looking forward to for months. But he let us go … But wait ... this isn’t the end of the story!

Orchid update

It's been a while since I posted photos of my orchids. After my move in March 2011, most of them looked rather poorly: yellow leaves, no new flowers and a general look of 'what am I doing here?'

And then, in spring, they suddenly all burst back into life. Apparently they were beginning to enjoy their new surroundings. Today I have four out of seven plants producing the most beautiful flowers. Here's one of them ...

Tomorrow or Saturday I'll be back with the story of our 'Brief encounter with the Vouvray police.'

In the meantime: have a nice weekend. Mine starts tomorrow as I'm not working on Fridays. But you knew that already, didn't you?