marksouthbend (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} marksouthbend) wrote,@ 2007-06-18 11:00:00 |
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Brussels
What's left over from yesterday in my mind today is just a lesson or two. It was not a triumphant, inspiring day for me, but I've learned to love a solid chastening as well.
Yesterday, we returned to the site of Napoleon's fall (we went on the 16th, too), because we happened to visit Waterloo, Belgium on the anniversary day of the great battle, and there was a large scale reenactment with everyone dressed in realistic uniforms; the horses and cannons were pretty darn realistic, too, I must say. I wasn't altogether thrilled to be heading back to Le Butte de Lion, the monument commemorating the battle. The Lion statue, on a fairly sizable manmade hill, is purported to be looking in the direction of France, to forever silently chide them for their defeat. I don't really have anything against the monument--its design or implementation--althought I've found ways to criticize it when pressed. I guess more than anything this monument will forever be synonymous in my mind with "the easy thing you do when you haven't planned anything else." Watching the many tourists there getting milked of Euros and snapping digital pictures indiscriminately further turned me off.
I was not openly opposed, or clandestinely opposed, to going to see the reenactment, however. Not thrilled, but not opposed. It seemd like a lucky break that we happened to be here when it was going on (Mrs. Christensen didn't even think they put together this production every year, but every two or five years, maybe). I wasn't impressed with the reenactment. I expected them to do a better job of reenacting what the soldiers did back in 1815. The only thing I saw them reenact really successfully was how the soldiers got dressed back then, which is far less exciting. I did not see a war, with athletic feats of daring heroism. I saw a pillow fight in fancy costumes. James, the Christensen's youngest son, went with us, but decided to leave fairly early. Was he also underwhelmed? I could use some support, because Shane, Carl, and especially Johnny really got a kick out of it.
They enjoyed it just enough to mean the difference between catching the 1:17 p.m. bus to Brussels or the 3:17 p.m. bus. We didn't know the bus schedule, so nobody is to blame. But 2 hours is a long time to wait for a bus.
When Carl was telling the story of the day to our hosts when we got back at night, it was a story of frustration, disappointment, perseverance, and redemption. Frustration at how long it took us to get to Brussels, and frustration at time spent waiting at a bus stop that he would have rather spent in the city. Disappointment at the initial dirty appearance of the city. But then Carl, Shane, and Johnny persevered, followed the plan, had a good meal, went to the Delirium Cafe and tried delicious rare beers, and the day was saved.
I don't have a story to tell about yesterday that has much perseverance or redemption in it, due to my own miscalculation. I thought I might need a little more flexibility and freedom. It seemed to me that a group of four peoplecouldn't quite navigate Brussels with the carelessness and impetuosity necessary to be immersed in it and appreciate it. So I decided to spend some time on my own, about 4 hours, which I divided neatly into 1 hour for getting lost, and 3 hours for trying to reverse the first hour. It simply wasn't as much fun on my own. By yourself, it's not as easy in a strange place to feel like you belong anywhere.
My time alone wasn't terrible, but it wasn't as rich as it could have been, shared with the other guys. There's no finer way to travel than with Johnny, Seawolfe, and Shane, through ups and downs. And to stay with them for the downs and excuse myself from the ups was, let us say, boneheaded.
What's left over from yesterday in my mind today is just a lesson or two. It was not a triumphant, inspiring day for me, but I've learned to love a solid chastening as well.
Yesterday, we returned to the site of Napoleon's fall (we went on the 16th, too), because we happened to visit Waterloo, Belgium on the anniversary day of the great battle, and there was a large scale reenactment with everyone dressed in realistic uniforms; the horses and cannons were pretty darn realistic, too, I must say. I wasn't altogether thrilled to be heading back to Le Butte de Lion, the monument commemorating the battle. The Lion statue, on a fairly sizable manmade hill, is purported to be looking in the direction of France, to forever silently chide them for their defeat. I don't really have anything against the monument--its design or implementation--althought I've found ways to criticize it when pressed. I guess more than anything this monument will forever be synonymous in my mind with "the easy thing you do when you haven't planned anything else." Watching the many tourists there getting milked of Euros and snapping digital pictures indiscriminately further turned me off.
I was not openly opposed, or clandestinely opposed, to going to see the reenactment, however. Not thrilled, but not opposed. It seemd like a lucky break that we happened to be here when it was going on (Mrs. Christensen didn't even think they put together this production every year, but every two or five years, maybe). I wasn't impressed with the reenactment. I expected them to do a better job of reenacting what the soldiers did back in 1815. The only thing I saw them reenact really successfully was how the soldiers got dressed back then, which is far less exciting. I did not see a war, with athletic feats of daring heroism. I saw a pillow fight in fancy costumes. James, the Christensen's youngest son, went with us, but decided to leave fairly early. Was he also underwhelmed? I could use some support, because Shane, Carl, and especially Johnny really got a kick out of it.
They enjoyed it just enough to mean the difference between catching the 1:17 p.m. bus to Brussels or the 3:17 p.m. bus. We didn't know the bus schedule, so nobody is to blame. But 2 hours is a long time to wait for a bus.
When Carl was telling the story of the day to our hosts when we got back at night, it was a story of frustration, disappointment, perseverance, and redemption. Frustration at how long it took us to get to Brussels, and frustration at time spent waiting at a bus stop that he would have rather spent in the city. Disappointment at the initial dirty appearance of the city. But then Carl, Shane, and Johnny persevered, followed the plan, had a good meal, went to the Delirium Cafe and tried delicious rare beers, and the day was saved.
I don't have a story to tell about yesterday that has much perseverance or redemption in it, due to my own miscalculation. I thought I might need a little more flexibility and freedom. It seemed to me that a group of four peoplecouldn't quite navigate Brussels with the carelessness and impetuosity necessary to be immersed in it and appreciate it. So I decided to spend some time on my own, about 4 hours, which I divided neatly into 1 hour for getting lost, and 3 hours for trying to reverse the first hour. It simply wasn't as much fun on my own. By yourself, it's not as easy in a strange place to feel like you belong anywhere.
My time alone wasn't terrible, but it wasn't as rich as it could have been, shared with the other guys. There's no finer way to travel than with Johnny, Seawolfe, and Shane, through ups and downs. And to stay with them for the downs and excuse myself from the ups was, let us say, boneheaded.
