Isn’t It Always 5pm Somewhere?


So from London I transit to Brussels. I arrive in Belgium on the eve of their Fête Nationale or Independence Day (actually it’s July 21 but I’m late in posting this entry) and there’s a festive mood in the air. I land around 6:30 pm, which theoretically is the best time to acclimate myself to the local time zone. Because then I can grab a hot shower and late dinner and go to bed by midnight like the rest of the locals–well, the ones who aren’t carousing in the streets. That was the plan anyway. The reality is that at 2am I’m wide awake; never mind that I haven’t slept in over 24 hours…my internal clock tells me it’s 5pm and bright in LA right now.  Isn’t it always 5pm somewhere though?  I sort of want to get up and unpack the rest of my stuff but put a pillow over my head instead. It’s not 5pm here.


Of course everything but a few eateries are closed today for the holiday so I head out with my friends to the Grognon flea market in Namur. It’s like meshing a flea market and farmers market together and sprinkling the stands through the curvy streets and alleys of the old town center.  So you will find stalls hawking Spiderman movie posters under a medieval tower, juxtaposed across from a charming cafe where people are dining al fresco. The sugary smell of beignets and gauffres waffles through the thick crowds on this sunny day.  I’m somewhat half-awake (hence not too many pictures) so my first street meal of the day is a mango sorbet. 

The picture above was taken after crossing that bridge; I am desperately looking for shade. With the ODJ photos snapped, we go to lunch.

It gets really warm by mid-afternoon so many of us take cover at a movie theater.  I tell you, the world is the same everywhere.  But I understand only about 58% of the new Harry Potter movie because they’re all speaking rapid French and I have my American ears on still. So during intermission (I know, strange, right? But what a great idea if you need a popcorn or bathroom break but don’t want to miss any of the movie) my listening comprehension is checked by my English-speaking friend. Let’s just say I don’t have a career in translation. He’s looking at me like we’re not even watching the same movie. Sheesh.  I still think my interpretation is better than what’s actually going on up there on the big screen. It also explains why I was laughing when no one else was. Can’t take me anywhere.

After dinner we all end up at the foire, which is a fair.  If you’ve been to the State Fair of Texas in Dallas, you probably wouldn’t get too excited over this one. It’s like comparing a sniffle to a sneeze. But I’m still down with it because I get to stuff my face with the croustillon (you can wikipedia this for pics), which is fried dough dipped in confectioner’s sugar. It’s not good for any of us to eat these things but going to the fair gives you permission to eat your way to a heart attack. I can always repent tomorrow. 

I’ve spent so much time in Belgium at this blog that I have to be mindful about not sounding repetitive, so this weekend I’ll take you across international borders.

1 Comment

  1. Peter

    Yummm, Belgain waffle from the state fair.

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