Home for the holidays

In a couple of days my husband and I will board a plane for the States, where we'll visit friends and celebrate the Christmas holidays with my family. It'll be the first time in three years that we're back in the USA for Christmas, and I can't wait.

Not that I don't enjoy the holiday season here in Belgium. The old Flemish cities are at their picturesque best this time of year, with all the Christmas greenery and lights. Christmas markets are sprouting up everywhere, and I've already drunk my fill of mulled wine, whipped cream-topped hot chocolate and flavored jenevers at Hasselt's Winterland, which is like a sugar-fueled, Santa-themed carnival on acid.

Hasselt's Winterland

But there's something special about Christmas in America, and it's just not the same here. No other holiday comes close in terms of nostalgia, anticipation, excitement and excess. Christmas isn't only the biggest holiday of the year—it's the one that is most closely bound up with our childhood memories, our family dynamics, and our favorite rituals, whether religious or secular.

Of course, there are all the negatives: the commercialism, the expectations, the disappointment. Everyone complains about the pressure to buy more (and more expensive) gifts. The stress of attending all those holiday parties and managing holiday schedules. The powder keg of emotions that any family gathering inevitably becomes... and the depression that can easily take hold when the reality of the holidays doesn't match our dreams.

But that's the dark side of a holiday that's all about light. For most Americans, Christmas is about getting together with our loved ones and sharing a meal while dressed in our prettiest party clothes. It's about decorating the house, putting up the tree, and hanging up ornaments that have been carefully collected over the years. It's about listening to Christmas carols on the radio, even the ones we claim to hate. It's about finding the perfect gift for your favorite aunt, and sending Christmas cards the old-fashioned way, by mail.

Christmas tree in the Grand Place, Brussels

I've found that Christmas in Belgium doesn't have the same emotional pull for people here. Children have Sinterklaas on December 6, when they receive special treats and presents. That's the holiday most people associate with cherished childhood memories. Traditionally, families would go to church on Christmas eve, eat dinner together and maybe open presents. It just wasn't a big deal. It seems that many of the Christmas traditions now seen in Belgium have been imported from Germany, England or America in recent years.

This year, I'm looking forward to my family's Christmas traditions: We'll dress up and go to church on Christmas Eve, and then my aunt will host a party afterwards with cocktails, egg nog and lots of food. On Christmas morning, we'll open our stockings (stuffed with small gifts and treats from “Santa”) in our pajamas, and then get dressed for a late breakfast. After breakfast, we'll open the piles of presents under the tree. Later we'll go for a winter walk on the beach before starting on dinner preparations.

Christmas dinner will be a formal affair with fancy dishes and the good silver. It will be followed by a Christmas pudding (purchased at the English shop in Brussels and brought over on the plane) crowned with a holly sprig, doused in brandy and lit on fire. Everyone will be slightly tipsy by then and we'll finish by pulling our crackers and reading the bad jokes while wearing paper crowns. (NB: many of our Christmas traditions are British, since my family is from England.)

My family's Christmas table

Last year, we went to my Flemish in-laws' house on Christmas Day for a family dinner. It was very relaxed and not so different from other family gatherings. We didn't exchange presents. But there are a few Christmas traditions that I refuse to give up, even here in Belgium. I insisted on having stockings for myself and my husband (even though I had to fill both of them myself). I drove my husband crazy by playing Christmas music for weeks. And I decorated our Christmas tree with the ornaments I've been collecting for over 20 years, which were among the few things I brought with me from America.

How not to make friends and influence people

It's taken me almost four years, but I've finally “cottoned on” to something about Flemish behavior that is subtly different from that of Americans. Of course everyone knows that American society prizes individuality to an almost pathological degree. At its best, this cultural bias celebrates individual talent and independence; at its worst, it tends towards selfishness and egocentrism.

On the other hand, it might seem obvious that, here in Flanders, individuality is rather less celebrated. But it took me a long time to understand how this cultural difference plays out in ordinary social interactions. What this means is that, when dealing with others, the group dynamic and group identity are much more important than individual wishes or needs.

I'm accustomed to putting my own wishes and needs first, and I'm not shy about voicing my opinions when in a group. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or to go along with me, but I'm also used to everyone else doing the same. My husband finds this behavior off-putting, and will rarely put forth an opinion unless and until he senses that it will be well received by the others.

Members of a group, when making plans or decisions, will carefully consider what will be best for the majority rather than taking stock of everyone's individual desires and hashing it out from there—which is the method I'm used to. In practice, this means that a group will tend to go with what's tried and true, or what's the easiest plan for all involved. And then it's expected that everyone will go along with the plan.

I'm learning that it's not always wise or welcome to blurt out what I want or what I think when in a group. It's not easy to hold my tongue, but I now realize that doing what comes naturally can come across as bossy, selfish or arrogant. Flemish people might seem easy-going and accommodating, but that doesn't mean they like it when someone tries to dominate the group. They expect everyone to help reach a mutual consensus.

Once we rented a vacation house for the weekend with a group of my husband's friends. It seemed like a fun idea—and it was fun. However, I found the experience to be exhausting. As a natural introvert, I was uncomfortable spending all my time in the company of the entire group. There was no opportunity to “go off and do your own thing.” Nor was there an opportunity to do something other than what the group as a whole decided to do.

There are times when I would much rather sit by myself and read a book instead of having to interact with a large group. Here in Flanders, either you join the group or you risk being seen as antisocial. My husband says it's acceptable to sit quietly, whereas I feel pressure (as an American) to make conversation. Where I come from, you have to be “on” in social situations. But you're also allowed to go off and be by yourself if you prefer.

Once, when I went back to California for a friend's wedding, a group of my closest friends rented a beach cottage for a bachelorette weekend. At one point my then-boyfriend called and asked what we were doing. I told him that we'd all brought projects to work on and were happily “doing our own thing” (while enjoying each other's company). He found that exceedingly odd. In his words, “Why go away for the weekend if you're not going to do things together?”

And yet, we Americans saw nothing contradictory in our desire to get together and engage in separate activities. We also did things together as a group that weekend. But it never occurred to us that spending the weekend together meant that we would do everything together. If some of the group wanted to go for a walk, it was acceptable for others in the group to opt out.

I doubt I will ever fully relinquish my tendency to speak my mind and do what I want. But the longer I live here, the more I appreciate the Flemish practice of building consensus and fostering group cohesion. It seems to strengthen group identity among family, friends and colleagues in a way that is different from what I experienced in America. Still, I wonder if people here ever wish they could assert their individuality a little more...

(A version of this post appeared on the website of Fans of Flanders, an English-language TV program about expat life in Dutch-speaking Belgium.)

Getting married in Belgium, Part II

This is a follow-up to an earlier post about my wedding, which took place last summer. I always meant to write another post about getting married here but somehow never got around to it--until now. Since our one-year anniversary is just around the corner, I figured I shouldn't wait any longer to write it!

One of the strangest things for me (as an American) to wrap my head around was the Belgian custom of inviting different people to different wedding events.

Where I come from, a wedding is considered a single event comprised of different activities, to which all guests are invited and expected to attend. The usual sequence goes something like this: wedding service (civil or religious) followed by wedding reception, either at the same venue or a different location. The reception usually involves drinks (champagne), then a formal dinner, and finally dancing.

The creation of the guest list is a complicated and tortuous affair, made even more difficult by budget concerns when providing dinner and drinks for everyone on the list. The final guest list has to include a carefully calibrated mixture of close friends, casual friends, immediate family, distant relatives, co-workers and professional acquaintances of both the bride and the groom, and perhaps the parents as well.

Here in Belgium, it is customary to have a different guest list for each wedding activity. For instance, pretty much everyone is invited to attend the civil ceremony; there's no cost to the couple and because it takes place in a public venue (at city hall) anyone can show up and watch. On the other hand, if there's going to be another ceremony (in a church) only close friends and family might be invited and expected to attend. In general, people outside the couple's immediate circle are happy to skip the church ceremony.

Then there might be two or three different celebratory events after the ceremony (or ceremonies). First, a champagne reception for the people invited to the church ceremony. Then a formal dinner for just the immediate family and closest friends. And finally an evening party with music and dancing for the wider circle of friends, acquaintances and other relatives. (At the evening party, there will often be a casual buffet served late in the evening with sandwiches or snacks.)

Breaking the wedding up into different events (sometimes taking place over two or more days) has two advantages: First of all, you can tailor the guest list to the event, limiting the more intimate events to your inner circle of family and friends and including everyone else in a big dance party. Secondly, it saves money since you're not expected or obliged to provide a formal, sit-down dinner to all of your guests--which is often the biggest wedding expense. It's a very practical system.

However, I just couldn't do it. To me it felt rude to exclude some of my guests from certain events. I couldn't bring myself to invite people to my wedding service and then tell them to get lost for a few hours while I went to a nice dinner with my family and closest friends, even though my husband assured me that no Belgian would take offense.

In the end, because our second ceremony took place in the same location (an old, renovated farmhouse) where we had the reception and party, it didn't make sense to break up the guest list anyway. Everyone who came to the ceremony stayed for the champagne reception, sit-down dinner and dancing. And because I had family and friends coming from the United States and England, having our guests spend the whole day together gave everyone the chance to get to know each other.

Some of our Belgian friends couldn't make it to the ceremony since it was on a Friday afternoon and they had to work, so they just showed up during dinner. I found that strange. In America, either you come to the wedding or you don't. You don't accept part of the invitation and you definitely don't skip the wedding ceremony itself. I'm pretty sure Emily Post would not approve, but then she's not Belgian.

I was used to thinking of the wedding ceremony as the most important part of the wedding and my job as guest was to witness and support the couple during this momentous and romantic event. Here, the ceremony is considered a boring formality, and the guest's role is to help celebrate afterwards. Perhaps this is because civil and Catholic weddings tend to be rather formulaic and impersonal, whereas we Americans put a lot of emphasis on customizing the wedding ceremony to reflect the couple's personality and beliefs.

In the end, our wedding day was a reflection of our marriage and ourselves: a combination of American and Belgian influences and traditions. The civil ceremony was in Dutch and the religious ceremony was in English. We sang songs and had readings in both languages. We served Flemish food for dinner and had an American-style tiered wedding cake. The DJ played both Belgian and American music, and the dance floor was full all night long.

It was everything I wanted our wedding to be, and it was perfect.

My daily source of exasperation

It's the little things that drive you crazy.

As an expat living in a foreign land, I can accept a wide range of strange and unfamiliar practices that fall under the heading “Cultural Differences.” I understand that people here have their own customs and habits, and that it is up to me, as an outsider, to adapt and assimilate.

However, there are some things that I simply cannot accept—things that I view not as cultural differences born of this country's unique history, language or traditions, but as serious errors. Yes, it's true: There are a few things about life in Flanders that are just plain wrong.

Take TV, for instance. One of my pet peeves is the mysterious logic behind television programming. Flemish TV channels carry a lot of American shows, which is great—until you realize that they're showing episodes from last season. Or maybe it's the current season, but the episodes are several months old, so you end up watching the Christmas episode of “Castle” in February.

Often there seems to be no logic at all to the scheduling or programming of shows. They'll show the previous season of “Bones,” and then when it's over, start again with episodes that are 4 years old. For no apparent reason. Shows regularly jump from one time slot to another, or from one day of the week to another, without warning.

There's no respect for the intrinsic structure and rhythm of your typical TV show. A one-hour drama is built around commercial breaks at specific times, with one scene ending at the cut and another picking up after the lead-in. Flemish broadcasters run right through the break, and then insert a commercial somewhere else in the episode, usually at the worst possible moment, mid-scene or even mid-sentence.

Here's another thing that I find maddening: TV shows don't start and end on the hour or half-hour like they do in the US! Each channel has its own schedule with shows starting and ending at completely random times that are completely different from all the other channels. Nowadays, with DVRs, it's easy enough to record one show and watch another, but how did this system ever come to be in the first place?

And I have the distinct impression that the start and end times listed on the channel guide are just suggestions. Nothing ever seems to start at the time it's supposed to.

Maybe it's the fact that I used to work in the entertainment industry, or the fact that I'm addicted to TV (can you tell?) that makes me so particular about how my favorite shows are presented. Or maybe it's part of my greater frustration over being a slave to television broadcasters in the first place.

By the time I left the US three years ago, I was watching less and less TV on my television and more TV shows online. After coming to Belgium, I soon found that all of the digital content I was used to streaming live on my computer was now unavailable to me. Three years later, nothing has changed. Digital content from the US is still blocked in Belgium.

So I'm stuck watching TV shows on TV... when I can figure out what times they're on. One good thing about watching TV in Flanders: American shows are all subtitled, not dubbed. We also get the Walloon channels from our cable provider, but I simply cannot bring myself to watch American shows with the actors' voices dubbed into French!

(A version of this post also appeared on the website for Fans of Flanders, the English-language TV show for and about expats in Flanders. I'm honored to be one of their guest bloggers--and I even watch the show on TV.)

Carnaval time in Flanders!

Today is Ash Wednesday, the start of the Christian season of Lent, a period of penitence and fasting leading up to Easter. In New Orleans, Louisiana, the day before Ash Wednesday is celebrated with Mardi Gras (“Fat Tuesday” in French)--North America's only indigenous Carnival. In our mostly Protestant country, Carnival traditions never took hold anywhere else.

Here in Catholic Belgium, Carnaval (spelled slightly differently) is part of the culture. It doesn't seem to be celebrated everywhere, but there are local Carnaval festivities scattered all over the country. The most famous ones are in Aalst (Flanders) and Binche (Wallonia). Where I live, in Limburg province, there is a long history of Carnaval traditions which are tied to the neighboring regions of Dutch Limburg and the German Rhineland.

 On Monday, I experienced my first Flemish Carnaval in my husband's home village. Vroenhoven is located just over the border from Maastricht, which is probably the Netherlands' most famous Carnaval city, boasting the most outrageous parties and parades. Most of the villages in the area have their own home-grown Carnaval parade, led by local organizations who elect a Prince of Carnaval every year.

This year, the Vroenhoven stoet (“parade” in the local dialect) was organized together with the parade in Wolder, the Dutch village on the other side of the canal separating Belgium from the Netherlands. The joint parade started in one village and then made its way over the border to the other village and back again. A truly international celebration!

In America, we're used to images of scantily-clad Carnivale dancers in Rio de Janeiro, or slightly-more-covered revelers at Mardi Gras. The reality of Carnaval in Belgium couldn't be more different: Everyone is bundled up against the cold, and the most popular Carnaval accessories are big, funny hats (good for keeping your head warm), and scarves, gloves and legwarmers in traditional Carnaval colors of red, yellow and green.

Carnaval in Vroenhoven has a distinctly rural flavor, with all the parade floats constructed on farm trailers pulled by huge tractors. Each parade float had its own theme, with costumed revelers either riding on top or walking alongside. I wasn't prepared for the shower of candy and other goodies that were thrown into the crowd, but the children standing next to me came with big shopping bags which were soon full to bursting.

My husband grew up participating in the parade, wearing a different costume every year from the time he was a wee child. Our two-year-old niece is too young yet, but I look forward to the day when she'll take her place in the annual Carnaval parade. And next year, I'll be sure to bring a big bag so that I can help her gather up the candy.

Learning to dress like a Belgian

It's soldes periode in Belgium—that's “sales period” to you (that is, fellow English speakers) and me. Twice a year, in January and July, shops are allowed to offer big markdowns on last season's merchandise. It's actually forbidden by law to have major, storewide sales at any other time of year. I'm not sure about the reason for this; my husband says it's to protect small businesses who can't afford to offer the same discounts as the big retailers.

In any case, the beginning of the soldes is always marked by the kind of shopping frenzy we usually see in the US on the day after Thanksgiving. This year, I joined a Flemish friend who'd taken the day off work for shopping on the first day of the sales in our home town of Hasselt. The discounts can range anywhere from a negligible 10% to a more tempting 70% off original prices.

And yet, this year I found very few clothes (of course we're mostly talking about clothes here) that I wanted to buy, even on sale. Fashion lately seems to have taken a turn for the worse. Much, much worse. High-necked granny blouses, loud geometric prints straight from the 70's, skirts and pants designed to emphasize the least attractive parts of the female anatomy. Colors are either screaming bright or dull as mud.

My gorgeous, slender, blonde friend lucked out and found a dress that actually flattered her figure in a pretty, tastefully patterned fabric. At half off. She always seems to know just what to buy. I think it's a Belgian thing.

One thing I've noticed since moving here is that Belgians are generally much better dressed than Americans. All right, I'll admit it—that's not saying much. Americans are universally acknowledged to be among the worse dressed people on earth. (Followed closely by the Dutch, Australians and Brits.) You can always spot the American in Europe: baggy jeans, sneakers, sweatshirt, backpack. All things that no Belgian over the age of 12 would be caught dead wearing in public.

Another thing I've noticed is that Belgians have no problem wearing the same outfit two days in a row. When he gets home from work, my husband takes off his office clothes, hangs them up, and changes into jeans. The next day, he wears the same shirt and pants again. He said he was taught to do this as a child. When he came home from school, he hung up his school clothes and changed into play clothes.

When I was a kid, wearing the same outfit two days in a row was literally inconceivable. We had one girl in our class who never, ever wore the same outfit twice. (I've always wondered what she did with her clothes after they'd been worn once, never to reappear on her person again.) Of course, that's an extreme example, but my teenage classmate had clearly achieved the ultimate goal: new clothes every day.

The Flemish approach to clothes is much more practical, sensible and economical. As far as I can tell, they tend to buy fewer items of clothing and wear them more often. The typical American has closets stuffed with clothes, most of which get worn a couple of times and then forgotten—to be replaced the following season with a bunch of new clothes. 

So, in a way I'm glad I didn't find anything to tempt me during the sales. I'm trying to buy clothing the Flemish way: occasionally and with care. After all, I don't have to have a different outfit every day of the week. What's more, I can wear the same dress to two different parties, even if some of the same people might see me both times. Here in Flanders, no one will be shocked.

(A version of this post appears on the website for Fans of Flanders, a new English-language TV program aimed at expats living in Belgium. I'm honored to be one of their regular guest bloggers!)

What's not to like? Smoking, that's what

A friend asked me the other day if there was anything I didn't like about Belgium. It's true: for the most part I have nothing but good things to say about Belgium. I love it here and I love telling people all the things I love about it. But I had no problem admitting to my Belgian friend that yes, indeed, there are a few things I don't like about Belgium.

Tops on my list has to be smoking.

Of course we have smokers in America--I believe the U.S. is the biggest manufacturer of cigarettes in the world, and we pretty much invented the whole idea that smoking is cool. (Thanks, Madison Avenue!) But in the past few decades, the government has done a good job of convincing Americans that smoking is dangerous to your health and the health of those around you, not to mention a vile and noxious habit.

Also, I lived in California, that epicenter of health-consciousness, for over ten years before coming to Belgium. Not only has smoking been banned in restaurants and bars in California since 1995, but most municipalities in Southern California also ban smoking in parks, on beaches, near the entrances to public buildings, and in outdoor dining areas. Basically, it's almost impossible to smoke a cigarette in public in Los Angeles.

None of my friends in L.A. smoked. So I was able to live a virtually smoke-free existence before coming to Belgium.

One of the things I admire about Belgium is that people here have a very tolerant attitude towards others. Belgians, for the most part, believe in "live-and-let-live." That means that Belgium was one of the first countries to allow gay marriage. Possession of a small amount of marijuana (for personal use) is legal here. Unfortunately, smoking is still seen largely as a individual right, so anti-smoking legislation has lagged behind the U.S.

Smoking in bars and nightclubs was only banned as of July 1, 2011. Smoking in workplaces (including restaurants) has been illegal since 2006. In general, smoking rates for Belgium are slightly higher than for the U.S. (closer to 1 in 4 adults in Belgium, as opposed to 1 in 5 Americans, smoke). But smoking rates in the U.S. have been declining over the past decade, whereas for Belgium they've stayed the same.

It probably seems like more people smoke here because they're much more visible, especially compared to California. (It makes more sense to compare countries in Europe to states in America, especially when talking about things that are legislated at a state level.) Even if you could find a public place in California to smoke, the shame would probably prevent you from lighting up.

I just can't get used to the fact that it's still okay to smoke on the outdoor patios of restaurants and bars here. Sometimes it's a narrow distinction between "inside" and "outside" when the patio area is enclosed on all sides. There's nothing (in my mind) worse than sitting down to enjoy a drink or a meal on a beautiful summer day, only to have someone at the next table light up and start blowing smoke in my direction.

I really hate cigarette smoke.

So that's one thing that isn't so great about Belgium. I say that as a non-smoker; if you're a nicotine addict--sorry, I mean, smoker--then by all means, come to Belgium! But do it soon. I'm guessing it's only a matter of time before Belgium (and the rest of Europe) starts to ban smoking in other public areas, just like California.

Meanwhile, I console myself over the end of summer with the thought that in winter, when all drinking and dining takes place indoors, I'll be spared having to smell and taste cigarettes with my food.

A country divided

So the first thing you should know about Belgium is that there's an invisible line dividing the country in half horizontally. This is the language border.

To the north is what used to be called Flanders, i.e. the Flemish part of the country. Linguistically and culturally, Flanders is closely aligned with Holland, a.k.a. The Netherlands. The Flemish speak Dutch; in Dutch (an English word that doesn't exist in Dutch) the language is called Nederlands. It's very similar to the Dutch spoken in Holland, but there are differences. Friends tell me it's like the difference between British English and American English.

To the south is a region called Wallonia, which is French-speaking. In the nineteenth century, Wallonia was at the forefront of the industrial revolution in Europe and was much more prosperous than the Flanders, which was primarily agricultural. Beginning in the twentieth century, as the importance of heavy industry declined, Wallonia's fortunes waned and it is now much poorer than the north, with high unemployment.

The linguistic and economic differences between north and south result in a great deal of social and political tension, if not outright conflict. As far as I can make out, the Flemish people don't have much to do with their French-speaking compatriots, and vice versa. I'm told that Dutch-speaking Belgians think of the Walloons as lazy and dirty. (If I had to guess, I bet the French speakers regard their neighbors to the north as uptight workaholics.)

Brussels, the capital, is on the Flemish side of the language border but is primarily French-speaking. There's also a small German-speaking region, which was annexed by Belgium after the defeat of Germany in the First World War.

All of this makes for a very convoluted system of government. Belgium has a king, and is a constitutional monarchy and parliamentary democracy. There are three regional governments, with jurisdiction over the French, Flemish and German areas. It's actually a bit more complicated than that even, since the linguistic communities and geographic regions aren't the same.

Anyway, one of the first things I wanted to know about Belgium when I decided to move here was "What language do they speak?" Simple question, right? Wrong!

There are three official languages: Dutch, French and German, as well as a fourth "unofficial" language: English. Because everyone has a different native tongue and because of the influence of American media, everyone speaks at least a little English, and most people I've met speak it fluently.

Which is lucky for me, since I don't speak Dutch. I know a little French, which sometimes comes in handy, mostly for reading labels and signs, which tend to be in both languages. I'm starting an intensive Dutch language class next week. So far, I've found it very hard to understand, even a little, and very hard to pronounce. This should be interesting.