Last night Matt and I took advantage of the late store hours in Maastricht, strolling hand in hand in our Barbour coats, breathing in the crisp fall air, and taking in the beauty of the changing leaves, charming squares, and delighting in the picture-perfectness of it all. As we entered our first store (think Joyce Leslie), I felt compelled to comb each rack and seek comfort in the large size of the store---something very uncommon in Paris. As I was coming around a rack of gold-flecked sweaters, I heard something that made me freeze. “Hello, can I help you?” It literally made me speechless, and in a moment where I could have actually respond appropriately.
Did I need to try on the sequined pants in obnoxious colors that looked more appropriate for a lady of the night? No. But I wanted to take in the moment—elongate the feeling of happiness I felt being around native English speakers.
From there my love for the town snowballed. A grocery store with peanut butter that cost exactly 92 centimes, parceled with cheese-flavored rice cakes, multi-grain crackers and American marshmallows, which alone made the journey worth it. But add the sweet-smelling waffle stands, chocolate stores galore, and it mirrors an Anglo heaven. Want your monogram in chocolate (milk, dark and white?), Maastricht is your place. MTV and Comedy Central at the hotel, a McDonald’s with stained-glass windows and a waffle/caramel flavored McFlurry (which followed my spinach salad and cherry bier). No moments of befuddlement, language-barriers, feelings of frustration over steep prices, and lack of customer service. It indeed felt like home.
It is hard to not step back from the land of the beauties on bikes and reflect for a moment on our decision to get married and move to Paris just all in the span of a year. As October 11th marked wedding one, we haven’t been able to say yet for certain that we made the right choice packing up and shipping out. We seem to get stuck dwelling on the fact that we are not ex-pats in a city where it is a necessity to have those benefits to counterbalance the hardships that come with a new culture, new language, and new life. Not to get personal, but Matt’s package is way too small. As my doctor’s fees mount (still no carte vitale), my yearning for a stable 9-5 increases (no work visa—apparently ever), and Matt’s company continues to receive negative press, it takes a concerted effort to remind ourselves of the adventure we are on and sharing together. A gorgeous town with English-speakers, tolerable prices, a Burger King (amongst a myriad of American foods), Halloween decorations, and watching the Hills on MTV does not help. Side note: the book that was being highlighted at the swanky Bijenkorf was Lauren Conrad’s Sweet Little Lies.
So what is the solution? Do we throw in the Manuel Canovas towel and head back to weekends at Target and Starbuck’s? After spending 24 hours here, it is hard not to at least consider. But as we strolled through the stores last night, talking about Matt’s need for a banana hammock as we are going to start swimming (direct orders from my Kinetherapist), and going back over the list of upcoming weekend plans with our friends and dates with Easy Jet (Madrid, Prague, and Budapest all before Christmas!), we are living a life that we simply couldn’t mimic being back in the gold ole Anglo-USA. So even if Matt’s package has not afforded us the fantastic flat and smooth transition into life with the Frenchies, at the very least it will be look very cute at the local piscine.
Brugges
Perfection. Our flat was simply divine: spacious, clean, and appeared to a product of a very well-trained eye. Cynthia, our hostess, was a statuesque Canadian who had come to Belgium to play professional basketball, and never left (and I can see why, besides the most-likely very attractive and very tall husband).
We were situated on the one of the main shopping roads, and when we were not sitting on the distressed sea-foam green leather couch watching E! or Football American, we were strolling up and down the cobblestone, stopping to take in the canals, the changing leaves, the gorgeous main square, and the multitude of bikes. Another slice of Anglo-heaven. Would be come back? I don’t even want to leave!
Our palace for the weekend!Gent, Belgium
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