Brussels, Belgium and Paris, France—written 11/21/07

Well, Jason Bourne himself picked us up at the airport in Brussels, and drove us to our hotel. Even the music he had playing in his cab sounded like it could be from the sound track for one of his movies.

The man at the front desk of the hotel fir the “rude European” stereotype, and refused us entry to our room until 3 p.m. That was at 8 a.m. So Corey, much refreshed from all his airplane snoozing, drug his zombie of a wife through the beautiful city of Brussels.

I was so tired; it kind of felt like you do after surgery and the anesthesia is wearing off. But even through the fog in my head, I enjoyed walking down the cobblestone streets with my sweet hubby. It was cold and rainy. Everything was gray… just like the Bourne movies, I’m telling you! (We even had the European police cars with their singsong sirens going by now and then.)

We walked to a couple of the famous landmarks, which I’ll have to post pictures of later, and visited a few shops in-between. The shops filled with Belgian Lace were my favorite. We ducked out of the rain and into a quintessential Belgian Bakery for some very yummy hot cocoa, which was presented in a very wide mug, and with a spoon.

Wherever we went, most people automatically started speaking to us in English, even though Flemish and French are the two primary languages there. We decided it must be our clothing that was giving us away. The Belgians all wore black—dressy black coats, shoes, and slacks, and maybe a few brown or gray sweaters here and there. And everyone was wearing a scarf. I in my casual white hoodie stood out like a sore thumb! And Corey didn’t fare much better in his sporty jacket, tattered jeans, brown shoes, and my 20-year-old green and tan school backpack! Oh—and his hair! No man had his hair short and spiky like Corey; they all wore their hair a bit longer. Interestingly enough, even though they are more dressed up than we are in the Pacific Northwest, the women wore barely any make-up.

On Tuesday morning, we took the train to Paris. Paris! Wow. I never imagined I’d get to see Paris. The people were dressed up even more than they had been in Brussels, and the women wore more make-up, but black and gray still ruled.

We had read, and also heard, that Parisians will be much more friendly with you if you at least make some small attempt to speak French, observe their etiquette (like always saying, “Bonjour!” before you just start talking), and call things by the name they use. This proved to be very true! Corey was trying to find out which bus we should take from the train station to get to the Eiffel Tower, and this guy was halfway through some detailed directions when I broke in and said, “Tour Eiffel?” (pronounced “two-er-eff-el”) At that, the man broke into a wide grin and said, “Bus 48; right over there. And it’s free today!” I told Corey there’s got to be a sermon illustration in there somewhere—you know, about making a little effort to “speak somebody’s language”; get into their world, before thrusting Christian Culture on them when it’s foreign…

Bus 48 was a real experience. I’m a bit claustrophobic, and we had to bump and push our way on, and then stand in the middle of the bus with people pressed snugly against us on all sides, bumping and pushing to come and go at each stop, for 45 minutes. We had similar experiences when we visited China a few years ago, but nothing like this. We decided God was probably preparing us for the Monrovia Airport Baggage Claim, which we are told is extremely small and hot, and requires muscle to get through the crowd and grab your bags—which we have been coached to hold onto tightly. Should be fun with our 50 pound trunks and 50 pound suitcases, not to mention our carry-ons… oh my. I’m getting nervous just writing about it!

So, back to Paris: We started at the Eiffel Tower, which was much bigger than I expected. It was awe-inspiring. And it was patrolled by smiley military men lazily circling it with machine guns. I didn’t expect that. We stopped for lunch at a nice little café, and sat on a couch that must have been 500 years old, then walked along the river to the Louvre. Sadly, it was closed, so we didn’t get to see the Mona Lisa or anything else inside. But it was amazing enough just to walk around the outside. Then we walked to the island where Notre Dame is, and went inside.

Notre Dame was definitely the highlight of Paris for me. I don’t even know where to start with words to describe it, so you’ll have to wait until I can post pictures! I think Notre Dame was the highlight for Corey, too, but not for the reason you might think. He absolutely flipped when he saw that there were flat screen monitors throughout the church. He thought that was soooo cool, that even an almost 2000-year-old church has modernized. I don’t know what happened to the Goat Dairy, Wheat Farmer guy I married… Corey sure has changed a lot in the last 13 years!

As we drove from our Brussels Hotel to the Airport this morning, I asked, “So, when you were a kid, out moving irrigation pipes at 4 a.m. before school, did you ever think that one day you’d be visiting Europe, and on your way to Africa to meet your son?” His big smile gave me the definitive “no” I expected. ;0)

Well, my hand is getting sore, as I’ve been penning all this on the plane. We should be in Dakar, Senegal soon, where some will get off the plane, and then, next stop… LIBERIA!!!