It is with great sadness that I see my Twitter feed filling up with news of the Brussels explosions.
Belgium is a country that we know well, having lived there on two occasions for over eight years. My son was born there, and until fairly recently it was the country that our kids knew the best. I am saddened by the Brussels bombings and my heart goes out to the people of Belgium today.
Here are a few pictures from my most recent trip in May 2015 as I share some of my thoughts and memories.
All three of our children attended the local French-speaking schools. They all started at Maternelle, like their fellow classmates when they were two and a half years old. ‘That’s young’ I hear you say. Which is true, but with three kids under five, I was not complaining. This early crack at education has given them a life-long linguistic advantage and some beautiful cursive writing…
Well, whilst they might be linguistically gifted, it is only compared with their parents. It is certainly not compared with the other students. You see in Belgium there are three official national languages: French, Flemish, and German. We used to say the next generation of illiterates in Belgium will be those who are monolingual.
These different languages and cultures also brought their differences of opinions. We often heard the comment that Belgium could be the next Yugoslavia. Happily, during our time, this never happened.
Living in Belgium was an exciting time of our family life, we have fond memories of this tiny country sandwiched in between France, Germany, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands.
It was challenging living away from all family and friends, but we soon found ourselves a popular place to visit. Once the Channel Tunnel crossing had opened we could be in the UK and nearly home easily in three hours. Driving the car to England gave us plenty of opportunities to stock up on our favourite British foods at Sainsbury’s returning with a boot full of our favourite cereals and treats that we missed back home in Belgium.
Mind you it worked both ways, we loved the new foods we found on the Continent. The street markets were amazing and the specialty shops such as the boulangerie’s with croissants like we’d never tasted, pain au chocolates, gateaux, and waffles a real treat.
Wandering around Europe’s capital was always fascinating. You can move from the most modern area, like the roads around the European Parliament, to ancient cobbled streets in a heartbeat.
There was always the threat of being a target. At the school entrance, even in the mid-nineties, our cars were inspected for bombs before we were allowed in to drop the kids off. This was also the time of Marc Dutroux, the Belgium serial killer and paedophile.
When I think of my time living in Belgium, I was more on guard than my life in Australia.