How many Americans does it take to work a bike lock?

Americans in front of the American-made KU Leuven Library

In front of the main University building

Matt going through a tunnel, post tire pop 1, just before tire pop 2

In front of the Stella Brewery

Kara, Liam, and Morgan on the high rode - I chose the low road for photographic purposes

The Group and I bike riding

Imagine this: Gliding briskly with the light breeze and the warmth of late August bringing a smile to your face. The sun – bright yellow – casts streaks of red across the sky of baby blue and white flowing clouds, illuminate the skyline of a centuries-old city. Steeples and spires thrust toward the sky, creating a pointed black skyline in the distance. Cobble stones, old and worn smooth--reflect the same character as the medieval-style architecture and buildings that engulf the narrow city streets--rattle your pedals as you pull into the 14th century convent dorm room where you currently reside. Now that is a daydream worth having.

Those distinct images were where my mind wandered as I sat outside Velo, the Belgian bike shop where I had just rented my bright orange, European-style bike--“Ginger” as she has been nick-named. Yes those were the images that quickly faded as 8 hands of 4 individuals--4 American individuals--descended on the Belgian bike lock, trying to figure out how to get the “curvy” piece to stay locked in the “straight” piece.

We figured it out; the key is keeping the key in the lock the entire time--a lesson hard earned. And as I go on, I have gotten more accustomed to the opening and closing the lock. We have ridden our bike everywhere and each time we lock it when we get to each location and unlock it when we get back, so I have literally done it a couple of dozen times. But even after 4 days, there are sometimes where I get a clean lock and unlock, and sometimes where I end up coated in oil, dropping the metal end back into the bike rack while my hand is lodged between two tire spokes--looking like a damned flat-lander.

However, the bike lock serves as a symbol for anything and everything in my newly-begun Belgian lifestyle. I think that this mentality has been my new realization since I’ve gotten to Leuven. One of my friends Liam made a comment about potentially riding our bikes on a day trip from Leuven to Brussels, but then decided that it was more of “5-months-in” activity. It kind of hit Matt, my roommate, and I at the same time: I’m not here on vacation.

I won’t be gone in two weeks and back home in no time. This is my home now, my new culture, something to respect not ridicule. I spend my time trying to fit in--not to make too much of an ass of myself, which is hard enough as it is. It’s odd to live in a country and culture for 20 years, where things become secondhand and natural, and then travel to a place where you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure when you cross the street on your bike that you’re not offending anyone.

Well that was my realization and that is really what I have to tell you all for this week. The week itself has been mainly business for us. We are getting accustomed to our new living community and catching up on our sleep. We rented our bikes, started the process for opening our bank accounts, registered at KU Leuven, and took a historical tour of the city (passing by the overly patriotic, American-built, KU Leuven Library ), which was capped off with free Stella Artois and Hoegaarden courtesy of the PECS international study abroad program.

We took a bike ride exploring Leuven and the surrounding suburb--at one point we ended up so far away that we passed a sign that read “Leuven – 4 km.” The bike riding has been fun, it brings me back to when I used to ride my bike to the lower field to play stickball (Everyone says I still ride like a little kid jumping off curbs and always standing, but I guess I’m just youthful at heart).

We have enjoyed our time--minus the 2 times that Matt popped his back tire and he has in a quite literal way scraped metal all the way to the shop. Although, when he went back the second time he got the first bike off of a new line of rentals that had just come in.

On that note, I bid you a week's worth of Adieu, we are heading to Paris and the back-country of France for a week--send your blessings for good weather because we will be at the beach midway through the week. Give me a week and a half and check back in for some tales of France.

Arrival and Departure

Playing Wiffleball before the sun goes down

Street Enroute to Professor Forni's dinner

Sign for Loyola Residence Hall

Hello all and welcome to my personal blog. I wanted to create a blog so that I could relay back to you, my family and friends, the wonders that I will experience during my adventures through Europe and studying in Leuven, Belgium. I also wanted to create a memorable journal to look back on years from now and reflect upon. On that note, I begin my blog.

As I stood there frozen, at the threshold of the doorway, I was paralyzed by fear and forced into inaction. I had no choice but to go back to the place where comfort was known. I slowly turned and took a step in the opposite direction--nervous doubt guiding my feet. As I looked up, she was nowhere to be found, lost in a sea of people. It was at that moment that I knew I had no choice. Despite my fears and worries I knew that I had only one place to go--forward. At that moment, at that exact second in time, there was no other option, no safe haven, only the unknown--a fear often times uglier than the reality. And that was only my trepidation about the first day of first grade.

Yes, there are the thoughts that crossed my mind as I walked through the security gate at Newark Airport: how similar it was to leaving for the first grade. As I looked back over my shoulder after passing through security, I couldn't help but think about how I felt that day in the first grade and about the new life changing situation in which I was about to partake. That day in first grade my mother pointed me in the right direction and let me go, and though I struggled and at one point turned back, I headed where I needed to be eventually. And that is how it related to my trip to Europe. My thoughts ran to how I was beginning a new adventure, both excited and nervous. Excited at the opportunities that were to come, but nervous about what I’d miss out on. These two competing thoughts have battled each other inside my head since I was accepted into the program last year, and have continued till this day.

Our departure flight left Newark at 6:15 pm and landed in Brussels an hour early at 6:40 am. After gathering our bags and a short bus ride, we found ourselves at 80 Schapenstraat ("Sheep Street" in Dutch) and ready to being our trip. After having been up for 24 hours, the arrival at our new home served as a shot of espresso to our mentality. “I can’t believe we’re actually here,” became a common catch phrase that brought light to the exhausted eyes and jet lagged faces.

The first day was relatively easy, we had an information session at 11:00 with Christel Snel, whose fountain of knowledge stretches from her 10 years of service to the Leuven program. Then we went on a practical tour of the city to get our bearings down and find the basic areas. We ended the evening with a dinner at Professor Forni’s (our director from Loyola) house. After that, the group made its way back to the common courtyard of the old convent that now serves as Loyola’s International Nachbur Huis. We capped the night off with a round of wiffleball (which I brought in my large stowaway bag). A large portion of the group came together or was drawn to the noise that the courtyard created. Soon enough we had a large group bonding over America’s plastic pastime. Then the group stayed there, never went out, and relaxed, talking by the picnic tables in the courtyard of our year-long Leuven home.