Lesson Learned, Lessons Start

Martin, Matt, and Me at the Wine and Cheese Party

View from the top of the Brugge Belfry

The narrow winding staircase of the Brugge Belfry

Tom and I at the top of the Brugge Belfry

View of Brugge from the Belfry

Brugge in the sunshine

Sunset out the back window of the Nachbahrhuis

Liam, Matt, and Tom at the Bock Casemates in Luxembourg

Remnants of the towers of the castle and the valley below in Luxembourg

Sunsetting over Luxembourg

Luxembourg, City and Valley

Luxembourg from below

Menneken Pis without a costume

EU buildings in Brussels

“50.80,” the conductor barked at my offering of 15.80 Euro, his oversized nose now huffing like a junk yard dog.
My arm, slightly extended from my body, slowly retracted toward my chest in disbelief – an expression which must also have been evident on my face. I twisted in the dark blue train car seat, my foot sliding off of the rest and making a thud, as I tried to retort.
The conductor, who had already yanked my ticked out of my hand, was angered by his need to use English with me, and fueled by my miscomprehension, slyly snarled, “You had been warned by my colleague, this is his mark right here.”

My mind was racing: No I didn’t get warned. I didn’t even know what the means. The conductor on the other train just grabbed my card circled something in Dutch with red pen, and scribbled in the corner. And smelled of body odor, terrible, terrible, body odor. But besides that, I didn’t even realize I had done something wrong. I can’t even read the Dutch. I already purchased a ticket for this ride, why didn’t that suffice!

“He wouldn’t have written it if he didn’t explain it,” - one last biting blow.

But he didn’t explain it, I had an idea what got him mad, but he never spelled out what I did wrong. And I was filling out the information for this card, if he would have given me two seconds I would have been finished. What’s the use in arguing, I can’t even speak his language tongue, let alone argue with him. And that might make him more mad. I immediately feel compassionate toward foreigners riding on New Jersey Transit, and take back all those inappropriate things I’ve mumbled about them in my head.

But you have to stand up for yourself, try one more time, just plead with him. After all, 50.80? 50.80? That was a weekend trip somewhere, a train ride to Germany, a flight to Italy, a night in Ireland, 10 trips on the Belgian train system with a GOPass and two potatoes at Delhaze supermarket, the first round of book supplies, my spending money for a week or two, two rounds of groceries, a Christmas present for my a family member, a Christmas present for myself. Not mention the amount of beer, 16.93 beers at 3 Euro a pop – 5.34 cases of 24 bottles of Stella. That’s a lot of money.

“Thank you.” Wait, what did I just do? Did I actually just pay the man?

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As you may have guessed, I had an interesting experience with Belgian train authorities this weekend. On a trip in to Brussels to pick up my friend Tom, who came in from Ireland to visit this weekend, and then out to Brugge, to show him around, I was fined for filling in my ticket at an inappropriate time. Apparently, when purchasing a GOPass (a 50 Euro, 10 trip pass where the customer fills in the dates and locations – essentially allowing one to go anywhere in Belgium for 5 Euros) it is frowned upon, or more importantly fined upon, if you fill out the trips while on the train. A lesson I learned the hard way, by first being warned (though I didn’t even realize I was warned) and then with the single strike rule – I guess they never heard of baseball over here – I was fined. They say the best lessons learned are the hardest. And for a college student, the hardest happen to be the most expensive. Needless to say, I ended up paying a little over 25 Euro (50 split between me and Tom) for the two of us to travel out to Bruges, which should have only been 5 European buckaroos – a rocky start to an otherwise stellar weekend.

Yes this weekend, the Belgian “Stad” of Leuven laid host to its first round of visitors. There were a number of different friends and chums in town to see the wonders and awes of Belgium’s college town. For me, it was the first time I got to show off my new home. My guest was Tom Fitzpatrick, who is currently studying in Galway, Ireland, and arrived in Brussels on Friday. We had a mismatched, last-minute, spur-of-the-moment trip put together, which was nothing short of entertaining. Besides arriving at two different Belgian train stations and both standing under the “Departure” sign looking for each other, and the exorbitant fine – the weekend got off without a hitch… ok, our weekend started off a little bumpy.

Being a fan of the movie “In Brugge” (mentioned in my earlier blog about our trips first trip to Brugge), Tom thought Brugge was a must see – and it is to anyone traveling to the Belgium for the first time. We took a train (and were fined) out to the forgotten city adjacent to the North Sea, and naturally, Tom thought it was pretty awesome – because let’s face it, it is cool. It was nice to take a trip to the city on our own. In our small group of Matt, Tom and me, we could easily navigate the city and decide what to do and what not to do.

Our first order of business upon our arrival was a brisk walk through the cobbled streets to the main Belfry – which we wanted to climb before it closed. The winding climb up the narrow, dark, wooden, staircase – with only a rope as a handrail – proved to be quiet labor some, even for a group of 20-year-olds. Huffing and puffing, we trudged onto the top floor, and stood amazed at late afternoon view we had of the city. The sun, peaking through the clouds in a heavenly aura, shone down over the red roofs and spires of Brugge’s skyline – a plethora of colors speckled into the horizon. Etched into the stone on the ledge of each vantage point, in each of the appropriate navigational directions, was the name of a number of European cities. Then, with a tick, the bells sounded. A giant symphony of “bings” and “booms” rang out from the tower in a melody for the Grote Markt below, which the tower had begun to cast a shadow over, to appreciate – though appreciate, is a difficult term to use when you’re standing next to them as they sound.

We spent so much time staring out over the city, and climbing the 366 spiral staircase steps (that lie as narrow as 2.5 feet at the top – providing an extra feat when you try and navigate one way with another person heading the other), that we missed out on the seeing the vile of Christ’s blood at Heilig Bloedbasiliek – again. Instead we headed over to the chocolate factory that allows tours of the factory followed by complementary chocolate – just in time for it to close. Though our visit appeared to be futile, we left surprisingly satisfied with just walking around and appreciating the beauty of the 13th century city. And in the long run, I suppose that will give us another reason to head back to my favorite Belgian city. Content with our time in Brugge, with a warm Belgian waffle (so sweet you could eat it without anything on it) topped in chocolate, we rolled back on the train from Brugge to show Tom around Leuven – filling out our ticket before we got on the train this time.

On Tom in Belgium + 2 (Saturday), we headed down to Luxembourg. Our original plans for the weekend were to spend Saturday in Bastogne, then travel to Luxembourg for the night and then tour Luxembourg City in the morning. However, Tim (not Tom), was the main proponent in organizing that trip, and fell ill on Friday night. So with another quick bout of plan making, we headed down to Luxembourg on Saturday.

Luxembourg City is a charming little capitol built on a plateau in the heart of Luxembourg. We began with a walking tour of the city where we spent time at Notre Dame, in the main courtyard, and seeing the Duchess Palace. Then we headed out to the edge of the city.

“I never thought it would be this beautiful,” Liam said as we walked along the Chemin de la Corniche, hailed, fittingly so, as Europe’s most beautiful balcony. The walkway, which lies on the 17th century fortress foundation built by the Spanish, looks out over the valley below, which is now dotted with the yellow, green, red, and orange of the autumn tree leaves that sit amongst the city squares below.

The quaint city has a series of interesting stories and conquests that have lead to its founding. The castle from the 900’s and fortress used to signify the Luxembourg skyline – built out on the rocky point of the plateau known as the Bock. However, both features were removed in the 1800’s as a symbol of the country’s commitment to neutrality in European affairs – a commitment to which the country still holds. However, ironically enough, Luxembourg was a large victim of both WWI and WWII bombings.

Dug deep into the bedrock of the Bock, is the only remaining features of the fortress and castle that once stood there. These “Bock Casemates” are dug out on one of the points of the plateau that Luxembourg City lies on. The dark, musky, manmade caves were originally the basement to the castle. However, they were largely expanded in the late 1700’s by the Spanish (who were apparently very small folk, as I bashed my head in the dark on more than one occasion). The Spanish used them as cannon embankments for the fortress which protected the city and gazed over the valleys below. Since then, the casements history has done everything from hosting a butchers market, housing soldiers, and sheltering 30,000 residents during WWI and WWII invasions.

After exploring the Bock Casemates, we headed over to the innovative new museum on the history of Luxembourg City, Musee d’Histoire de la Ville de Luxembourg. This state of the art museum, with its modern architecture and design, was packed with history from the founding of the city to the occupation by Nazi Germany. We spent most of our hour tour there (we got there at 4 and the museum closed at 5) running around from one exhibit to the next. Glass walled elevators took us up and down the museum, which dug as deep as three stories into the ground, and revealed the rocky history that lay below – occasionally revealing a house wall or doorframe from the city under the city.

With limited opportunities for sight-seeing open after we got out of the museum, we headed down into the valley to take a look at the city from below. From below, we watched as the sunset over the perfectly perched city. The red sun glowed in the blue sky as it set behind the black steeples of the church of Notre Dame. With the sun going down, and our train approaching we hustled backed to the train station, stopping for my first European sin – a Quick (European McDonalds) burger.

Sunday was an easy day for our traveling crew. We slept late, and then headed to Brussels to show Tom around the European capital. We took him to some of the traditional sights: Menneken Pis, the Grote Markt, the Cathedral, the Palais Royale and then over to the EU buildings. We were struck by the beauty of the modern architecture of the EU buildings – something different from the historical buildings we traditionally visit. Finally, we headed back to Delerium Café (the bar mentioned in one of my earlier blogs that contains 2004 beers), to get Tom one more brew before he flew out. After walking through the darkening, graffiti-ridden, streets toward Brussels Zuid (an experience that reminded me of walking through Jersey City at night – not a walking tour I’d revisit). From there, Tom departed for Shannon Airport in Ireland, and we headed back to Leuven station. My first round of being a tour guide was finally over, and it was just as tiring as it may have seemed!

In other news, this week was pretty event filled for the Loyola Crew, as we began our first week of classes. The honeymoon is officially over! I shopped around for a couple of different courses but it looks like for the most part I’m going to stick with the following: International Relations and European Integration Since WWII, International Political Economy (taught by a crazy enthusiastic professor who switches between Dutch and English), Media Ethics, Dutch 101, Travel Writing, and Popular Culture Theory. Over all, I have been satisfied with my selection of courses, and that I more or less only have class on Monday and Tuesday. : P (Don’t tell my father, he’ll be mad). It should be an interesting semester mixed with travel and work.

The only other exciting event occurred in the beginning of the week with the annual Nachbahrhuis Wine and Cheese Party. This is an event hosted by the director of the program (Dr. Forni) in the director’s house in the Begijnhof. The entire huis is invited – internationals, Americans, and Belgians – to enjoy 12 different types of cheese and a couple of different wines. It was a great way to begin the week and get to meet people living in the house that we may not have been familiar with. Other than that, in upcoming news, this weekend we head to Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany. So check back in next week for tales about our next round of escapades away from home.

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The tragic events that I began my blog with have brought me to an idea that I hope for journalistic sake (and despise for every other virtue) will become a reoccurring event on my blog, which should also hopefully help future potential travelers, known as: Lessons learned the hard way. So without further ado:

Lessons Learned the Hard Way:

1. Lesson 1: Writing in your destination on a GOPass, at the last minute, while talking with your friend who just got in from Ireland, on a train ride through Belgium, with a poorly fragranced conductor, followed by a crankier less poorly fragranced conductor, will almost certainly lead to a fine of roughly 25.40 Euro a head. Lesson learned.

2. Lesson 2: If you’re traveling on your bike, navigating through a foreign city, that is very well known for its bike traffic, while looking for street signs for a group of lost girls, while simultaneously contemplating about a new series you want to start on your blog about lessons learned the hard way, and head up a street with do not enter sign, you will almost certainly end up face to face with a Mercedes minivan. Lesson learned.

Time Travelers

The Belfry of Brugge towering over buildings built right on the Canal

The remains of the Roman wall and the Church Tower in Tongeren
The front of the Church Tower, carnival, and Statue of Ambiorix

Windmill at Bokrijk

Stadhuis in Leuven at Night

Nick and I with the "Beer Bible" at Delerium Cafe


Leah, Tayla, Liam, Chase, Matt, Matt, Danni, Amanda, Toni, and Jenn at Delerium Cafe


The Menneken Pis in Brussels in one of his 700 costumes


The Brussels Cathdrale

The Brugge Belfry built in three different centuries evident by the three different levels

The group touching the bottom of a bridge on the canal tour

Megan, Me, and Liam on the canal tour

“In the series of things, those which follow are aptly fitted to those that have gone before.” This phrase, written originally in Greek by Marcus Aurelius’ in his famous Meditations, sits on the wall in the entryway of the Gallo Roman Museum in Tongeren, Belgium. It is fitting that Tongeren, the oldest city in Belgium dating back to the Roman Empire, should have a theme centered on the importance of history – of knowing where you came from to see where you’re going. This theme has been repeated over time in many quips and quotes by some of mankind’s greatest minds. In Niccolo Machiavelli’s Prince, the gentleman who preferred to be feared over loved stated that, “whoever wishes to foresee the future must consult the past; for human events ever resemble those of preceding times.” Following that same logic, one of my favorite versions of this concept comes from Sir Isaac Newton: “If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulder of giants.” This week, the Loyola group and I took a step back in time, traveling to three very historic places in Belgium and more or less realizing the importance of the past in our present.

I think often times as an American, I look at the world and have a very skewed version of history. Over the past couple weeks here, my fellow study abroad students and I have used the phrase, “This is like __ years older than our country,” numerous times. We often times forget, or rather don’t have an understanding of something that is “historical” at home because our home has only been establish about two and a quarter hundred years ago. Most of the beers brewed here have been made for twice that time. However, these past couple of days has allowed the group and me to throw ourselves back 400 - 2000 years ago. In any event, all of the quotes above have helped me to set the tone for my attitude and awe over my past week traveling through time and history here in Belgium – engulfed in cities older than my country.

Well as you may have guessed, this week the Loyola group, both in independent trips, and trips through the PECs program, got its fair share of historical sites as we visited some of the oldest or oldest look alike places in Belgium. Over the past week we have traveled to Brugge, Brussels, Bokrijk, and Tongeren. After taking our midterm in Dutch on Monday, the clan and I had a relatively easy rest of the week. Through the Loyola program, we headed to Brugge on Tuesday. Brugge is a beautiful city, and despite our tour guide (or lack thereof), I still couldn’t help but admire the medieval city.

The train ride out to Brugge is what helped to set the mood for the afternoon. The early morning sunshine gleaned off of the grass and trees on the rolling hills of the Belgian countryside – an occasional red or black roofed cottage or farm house speckled across the valleys. As the train rolled into the relatively modern station at Brugge, in the distance, over the tips of the trees that greet you at the front entrance of the station, peaked the spires of the churches and the tips of houses – providing the first and faintest signs of the adventure that we were about to embark on. As we walked toward the city, with the faint sound of horse shoes on cobblestone in the distance, I nibbled on my freshly purchased, warm, Belgian waffle, with a sugar/glaze coating that is so sweet it requires no topping.

Brugge is a city trapped, aesthetically speaking, in the 15th century. Brugge’s history dates back to the Roman Empire, when the city’s proximity to the North Sea made it a valuable port location. Therefore, the area that was settled, that is now Brugge (from the Scandinavian word “Brygga” meaning “harbor or mooring place”), was first a Roman military barracks. Then, in the 9th century, the city was settled by Vikings. Next, the textile era came. From the 12th to 15th centuries, Brugge, like many of its other Belgian counterparts, was a major producer of textiles for medieval Europe. With its vicinity to the North Sea, Brugge was an essential port for English wool merchants (the best type of wool at the time). However, in the 15th century, the river around the port began to fill up with silt making the large barges unable to approach the port – and driving out the textile production. As a result, residents slowly moved out the city and headed toward Antwerp (see my previous blog for information on Antwerp). As a result, the city was more or less abandoned, but then rediscovered in the 1800’s. With its red brick buildings built right into the canal water, and narrow cobblestone medieval city streets, walking through Brugge is like taking a step back in time. As a result, in recent years Brugge has become a hot spot for tourists fascinated by medieval Europe. In addition, many areas of the city have buildings from multiple centuries all built side by side.

However, the most famous building and landmark for Brugge stands in the center of the Grote Markt – the Belfrey Tower. Made most recently famous in the 2008 movie starring Colin Farrell “In Brugge” (a great but bloody movie that the group watched the night before we left) the Belfrey has stood as a landmark for Brugge since the 12th century. It was originally built over a time span of 3 centuries. Started in the 12th century and not finished till the 15th century, the Belfrey tower was built in three stages – evident by the three different stones used to build the tower. We tried (unsuccessfully) to climb the tower and get a birds eye view of the city, but arrived 15 minutes late (because our 2 hour tour turned into a 3 and half hour tour). However, the allure of the old city was still enough for me for the afternoon.

Feeling adventurous after our trip to Brugge, a group of us took our first independent trip of the year to Brussels on Saturday afternoon. After a twenty minute train ride, we toured the city, seeing the Cathedrale, the Menneken Pis (a fountain of a little boy peeing – legend has it the fountain was made in honor of a boy who peed to put out a fire, and is also constantly decorated in costumes by the locals) and the main Grote Markt. In addition, we were startled a number of times by a drum role and the loud “boom” of muskets that followed, as a festival was underway in the city and the parade, that seemed to follow us from the Menneken Pis to the Grote Markt, went on for three hours. An interesting fact about the Grote Markt is that each building on the edge of the square at one time housed different guilds. Then in 1695, the town square was decimated, however each guild rallied to rebuild the buildings in 5 years – an astonishing feat for that time. This time, they build the buildings in stone that was not as flimsy as the previous timber. In turn, each guild put a symbolic statue over its door frame, signifying which guild was in which building. The statues which still rest atop the doorways of restaurants and shops today are one of the unique historical characteristics of the city.

After the Grote Markt, we made a quick trip to the Jeanneke Pis (the Menneken Pis’s female, and seemingly more inappropriate, counterpart) which was conveniently located next to the Delerium Bar and Café. Delerium is famous for having one of the largest selections of beer in the world. It currently has 2004 beers for sale, with 49 on tap. As we placed an order through the clanking of glasses and bottles in the crowded, smoke filled basement bar (unfortunately how most bars are in Europe), we watched in amazement as a slew of bartenders, flipped multiple bottle caps at time, took five to ten orders at once, and swarmed through the bar and into the back room incessantly – trying to meet the variety of requests for tourists and locals alike. Following our cocktail hour trip to Delerium, we stopped for a relatively inexpensive dinner on one of the small narrow side streets. Then the group divided as half of us returned to Delerium to utilize the large selection and half headed back to Leuven (I’ll let you decide which group I was in).

Though we got back to Leuven, late that night, the group, through the PECs program, headed out on Sunday morning for a trip to Bokrijk – an open air museum on the outskirts of Leuven. Similar to the style of Colonial Williamsburg, this Belgian museum was full of live actors reenacting the lifestyle in rural Belgium more than a century ago. The museum was created out of a fear that in the post WWII era, children would turn away from the painful history of the past and look toward modernization and the future. The museum helps to remind younger generations what their grandparents grew up living in. The buildings, which were all from the late 1800’s and have been transplanted all to one space at the museum, were thatch roofed, white and stone houses with antique furniture and instruments from the time period. Though I got the impression that I would have appreciated the experience more had I understood the language of the actors, this museum provided an interesting representation of the lifestyles from long ago.

After our trip to Bokrijk, we headed, we traveled directly to the oldest city in Belgium, Tongeren. Tongeren is a small city, devoid of most tourists, at least on a Sunday afternoon when we arrived, and very quiet. We walked around the city upon our arrival and listened to our own footprints as we approached the center of town. Most of the shops were closed, and the only activity came from the carnival which was in the townsqure. As the carrousel played American music, seemingly inappropriate in front of the 12th century church, the PECS group, consisting of 20 Americans and 40 European/Asian/Indians, wandered into the town square toward the statue of Ambiorix – a local hero/legend who was renowned for slaughtering legions of Romans during Julius Caesars conquest of the area 2000 years ago.

Despite the absence of activity, the tours of Tongeren were for the most part very interesting. We took a tour of the Gallo-Roman Museum, which was just opened earlier in the year, and houses both the history of the region and the history of the city. In addition, we took a tour of the city visiting the Begijnhof, the Cathedral, and ruins from Roman times. In the end, though our visit to Tongeren was quiet and short, it was a fitting way to cap off a week full of history for the Loyola group. The footprints of generation after generation are evident throughout the city of Tongeren in everything from the location of its Cathedral to the ruins recently uncovered. After this week it was pretty easy to see how the places we have today fit aptly into “those that have gone before.”

A Giant and a Slovak

Breendonk Museum and Memorial Kitchen

Breendonk

What its like to be the target of Jack's energy

Martin (left) and Chase playing with Jack and Jesse

Chase, Me, and Nick outside our lunch destination in Antwerp

Antwerp Cathedral

Fountain of Barbo throwing the Giants hand outside the City Hall in Antwerp

The Cathedral's bell tower can be seen from almost anywhere in the city

"The Stone" Fort

City Hall in the Grote Markt

A Giant stood on the shores of the Schelde River, intimidating boats in their passing. As barges approached, he would beckon them to the shore and demand a toll be paid. If the captain complied, the Giant would let them pass. However, should the man refuse, should he defy the giant’s request, the Giant would take his left arm, cut off his hand at the wrist, and toss it into the river. If the same ship refused the toll a second time, the Giant would cut off his other hand, and toss it into the river, making the sailor futile at his profession--though I’m led to believe it didn't take more than once to get the point across.

Then came Brabo. He was the best soldier of the people and he came to defend them against the Giant. Brabo challenged the Giant and they battled for days--fierce fighting along the shores of the Schelde. From the bank on the other side of the river, in the shadow of the Giant, a small developing city of people watched and hoped. In an ending of David and Goliath type proportions, Brabo beat the Giant, by cutting off his head. Then, as his final act of the battle, Brabo cut off the hand of the Giant and tossed it into the river--both symbolically and literally freeing the people of the country from the Giant’s will. Elated by the removal of the Giant, people flocked to the city, and so the city of Antwerp was founded--“ant” from the Dutch word “hant” meaning “hand,” and “werp” from the Dutch word “werpen” meaning “to toss or throw.” Today, at the center of the city in the Grote Markt, a statue stands in recognition of the actions of the brave Brabo.

Yes, as you may have guessed, our big trip this week was to good ole’ “Handthrowen,” or “Antwerp,” if you prefer the Dutch name. On Saturday this week, 20 members of our group and 40 other members in the PECS program (the program that Loyola collaborates with at K.U. Leuven) boarded a bus headed to the port city renowned for its diamonds. We spent a foggy afternoon on a two hour tour of the city where we visited the Grote Markt, the Cathedral, the 16th century Italian Renaissance style City Hall, “The Stone” (a 13th century fortress build to protect the city at the river), and the Plantin Moretus Museum--a museum dedicated to the printing company which during the 1600’s printed most of the books in western Europe. I found the tour to be interesting enough to attract me back to the city for a couple of visits.

Antwerp is a modern Belgian fashion capital with an interesting history and development. As a striving port and political center in the 16th century, Antwerp was not only the largest city in Belgium (about two times the size of the capital Brussels) it was the second largest city in Europe, with a population of roughly 147,000 people. At that time period, most of the buildings and the design of the city were created. The large cathedral (30 centimeters larger than Notre Dame in Paris--Antwerp’s major competitor at the time), the city watch and bell tower, and the City Hall, were all built during the time period of Antwerp’s large population growth. Then, in 1567, Antwerp’s golden year, the Pope ordered the Spanish invasion of northern Europe to “educate” the Protestants. As a result of that pursuit, 2/3 of Antwerp’s population fled north to Holland. The city was decimated to 42,000 occupants who quickly adapted by buying multiple homes and creating cheap, miniature mansions near the heart of the city.

During WWII< Antwerp sat as an important port of the Allies moving across Europe. The Nazi’s, who hadn't had enough time to destroy the city while they fled, used the first guided missiles in history in hope of destroying the port from behind the German border. However, the missiles were largely inaccurate and ended up destroying many residential areas. As a result, a lot of modern architecture is mixed in with 16th century architecture.

After our tour of Antwerp, on our way back to Leuven, we stopped at the Breendonk Memorial and Museum. Breendonk was a Belgian fort during WWII. After the Nazi occupation began in Belgium, Breendonk was used as a transition camp for Belgians as they made their way toward German concentration camps. Today, it stands as a memorial to the cruelty endured by the Belgian people under the Nazi regime.

“Welcome to hell, we’ll be your devils”--that was the motto of the Nazi officers in charge of Breendonk. And based on the depiction that our tour guide Chris gave us, they did a pretty good job portraying the netherworld. Our tour was very interesting, as our tour guide, fluent in 5 languages, made the tour out to be as if he was an SS officer and we were his prisoners--“in words not actions” he reassured us. He took us through the activities that a new prisoner would go through on their first day--complete with yelling in German (a language we, like a new prisoner in 1940’s, didn’t understand) and forcing some of the guys in the group to stand at attention with their nose against the wall. He was quiet a character. Then he took us through the German offices, the cells, the bathrooms, the interrogation room, and the execution area. The tour included graphic descriptions of the various torture methods, treatment of the prisoners, and the abuse they endured.

It was a very somber ending to our day in northern Belgium. One of the hardest things about Breendonk was that it stood right next the roadside. So included in the physical and psychological torture, the prisoners also had to watch the normal world go by--a world that half of the 3,500 people who passed through the camp wouldn’t be a part of after being shipped to other concentration camps during WWII. In the end, 160 people died while at Breendonk, including 12 who were the last members of the resistance, 2 who tried to escape, and 6 who jumped off the roof of the highest building head first.

Sorry for the morbid ending. But on a lighter note:

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The week in review:

Reality set in this week for me, and I’m pretty sure the rest of the Loyola crew. The Honeymoon is over and the work has just begun. This week we began our 6-hours-a-day intensive Dutch course--which we have a midterm in on Monday. For the most part the days have been long with very little other things going on. Dutch has proven to be an interesting challenge for me. I’ve been combining my English with my knowledge from my study of Italian to try and make sense of a language that I never would have seen myself learning in any other situation. Through my week long study of Dutch I have developed one theme--whatever looks like English, is probably pronounced completely different, and whatever sounds like English, looks nothing like it. Needless to say it has been an interesting and humbling week trying to learn a new language in 5 days.

However, my struggle with a new language has brought me to a greater appreciation for the struggle that my roommate, Martin is going through. That’s right, this week began with the arrival of our new roommate Martin from Slovakia. He had an interesting trip up from Slovakia, as his plane arrived late and he was forced to sleep in the Brussels airport overnight and wait for the trains to start running between Brussels and Leuven in the morning. Martin wrote us in an e-mail that he may be late, also stating that “my English is not well, but I hope to learn you.” As is implied, his arrival has been an interesting one for Matt and I to adjust to. He has seemed to fit in for the most part with me and Matt. He is very interested in our lives and in life in America--as his sister lives in New York. He also has a pretty good sense of humor for the things that he does understand, and for the most part just remains quiet otherwise. My struggle to simplify common words and expressions for him to understand, has made me appreciate what he is going through trying to master a new language. He will be taking all of his classes in English, so we have been trying to prepare him for the upcoming weeks.

One thing that interrupted our week of Dutch, was the arrival of the Forni boys on Friday night. Chase, one of the guys in the group, was babysitting for Professor Forni, and decided to take the boys over to the Nachbar Huis. At about roughly 7:30, as I was enjoying my dinner and talking to Martin, when I jumped up abruptly at the sound of what I believed to be a screeching woman. I ran to the doorway only to find the two Forni boys running up and down the stairwell – which is not really the best playground for them. So Matt, Chase, Liam, Martin, and I took the boys outside to burn out a little candy energy. Though the visit was unexpected it was a relief to break out of the week’s monotony and chase the Forni boys around the court yard.

Sorry for the long blog this week, I wanted to get everything in at once. This upcoming week is going to be busy for the Loyola Crew. We have a midterm on Monday followed by a trip to Ghent on Tuesday, and orientation for the rest of the week out. On the plus side, we still have one more week till classes start. Until next week, tot ziens.

White Crosses

Immense amount of Crosses at the Omaha Beach American Cemetery

Cross and Omaha Beach in the background

Crosses at Omaha Beach American Cemetery

Blank and white

American artillery landscaping

Matt, Matt, and I playing in the bunkers at Ponte Du Hoc

Craters at Ponte Du Hoc

What happens when artillery hits an arms bay

Me inside a crater at Ponte Du Hoc

Cross at Normandy

I sat there, knees at my chest with my arms wrapped around them, and suddenly became aware of how loud it was just breathing. So I opened my mouth and took slow deep breaths. My heartbeat was even too loud; I could hear it pounding in my chest--beating in my ear--drowning out the world around me. Through the leaves on the bushes I could make out for an instant the chaos that surrounded me. Figures darting past, this way and that--screaming, screeching, diving, leaping. And then silence, gradual, wonderful silence. And out of the silence a common phrase: “where’s Andy?” Then, just as the storm had been quieted and my heartbeat slowed, adrenaline thrust my legs into overdrive. I was up and running, free through the night, breaking out teammates and gone into the darkness. That was the idea right? Not to get tagged?

Memories of manhunt. That is what crossed my mind as I watched Professor Forni’s sons, Jesse, 4, and Jack, 5, running and climbing up and down the craters at Ponte Du Hoc--and I was right there with them. Ponte Du Hoc was just plain cool. And for the hour and a half we spent there, I--like my 4 and 5 year old cohorts--ran up and down the shell holes created by American Artillery in 1944. I stood there excited playing “soldiers” with the kids and I was awestruck by the reality of the situation.

What is Ponte Du Hoc you might ask?

Ponte Du Hoc was a strategic focal point on D-Day. It had long range artillery that could reach about 12 miles and rain down heavy fire on American forces at both Omaha and Utah Beaches. Because of the rocky cliffs that it stood atop, the Germans deemed the point impregnable from the sea and focused all of their defenses on land. They didn't anticipate Army Rangers.

One of the first actions of D-Day involved 225 highly skilled Rangers who scaled the rock walls in eight minutes and took the gun locations, providing safe harbor for the landing forces. What was equally as impressive was that they not only took Ponte Duc Hoc, but that they held it. With little supplies and no back up, they cut off one of the main roads which served as a major artery for German supply lines.

The heroics of these brave Rangers was not without loss. Of the original 225, only 90 Rangers lived, and were relived on D-Day +4. In fact, when American forces eventually battled through to the Rangers, they actually called in an artillery strike on Ponte DuHoc, because the Rangers had begun using German weapons. The Americans, hearing the German gunfire, bombed the ridge. Thus in one day, American artillery had redefined the entire terrain on the edge of the cliff, and created the craters in which the Forni boys were now playing. Today a monument stands on the edge of the cliff to commemorate the bravery of those Rangers. Based on their accomplishments, it hardly does them justice.

“I’ve played videogames that look like this,” Nick Quigley, one of the seven guys on the trip, commented. And it was true. When I stood looking at the cliff front, I was in a virtual reality running up and down giant divots in the earth. Standing inside the gun turrets or looking through a gun hole in one of the bunkers, it was just like one of our video games at home. It wasn't a reality, it was a cool and exciting game that I was playing in my head. I always had another life and if I got shot, it only took a couple of points off my health. Surrounded by the same barbwire, cement bunkers, and gun turrets, I stood there in awe and intrigue. I was hooked--infatuated by the events that had taken place there and that I was just now experiencing.

By day two of our trip to Normandy, the reality was not so sugar coated. On day two--the most moving day of all our time in France--we took a trip to the American Cemeteries at Omaha beach and paid tribute to the brave men that died there on June 6, 1944. The rows and rows of white crosses were a much more sobering commentary on the affects of war.

There were just so many. Line after line, row after row, some crosses, some Stars of Davids. That's what gets to you, the magnitude of the events that had transpired. I sat there trying to comprehend the sacrifices these men made. When I was 17, all I had to worry about was making the soccer team, and these young men, practically boys, stormed a beach head under enemy fire, with adrenaline fed by fear for their own lives.

They gave their lives defending freedom--a concept they believed in--but a horrifying reality they could hardly imagine. At one point I walked down to the beach and stood there staring up at the cliffs they had climbed. Later when I would run, back up the beach with my backpack and water bottle, it occurred to me that I was not the first American to rush up this beach head. Americans ran this same beach and cliff with 80 pound packs and guns around their neck, worried about grenades or enemy fire. Guys my age and younger making a sacrifice that I can’t even fathom being asked to make, to liberate Europe and defend their country. They said for a week after D-Day the waves ran red with the blood of the men of Normandy. In reality it ran red with the blood of teenage heroes torn apart by the some of the cruelest creations of man.

Last year in my English Lit class, we read a poem, entitled Dulce et Decorum Est, written by Wilfred Owen. In it, Owen describes the horrors of WWI. The title, translated from Latin means: “How sweet and fitting it is to die for ones country.” These words were often used as propaganda during recruitment efforts by the English military. However, Owen, who fought in the trenches during WWI,  used graphic depictions of the war to stress the reality of what it means to die for ones country. In a somber, almost sarcastic tone, Owen relays the message: if you could see what dying for ones country entails, then you wouldn't be so quick to make it sound so sweet.

As the sun warmed my back and the wind from the waves brought the smell of salt to my nostrils, I looked up the cliffs from the beach head, trying to imagine the reality of the battle that had taken place there and the stories the sea would tell if it could talk. And with pride in my country and the men who had fought for it, I reached down and took a stone from the water. As the waves splashed against my hand, thick old English letters flashed through my head: "Dulce Et Decorum Est?"

Traveling to the French Coast

Charte Cathedral

Canon on the edge of the wall of San Malo at sunset

San Malo Fort at high tide

The Wall of San Malo and the city at nightfall

Climbing the Rocks around the San Malo fort at Low Tide (At High tide they're under water)

Tim and Liam Walking around the Monte

Monte Sainte Michael

Pieces of floating WWII dock at Arromanches Harbor

I last left you last in Paris, near the "Tour d’ Eiffel." From there we headed coast-ward toward San Malo. Our first stop on our journey was a little old village called Charte. We received a tour from a kooky, old, Englishmen, Malcolm Miller who had the persona of college professor that you would love to have. He has been studying the Cathedral and written many books about it, since his first visit during WWII. The Charte Cathedral is an interesting spectacle because it has two different towers of two different types of architecture. The reason for this being that the original was built during the period of Romanesque style, and after a major fire, that destroyed only half the Cathedral, the second spire was built in a Gothic style. The reason that such a large Cathedral was built in such a small village was because in the 876 A.D. a piece of the cloth that the Virgin Mary was wearing when she gave birth to Jesus, was brought to the little town as a gift.

After Charte, we headed toward San Malo--one of my favorite cities we've seen thus far. San Malo is an old walled-in Pirating city on the coast of France. The harbor, which is largely sharp jagged rocks when the tide goes out, was dangerous for English ships to sail into in pursuit of the Pirates. In addition, the pirates were very knowledgeable of the harbor and thus were able to navigate smoothly to safety. One of my favorite parts of this portion of the trip was when we walked out to the old fort, which is reachable by low tide, but surrounded by water at high tide. We ventured onto the rocks and could definitely see the dangers that would engulf the bow of an unsure ship captain. Later that night a couple of the guys (Matt, Nick, Liam) and I also enjoyed the night at a pub right on the wall--Le Corpes De Garde. We went back there each night of our trip to watch the sunset.

While at San Malo, we took a trip to Monte Sainte Michael. Monte Sainte Michael was an old monastery built out on an island off the coast of France that eventually developed into a city and a fortress that engulfed the whole Island by the 1300’s. It became a symbol of national pride when the English tried, unsuccessfully to take the island several times, but were foiled by the receding tide and strong city defenses. It was designated to Sainte Michael, the patron of France. It was also a vacation home for the French royalty in the 16th century. As a result, it became a sign of national pride during the revolution as the people took it back from the royalty. I enjoyed touring the Monte, which I couldn't get enough pictures of, and especially when Matt, Liam, Tim and I went walking around the island at low tide through the clay and sand. The island, that has now grown as silt builds up in the harbor, was an amazing spectacle to see – and looked like a castle out of a Disney movie.

When we left San Malo, we headed north toward the beaches of Normandy. In between we stopped at the Bayeux Tapestry. The Tapestry, which is actually not a tapestry and just stitch-work, was made in the 12th century as a way to tell the tale of William the Conqueror’s invasion of England in 1066. The Tapestry, which is now nearing in on a millennium years old, resides in the city of Bayeux where it is believed to have been originally created.

After an hour at Bayeux, we headed toward the coast. We first stopped at Point Du Hoc, which I will tell you about in the next blog, and spent the night at Arromanches. Arromanches had a very interesting role in WWII. After the British took the beaches at Normandy, they moved toward building a port to supply their forces at the front line. Arromanches was that port. An engineering masterpiece, the port had to deal with massive shifts in tides and the weather coming in off the English Channel. Winston Churchill believed (correctly) that the entire outcome of the war would be based purely on the Britain’s ability to develop a port to supply its men. Therefore, the British engineers began a top secret project in 1943 to start building the port. They built the entire floating port in the harbor and then towed it across the Channel. They worked at night, and during the day, they would sink the various parts into the harbor to avoid Nazi spy planes seeing it.

They hired anyone and everyone to help in an effort that the people knew nothing about. What they developed was both amazing and ground breaking. In essence they developed a floating port with 3 docks that bobbed with the waves and could lay flat on the sand when the tide went out. In addition, they used old ships and cement blocks as heavy as the Eiffel tower to help block the waves coming in off the sea. And the most amazing part of the entire endeavor, they did it all in 13 days. An average port in 1944 took almost 7 years to complete, and Hitler was assured that even if the Allies took the beach, there would be no way to keep supplying the men. In one massive effort the British crushed both those doubts. The American forces also tried the same strategy--except their port sank while coming cross the channel.

I learned all this in the D-Day museum, which we frequented when we arrived at Arromanches. The museum had a ton of informaiton on both the events of D-Day and the role that Arromanches played. I enjoyed the exhibit and spent 2 hours in the small museum, after most of my classmates had left. However, this was just the beginning of my adventures into WWII.

Keep tuned for the next blog, which was my favorite part of all of France!