Homeless...sort of

We're all set to move into our almost-a-chateau on Thursday: three trucks will arrive to deliver 1) our unaccompanied baggage (which finally arrived last week); 2) our temporary furniture (which, after some "persuasion" from our command in Stuttgart, the Army has grudgingly allowed us); and 3) our appliances, also from the Army. Yesterday we met the landlord and the previous occupants at the house to take possession of the keys and get some last-minute info about the house. So last night we stopped by the hotel reception to tell them we were leaving on Thursday, only to learn that they had already booked our room, as of Wednesday night, to someone else. David was speechless, if you can imagine that. It was a misunderstanding on both sides but what could we do? They're complet. So...we'll be moving into Le Maisières (commonly called Le Misery by long-term occupants), the hotel right across the street from SHAPE, for one night before actually taking possession of our house. Having accummulated such stuff as a coffee maker, toaster, several bottles of spirits, and a lot of beer--along with everything we mailed ourselves and brought with us--we foresee many trips in our little BMW to move it all out of the Infotel and into our house.

The good news is that our car arrived in Bremerhaven on Saturday and could be here in Belgium as early as Wednesday or Thursday. Or not...

Kriek in a can

Today we drove through Laurel, Belgium. It was actually the N51, not US 1, but it was similarly jammed on either side with big box stores and strip malls, many of them a bit worse for wear. We visited the Colruyt (a Big Lots kind of place with concrete floors where they won't let you break singles out of a six-pack--highly unusual for Belgium) and the Cora, which is similar to Wal-Mart. We saw kriek (black cherry-flavored beer) in a can, which is a little like finding Sam Adams in a can. We also saw 5-liter boxes of appéllation contrôlée (meaning good) French wine.

The weather has turned nice here in le Lac du Woebegone (Woobegonesmeer) and the Grand Place is chockablock with cafe tables. So we too bundled up and sat outside with a glass, reading for an hour or so.

Now we're watching goose catchers on the Dutch channel. I love Europe.

Rodents and Tax-Free Cigs - odds and ends from the Kingdom of the Belgians

All Belgium appears to be infested with moles, and not just any moles. These things dig up whole fields and yards, making mounds that look like prairie dog villages. They must be either big or industrious to do the kind of damage we see. The French word for mole is taupe, whence we get the word for the color of moleskin. The guy who specializes in exterminating them is called a taupier. I guess we'd call him a molist. It must be a lucrative profession here. Perhaps the moles and the molists are in cahoots, like the not-so-secret alliance between the Baptists and the moonshiners. Our landlord told us that the first time he had the taupier come out, the molist apparently wanted the landlord to know he was doing his job, so he hung a bag full of dead moles on the front door knob. The landlord was mortified because he didn't want his tenants coming home and thinking the house was some kind of cat mafia target.

Since we work in an international setting, the bathrooms in our spaces have the little man and woman silhouettes on the doors instead of "boys" and "girls." Only since it's Europe, the silhouettes are not our utilitarian stick figures but are elegant. The lady is tall and slender and has her hip cocked and her head turned at a stylish angle. I think they modeled her on Jackie Kennedy. The man is poised in a similar, albeit more manly, fashion. I swear he is holding a pipe. I'm thinking Sean Connery as James Bond.

We get ration cards. We're entitled to 200 gallons of gas or diesel a month tax-free and limited amounts of untaxed alcohol and tobacco. Specifically, we get four alcohol purchases a month. Doesn't make any difference how much: one bottle of wine or one case of beer is the same. We can of course buy as much taxed stuff as we want. The RIS (rationed items store) at SHAPE has a better selection than the PXtra at Chièvres. Rita insists on calling the RIS by its name, but I like to refer to it as the packaged goods store.

One of our majors got promoted recently. Turns out he has his doctorate in philosophy and cognitive development. He's taught at the Air Force Academy for several years. Plus he just might be the nicest guy I've ever met. In the other room, where Rita and I sit, is a Navy lieutenant commander who happens to be an amateur theologian. Then there's the reservist who also has a political consulting firm with his brothers. Seems like everybody we run into has some surprising back story. In short, the people defending you are a pretty interesting bunch.

Bayern Munich scored the fastest goal in Champions' League history a few minutes ago and now leads Real Madrid 1-0. That's roughly equivalent to scoring six runs in the bottom of the first.

Perfect Draft

The First Sergeant and our security sergeant called me into Top's office Friday with a "Psst, psst, hey, David, come here!" to tell me about a product I just have to buy. It turns out you can get three brands of beer in 6-liter kegs: (in ascending order of quality) Jupiler, Stella Artois, and Leffe. And word on the street is that Hoegaarden and others will follow. But wait! There's more. To dispense these you have to have a little home draft system, made by Philips, called "Perfect Draft." That's what Top and Nick wanted to tell me about. This thing chills and dispenses beer and is just further proof of how much God loves us. Rita and I plan to buy ourselves one as a house-warming present. I can hardly wait!

This just might make up for what the damned Dutchmen have done to my Giant.

Pictures!

After a couple of frustrating weeks dealing with Evil Steve Jobs and our inability to get photos off the camera, I finally remembered that Rachel had once used a Mac utility called Preview to look at photos. So finally I can say...here's our new home! Plus Rita, our rental car, and the cars of the current tenants.

And this is the back. On the left is the spiral staircase leading to the room where we lock up princesses who misbehave.

Pretty cool, huh?

Sugar Pie

In French, tarte sucre. Today we did laundry at Chièvres (pronounced shevr-us by most of our colleagues). This is the US base north of Mons that is probably closure proof since it's essentially SACEUR's private airstrip. It's the closest place for us to find a PX and commissary. They're both small but reasonably well stocked. The PX has Polish pottery, so Rita is happy as a clam; she buys a piece every time we go. I try to keep us from going. Anyways, as we were leaving today we went looking for a wood-fired bakery we saw advertised on a hand-made sign. When we found it, of course we bought a loaf of the gnarly-lookin' bread baked in the wood-fired oven, but we also picked up a tarte sucre, which seems to be their specialty. And what it is is a double-crust sugar pie. For the Southerners, sugar pie is the New England version of chess pie. And for those of you who know neither product, it's eggs, sugar, and butter. Now imagine that between two flaky European-style pastry crusts, with the filling oozing out and bubbling up through the top crust like a little volcano of fat and sugar, and you've got tarte sucre. Can't-miss goodness.

We haven't touched the bread, but the tarte sucre is almost gone.

The advantages of working in a military environment

Yes, there are some...like the fact that nobody noticed when I wore the same pair of pants two days in a row because the rest of my clothes haven't arrived yet. And then there's the fact that we "outrank" everyone in the office except the boss. That earns us a lot of respect - but we're working on getting everyone to call us by our first names instead of Ma'am and Sir. ... We were invited to witness a re-upping for one of our colleagues and a promotion ceremony for another. We feel privileged to be working with such a bright, professional, and friendly group of folks.