Thursday was our last official, entire full day in Brussels. How do you spend your last day anywhere? For everyone it's different. We spent it on the computer most of the morning until class at 11 where we reviewed the articles we had turned in the night before.
Gareth was critical, but not overly-so. I feel his comments helped me understand how in the world to write more journalistically, since I've never actually done that. Op-Ed is not the same and that's all I've ever done. It's great to hear back on your piece of work.
Then he gave us the lovely news that he doesn't give A's, which I believe is probably connected to the fact that he was a 2.1 student his whole life. He was an average, but never great student, and As should be reserved for the "great." Well, he says we've done well...but anything below an A will shoot down my GPA. Ah well.
We then had a "typical Belgian lunch" (cue chorus of: That's so Belgian!) at a little restaurant off Place Fernand Coq called Volle Gas. It was delicious. I had Chocun au gratin which was essentially endives in a cream sauce and mashed potatoes blended with herbs and vegetables. I could eat that all the time. But it left me feeling quite full.
Gareth was kind enough to cover that meal for us, which was unexpected but quite helpful since it cost around €13 and I had €17 on me. The four of us said goodbye to the Welshman and took the bus down to Grand Place for some last-minute souvenir shopping. Souvenir shops are all the same no matter where you go. Worthless. But I did find Barclay a birthday present while I was there. I guess that's a success.
There was some event being set up in the Grand Place while we were there. Lots of temporary stadium seating and then a stage with the royal chairs on it. I wouldn't call them thrones, but if that's your term of choice go for it. Lizzi asked a police officer what was going on and his response was "something important." He spoke at length, but essentially that's all he said.
We did take time to run by the Mannequin Pis--the famous fountain of a little boy peeing. We'd come across it during our first trip to Delirium (this is to show how lost we were, for you native Brussels inhabitants), but it was dark and I didn't take pictures. It's much funnier in the daylight to be sure. Word has it there are a dozen or so of these scattered around Brussels, including a female one--she's squatting. I didn't find any others, but I think I can live with that. Next time I'm here, I'll go on a city-wide scavenger hunt for all the Mannequins Pis.
Bus ride back to Flagey where we saw a concert going on. It looked to be more band-practice than actual concert. Partly because no one was listening except for a few girls dancing and partly because things were being moved around on stage and the lights crew was in a cherrypicker adjusting his appliances. I tried to go back later that night to see what was going on, but the concert had ended. Or perhaps it wasn't even for Thursday. Either way, nothing was going on.
We hung out around the apartment for a while, enjoying the cooler temperature inside. Outside it was a staggering 88 degrees or so. Gareth likes to comment on how hot it is by giving us temperatures that are supposed to make our jaws drop or something of that nature. The problem, though, is that he does so in Celsius. Sorry, American's don't think that way.
Nicole and I then made a trip up to Neuhaus near Place Jourdan to buy chocolate for Brad and his family. Since he's offering up his house to us for two nights, we figured that would be good--Belgian chocolate straight from Belgium itself. But the fact that it has a German name does somewhat bother me.
My last souvenirs were inside Lidl. Rachel and Barclay will understand when I bring them home. So we got them and left for home. I spent from whatever time that was (at least 7 by this point) until midnight working on my homework--listing 10 differences between the US and Europe. Listing them isn't really that hard; nor is going into detail about those differences. I have no idea why that took me so long. I got really, really distracted. And at some point Nicole, Lizzi, Brandon, and Brandon's roommate Marcus all left to go out. I promised to catch up with them later. But when I finished at 11:40, emailed it in, and actually thought about it, I realized that I hadn't yet packed for Paris, hadn't cleaned the apartment, which I had planned to do, and didn't have anything important charged like my phone or my camera or my iPod.
So all that took precedence. Laundry was going, I was sweeping the entire ground floor, and I wiped down the counter and the table. It was pretty nasty, actually. Cleaning the bathrooms I didn't have the heart to do since they're just going to get dirty again in the time that we're here. I did a half-ass job and then called it quits. At some point in the cleaning though, I finally got a call through to Mom where we discussed plans for Monday, of which there are many.
Not to mention, the entire night I'm on the edge of my seat waiting for an email from Tiffany. It never came. I think that was my biggest distraction, actually. Obsessive compulsively checking my email every minute.
Around 2 I realized that going out would now be pointless so I went to bed instead. And that is how you spend your last day in Brussels. Exciting? Not really. But it was a good last day.
[pictures to be added]
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Communications, Comic Capital, Champagne and IC
Back to Gareth's house on Wednesday so that we could walk a few blocks to a communications center called Mostra. Incidentally, this is the company Gareth works with when he creates EU promotional films. He's filmed all over Europe and even in parts of Africa working with Mostra.
We met his producer Elena Lincznyiova. Don't ask me how to pronounce that; I have no idea. She is a lovely Hungarian woman who essentially oversees all the productions that Mostra puts out. At any one time, there are 90 of these in operation. We got to see two films that Gareth worked on as well as one that a different journalist did completely on his own in Afghanistan. All three were pretty incredible. They were promotional material, certainly, but not propaganda, which I liked.
Next we toured the very mod offices--the editing pods, the press relations team, the translators, etc. It was fascinating and another thing that draws me to communications rather than journalism. Both Gareth and Elena stated that without journalism they would not be able to do what they do for Mostra (having both been journalists past or present). I would disagree with that. I understand the interview part and the 'digging deeper for the truth' elements might seem journalistic, but I would wager those are pretty universal for any media company that's trying to portray a message or look for a story. Having worked on film projects myself, there's very little that is strictly journalism evident in those films. I'll let them believe what they want, though.
I really enjoyed Wednesday's class, however. After so much disillusionment about journalism (which I'd heard but never actually observed or experienced), I'm seeing it is less and less the field I need to be in. I can pitch a story; I can research a story; I can conduct interviews; I can write a story. I hate informal interviews and I hate the deadlines. One week is not enough time to write a well-developed story. Journalism isn't about details. It's about cramming as much information as you can into a single line of text. It's about listing facts rather than explaining them. It's about minimizing inches and word size so that your reader might still be interested by the end.
I'm too stuck in academia to enjoy any part of that. I'm good at it. I won't deny it. I wrote one hell of a good article in my opinion. But the story it told was shit. I needed about 3 more pages to be satisfied. Instead, I was granted 1000 word max.
We went straight from Mostra to the Comic Book Museum. Belgium is famous for being the comic capital of the world (honestly, what is it NOT the capital of the world for?). The museum was relatively uninteresting. I was never into comics as a kid. I had no idea who TinTin or Lucky Luke were until I got here. I've never read Asterix. Le Chat is pretty funny, but I didn't even know what that was until I started researching about Belgium back in February or March. He had a single board display. TinTin had an entire section of the museum plus a few boards and a marble bust near the stairs. Obviously I'm out of the loop when it comes to comics...
But again, the architecture of the building was pretty. It was a former textile shop after being something else before that. I wasn't really paying attention to what I was reading, sorry. It was in complete disrepair before it was bought out and turned into its current position as the comic book centre of Brussels. I don't even know if I'd recommend the museum to anyone who hasn't read comics before (note, I've read American comics like Lola and For Better or For Worse and Garfield. But no European ones). It's not worth the €7.50 it costs to get in.
Took some quotes from random passers-by on my way back home. Got thrown out of 3 restaurants because they were "too busy to answer my questions and would I kindly wait for their colleagues to speak with me?" Their colleagues, by the way, were the servers who were actually doing their job, actually seemed to be working, and probably didn't know the answers to my questions anyway. Don't try and protest to Belgian restaurant managers. You will only be asked to leave. They have "no time for journalists."
Whatever.
The article was finished and turned in. Bus tickets to Paris were booked but not without some grief from Thalys and Eurostar. I don't know how many times I tried to reserve tickets with Thalys (the TGV), but it wouldn't let me book the cheap tickets or the expensive tickets or pay for the only tickets it would let me book. So no train for us. Back to the deceivingly-titled EuroLines bus route. We anticipate an extra hour of travel time at least and we will definitely be more prepared for the journey this time around. I rather like the roadtrip business, but trains are so much nicer.
We finished off the night in celebration--Champagne and Moulin Rouge. We celebrated turning in our articles and finally, FINALLY booking our tickets to Paris! We're good to go for our last weekend here. Crazy to think about. I'm coming back to the States on Monday.
Still no word from Invisible Children about the Roadie position, but I did get an official email saying they'd extended the date by which we should hear from them to Friday July 3. I already knew this information, but I guess being official is a good thing. I found out that one of the girls I met in Chicago--Sarah Eyk--was turned down. It's a real shame, but on a selfish note, that's good for me, right?
Two more days may or may not determine my life course this fall. The "may not" has to be included because it's Invisible Children and if July 3 is too soon, they'll easily push it back. I can't say that'd be a bad thing. I'll be back in town by that point and I would prefer a physical phone call to an email that stares me in the face.
Regardless, Wednesday was a big day, if not busy.
We met his producer Elena Lincznyiova. Don't ask me how to pronounce that; I have no idea. She is a lovely Hungarian woman who essentially oversees all the productions that Mostra puts out. At any one time, there are 90 of these in operation. We got to see two films that Gareth worked on as well as one that a different journalist did completely on his own in Afghanistan. All three were pretty incredible. They were promotional material, certainly, but not propaganda, which I liked.
Next we toured the very mod offices--the editing pods, the press relations team, the translators, etc. It was fascinating and another thing that draws me to communications rather than journalism. Both Gareth and Elena stated that without journalism they would not be able to do what they do for Mostra (having both been journalists past or present). I would disagree with that. I understand the interview part and the 'digging deeper for the truth' elements might seem journalistic, but I would wager those are pretty universal for any media company that's trying to portray a message or look for a story. Having worked on film projects myself, there's very little that is strictly journalism evident in those films. I'll let them believe what they want, though.
I really enjoyed Wednesday's class, however. After so much disillusionment about journalism (which I'd heard but never actually observed or experienced), I'm seeing it is less and less the field I need to be in. I can pitch a story; I can research a story; I can conduct interviews; I can write a story. I hate informal interviews and I hate the deadlines. One week is not enough time to write a well-developed story. Journalism isn't about details. It's about cramming as much information as you can into a single line of text. It's about listing facts rather than explaining them. It's about minimizing inches and word size so that your reader might still be interested by the end.
I'm too stuck in academia to enjoy any part of that. I'm good at it. I won't deny it. I wrote one hell of a good article in my opinion. But the story it told was shit. I needed about 3 more pages to be satisfied. Instead, I was granted 1000 word max.
We went straight from Mostra to the Comic Book Museum. Belgium is famous for being the comic capital of the world (honestly, what is it NOT the capital of the world for?). The museum was relatively uninteresting. I was never into comics as a kid. I had no idea who TinTin or Lucky Luke were until I got here. I've never read Asterix. Le Chat is pretty funny, but I didn't even know what that was until I started researching about Belgium back in February or March. He had a single board display. TinTin had an entire section of the museum plus a few boards and a marble bust near the stairs. Obviously I'm out of the loop when it comes to comics...
But again, the architecture of the building was pretty. It was a former textile shop after being something else before that. I wasn't really paying attention to what I was reading, sorry. It was in complete disrepair before it was bought out and turned into its current position as the comic book centre of Brussels. I don't even know if I'd recommend the museum to anyone who hasn't read comics before (note, I've read American comics like Lola and For Better or For Worse and Garfield. But no European ones). It's not worth the €7.50 it costs to get in.
Took some quotes from random passers-by on my way back home. Got thrown out of 3 restaurants because they were "too busy to answer my questions and would I kindly wait for their colleagues to speak with me?" Their colleagues, by the way, were the servers who were actually doing their job, actually seemed to be working, and probably didn't know the answers to my questions anyway. Don't try and protest to Belgian restaurant managers. You will only be asked to leave. They have "no time for journalists."
Whatever.
The article was finished and turned in. Bus tickets to Paris were booked but not without some grief from Thalys and Eurostar. I don't know how many times I tried to reserve tickets with Thalys (the TGV), but it wouldn't let me book the cheap tickets or the expensive tickets or pay for the only tickets it would let me book. So no train for us. Back to the deceivingly-titled EuroLines bus route. We anticipate an extra hour of travel time at least and we will definitely be more prepared for the journey this time around. I rather like the roadtrip business, but trains are so much nicer.
We finished off the night in celebration--Champagne and Moulin Rouge. We celebrated turning in our articles and finally, FINALLY booking our tickets to Paris! We're good to go for our last weekend here. Crazy to think about. I'm coming back to the States on Monday.
Still no word from Invisible Children about the Roadie position, but I did get an official email saying they'd extended the date by which we should hear from them to Friday July 3. I already knew this information, but I guess being official is a good thing. I found out that one of the girls I met in Chicago--Sarah Eyk--was turned down. It's a real shame, but on a selfish note, that's good for me, right?
Two more days may or may not determine my life course this fall. The "may not" has to be included because it's Invisible Children and if July 3 is too soon, they'll easily push it back. I can't say that'd be a bad thing. I'll be back in town by that point and I would prefer a physical phone call to an email that stares me in the face.
Regardless, Wednesday was a big day, if not busy.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Writing an Article
Tuesday wasn't exactly interesting. We had class back in the IPC at Residence Palais (the International Press Center, our usual building, for those who've forgotten since we haven't been there in forever). Our topic of study was, oddly enough, a powerpoint on Media in Europe. What is it like to report Europe?
It made me realize how much I continue to hate reporting, but how much I like European reporting more than American. European-style remains much more relaxed; as relaxed as you can be in a high-tension workzone. There isn't as much emphasis on quote-checking. "Off the record" isn't so "off the record" since you can still technically quote the person. Things of that nature.
We returned to the apartments to finish working on our articles. I conducted interviews with restaurant owners on the way back, all of whom were Italian? One man I spoke with had very broken English, so I switched to French. His French was not much better. Honestly, the women running the Alimentations in the Moroccan district speak better French than he did. And he has a restaurant!
Regardless I got my quote from him, as well as a few more questions to be answered. Writing this article has been a pain, quite frankly. I've been thrown out of restaurants and ignored by bartenders. Greenpeace has "no specialist or campaign about water." WTF? You're Greenpeace! Ah well. I returned to the apartment to sit down and crank out 650 words of copy without a single quote from an average Belgian--if indeed such a person exists in Brussels.
While Lizzi and Nicole were at dinner and Brandon upstairs in his own flat, I diligently worked until satisfied with my single response from Friends of Europe, a green organization. I had quotes and statistics from various UN and EU releases, but I didn't think this would be that difficult. This is an article that, if I truly cared about it, I would have spent a month researching and getting all the information for before writing. It's like a research paper on fast track and in mini-form. The brief before you write the actual paper. Number one reason why I hate reporting; I like time and length and detail.
And that was my ever-exciting Tuesday.
It made me realize how much I continue to hate reporting, but how much I like European reporting more than American. European-style remains much more relaxed; as relaxed as you can be in a high-tension workzone. There isn't as much emphasis on quote-checking. "Off the record" isn't so "off the record" since you can still technically quote the person. Things of that nature.
We returned to the apartments to finish working on our articles. I conducted interviews with restaurant owners on the way back, all of whom were Italian? One man I spoke with had very broken English, so I switched to French. His French was not much better. Honestly, the women running the Alimentations in the Moroccan district speak better French than he did. And he has a restaurant!
Regardless I got my quote from him, as well as a few more questions to be answered. Writing this article has been a pain, quite frankly. I've been thrown out of restaurants and ignored by bartenders. Greenpeace has "no specialist or campaign about water." WTF? You're Greenpeace! Ah well. I returned to the apartment to sit down and crank out 650 words of copy without a single quote from an average Belgian--if indeed such a person exists in Brussels.
While Lizzi and Nicole were at dinner and Brandon upstairs in his own flat, I diligently worked until satisfied with my single response from Friends of Europe, a green organization. I had quotes and statistics from various UN and EU releases, but I didn't think this would be that difficult. This is an article that, if I truly cared about it, I would have spent a month researching and getting all the information for before writing. It's like a research paper on fast track and in mini-form. The brief before you write the actual paper. Number one reason why I hate reporting; I like time and length and detail.
And that was my ever-exciting Tuesday.
In Flanders Fields
As time goes on, I realize I am less and less inclined to update this blog and more and more inclined to wander around Brussels. That or do my homework. Usually not the latter.
Regardless, the Monday sun dawned FAR too early on the start of our final week in Europe. Having gotten but 2 hours of sleep, coffee was in order, as was a water bottle that once held my delicious Kombucha tea. Dressing far too warmly for the heat that broke in Belgium, we attempted to get to Gareth's place by 10:00. Leaving by 9, then, shouldn't have been a problem since he lives about 40 minutes away by public transport...usually.
Buses 59 and 60 have a stop right outside our door. I'm talking directly across the street. If we had a street view window we could stare down the bus driver as he pulled up. Unfortunately for us, we don't have a street view window and didn't realize that the 60 bus was not only pulling up, but also leaving without us. We saw it driving off just as we opened the door. No matter, we could just wait for the next one that should come in about 10 minutes.
Wrong. It came 30 minutes later. Thank god this time the bus took us to the right destination. We arrived at Gareth's rather late, but it didn't truly matter since we weren't meeting anyone nor did we have tickets that required our attendance at a particular time. We were headed to "about as far as you can go in Belgium without going abroad" (--Gareth) in Ypres or Iepers, Belgium. That is to say, we were in Flanders truly.
We took a scenic route to get there, driving down through Wallonia (southern Belgium) before heading back up to Flanders (northern Belgium). The contrast in scenery between the two linguistic regions is rather remarkable. Wallonia is very flat farmland while Flanders is hilly. Perhaps it was the other way around? Regardless, I was too tired to take pictures. I should have.
After a long while we ended up at a World War I cemetary to commemorate all those who served in Flanders--most of them British. It was called the Tyne Cot Cemetery and as you walked toward it an automated voice spoke out the names and ages of each identified soldier buried in the cemetery. Talk about depressing.
The cemetery itself was rather beautiful, however. I would be proud to have my family buried there. The grass is well-kept. Every grave has flowers, even the unmarked ones. The marked and unmarked are all interspersed amonst each other--equality at its finest. In death we're all the same, and Tyne Cot wanted to show that.
After that morbid stop we drove a bit further to the In Flanders Fields Museum inside Ypres/Iepers. After getting lunch at a Frites Restaurant (not a stand) for a lovely cheap price, we headed across the square to the old Cathedral that had been converted to the museum itself commemorating the Flemish stalling of oncoming German troops.
We enjoyed the heat and the thrilling fountain before going in as well as the entire city which had been completely rebuilt to look like it's original pre-WWI state, except 1/5 of the size. The war had completely demolished the city in pieces. Some parts were saved, all of which were reconstructed. The buildings all look old, but definitely have a new 21st-century feel.
The museum itself was very nicely arranged. They even had that Titanic display/Holocaust museum element that provides each attendee with a card that contains the name of a person who was a part of the experience and you get to hear his/her individual story as you walk through. My person was a painter and there was an entire exhibit devoted to his work.
The drive home was pretty uninteresting since we didn't take the scenic route, but rather the faster route through industrial Flanders. Once back in Belgium, on our way to Place Flagey, we took the tunnel system to get there. Don't try holding your breath through this tunnel. It's several miles long. And there was traffic.
I crashed that night after getting through a page or two of my Judi Dench biography and didn't wake up until 4:30 the next morning.
Regardless, the Monday sun dawned FAR too early on the start of our final week in Europe. Having gotten but 2 hours of sleep, coffee was in order, as was a water bottle that once held my delicious Kombucha tea. Dressing far too warmly for the heat that broke in Belgium, we attempted to get to Gareth's place by 10:00. Leaving by 9, then, shouldn't have been a problem since he lives about 40 minutes away by public transport...usually.
Buses 59 and 60 have a stop right outside our door. I'm talking directly across the street. If we had a street view window we could stare down the bus driver as he pulled up. Unfortunately for us, we don't have a street view window and didn't realize that the 60 bus was not only pulling up, but also leaving without us. We saw it driving off just as we opened the door. No matter, we could just wait for the next one that should come in about 10 minutes.
Wrong. It came 30 minutes later. Thank god this time the bus took us to the right destination. We arrived at Gareth's rather late, but it didn't truly matter since we weren't meeting anyone nor did we have tickets that required our attendance at a particular time. We were headed to "about as far as you can go in Belgium without going abroad" (--Gareth) in Ypres or Iepers, Belgium. That is to say, we were in Flanders truly.
We took a scenic route to get there, driving down through Wallonia (southern Belgium) before heading back up to Flanders (northern Belgium). The contrast in scenery between the two linguistic regions is rather remarkable. Wallonia is very flat farmland while Flanders is hilly. Perhaps it was the other way around? Regardless, I was too tired to take pictures. I should have.
After a long while we ended up at a World War I cemetary to commemorate all those who served in Flanders--most of them British. It was called the Tyne Cot Cemetery and as you walked toward it an automated voice spoke out the names and ages of each identified soldier buried in the cemetery. Talk about depressing.
The cemetery itself was rather beautiful, however. I would be proud to have my family buried there. The grass is well-kept. Every grave has flowers, even the unmarked ones. The marked and unmarked are all interspersed amonst each other--equality at its finest. In death we're all the same, and Tyne Cot wanted to show that.
After that morbid stop we drove a bit further to the In Flanders Fields Museum inside Ypres/Iepers. After getting lunch at a Frites Restaurant (not a stand) for a lovely cheap price, we headed across the square to the old Cathedral that had been converted to the museum itself commemorating the Flemish stalling of oncoming German troops.
We enjoyed the heat and the thrilling fountain before going in as well as the entire city which had been completely rebuilt to look like it's original pre-WWI state, except 1/5 of the size. The war had completely demolished the city in pieces. Some parts were saved, all of which were reconstructed. The buildings all look old, but definitely have a new 21st-century feel.
The museum itself was very nicely arranged. They even had that Titanic display/Holocaust museum element that provides each attendee with a card that contains the name of a person who was a part of the experience and you get to hear his/her individual story as you walk through. My person was a painter and there was an entire exhibit devoted to his work.
The drive home was pretty uninteresting since we didn't take the scenic route, but rather the faster route through industrial Flanders. Once back in Belgium, on our way to Place Flagey, we took the tunnel system to get there. Don't try holding your breath through this tunnel. It's several miles long. And there was traffic.
I crashed that night after getting through a page or two of my Judi Dench biography and didn't wake up until 4:30 the next morning.
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