Liege, Belgium

Freedom.
The ability to pack up and leave for God-knows-where at a moment’s notice. No kids. No dogs - only a couple of plants to water before scrambling out the door. The opportunity to jump in the car and be in a country like Belgium in four and half hours is what I’m talking about.
Michelle and I made arrangements to spend Thanksgiving in Liege, Belgium. We were to spend the first night with a couch surfer (www.couchsurfing.com) and the second two nights at a Youth Hostel. Plans were in place until we received a phone call from Michelle’s dad saying her mother was very ill and had to be taken to the hospital. We discussed her going back, and then the next day we received another phone call, this time from Michelle’s mother. She tells us that now Michelle’s dad is ill and also needed to be hospitalized. That made our minds up for us right there. I bought Michelle a ticket to Montana and she left within two days.

And me?

Well, I wasn’t about to cancel the trip to Belgium.
I threw a backpack and a sleeping bag in the car, and headed Northwest to Liege.
I set directions in my GPS for an address in downtown Liege for a local couch surfer, a Belgian girl named Francoise. The plan was for me to meet her at her apartment at 5:30pm. She would be arriving after finishing work as an English teacher.
I found a parking spot across the street from her place on a busy city side road along the Meuse River. I got there around 2:30pm, and decided to take a stroll around the city. Taverns and pubs decorate every corner, all advertising either Jupiler or Stella Artois beers on tap.
Oh yeah!
Liege is also home to Jupiler Brewery.
I peeked in the window of a few watering holes, searching for a spot where I would feel comfortable. I passed on the ones filled with old men, men in suits, and ones filled with people who generally didn’t look like me. I eventually found one on a busy corner, a serene location on a barstool with endless people watching opportunities. I sat at the bar and ordered a Stella beer on draft, in French. The bartender immediately heard an accent and wondered where I came from.
Canada perhaps?
I listened to the conversations of everyone around me and wound up joining in a food discussion about strange foods, in particular, the taste of cow brains. The men all liked brains, including me. Our sole female bartender detested them.
I hung out there, trying to tune French into my head until it was time to disappear and meet Francoise.
Arriving at my host’s apartment, I searched through the French names on the buzzers and pressed the one marked Ghyse, Francoise’s last name. I took the elevator to her floor and was greeted by a smiling, jovial woman who immediately gave me the customary kisses on the cheeks; one, two, three of them. She gave me a quick tour, where I tossed my backpack on her spare bed and joined her in the living room for introductions and travel stories.

She had a spectacular view out her window of the city and the river. The bridges are lit in neon blue at night, casting an eerie glow over the water.

I find out that Francoise has traveled all over the world as well.

She has only been a guest of couch surfers a few times, choosing instead to host couch surfers at her place. Francoise’s latest travel adventure had been to a small town in Thailand where she had volunteered to teach English to the poor village children. A Thai family had volunteered to host her during her eight week visit.

Unfortunately, the family was headed by an abusive father who treated Francoise terribly, causing her to return to Belgium after five weeks in a depressed state. She said she knew she was in trouble when she found the floor of her new bedroom to be covered in dead bugs. When she asked for a broom to sweep up the tiny insect corpses, she was chastised by her family, saying she had insulted them.

What left an impression on me about Francoise was her love for America and New York City. She had a large-framed photograph of the NYC landscape, the Twin Towers standing proudly in the middle of the shot. Other pictures of NYC, in black and white, surrounded the Twin Tower photograph. Francoise told me it was her shrine.
Many people I have met in my travels have been to NYC and feel a deep connection to it.
All wept when the terrorists crashed those planes.

Francoise called another friend and couch surfer, Sonia, a young Belgian woman who worked for a refrigeration trucking company. She was also a world traveler and couch surfer, having many friends and stories from around the globe.
Sonia joined us for dinner at the restaurant, Maison du Peket (maisondupeket.be), specializing in traditional Liegoise cuisine and beverage. I managed to devour a delicious meal of two large meatballs, covered in a sweet pear sauce, surrounded by French fries.
Of course the meal was washed down with a Blanche bier and several shots of Peket; the booze of choice in Belgium. The shots come in an assortment of fruit flavors, the more famous one topped with a fiery blue flickering flame. The bartender fires up a gas torch and dances a hot blue flame across the shot glass, waving the torch back forth with a flick of the wrist.
The trick to drinking this fiery beverage is to slam down the burning party fuel by using a straw - fun party tricks!
After dinner, we headed to a bar with a three ring binder beer menu thicker than the bible - pages and pages of top quality Belgian beers.
Because it was December, there were pages of special Christmas ales. It was an incredibly tough decision. I opted for an Orval and was naturally not disappointed.
A table of young college-age students from France sat next to us while a soccer game played on the TV overhead.
Francoise and Sonia told me about what was happening politically in their country and the problems that were surfacing between the north and south. I was embarrassed not to know more about their country, politically. I mentally made a point to learn more.

After our drinks, my new Belgian friends took me for a drive around the city before heading back to Francoise’s apartment where I slept soundly.

When the morning sun began to rise, I stared out the window at the frantic pace of the cars as they sped in the morning commute, thankful I was not out on the highways, sharing the road.

I explore a quiet park, taking time to notice the local flora and fauna. Walking out of the park, I spy a small common-looking tavern, the perfect spot for a black coffee and flaky croissant.
After breakfast, I arrive at the apartment to find Francoise awake and ready to take me to a Belgian chocolate factory. The factory is located in the middle of a neighborhood - not where one would expect to find a chocolate factory. The room was buzzing with French and Belgian tourists alike, sampling and buying special Christmas chocolates. I bought a kilo (2.2 lbs) of chocolate rejects for ten Euro ($13). They were unbelievable good! Francoise then drove me to a local grocery store where I bought some killer Belgian beers and Trappistes cheeses. It was super nice having a chauffeur and local to show me around the city.
I left Francoise’s place in the afternoon and drove across town to find the Youth Hostel of Liege where I checked in, stashed my backpack, and again strolled about aimlessly, stumbling upon a Christmas market. I walked around the market, looking at all the different foods and drinks. They have fresh oysters from Zeeland in Holland, sea urchin, mushrooms with truffle cream sauce, rotisserie smoked ham sandwiches, foie gras, extensive wine lists, beautiful brown beers, gluhwein, and Peket. I wanted to try everything, and I just about did. There was a marching band playing, French fries sizzling, and couples kissing. I had such a good time; I went back again the following afternoon which quickly evaporated into night. I met loads of people and held all kinds of conversations, jumping in and out of both English and French. Everyone wanted to toast to Obama as the new American president once they found out I was American. I clinked a lot glasses! I met a Polish lady who was a Polish/French interpreter for the Belgian government, married to a psychologist whom she met on the internet. I met a guy traveling from Quebec, who once he heard my last name, became my new best friend. “Vive la Quebec et les Separatists!”
The police came in to the Chimay Chalet (my absolute favorite stand at the market) and tossed down a few Chimays while I was there. They were in complete uniform, guns, everything. They slugged down a couple of beers, partnered with Trappiste cheese, chatted, and then went back to work, I guess. Our bartender, Fred, a truly animated man and a colorful story teller, proceeded to tell the cops stories about bar fights, and the punches he got in at the other guy. We found ourselves in food discussions and the varieties of different pates and cheeses. I can talk about food all night and so could they!
Francoise texted me on the cell later in the evening that she would like to meet at the market, where I already was happily tossing down Trappiste beers….she was meeting several friends for drinks and conversation. We had a table of about eight people for most of the night, drinking, eating and talking. The Chimay flowed like tap water and the food just kept coming. People took turns going to the stands to get food and bringing something different back to share. Cured sausages, potato soups, smoked hams, cheese, you name it, I ate it. I was so full by the end of the night; I thought my stomach was going to burst.

I made plans to meet a new friend, Elias, who arrived from Lebanon a mere four months ago. We were to meet at the big Sunday Flea Market, held downtown along the river. Everyone I met in Liege told me it was mandatory to check it out - It would be a crime if I skipped it.
“Yoo can get any-zing, from uh apple to uh goat!” one guy told me, stumbling from another table to give me his advice when he heard I was American. He was right too! Chickens, lingerie, boots, rabbits, fish, winter jackets, club gear, vegetables, its all there - several kilometers of stuff. University students were scattered throughout the market and the city, dressed in decorated white lab coats and armed with empty beer glasses. The lab coats are covered in quotes and drawings of cartoons, like SpongeBob, Mickey Mouse, and Homer Simpson. They approached anyone and everyone asking for loose change, even begging through the open windows of cars at stoplights. A tradition among the Belgian university students at this time of year is to beg for money in order to go drinking. The more money they are able to accumulate, the more drinking that can take place. Some of the boys wore lab jackets, dirt and vomit stained, from previous years.

Elias and I found out we had a lot in common. He had studied in India, searching for a Kundalini/ meditation guru and was now in Belgium working as a computer whiz. Elias specialized in computers and technology, showing me all kinds of neat tricks he could do with his iTouch phone as we shopped the busy market street. He was also a couch surfer and had interesting stories to tell about his travels and his home land.

One thing he said that impacted me was when he told me he grew up in fear of Israel. I’m still thinking about that.

Before leaving Liege, I discovered a French fry restaurant, specializing in the perfect fries. If I see Belgians standing in line in the cold for fries, I’m standing in line too.
The line ran out the door.
The owners had perfected the art of French fries and took their work seriously. It looked to me that they were using a three oil cooking process, with big buckets of oil set at different temperatures. They offered a variety of sauces to accompany the fries, from curry sauce, mayonnaise, ketchup and American ketchup to herbed sauces. The difference between European ketchup and American ketchup is that European ketchup is sweeter with a nutmeg taste and American ketchup is more vinegary and not so sweet.
Sitting in their drafty upstairs room, I found the French fries to be perfect; soft and tender on the inside with a nice crispness on the outside. They were perfectly paired with a can of Jupiler.

When I checked out of the Youth Hostel on Sunday morning …by the way, I had a room with four beds, but no one showed, so I had the room to myself…I was sad to leave. The people of Liege were beyond wonderful to me. I met so many fantastic, friendly, interesting friends. On the snowy drive home, I started mentally planning my next visit.

Liege, Belgium: Mission Accomplished.