Really, there should be  a limit on how many times a person can complain about paperwork in Belgium.  At some point, you just have to accept it and move on.  But I am not done complaining yet.

This week, after a few failed attempts, Pedram announced that we are officially married according to the Brussels commune.  This is a miracle, as I am still not really “officially” in Brussels.

As perplexing as our commune visits have been, they are nothing compared to the bureaucracy surrounding the state of Belgium.  As I have mentioned before, there was a time when we had no government because the newly elected political leaders could not create one.  People wanted to split the country based on language lines (French speaking Wallons and Dutch speaking Flemish).  This led to discussions about the purpose of a Belgian state — with a few people questioning if anyone would notice if the state split (here and here).  The king stepped in and tried to fuse the country together, and for a brief moment of time, a Prime Minister existed — a Flemish politician Yves Leterme.  Mr. Leterme had a knack of placing his foot in his mouth, often intensifying the whole discord along linguistic borders.  When asked if he knew the french version of the Belgian national anthem, he sang the French national anthem.  When asked in an interview about the failure and refusal of French speaking inhabitants to learn Flemish in certain municipalities, Mr. Leterme, whose father comes from the French speaking area, replied:

“Initially, the idea was that many French speakers would adjust to the new linguistic reality. But apparently the French speakers are intellectually not capable of learning Dutch.”

With the country still on political stilts, Leterme jumped on the economic bail-out bandwagon and decided to nationalize Fortis, a Belgian financial services company.  He sold the Belgian part to a French bank, without consulting the shareholders, who sued the government.  When Leterme tried to resign, this time the King accepted.

I brag to everyone I know, Brussels is the capital of Europe.  However, I acknowledge that economically, Brussels could hardly be recognized as a high-tech, free-enterprise powerhouse of Europe.  I would be more likely to describe it as the bureaucratic center of Europe, full of government intervention and infamous European-styled central planning and extensive government structure and income redistribution that surrounds the (tax-free, sometimes overpaid and occasionally underworked) EU commission and parliament.  In my opinion the government is a tad gluttonous, a little slow, and a bit bloated.

We do have a government now, but one can hardly say that was the biggest problem in Belgium’s embrace of the 21st century.  In the long run, the macroeconomic forecast for Belgium is grim, subject to large risks due to the aging population and their dependency on retirement and health services (all public).  And I can’t help but wonder what is the plan is with this little country, and the littlest big city in Europe, where global decisions are made everyday.  Is it possible for Belgium to be a country worth saving?

I am pretty sure I have a secret admirer at my local supermarket.  In fact, we may be soul-mates.

I am obsessed with pomegranates.  In Seattle, we bought truckloads of California pomegranates, huge, ripe and juicy.  Last year, after trying to find a “Persian style” (red, more sour than sweet, but not too sour) pomegranate among Belgian markets, I settled with a smaller, incredibly tasty variety found in Luxembourg’s Auchan — straight from Iran.  They were incredible.  I blame Nicolas Sarkozy for the lack of Persian pomegranates in Luxembourg this year, the French/EU embargoes finally hitting the beloved fruit trade from the motherland. 

Side thought — I have truly become Belgian as I find myself hating Sarkozy and blaming him for everything (I don’t really).

I found some pomegranates in my local grocery store — POM! from California, and bought all 3 that were available last year at the end of pomegranate season.  The next week there were a handful of pomegranates from Turkey — thanks, but no thanks.  I went home pomegranate free.  The following week, another handful from California – yes!

This year, this same store has been supplying a handful of pomegranates (the good kind, red and sour) from Peru, India, Israel and wherever else, every week.  Everytime I go (and I am going alot more), I go directly to the random fruit section, and between the avocados and pamelos, there are a few pomegranates awaiting me.  I promptly buy ALL of them (ranging between 3-6).

I want to meet the fruit buyer, and to confirm my suspicion that s/he has been supplying these pomegranates just for me.  I am convinced that we now have a special relationship, and through our investigative actions have found each other, narrowed preferences and seek to appease each other.  I will always buy pomegranates from my local Delhaize (afraid of saying where in case other people will then go there for pomegranates) and s/he will always make sure there is a “good” pomegranate supply.

In case you were wondering, I have a vision of what my pomegranate soulmate looks like.  I imagine it is an older man, white hair, short, incredibly friendly and passionate about fruit.  We’ll meet one day when he is bringing out the pomegranates I am waiting for.  Then we’ll sit together and crack one open together and exhange stories for every seed that falls…

Everyone in Belgium (and maybe France) that I know has been influenced by the lyrics and music of composer and singer Jacques Brel.  He is undoubtedly one of the most revered francophone singer of modern times, although I am not sure if anyone I know in the anglophone world recognizes him (of Flemish descent, he occasionally sang in Flemish).  I am probably the least knowledgeable person in this country about Jacques Brel, but like many others, I also have fallen in love with his passionate ballads, his bitter lyrics, his energetic dances and his endless satire, and wanted to share them.   

Brel was born and raised in Belgium (although he became famous when he moved to France), and wrote and performed music in 50′s and 60′s (he apparently did some acting too, but I don’t know about that).  His most famous songs, such as Ne Me Quitte Pas, has been covered by Sinitra, Nina Simone, David Bowie and others.

I first heard Brel when I was visiting Pedram and he played Brussels, a hilarious upbeat song about the city of Brussels.  He speaks of Brussels during the time of his grandparents, about the same squares that I visit today, depicting it with the line “it was the time when Brussels dreamed, it was the time when Brussels sang”. 

Jacques Brel passed away 30 years ago on October 9, and his story and his music re-appeared on the TV and the radio as the entire country took some time to mourn his loss, his romantic lyrics that were laced with bitterness and irony, his brooding compositions about politics, frustrations, resentments, lust, and regret.  It is clear to see why his music impacted so many people from different generations — it is truly timeless. 

I’d love to hear about other people’s thoughts on Brel, and their favorite songs.  My personal favorite is the song below, Madeleine (with english subtitles). Enjoy!