One minute it’s café au lait…and the next you’re in Belgium.
One thing I find startlingly difficult to get the hang of, is not so much the sudden changing of countries (and the fact that all the signs suddenly switch language during a momentary lapse of concentration), but the total absence of fanfare when crossing a border in these parts.
In Australia, by contrast, there are many big signs in place that WELCOME YOU TO A DIFFERENT PART OF AUSTRALIA.
WHERE THE NUMBER PLATES ARE A DIFFERENT COLOUR!!!!
AND EVERYTHING IS PRETTY MUCH THE SAME!!!
THOUGH OUR POLITICAL PARTIES MIGHT HAVE MORE QUESTIONABLE MORALS THAN YOURS!
WE MIGHT ALSO HAVE A RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF GIANT SCULPTURES OF STRANGE OBJECTS FOR NO APPARENT REASON!
That said, if you enter any other country via a major highway (or England via any form of transportation including a flying broomstick) you will be treated to a giant sign that makes you feel special. And if you’re extra lucky, you’ll get sniffed by a customs dog (not the time to play friendly with the puppy, just some general traveller advice).
Well, there I was, rattling along through northern rural France; a few fields, some cows, and suddenly you’ve got the Belgian version of exactly the same thing. Except that it’s in Flemish. I find the Flemish language frankly hilarious, and spend ages amusing myself with the similarities between this language and English the way I imagine it was spoken 800 years ago. For example, Warme Drankken translates to Hot Drinks. Funny, no?
Anyway, I went to Belgium to consume some of their densely calorific food, be dazzled by the lameness of their Elvis impersonators and giggle at the menus (Flemish food, for the uninitiated, is mostly various arrangements of excessive syllables, potatoes and dead animal parts).
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