Edjumacated

Veterans Day, Remembrance Day, Armistice Day... Call it what you like. Here, it's a holiday. As in, an actual day off work. (Well, I mean a day off work for people who actually do that sort of thing - work. For me, it meant I got to spend my Wednesday with Jason instead of a grainy, online version of last week's Project Runway episode of questionable origin.)

So after spending the morning on the sofa with cups of coffee in hand and various services and memorials on the tv, we decided to get out and go somewhere. I suggested Waterloo because it's only about fifteen minutes outside of Brussels and what better day to visit an historic battlefield?

And so it was decided. Of course the song by ABBA immediately wormed its way into my brain and took up residence and so help me I sang it all day long. Well, at least I sang the same line over and over. "Waterloo! Couldn't escape if I wanted to... Waterloo! Knowing my fate is to be with you..." Let it be known that Jason has the patience of Job.

First stop was for some lunch. And while perusing the drinks menu, Jason noticed that Waterloo has its own beer (Remember? Just like Mechelen and a host of other cities across Beergium.) And would you look at that? It comes with its very own little clay pottery cup! I am truly a sucker for details. Give me a drink with its own specialty vessel and I'm yours. (Kwak Kwak anyone?)

Next we hit up the museum in the Duke of Wellington's former headquarters. It was from here that he planned his strategy against Napoleon and eventually sent out the victory notice.

The museum held all sorts of interesting artifacts. The audio guide called my attention to this lovely old wooden leg that belonged to the man who died in the very room in which we were standing. Ew. (Also? So not fair that his leg was skinnier than mine.)

After the museum, we drove to the actual battlefield. The Lion Mound was constructed in the middle of it nine years after the battle to commemorate the 9,500+ lives lost on June 18, 1815. Unfortunately it was a very grey and misty day so not the best for purty pikshur takin'. But while we were waiting for the movie to start, I popped outside and played around with the camera settings to see what I could get. I kind of like this result (especially considering the environmental challenges). I even got a tiny, shortlived flash of blue sky as the clouds rolled along.

Just when I thought my legs had recovered from the 538 circular steps of St. Rumbold's Tower, here come 226 more. I was huffin' and puffin' like a chain-smoker by the time I got to the top. I really should consider adding a bit of serious cardio to my workout routine. (And by "workout routine", I mean "walking down the street for a pain au chocolat once a day".)

By this point in the day, it was getting rather chilly. In fact, when you add in the whipping wind that got worse and worse the closer we got to the top, we were freezing. And whipping wind + freezing ≠ good picture face.

I have to say, I learned quite a lot about the battle at Waterloo on this little excursion. I'm rather ashamed to say that, prior to this, I actually knew nothing about it other than the fact that it was considered Napoleon's epic fail. I didn't know it was a result of Napoleon going all power crazy. I didn't know it was the Duke of Wellington who defeated him. I didn't know that the Prussians worked with Wellington's British forces to stop him. I didn't even know what Prussia was. I really should have paid attention in Ms. Eskew's world history class.

In the interest of spacing out my entries a little, I'm writing this on Friday and am going to schedule it to post on Sunday - by which time, with any luck, we'll be enjoying the wonders of some little town in France or Germany or Netherlands or Luxembourg or maybe right here in Belgium. When you have the borders of no less than four countries on your doorstep, who knows what the weekend holds?

Lady Heather and Lord Jason on a visitation upon Mechelen and 538 circular steps

That title will make sense about four fifths of the way into this post. Just tuck it away for now.

Remember that time we went to Mechelen and there was a big annoying marathon going on and we couldn't even appreciate half of the town because the big annoying marathon had sponsor booths set up all over the grote markt and barricades all over the streets and I was just straight up annoyed? Well, now that we're all caught up....

Last weekend we decided to use the absolutely beautiful Sunday bestowed upon us to go back and explore the rest of this charming Flemish town. We were extra appreciative of the sun's sweet rays after the cloudy/drizzly/lazy Saturday we had the day before.

Cloudy because well, let's face it - this is western Europe. In November.

Drizzly for the same reasons.

And lazy because we continue to torture ourselves by staying up until 3:30 in the morning to listen to the Carolina Hurricanes live game broadcasts online. And if you don't know why this is torture, then you are clearly not following the NHL. Check the standings if you're curious. Personally, I can't even look at it anymore. Hurts my eyes. My head. My heart. How a team goes from playing in the Eastern Conference Finals one season to dead last in the league the next is truly beyond me.

Anyway, let's get this train back on the tracks, shall we? Our personally guided (by us) walking tour begins at the grote markt, and specifically with the town hall. Mechelen's town hall is pretty interesting because it's actually two buildings, with three distinct facades. On the right is the older half, circa 14th century. In the middle, you can see what was supposed to become a grand belfry but was left unfinished due to lack of funds. For two hundred years, the belfry was just a shell. In the 16th century, what was supposed to be a temporary roof was finally put on it. Turns out...not so temporary. More like permanent.

The flamboyant Gothic part on the left wasn't completed until the early 20th century.

As you can probably imagine just by looking at him, this little statue has a pretty colorful history. He's called Op-Sinjoorke and is the mascot of Mechelen. The original doll, made in 1647, is hauled out for ceremonial processions and thrown into the air by means of a large sheet of cloth - which is what this sculpture depicts.

He was originally called Sotscop (Dumbhead) or Vuilen Bruidegom (Foul Bridegroom) after drunk husbands who smacked their wives around. Divorce was not allowed back then so the tossing around of the doll was supposed to symbolically punish the men. Yeah. That toooootally makes up for getting the crap beat out of you by your husband and not being able to leave him, right? *facepalm*

He got his current name in 1775 when he was tossed a little too vigorously and an onlooker from Antwerp put out his arms to ward off the doll but was instead accused of trying to steal it. He successfully plead his innocence and Sotscop was renamed Op-Sinjoork, the nickname for people from Antwerp.

This statue of Margaret of Austria was the product of the Belgian government asking cities to honor the country's heroes. Mechelen was the only one to choose a heroine.

Best fact about Margaret: Twice she was arranged to marry. The first, set when she was only three to the thirteen year old future king of France, was called off by the time she turned eleven because her intended found himself a better match. The second was arranged when she was sixteen - to the future king of Spain. On the sea voyage to Spain, they ran into a severe storm and Margaret thought she was going to die so she wrote her own epitaph. "Here lies Margriet, the sweet maiden, who had two husbands and yet died a virgin." HA! Loves it!

Next up was St. Rumbold's Tower - which you can see to the right of Margaret in the photo above. Or if your fingers are too tired to scroll back up, here's a photo of the Tower from our previous visit. Fact: The tower was never completed, again - due to lack of funds. That's why it has that sort of lopped off look about it instead of coming to a point like most.

Last time we were here, we saw that you could climb it (all 538 steps of it) but for whatever reason, we just couldn't be bothered. That, and also it costs about seven euros a person... I was all, "For seven euros I want a damned elevator!" But we later read that it's not just a climb for the views. It's actually a tour of the inner workings of the carillons. (That would be "bells" to us simple folk.) So, we decided to have a go. I loved this little heart lock on a door we passed on the way up...

I forgot what the audio guide said about this giant hamster wheel. I was too excited about staging a photo to pay attention.

It may be hard to believe but the audio guide was fascinating. I was enthralled. And it takes quite a lot to enthrall me. I was so enthralled with my audio commentator that you can imagine my shock when the bells started ringing. About five feet from my head. I almost wet my pants.

I won't even pretend to know how this whole thing works. Let's just go all Facebook status and say "it's complicated" and leave it at that.

Finally we made it to the top! Gorgeous views of Mechelen and beyond surrounded us. You could even see bits of Brussels in the distance. Namely, the Atomium. It's rather hard to miss that monstrosity.

Too bad I couldn't stop laughing long enough to get a decent photo.

This is the best we got. And it's still pretty obvious that I'm biting it back. I don't even recall why we were laughing. It was almost a week ago fer cryin' out loud. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast.

After braving vertigo to get back down the 538 circular steps, the walk continues...albeit on very shaky legs. Seriously. Walk down 538 circular steps and tell me what your legs feel like. I thought they were going to flat out collapse beneath me.

We made our way past the Melaan, an old brook that used to run through the city...

... and Klapgat, or Gossip Alley - where, sadly no one was gossiping...

...some very ornate street signs, of which there are three in Mechelen...

...and finally, Sint-Pieter-en-Paulkerk. But I really only put this picture up so I could tell you that this church is now (due to a very lengthy story which I shall not recount here) officially called "St. Peter and St. Paul on a visitation upon St. Ignatius and St. Francis Xavier".

By this time, we were ready for some refreshment. Luckily our walking tour dropped us off right back at the grote markt. Genius! Time for a glass of Mechelen's finest. (Pretty much every city and town here has their own brew. Mechelen's is Gouden Carolous.)

And don't forget the frites. Tell me, are these not the most deliciously perfect frites you've ever clapped eyes on?

And while we waited for the three o'clock carillon concert to float down from St. Rumbold's tower, we were serenaded by the local organ grinder.

All in all, a near-perfect day. It narrowly misses "perfect" only because I woke up the next morning with my aching legs practically unable to hold up the rest of my body. I walked from the bed to the coffee maker legs bent and hunched over so as not to have to endure the pain of stretching out my calves. This went over well with Jason.

Oh how he laughed.

Oh how I scowled.

Oh how he taunted.

Oh how I threatened to lace his coffee with Thai chili paste.

Oh how he shut up.

Clocking a few more miles on the Audi

And away we go. Long-time readers will know that Jason and I have a tendency to just jump in the car and go somewhere, bringing along a few essentials in case we decide we're having too much fun to leave. And last weekend, we did just that. We got up Saturday morning, said "Hey, what should we do this weekend?" and decided to let google do the talking.

After a few internet queries, we decided we were driving to Hasselt - a small town about an hour's drive from Brussels. We also found out that in a neighboring village, there was a 16th century castle that housed a brewery. That was about all we needed to know so we threw a few things in an overnight bag and hit the road.

But not before a quick stop for breakfast. Yes, in Belgium, this is what passes for breakfast. In any other country this would be dessert.

The real reason for the fuel up was that we were waiting for the Tiffany across the street to open. Don't get too excited for me. My Facebook family probably already know that one of my most precious possessions was lost recently.

For my 30th birthday, Jason gave me my very first piece of Tiffany jewelry - a gold Elsa Peretti bean necklace. I treasured it. It was my go-to necklace. I wore it almost every day. And it recently fell off my neck without my knowledge. I was in a hurry getting dressed and I'm sure I just didn't clasp it properly. When I realized what had happened, I was inconsolable. Jason insists on replacing it so there we were, patiently waiting to go in and see if they had it. (They didn't - but they've ordered one for me.)

So, back to the business at hand...

We arrive in Hasselt with no problems and immediately set out to enjoy the gorgeous day. And I do mean gorgeous. I'm talking light sweater and a scarf gorgeous. Blue skies gorgeous. Fall leaves gorgeous.

This is kind of funny to me... I took this photo because I liked the background of yellow leaves and the red awning and the way the sun was laying. And when I was going through the pics, trying to decide which ones to use, it occurred to me that this looks like a regular sized statue. You know, average statue size. Eight, nine, maybe 10 feet or more. Pretty big. But in reality, it's only about a foot and a half tall. I don't know. It's probably only funny to me now that I think about it... But dang if I haven't gone and written a whole diatribe about it and I'm not deleting it.

Time for lunch and some Belgian refreshment. As per usual, blonde for me and brune for the mister.

Up next was the National Genever Museum! Boy, do I love me some culture. This is the third appearance for genever on this blog. (Surely you've not forgotten but in case you have, first and second appearances are here and here.)

It was very hands on...

And the distillery is still in operation - one of only a handful left in Belgium.

And then it was time for the tasting. My previous genever experiences had been by and large pleasant. (Despite Phil, Suze and Jason peer pressuring me into knocking one of mine back so we could make our boat tour.) I mean, it's flavored gin. It'll be tasty, right? Sure, I prefer vodka but it's flavored gin. How bad can it be? Cheers!

And what follows is my reaction, en triptyque:

"Okay. It's in my mouth. Hmmm. That's a wee bit stronger than I thought it would be. Okay. OMG it's really f**king strong!"

This is my "Jason, do I really have to swallow this? Please tell me I can spit it out. Please? No? Really???" face.

"OMG, my lungs are on fire! Seriously, this might be medical! My lungs are aflame!!"

I recovered pretty quickly. Let it be known that I am not afraid to make a damn fool of myself.

After some strolling around, we made our way back to the Grote Mart for a cafe stop. I love the front of this pub, Drugstore. This is actually where we had lunch (and the blonde and brune) earlier.

The clock tower at dusk...

Okay. This is kind of a funny story. Well, it cracked us up anyway... Since we are so fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants about travel sometimes, we don't always get our first choice of hotel. The extent of availability upon our arrival in Hasselt amounted to the Holiday Inn. (As Holiday Inns go, I have to be fair and say that it was actually pretty nice. Recently updated, tastefully decorated, immaculately clean and excellent bedding to boot.)

Upon check-in, we were told that we were cordially invited to the Halloween "after-party" in the hotel bar. "After" what? No idea. I wanted to ask her why she didn't invite us to the party before the after-party. So after dinner, instead of retiring to our room, we hit up the after-party. Things were just starting to get cranking.

There were bowls of dry ice (which the bar staff had to pour pitchers of water into about every three minutes to make it do its thing) and a smoke machine (which set off the hotel fire alarm three times) and even a DJ (who played to a totally empty dance floor but seemed to be pretty into the tunes himself). We stayed just long enough to be able to say for the rest of our lives that "We went to a Halloween after-party at a Belgian Holiday Inn."

The next morning, we awoke to find that we were the only people in the whole town who weren't at church. Which provided us hell-bound heathens the perfect opportunity for a self-portrait on the empty streets.

And then it was time to find the castle brewery, Ter Dolen. A mere 15 minute drive away, we found it and also found ourselves surrounded by countryside. How amazing is this?

Autumn, schmautumn. Whatever. Show me the beer.

As we were a little early for the tour (which turned out to be yet another hilarious H&J adventure), we went on in and got ourselves a little preview taste by the cosy fire and wall o' logs.

Blonde for me (and tripel for Jason this time).

Upon finishing our beers, we found that we still had time to kill before the tour. So we went for a country walk. Well, Jason walked. I frolicked.

Upon finishing our walk/frolick, we found that we still had time to kill before the tour. So we went back into the cosy castle pub and had ourselves another little preview taste. And some cheese. I saw some people had a little bowl of cheese cubes and if they get to have cheese cubes, I want cheese cubes too. So I sent Jason to fetch the cheese. He came back with this:

Not only do the brew their own beer here at Ter Dolen, they make their own cheese as well! So we got ourselves half a wheel and dug in.

And finally, it was time for the tour to commence. So we headed over to the meeting point and followed the guide into the brewery. And the tour commenced. In Dutch. 100% Dutch. It's a shame we don't speak Dutch because the guide must have been very entertaining. The whole crowd broke into laughter about every five minutes. We just played along and took pictures of the things the guide pointed at.

Though I did quite like this keystone over an archway, and not only because it's got my initials carved into it. The guide probably told a very witty story about the significance of the year 1643, but we wouldn't know anything about that.

Jason with his loot.

So, Ter Dolen brew castle - check. What next? Well, we can either call it a trip and head back to Brussels or....we can get out the iPhone and see what's nearby. And that's how we discovered the town of Aachen, Germany - roughly 40 miles away from our current location.

And that's how we came to be in three different countries in one day. You see, we had to drive through a little patch of Netherlands to get to Aachen. (Though we didn't actually visit anywhere in Netherlands, so it hardly counts.)

Aachen is most known for its connection with Charlemagne and is pretty much chock full of history. I'll try not to bore you but one of the most interesting buildings here is the town hall, because of the many transformations it's gone through over time. Allow me to break it on down:

• It was originally built in the Gothic style in the 14th century.
• After it was severely damaged by a town fire in 1656 and re-styled in Baroque.
• When Friedrich Wilhelm IV came to power in 1840, he ordered a transformation that was more in keeping with the building's history and the neo-Gothic restoration began.
• It was heavily damaged by bomb raids in 1943 and 44 and after a very long rebuilding period, we have the structure that stands today.

However, I don't know a thing about this building. I just like the colorful window panels.

And this takes first prize for the strangest fountain I've ever laid eyes on. Working our way down from the top: It's capped off by a large rooster, which sits atop a fully armored soldier on a horse.

Let's take a closer look at the base. Every fountain needs a few Medieval death masks, yes?

And marionettes. Marionettes with moveable arms. (We know that for a fact. We moved them.)

You cannot turn your back on him for one second. He'll be heading towards the free samples faster than you can say gingerbread.

I love love love the skinny little buildings - look at the blue one! So twee!

Looking back through the photos, I'm unsure why I took a photo of a birdbath. A rather elaborate birdbath; but a birdbath all the same. Uh, enjoy?

The cathedral in Aachen is truly something to behold. It's massive. There's no where you can stand and fit it in one photo. Some facts for you:

• It is the final resting place of Charlemagne, who died in 814.
• Between 936 and 1531, thirty kings and twelve queens were anointed, crowned and throned here.
• During the Middle Ages, it was one of the most important Christian places of pilgrimage, on par with Jerusalem and Rome.
• The Aachen Pilgrimage has been taking place every seven years since 1349.
• The next one is in 2014.

The cathedral has evolved over a span of twelve hundred years:

• The octagon with the cupola there on the right in the photo below is the core of the site and was completed in 800.
• The gothic choir, on the right in the above photo (also called the Aachen glasshouse, for obvious reasons) and the north and south chapels were added in the 14th and 15th centuries.
• The Hungarian Chapel, on the bottom left of the photo below, was added in he 18th century.
• And the tower on the left was completed in 1884.

I know that's probably just a lot of arbitrary numbers to most of you but I think it's pretty damn impressive.

Ummm, it was pretty fancy on the inside. This whole ceiling design is in mosaic tiles. And this is just a small corner of it. You wouldn't believe the vastness of it, especially when you consider it in terms of half-inch tiles. I'm thinking of doing this in our next house.

There were all sorts of random things strewn amongst the otherwise abstract patters on the ceilings. My favorite was this rooster.

We had a fit over this little pub that was tucked right onto the side of the town hall. So of course, we had to pop in for a beer.

But not before we made friends with the horse that was standing guard.

We asked the guy behind the bar about the place and he said it was about 300 years old and used to be a library, but had been a pub for about a hundred years. It occurs to me now, as I write this, that we didn't ask about the horse. Damn.

In closing, we had better luck on the hotel front in Aachen. It was rather posh. In fact, it even had a spa. Which is exactly where we went after our beer in the library-cum-pub. After a massage and a lounge by the infinity pool, we were well-rested and ready for the short drive back to Brussels.

My life is not so bad I think.

(Disclaimer - I haven't proofread this because Jason's in the kitchen cooking dinner all by himself and I feel bad so I'm rushing off... Hold me not accountable for my mistakes.)

One day at a time. Isn't that what they say at AA?

You know how they say it's a bad sign if you're drinking alone?

Jason: Hey, sorry I'm late. Work got crazy at the end of the day.

Me: Oh good, you're home. Does that mean I can drink now?

Trust me. If you knew the crap that we've been dealing with the past couple of weeks, you'd be jonesing for something to take the edge off too...

Live every week like it's shark week

Here we are, a few weeks post-Champagne. And yet....it is the trip that keeps on giving. We bought quite a lot of champagne on the trip. None of which we can take back to the US when we leave here. (Well, short of what we could pack in our checked luggage but I doubt very seriously that highly pressurized, sugared, fermented grape juice and cashmere would mix well.)

So, we are tasked with the Very Important Job of making sure all the champagne in the flat gets consumed before we depart. If there's one thing this has taught me, it's not to overlook life's small victories. Celebrate not just holidays and anniversaries:

Hey! Congratulations! You made it home from work today! Let's celebrate! *pop*

Hey! We made soup for dinner! Let's celebrate! *pop*

Hey! I ordered a Coke Light today and they put more than one cube of ice in the glass! Let's celebrate! *pop*

Hey! You remembered to hang up your coat! Let's celebrate! *pop*

Hey! I did two loads of laundry today! Let's celebrate! *pop*

Hey! My iPhone is fully charged! Let's celebrate! *pop*

Hey! Your iPhone is fully charged! Let's celebrate! *pop*

You get the idea.

Moving forward... This past weekend was a bank holiday here in Belgium, which means that we got to drag out our weekend trip one extra day. It was a doozy. Where else can you visit two countries in one day? (And drive through a third on your way between the two.) Stick around for the exciting conclusion...

Things that bother me more than they should

1. Misuse of there/their/they're, your/you're, two/too/to, (added per Andrea's request:) lose/loose, (added per Aisby and Cyndi's request:) I/me, (added per Robin's request:) our/are, (added per Meg's request:) its/it's and (added per Suze's request:) using "would of" when it should be "would have"...among other similar infractions.

2. People who like a band until they get successful and then say stupid stuff like "They sold out. They went all commercial." Umm, no. They were hungry. They needed to make money. To live.

3. People who call in to radio stations. Seriously? You have nothing better to do than call a DJ to answer his stupid poll? "Should Lady GaGa wear pants more often? Call up and tell us what you think!" STFU and play some music. Seriously, STFU.

4. Girl comb overs (Fig. 1 See Ashley Simpson, far right.), often found in mass quantities in southern sororities.

5. Paris Hilton's fake baby voice. Nails, meet chalkboard.

6. When someone emails you asking for info, advice, etc. and you take the time to really answer their questions thoughtfully and in detail and then they never reply back and say thanks.

7. The bureaucracy in Europe. I don't know how anything ever gets done here.

And that's just off the top of my head. If I think of more, I'll edit this post to add them.

Evidently, someone had a bowl of Cranky Flakes for breakfast.

Slippers and the City

What I came home to after the cleaning ladies were here:

All my slippers, lined up by the bed. At the risk of going all Carrie Bradshaw on you... I couldn't help but wonder, have I been collecting loungewear when I should have been saving for Louboutins?

From what I can count off the top of my head, I own about nine pairs of slippers. I have two whole drawers dedicated solely to cozy stretchy things to wear while I sit on my couch and read. (And that's not counting my pajama drawer. Pajamas are for sleeping. Loungewear is for lounging.) Not to mention the five sets of Juicy sweats and three cashmere hoodies that hang in my closet and rarely see any action past the confines of my front door.

I think it's safe to say my loungewear and slipper addiction has reached critical mass. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go slip into something more comfortable. Preferably something made of 100% cotton jersey.

Bon weekend

I'll be the first to admit that before last year's playoff run, I was merely a Carolina Hurricanes fan. Which is not a bad thing to be mind you. (Unless of course the team is collapsing in epic fashion before your very eyes - as they are currently...but I digress.) But something special happened last spring. I became a hockey fan.

In my free time, I would read up on rules and penalties and free agency and look at what more knowledgeable fans had to say about certain plays. By the end of the playoffs, I could tell you all about forechecking and backchecking, drop passes and lead passes, wrist shots and flip shots, breakaways and wrap-arounds, power plays and penalty kills, zones, dekeing, icing and offside.

And no one was more surprised than me when I kept watching the games after the Canes were knocked out in the ECFs. That's when Jason knew a true hockey fan had been born.

One of the things I had been the most bummed about since being here in Brussels was that we were missing out on our season tickets. I missed hockey. So Jason starting working his Google magic and found out that we have a hockey team here just outside of Brussels - near Leuven. We noted that they had a home game coming up this Saturday night and made it our business to be there.

The rink is in Slap Middle Of Nowhere, but conveniently, this particular slap middle of nowhere is only about 25 minutes away from our flat. We got there, paid our 7 euro each, got our hands stamped and made our way to the ice.

I was so stupid excited by the time the puck dropped that I didn't even really notice that I was freezing. Note to self: Hockey rink much colder when five feet away from ice. Noted.

Don't you love how a flimsy net is all that's protecting those kids watching from behind the goal? No glass. I repeat: NO GLASS.

Check this out... You could stand right up at the boards and watch the game. Somewhat different than your typical NHL arena experience.

We did that for the second period and it was terrifying. Exhilarating and terrifying. When the players would gain any momentum towards our general direction, I would cringe and take a couple of giant steps backwards. There were a couple of collisions into the boards that nearly took a few spectators out.

During the warmup skate, I glanced over to a poster on an opposite wall. Then I did a little double-take. I thought I saw a Hurricanes logo but I figured I was just being a homer and immediately dismissed the thought. (My vision is terrible, by the way. So it was very blurry.) Then, a few minutes into the first period I put on my glasses so I could, you know, actually follow the puck. I happened to glance towards the poster again and lo and behold, mine eyes did not deceive me afterall!

You could say I was excited. I mean, of all the 30 NHL teams in the league, what are the chances of seeing an ad featuring our star center and assistant captain in a rink in Slap Middle Of Nowhere, Belgium??

Leuven Chiefs defeated {insert name of unpronouncable Belgian team here} 5-3. It was a pretty exciting third period considering the Chiefs were up 5-0 going into it.

A couple of interesting things about the post-game rituals... (I don't really think "rituals" is the right word there but I can't think of a better one at the moment.)

At the end of the game, each team lines up separately and exchanges high fives, fist bumps, hand shakes, stick taps, words of congratulations, words of encouragement or what-have-you with their own teammates.

Then, they line up for hand shakes with the opponent. I just thought it was interesting since, in the NHL, you only do hand shakes once you've knocked the other team out of the playoffs. It sort of adds a touch of civility to the game and shows a bit of respect for each other as players in a way.

And if that wasn't enough, after the hand shake line, both teams lined up facing the crowd and started tapping their sticks on the ice as a way of showing their appreciation to the spectators. Once the visiting team skated off, the Chiefs stayed and made a bit more noise on the ice and then raised their sticks in a sort of salute to the cheering fans before skating off themselves.

It was such a great experience! And so different from any other sporting event I've been to. I'm really curious if it's the same in other hockey leagues around Europe. If so, it would certainly explain the intense admiration our Finnish players seem to have for the Canes fans...

Sunday was pretty much a lazy day. We hung about the flat in our pj's till almost noon and made a totally sick breakfast of eggs, bacon-hashbrowns and ciabatta toast. We did finally venture out to cross another pub off the 10 Best list. Au Bon Vieux Temps (loosely: "The Good Old Days") was the victim this time. And like La Becasse, it was situated at the end of an unassuming little alleyway.

We opened the menu and saw, wonder of wonders...miracle of miracles, we had unwittingly walked into the pub that serves The Best Beer in the World! (According to whom, we are unsure.)

But of course, the Mister had to try it. Though it was certainly tasty, he still prefers de Garre.

We attempted to hit another one on the list, which was really more of a cafe than pub. But the bitch in there was so rude that we got up and walked right up on out of there. Do not, I repeat, do NOT mess wif da Sangers. We are f-ing hardcore. Hardcore!

Come quickly...I am tasting stars!

Well, cross one more wine region off the ol' travel list. (Tis a goal of mine to visit them all before I perish. Or before my liver perishes. Whichever cometh first.) I am...how do you say...a very big fan of champagne. And sparkling wine and cava and prosecco and sekt for that matter. A wine snob, I am not. If it be havin' the bubbles, I be drinkin' it. That's my motto.

So I guess you could say I was pretty excited for this trip. This trip to the birthplace of champagne. And do you know what's particularly fabulous about living in Belgium? You can drive there, door-to-door in less than three hours. No getting raped by airport security. No queueing up to be herded like cattle into a germ-ridden tin can with wings. It's all just a leisurely motorway drive away.

We arrived Friday evening and checked into the very lovely Villa Eugene (which, coincidentally, was previously a family residence of the Mercier family - champagne royalty here in the town of Epernay). And Jason, being the rock-star that he is, had called ahead earlier in the day and ordered some of the fizzy stuff to be chilling in our room.

We woke up Saturday morning and set out for Reims, the region's largest city, and home to several big champagne houses.

Like G.H. Mumm, for instance...

Let's get this thang crack-a-lackin, shall we?

Now, I actually learned this fact on our visit to Schramsberg during our trip to Napa and Sonoma over the summer but didn't mention it on that post. Maybe because I was still drunk when I wrote it? I dunno...

Anyway, all sparkling wines must go through a process called riddling. Riddling is done by a riddler. (Try to keep up kids.) Historically, all bottles were hand-riddled. By the riddler. Today, much of it is done by machines. Called riddling machines. But most of the nicer houses still have some of their bottles hand-riddled. By a riddler.

Riddling is basically turning each bottle an eighth to a quarter turn every day for two weeks (and simultaneously tilting them at increasingly steeper angles). This is what allows the sediment to gather in one place and collect in the neck of the bottle for easy removal. A skilled riddler can riddle up to (and in very few cases - more than) 50,000 bottles per day.

And one last fact, learned on this trip: Madame Cliquot (yes, of the infamous Veuve variety) herself is credited with inventing the whole process of riddling.

And these, dear students, are the riddling racks upon which riddlers do their riddling. Don't let these few fool you. In most of the caves we visited, there were loads and loads of racks. Long long hallways lined with them.

How much for these three? No matter. Wrap 'em up. I'll take 'em.

And finally, the best part of any wine tour...the tasting. Depsite the fact that it was not even 11:00 am, we went for the three-glass option. I mean, that was the only way to taste the good stuff. The vintage Grand Cru! What would you have done?!? We had no choice!! No choice, I tell you!!!

We sought out Cafe du Palais for lunch as it had been featured rather prominently on the Champagne episode of Three Sheets. (I can't recall whether I've mentioned this before, but if you aren't familiar with this show and you like arm-chair travel and you like drinking, WATCH IT. It's hilarious and informative and interesting and culturally enriching and did I mention hilarious? Back me up Suze.)

We had a very special appointment after lunch. Very special indeed. A little reverence please?

The tour at Veuve Clicquot was fantastic. Their chalk caves are unreal. They were actually dug by the Romans. You know, in Roman times - which is to say A REAL LONG LONG TIME AGO. They mined the chalk for use in building churches and such. Well, the French happened to find out that these chalk caves are ideal for holding champagne because of their year-round chilly temp. And our guide was too cute for words. You could tell she had a real passion for champagne. This amazing "sculpture" is carved into the wall of the caves. That's chalk!

Another thing I learned on this trip: some bottles of champagne are vintages and some are not. (I had never noticed.) If a bottle's label has a year on it, it's made with grapes from only that year's harvest and is classified as a vintage. If a label has no year, it's a blend of different wines from any number of years. It's one of the cellar master's jobs to create the blends. So, bottom line, you only get vintages when there is a particularly good crop.

This is Veuve's stairway of vintages. Or stairway to heaven as I am apt to call it.

I was right! It was a stairway to heaven! It led us right to the tasting room!

Do I really need to caption this?

Empty riddling racks can also be used as stocks to hold unruly guests.

I don't want to go! I'll miss you. I'll never forget you. You complete me. But alas, there is more champagne to taste...

...right around the corner at Pommery! (I got over that pretty fast, eh?)

We didn't do the tour here since we were both getting a little worn out. But we can pretty much always squeeze in a tasting.

And after that, we headed back to our hotel in Epernay to pass out for a rest before dinner. But we took the scenic route and detoured through the countryside a little.

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny and crisp - a perfect fall day. Which was good, because we were hoofing it today. In Reims, you pretty much have to drive from house to house. But in Epernay, most everything is located right on one street (which you will see the name of a bit later) - and very pedestrian friendly. In fact, our hotel was right on this very street (which you will see the name of a bit later). Très convenient, non?

Epernay is precious. We stopped at a market and picked up a little take-away box of some little fried potato thingies to munch on during our walk around town. They were cooking them right there on the street and I have no willpower. Basically potatoes + frying = smell I can't resist. A couple of photos from our promenade à la pommes de terre:

And finally, (a bit later) it is time to begin the Avenue de Champagne marathon! (When I was looking for a hotel for this trip, I barely even checked to see how nice Villa Eugene was. Really, they had me at Address: 82 Avenue de Champagne.)

Starting with Mercier... Mercier was one of my favorite tours because the house came of age in the Belle Époque period and their style really captures that. What's not to love about the Belle Époque? Champagne-making techniques were perfected in this era. Parisian haute couture was born in this era. The cabarets and bohemian lifestyle depicted in the film Moulin Rouge flowered in this era. And as we all know, these are a few of my fav-o-rite things....

I love Mercier's old delivery truck. It still runs! In fact, they drive it a couple hundred yards up the street at the end of each day to park it in a gated lot across the street from our hotel. One morning from our room window, we watched them start it up and get going. It was a rather lengthy process to get that thing warmed up enough to drive it.

Though it was a bit Disney World-ish, I admit it was kind of nice to get off our feet and ride a little tram on the tour through the chalk caves. (Who am I kidding? I love a good tram ride. I jumped up and down and squealed a little when I saw the tram.)

There is a rather interesting little story about this gargantuan barrel. Eugene (as in the Villa of the same name) Mercier had this 20 tonne oak barrel pulled by twenty-four oxen all the way to Paris for the 1889 World's Fair. The journey took eight days. It took sixteen years to build and would hold the equivalent of 200,000 bottles of champagne.

To give you a hint of how impressive this thing is in person, it took the second place exhibition prize at the World's Fair. First place? A little monument you may have heard of called the Eiffel Tower.

You didn't think we were leaving without a tasting, did you? Oh, hell-to-the-naw.

And just a few meters down the Road of Champers is Castellane.

We weren't able to do the tour there because it started before we were done at Mercier but...

...we had plenty of time for a tasting. (Don't worry. We shared those four glasses.) (They're not even real-sized glasses.) (I don't care what you say. I don't have a problem.) (Get off my back okay! I can stop any time I want to!)

Of course, poor Jason got stuck lugging our purchase around. We bought three bottles at Mercier too but since it was so close to our hotel, we were able to drop them off before continuing La Tour de Bubbles. But we were kind of pressed to make it to one last house so no time for that.

I give you......Moët & Chandon. And let's get something straight right now. It's pronounced Moe-ette, not Moe-ay. See those two little dots above the e? That means you pronounce the t. Say Moe-ay around these parts and somebody is liable to backhand you.

The godfather of champagne, my brother in bubbles, the accidental inventor of the nectar of life - Dom Perignon. A Benedictine monk from the Abbey of Hautvillers, he was the first to taste the sparking stuff when he was testing the bottles of wine and found some had stopped fermentation due to cold weather setting in and resumed fermentation later when it got warmer. The sugary residue left behind when the original fermentation stopped then allowed the CO2 to appear when fermentation kicked back in.

He is reported to have said "Come quickly! I am tasting stars!" Right on.

Who can blame me for suddenly finding my religion?

In the cellars at Moët...

The only house that I really really wanted to visit but couldn't was Perrier-Jouët. The design of their signature bottles enthralls me. It's such an interesting story too... (per thewinedoctor.com) It was designed in the mid 1960's, inspired by the discovery of a decorated bottle, dating from 1902, found gathering dust in a cupboard. The bottle bore a motif of anemones by the glassmaker Emile Gallé. A previous owner of Perrier-Jouët had apparently commissioned it as a symbol of the Belle Epoque era. Today Gallé is renowned for the high quality of his glasswork, and is regarded as instrumental in the art nouveau movement in France.

A big part of me wanted to go there mainly for the whole Art Nouveau vibe.

But it was not to be. For whatever reason, they no longer do tours or tastings.

On Monday morning we opted for another country drive en route back to Reims, where we had our final tour and tasting scheduled for the afternoon. Just follow the Route de Champagne. It's kind of like the yellow brick road, but way better. Less witches, more champagne.

When we passed through Ambonnay, we saw it was one of the few Grand Cru villages in the region (there's only 17) so we figured there was no better place to stop off for a tasting.

I picked this one because I liked their sign - a riddler! Riddling!

Turns out I chose well. Very well. This was some might tasty champagne. And it was only about 17 euro a bottle!!! Wha??? So we bought five of the one we tasted and one of their slightly higher priced vintage. Score!

Then, sadly it was time for our last hoo-rah. But Ruinart was a great way to cap off the trip. It's the oldest champagne house in France. They also have the Roman chalk caves, like Veuve. It's kind of crazy - you can see these sort of well-like openings in the ground all around the property and they're the original entrances dug by the Romans.

We tried our damnedest to figure out a way to get these pallets off the property without anyone noticing. No dice.

And there you have it. Another trip. Another anniversary. Another kick off to another best year of our lives together. Each one better than the last. With each one that passes, I fall more in love. And just when I think my heart can't get any fuller, it does. I guess that's what happens when you marry your best friend.

Home sweet hockey

EDIT: I sit on a throne of lies. In my last post, I said that I had one more ready and scheduled to go live while we were away for the long weekend. What I failed to do was actually click "Publish". So anyway, here is what you were supposed to get yesterday...

As you all know, we recently went back to the States. I say States because Jason was in Pennsylvania for most of the time and I was in NC. But he was able to fly down to Raleigh for the weekend, just in time for hockey tailgating. The season opener, no less.

I know these pics make it look like we were some of the first people there. Far from it, actually. The lots were nearly full up by the front entrances. (We just choose to park on the back row because we like the extra space.) By the time we got there at about 4:30, some of the people in our general vicinity were already cleaning up from their cook outs.

By the time 7:00 rolled around we were PUMPED. And a little DRUNK. (Kidding.) It was very exciting when they announced the new roster one by one. Mostly familiar names and numbers but some excellent new additions were picked up in the off-season.

Unfortunately, the Flyers got the best of us in the end. But a very good time, as always, nonetheless.

Tuesday night was our next home game and since Jason was in Philly, his sister Erica made use of his season ticket. Girls night out at the arena! Slap shots, sick saves, fights, beers and BBQ sammiches. What more could two girls ask for?

Oh yes - a WIN! Whoooooooooooo!

However, I must say that I have no idea what is going on with the 'Canes so far this season. Apart from a 7-2 blowout against Florida (and Florida = whoop-dee-f**king-do), we have no offensive game at all. Thank the hockey gods for Cam Ward. Who knows where we would be were it not for him and his golden glove. Something had better happen. And fast.

Add in a U2 concert (and pre-concert tailgate, of course), several trips to various government offices in downtown Raleigh for various and sundry Belgian-visa-related documents, mountains of Bojangles, Chick-Fil-A and mexican food, gallons of sweet iced tea, many hours spent rooting around our storage unit and many more hours spent shopping and that's my trip home. In a nutshell.