Sunday, October 08, 2006

It's my house, and I live here

It’s Sunday evening. It’s twilight and there’s a warm glow everywhere.


I’ve got a glass of red wine – it’s going down very well, I might add – and Diana Ross on the CD player. She’s a Sunday CD, you see. I had a friend back in London who had a set list for Sunday. Whenever you went to his house on a Sunday – for a chat, Sunday roast or whatever, the playlist was set. Always Dolly Parton. Always Donna Summer. And always Diana. I guess I caught on to the habit. So, Diana only gets played on a Sunday. And I love it. What a beautiful day.


It was a chilled weekend – perhaps the first I’ve yet had in Antwerp. But full of surprises, as it happened. Again, Antwerp never fails to surprise me.


I went for a walk both on Saturday and Sunday. I find that in Antwerp, you don’t really need to know where you’re going (good thing, as I’m really rubbish with maps); things generally find you.


I stumbled across a dance festival in Groeneplaats, and saw a duo performing an interpretation of the meaning of love with a mixture of acrobatics, contemporary dance and dialogue. Hmmm. Then I found a troupe of Brazilian drummers that got a crowd dancing and swaying for almost an hour. Part of another festival.


And then I followed some couple (sounds dodgy, but I was just curious, and it looked like they knew where they were going) into one of the most beautiful buildings I have yet seen in Antwerp – the Felix Library.


It was housing an exposition of the best home gardens and living architecture in the city. Go, if you get the chance. Even if the topic doesn’t interest you, the building is amazing. See:






And I had a bit of a Terry Gilliam fest, watching Brazil and 12 Monkeys. Fantastic. From my new local and favourite video shop. Favourite because the guy behind the counter said that my Dutch was “mooi” which I think means beautiful. Or pretty. Or something. Anyhow, point is, I like them over there.


Anyhow, back to Diana. She sings “It’s my house and I live here”.


Really happy to – have a house and live here – that is. I guess as a natural result, I’m getting interested in the how’s and why’s and wherefore’s of everything local.


Today is voting day for Belgium. Residents have to vote. And I did some listening about local politics. I never read up on politics. Or read the hordes of garbage the political parties put in my post box (even the Green Party – surely they know there’s a forest somewhere to save?). I like to listen to people talk about politics. Much more truth comes from what people perceive than what a leaflet can tell you.


And during this week, in my house, I heard some music, and thought there was a concert of sorts going on. So I walked outside, followed the sound, only to find it was a rally for the Vlaams Belang - a racist party.


But I only know this because locals have told me that they are racist. I’ve not read it anywhere, nor logged on to the party website or read their gumph.


So, naturally curious, I stayed about to listen and watch: there were more security guards at the gathering than actual attendees (well, almost); all the surrounding businesses - in a square that is usually thriving with life – were shut and boarded up; and – although my Dutch is still poor – I listened to their speeches – and the amount of times they mentioned “Safety” and “Security” outnumbered the security guards.


Preying on fear? Seems to be working. Ain’t nobody else wanted to be around at that rally – well not on the opposite side of the security guards, anyway. Hmmm. Got me thinking.


It moved me so strongly that their speeches incited fear and loathing in Antwerp. In a city that – in such a short space of time – I have really come to love. I don’t like this party. Are natural human emotions like love, empathy and care cancelled by fear? Even if that fear is… a myth?


Anyhow. Enough of that.


Antwerp – and it’s people – are still beautiful. See:



I spent some time walking around with my camera, too. See my pics on Flickr. Even the ugly bits of Antwerp are lovely.


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