Steps to appear out of place in Brussels, Belgium:
Number 10 isn’t my personal experience, simply an FYI. I spotted that gem perched up on a railing on the Mont d’Arts. I floated into Brussels late in the afternoon because I bought a ticket with plans to come for the open air art market, open from 6 am to 1 pm, but refused to get out of my nest until 12:30 pm. Moving along.
I went on a trip to Luxembourg yesterday. The richest city in the world per capita, Luxembourg City is a beautiful woman dressed in Dolce and Gabbana, sporting Jimmy Choo heels, carrying her Prada bag, wearing Chanel perfume and Tiffany’s jewelry and who is a graduate of Harvard Law. I was exceedingly impressed with the views in the city. I walked along the Chemin de la Corniche, also known as the “most beautiful balcony in Europe,” and took a photograph with every head movement. The view was down on the Abbey, renovated in the 17th century, the river that surrounds it, lush greenery, and the commanding rock structure of the Bock Casements. Beauty meets intelligence, the city is incredibly rich in both pretty scenery and history.
I had hoped to visit the Am Tunnel, part of an old bank building, now a contemporary art museum, but unfortunately it is closed only one day a week, and that happens to be Saturday, when I arrived expectantly to its closed revolving door. After a few moments of sulking, I was convinced by friends to take a walk to a gallery called “Casino,” which featured an exhibition with the theme of Science and Art. I will just preface this with “best spent 3 euro ever,” and “don’t bring small children.”
There were a number of exhibits, including a fur coat made from road kill specimens, glass boxes showcasing hymens (yes, you read correctly,) a wall-sized projection screen showing close up footage of black heads popping and other skin eruptions, a video of surgery to implant an ear into a man’s arm, biological art – growing human and animal cells in the shape of 3 tiny shirts, worry dolls hanging in little test tubes – made of real cells, naturally, re-creations of truth sirum tests, video of a man who secrets blue, and walls coated with a synthetic recreation of human sweat aiming to re-create the “scent of fear.” These are just a few off the top of my head. I was intruiged, to say the least.
The exhibit which struck me the most was not the shocking feats of odd technology and creative energy, but rather one room that resembled a large scale video game. The room is dark, save for the enormous screen in the front. As you walk in, you put on 3-D glasses which create before you a landscape of war. The sound of machine guns pervade as you look at full figures of soldiers, children, buildings, tanks and bombs, all of which are constantly changing and create the she sensation that you are really there, gliding through a battle zone. Three cameras hang from the ceiling, and ask you look through the lens and press the button, the images change form, layers peel off, the frame fades, and eventually your view turns to black, the war completely hidden by the lens.
I didn’t get it at first. But after reading the artists intentions, and standing there for a while, the meaning sunk in. The purpose of the piece is to show the power the media has to dull the senses. As you look through the lens, at first the scene is more focused, but eventually it goes away. As you watch, the once 3-D lifelike forms become 2-D and then gone altogether. Think of the war in Iraq – the televised war – did we not become desensitized? Unless a loved one is directly involved, isn’t it far too easy to go about your daily life without thinking of what goes on every single day across the world? It seems paradoxical that perpetually seeing images of pain and war would make it easier for the scenes to leave your mind, but I think the artist has a point. The more it is put on display as a news story, as simply another video, picture or story on the evening news, the less humanized it becomes, the easier it becomes to separate oneself from the actions of the world. After all, its just happening over there, and the pictures of the car bomb, that’s just one of many. We’ve seen it all before. And there’s the chasm. The reality of day to day life becomes separate from the reality of war.
Isn’t that why it still goes on? The terror of war, of constant fighting, is partitioned off from humanity. But it isn’t meant to be that way. It isn’t some foreign being or entity that starts and continues wars, it’s people. It’s us, all of us, and if we forget that it’s humanity at war, or humanity that’s struggling or starving or being oppressed then hell, what’s the point in trying to stop it? But if we remember it’s our brothers and sisters, if we humanize our problems, then perhaps we’ll wake up and realize it’s time to save our selves.
Europe is a holy land for people watchers, so as I sit outside at Café Onan in Leuven I feel as though I’ve reached my Mecca. There are people all around me, sipping espresso or tea, playing with their babies, walking home from the market, riding bikes to who knows where. As I sit here, my ears filled with my handpicked soundtrack for the afternoon, I imagine their conversations. It’s just as well that I’m listening to Passion Pit and not their own flowing chatter, as I wouldn’t be able to understand the Dutch anyway. But I watch friends laugh, and think that they’re probably recounting old jokes and playing off of each other just as I do with my friends. I look at the elderly couple next to me, quietly holding hands, and wonder what they’re remembering.
Something I notice quite blatantly is that no one looks like me. What I mean by that is, no one has a laptop out, and no one has headphones in. Back at home, my favorite café is evenly populated with humans and MacBooks, everyone plugged in via headphone to their own virtual hub, and stranger to stranger interaction is prevalent only when one tunes into someone else’s music collection through the free wireless internet. But here, imagine this: people talk and pay attention. I notice the same thing when I run at the track. Everyone else seems content to run or play soccer without a personal world of sound.
Now believe me. No matter how many scarves I wear to try and fit in here (though as one Belgian friend told me, “many have tried, all have failed,” in terms of Americans trying to look European), I won’t give up my headphones nor iPod. Music at all times matching my mood is like my heartbeat. But it leads me to wonder.
I have a Belgian cell phone, but I rarely use it. I find out the location of friends so we can meet up. That’s it. I’m also on the computer less. I’m less “connected” than I’ve ever been. Yet when I sit and have a cup of coffee or a beer with someone, I’m not breaking up their speech with the sound of the keys on my cell phone as I respond to a message. My phone isn’t ringing to interrupt an important discussion. Within my disconnection, I’ve become more connected with the moment than I ever have before.
I’m happier here. And while, in the words of a friend, we’re still in the “honeymoon phase” of the trip, I can confidently say that I’m enjoying each moment because I’m actually living it. I’m not planning or worrying, just trying to do what I feel, and it makes a difference.
I’m perfectly content in the corner of this café. I’ll probably spend a few hours here. But my laptop does indeed pick up a non-password protected wireless internet source, and I did just change my Facebook default photo.
