A Different Drummer

It was an empty street in a small, plain little town, and I was out the front of the train station, trying to work out which country I was in. This was a first for me, and one of those things that you want to have on a "100 things to do before I die" list - I needed to work out which country I was in, preferably as soon as possible.

It wasnt such a difficult task. I had a 50/50 chance of guessing - I was either in the Netherlands or Belgium. But after that, there wasnt really much guiding me. I was on the train from Rotterdam to Brussels, daydreaming and listening to my music, when the train stopped. We stayed still for about twenty minutes, until the announcer told us, in Dutch, then French, then English, that the train had to stop due to "technical challenges", and that we needed to get out and wait for the next one, which would be arriving in 45 minutes. This was going to make me late for a meeting, so I needed to make a phone call - but first, I thought, I should really work out which country I am in.

The station was called "Essen", and all the signs were in Dutch - but that doesnt mean much, because this half of Belgium is all Dutch/Flemish speaking. The architecture, street signs and general look of the place didnt help, because there is really little visual difference between the Netherlands and Flemish Belgium.

Eventually, after walking around for a while, I found the answer, in the form of a "Belgecom" payphone box - I was in Belgium. I suppose I could have just walked into a store and asked which country I was in - but this was not in my plans for two reasons - one, it was just too lame a question to ask someone behind the counter in a small town, and two, it would have been too easy and spoilt the challenge.

I've had a good month for this surreal international intercultural weirdness. In London, Sarah took me to a huge Diwaali (Hindu religious festival), held in Trafalgar square. There was some speeches, followed by "cultural dances". I have to admit, seeing a crowd of 20,000 people cheer on a group of British-Indian girls in full Indian dress, dancing on a huge stage to "Waterloo" by Abba, at the base of Nelson's column, was wonderful on too many levels. I'm sure Lord Nelson would have been proud. Confused, but proud.

Now, I'm sitting in a shoebox sized bar out the front of Brussels North station, waiting for the train home to Rotterdam. Its a Belgian old man bar, and they are all merrily drunk on Stella Artois, singing along in unision to an electronic remix of "California Dreaming". The fun never stops.....