Death in Leuven

“Ahghghgh! Aghgh . . . my gosh!”

Most people swear here, but Simone says “gosh”. I think something a little bit stronger would have been justified. What I’m not certain about is whether her use of "gosh" here is due to 1) her character, 2) public setting, or 3) being abroad.

So she goes for the “gosh”, and it is a good gosh. Lots of emphasis. Kind of a deep, throaty “gosh”. Tons of diaphragm. I think we need to rule out reason number 2 above because she said the gosh with so much emphasis and emotion that everyone within a reasonable distance from her must have heard it, which indicates she wasn’t afraid of making a scene. Come to think of it, we are in a non-native English speaking land so she could have easily gone for something stronger and while many would have understood what she said, they wouldn’t have run for their children to quickly slap on the ear muffs while the crazy loud-mouthed American curses. So it must be 1.

It was a good day in Leuven. A bit cold and rainy, but nothing uncommon for Belgium this time of year. We drove the 18 km or so from our temporary home in Zaventem and parked our car, I believe illegally, a kilometer or so from the historic center. Lunch was nice and light at a bar/café on the Oude Markt (that’s Simone under the umbrella in the Oude Markt). Leuven is a college town and the university there is one of the oldest (1425) and most respected in all of Europe. College kids at old and well respected universities in Europe like to seek out a good time just as much as those at newer and more mundane schools across the globe, and the bars and cafes in the Oude Markt are where Leuven students do a lot of their seeking.

Simone thought she ordered goat cheese on toasted baguette, but got fried eggs with a salad. I mention this because Simone rarely interprets things incorrectly. But then, Leuven is in Flanders and neither of us knew any Flemish at that time, and little more now.

My difficulty with Flemish pronunciation is demonstrated most readily by my difficulty with the word, “Leuven”. Simone and Birgit (our relocation agent--you'll meet her later) say I need to stick my lips out more when starting with the first syllable, “Leu”. They say I need to form an “O” with my mouth, and then stick out my lips, like you do when you are a kid imitating a fish. Anyway, I’m about done with it. I’m thinking of just calling it as the francophones do, Louvain. I can pronounce that, but then, Leuven is in Flanders and I should really learn to pronounce it the Flemish way so I don’t come across as some self-righteous Wallonian.

We check out the 600 year old Stadhuis (seen at the top of this post) in the Grote Markt and freeze for a few minutes in the equally old St Pieterskerk church. Like I said, it is a cold day in Leuven, but it is a good five degrees colder (yes, Celsius, you ethnocentric Americans!) in St Pieterskerk church, so we we aren't much for hanging out in there. Then, “The Incident” occurs.

Simone and I decide that she doesn’t have a good bag for day trips and otherwise tooling about town. A purse she purchased in the States for just such occasions simply will not do. She needs something to wear across her chest, like a messenger bag, both for comfort and to deter would-be thieves. We’re on our way into our first store in Leuven in search of a good day pack for Simone and behind me I hear that diaphragmal (yeah, I know, not a word) noise coming from who is undoubtedly my Simone. I quickly turn to find Simone dazed, bewildered, upset, and covering her face. I have no clue what is going on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ahgh” is all I get.

“Are you OK?”

More groaning.

“What’s wrong Sweetie?”

“Ahgh . . . stupid umbrella. I was trying to close it and it popped open and hit me in the chin.”

Can I laugh? Good thing I suppressed it. I’m concerned of course, this is my wife, but a pop open umbrella to the chin? That’s good stuff.

“What can I do?”

“I think I might pass out”, she says with tears in her eyes. Now I’ve lost any urge to laugh and realize she got it good and I go into “fix it” mode. I look for a place for her to sit and quickly get her down. She rests for a minute or two, groans a bit, and asks me to see if she is bleeding. A good scrape on the chin that is not quite deep enough to drip blood. She doesn’t pass out, but she is pretty shaken. Check out the sadness in the picture of her to the left pointing to her chin, with St Pieterskerk in the background.

"I could have died, you know?!? I could be lying here dead on the floor of a shop in Leuven after only a week in the country" ("Leuven" perfectly pronounced in Dutch).

"Ah, yeah, I know. That could have been pretty bad."

"No, for real. I could be dead on the floor right now and you would have had no idea what happened. You would have turned around to find me dead on the floor. If it would have hit me in nose it could have been like that Kung Fu move where you hit someone in the face and the cartilage goes directly into the brain and kills the person instantly. I could be dead on the floor of a shop in Leuven."

She really says, "Kung Fu", which of course makes me think of Sunday afternoons as a kid watching "Kung Fu" with David Carradine roaming about with his really bad hair. I almost tell her this, but that would only reinforce my legacy for extremely bad timing. Something that does not endear me to my wife. And besides, I don't think she would have gotten the reference . . . I don't think she is old enough to have have seen it and have it burned into her memory as I do.

"Yeah, that's definitely possible." I mutter, somewhat unconvinced. I don't know if that Kung Fu move is actually real. I mean, we all have heard about it, but really? Anyway, in general, she is right, if that thing would have hit her somewhere else in the face (eye, nose, teeth), she could have been pretty messed up.

She is able to pull it together and we find a great luggage/handbag shop. A new bag, that is perfect for day trips, is quickly (by a girl’s standards) found and eating a fresh pastry from the great Saturday market in Leuven quickly makes things all better. You can almost see a smile behind the pastry in the picture below.

The chin is sore for a few days. When she laughs or smiles she grabs her chin, and moans, “Owww”. Thankfully, however, “Death in Leuven, Offending Umbrella Suspected”, will not be the headline in the De Standaard.