On Sunday we went to Fete de l'Iris which was half psychedelic carnival for the kids and half jazz festival. We started off by attending a concert of a guy who was billed as the Belgian Django Reinhardt. It was actually a couple of guys playing acoustic guitar in a small theater. We walked in late and had to lean up against the wall. After a couple of songs we shifted position slightly. In the process I managed to hit a lightswitch with my elbow and bring up all of the house lights. I then pushed another button to try to turn them back out, which worked but only for a second and then they cam back on again. Eventually after a bit of frantic random button pushing I was able to restore the theater to darkness. One of the guitarists made some kind of comment about it--but we have no idea what he said. After the next song we made a discreet exit. My embarrassment was eased by the free glass of wine they were offering downstairs.

We took a break from the festival for a while and S. showed me some of the sights she had discovered during the week. Later in the afternoon we caught a few excellent groups playing in this really cool tent that was impressively set up like a jazz club in the middle of one of the city squares. Complete with table service of delicious Belgian beers.

--Jack

There was a young girl, perhaps 6, at the acoustic guitar concert who was obviously the daughter of one of the performers. She sat on the stage with them on a small stool most of the time. At various points she got up and looked out the windows behind the stage that looked down onto a courtyard below, wandered around aimlessly, and whispered to her father between songs. He was very patient with her, and on the one hand I thought it was cool that he would bring her with him to "work", but on the other it was somewhat distracting. Probably the most exciting thing for her was when the house lights came up unexpectedly thanks to Jack.


Following that was kind of a hippie big band/marching band featuring dreadlocks and a banjo, neither of which are common for either genre as far as I know. I love a good marching band, but as I was just getting into it, following the bass drum down the street and waving at the people on the sidewalks (there was not a huge crowd yet, not that that would've stopped me), they finished their set.

After wandering around to see my previously-visited sites, we stopped at the Grand Cafe, which is one of those places that is done up elaborately in the old-school style inside but is also somewhat of a tourist trap. It was across the street from the only McDonald's I've seen so far, if you know what I mean. After a somewhat unremarkable meal, I headed down to the basement to use the bathroom. At the bottom was a T intersection, with the men's room on the left and the women's on the right. Also at the bottom was the elderly "bathroom attendant", who insisted that I give her 30 cents before entering the bathroom. Having explained to her using the international sign that I didn't have any change (patting the pockets), she shrugged as if to say what's it to me, and when I went to pass her she repeated her demand in a sharper tone. So I went back up and got it from Jack. As I think tips are based on a job that's been done, and she didn't do anything for me (aside from yanking on the locked door when I didn't come out of the stall quickly enough and there were people waiting), I was quite miffed. I theorized that she had installed herself down there by sheer force of will and was not actually a member of the restaurant staff, but they couldn't make her leave for some reason--maybe squatter's rights. It was a very charming Old World scene of perseverance.

-s