Tuesday was get-out-and-wander-around day. Actually, most days are get-out-and-wander-around days for me, but the specific intent was to go to a small art museum that the guidebook said was free, and to revisit a park I went to in March to see if it had changed at all in the interim.

First I went to a small park that took up about half a city block that Jack had recommended to me. It had a lot going on for such a small area--lots of plants in bloom, a basketball court, two ponds, a grassy area for picnicking, various secluded nooks with benches. It was very pleasant, especially given that you couldn't hear the traffic from nearby streets in certain spots, just the birds and the shouts of children (who were surely excited about the fact that somehow their truancy from school had gone unnoticed).

Then I crossed over to the Abbaye de la Cambre, which had been a monastery from the 13th century until the French Revolution. Now it houses the National Geographic Institute and the Decorative Arts College, but still maintains the buildings and grounds as if for the former contemplative purpose. There were snow flurries and almost no people last time I was there. Now everything was starting to come to life, although most of the plants are greenery or roses, so there wasn't a lot of flowering. Still not many visitors, however. I took a picture of the same (or perhaps just very similar) amputated tree with and without leaves, and I still don't get the appeal.




From there I headed to the Constantin Meunier Museum, which is housed in the artist's home and is still free, I am pleased to note. He created paintings and sculptures depicting the plight and heroism of the worker prior to the turn of the 20th century, so there's a lot of dark and moody paintings of threshers and miners and the like. The books call him "under-appreciated", and I thought that perhaps this was because he apparently had a singularly unremarkable life, with a wife and four children, building a respectable yet non-descript house once his art began to sell where he lived out his days. It seems that most artists who are popular today have a more interesting life story. My favorite painting was of a factory full of women in Seville making cigarettes; they look like they're making the best of it, smoking and chatting with their neighbors and such. It appeared to be "Bring Your Offspring to Work Day", given the number of children around, but I question whether the infants could really appreciate what their moms were doing. There was another painting that depicted a Good Friday procession where the participants were dressed like members of the KKK, which is the third or fourth time I've seen such an image.

Last on my list was the Bois de la Cambre, a large, woodsy park formerly owned by the Abbey until purchased by the city. I enjoyed the lush greenness that contrasted well with the muddy, dispirited look of early March. There's numerous paths through the park and I took one that lead to a pleasant-looking cafe in a clearing (a theater and roller-skating rink are nearby). I headed towards an open, grassy area thinking I would spend some further time reading the biography of Meunier that had been provided. I found a spot on a protruding root under a large tree. Shortly after my arrival, I was approached by a gentleman in his 50s who asked me what I was reading (after the usual discussion about how I didn't speak French). He then asked me what I was doing in Belgium and I replied, although perhaps not slowly enough for him to catch all the words, that my husband got a job here and so we had moved and I was trying to better acquaint myself with the area and learn French. He then told me he had a French-English phrasebook I could have. I thanked him for his generosity but told him I already had one, and then deciding that my quiet respite was probably over, I started to pack up my things and walk away, telling the man to enjoy the rest of his day. To this he responded, "So do you want to make love?" I said no thanks and continued on my way. Upon further reading I learned that the park has a designated "conversation bench", where a person who wants to chat can sit down and await a second person, and they can discuss whatever. Now I wonder if I had accidentally stumbled upon the "making love tree", in which willing parties link up. Really there should be more signs about this sort of thing.

On the way back I saw an elderly gentleman steal what I hope was a free newspaper that was stuffed halfway into a mail slot. He perused the headlines and then slyly waited for me to pass him on the sidewalk, but it was pretty obvious what he was doing, especially considering that I was only a couple paces away when I heard it being removed. I also saw a crowd of about a dozen people waiting resignedly outside the Indian Embassy's Consulate Services door. I wondered then if India's government, which is notoriously slow and corrupt, had been designed to mimic that of the inefficient government of its European occupiers. But I'll save that story for another day.

-s