Jack went off to the US at the end of June for work and to visit family and I set about keeping myself busy any way I could. Anyone who knows me probably realizes I'm not terribly good at entertaining myself, but I'm trying to be better. I went to the movies ("The Maltese Falcon") by myself for the first time since freshman year of high school, when Allison F. stood me up at the Tyson's Corner movie theater when we were supposed to see "The Last Emperor" for an assignment for history class. I painted a design on our glass-top coffee table. I watched a cat in the backyard play with a dead bird for way too long. I probably cooked some good meals. I went to a cemetery and got locked in after closing hours. And I went to the Schaerbeek Cherry Festival.

The penultimate event was part of my efforts to visit all 19 of the communes that make up the Brussels Capital Region. This is like going to, say, Waldorf and Fairfax City for no other reason than to say one has been there, because as in the case of Evere I don't know of anything of note that would cause one to want to go (especially since the museum to the Belgian endive has closed). Many of the older communes have cemeteries that are outside of the locality--presumably at the time they were created they were waaaay out in the country, but now they've been surrounded by the 'burbs. Evere hosts Central Brussels' cemetery, I noted on my map. So I packed myself a snack and hopped on a tram.

The cemetery was great--very park-like with more open space and rabbits than graves. There was a woman talking with a military-looking guy at the entrance and I didn't want to get turned away so I tried to keep my head down and look purposeful when I passed through the gate. Row upon row of Brussels' top governmental officials from the 19th century greeted me, including many of the luminaries that the streets around town were named for. Sprinkled throughout were massive tributes from the French to the Belgians, the Bruxelloise to the "victims of want", whatever that means, and so on. Most graves were old, and many seemed to be in a state of neglect for lack of perpetual care, but the place was definitely still in use. The lightest possible rain began to fall while I was there, cooling the air slightly and shrouding the place in a decorous gloom that seemed more appropriate than the earlier sunny brilliance. There was an area for those who wanted to spread their loved one's ashes, and several graveyards containing war dead: one for the Germans, one for the Belgians, and one for the Allies. One section off in a corner of the property appeared to contain gravestones that had been rejected for some reason, jumbled together at odd angles with weeds poking up through them, nameplates and photos still attached in some cases. Then there was the mysterious building near the back--it looked more like an old school or office building than something one would associate with the disposal of mortal remains--the undertaker's quarters? At one point during my peregrinations I thought I saw a cop car go by out of the corner of my eye, but again I acted nonchalant and was left unbothered. According to my map, there was supposed to be a back entrance that led to another cemetery. Once I determined that this was not the case and wandered back towards the entrance, I discovered that I was locked in: separated from the outer world by a 12-foot high wrought-iron fence. Great.

I knew it was a few minutes to 5, but I didn't have any idea what time the cemetery closed until a guy got out of his car on the other side of the fence and informed me that the sign said the gate was locked at 4:30. The same sign I had neglected to check out because I was too busy looking like I was supposed to be there. He said that he and his wife were in town for their grandson's birthday party but had some time to kill before it started and thought they'd visit the cemetery, only to find it closed. Another onlooker appeared, this one clearly local given the fact that he had advice about where to scale the high brick wall surrounding the property to get out. I started to walk around the perimeter, and at a low point in the wall saw a guy in his back yard power-washing his patio. I thought if I could just get his attention I'd be able to walk out through his front door, but he didn't hear me. I got called back to the front entrance, as the couple had walked across the way where two cops were having a sit in a cafe, and told them of my predicament. After a while they came out, assessed the situation, and the older guy apparently made a joke about me being in there for 20 more years rather than 20 minutes, helpfully translated by my guardian angels.

They waited with me, and we went over the situation, how I'd heard a bell at an odd time that seemed to go on for a long while, which was probably the bell I was currently standing next to, rung to let people know that closing time was approaching. How the cop car went by but didn't stop to tell me to leave. How the fence almost looked like it was designed to be scaled from the inside, probably just for this reason, but I probably shouldn't try it since the police were now on the job. How there were plenty of nice overgrown shrubs under which one could curl up and nest comfortably on a mild evening such as the one that was approaching. We discussed the events of the day, how there was a naked bike ride for peace/the environment/whatever other cause you chose to espouse that was probably causing the traffic issues they encountered, and how the Cherry Festival was the next day. The man said the cherries were likely from Poland, which was where the Oud Beersel Brewery people told us they were getting cherries for their kriek gueuze. At one point the man tried to pick the lock with a grocery store savings card to no avail. It was a long 20 minutes. I kept telling them they could go, but they waited it out with me, perhaps because they had time to kill and it was more entertaining than nothing. They eventually lit upon the idea of taking my picture, and that was what we were doing when the cops got back to unlock the gate.

I thanked everyone profusely in any and all useful languages, and the policemen didn't seem to be at all put out by having to interrupt their low-crime Saturday afternoon reverie to deal with such a chore. So there the 5 of us stood, perhaps not ready to break the strange camaraderie that had developed, and the older cop said, "Do you speak French?" I replied, "A little," meaning "not very much at all but I'm not going to run the risk of offending you." He launched into "My colleage...", and the rest was lost to me, but everytime I looked at the younger guy, who was taking quick nips on his cigarette, he'd cast his eyes to the ground and smile a thin, pained smile of embarrassment. I have no idea what was said, but the other three laughed at the end so I smiled generally while the young guy continued to look like something shameful had been revealed. The couple didn't translate it for me. At this our little group dispersed, and I promised myself that I needn't return to Evere to potentially feel the wrath of the young cop who had been humiliated in front of everyone.

Upon further reflection but absolutely no supporting evidence, I decided that the cop had said "My colleague saw you when we were driving around clearing out the cemetery, and he decided you were hot, so he thought it would be a great way to meet you if you were 'accidentally' locked in." I still got it, baby!

The next day was the Schaerbeek Cherry Festival, which really isn't worth mentioning at all due to its lameness, aside from the fact that I learned that Schaerbeek and Evere share a police force, and so now there's two communes I can never go back to.