I was walking to Hema for breakfast this morning and dropped into Izy Coffee to say hi to Arjen – the barista and my friend.

Bruce: Goedemorgen  (“Good morning” in Dutch)

Arjen: Goedemorgen

Bruce: À bientôt!  (“See you soon!” in French)

Arjen: Zeer goed (“Very good” in Dutch)

Bruce:  Bye

As I contemplated the beauty of my croissant, our tiny conversation returned to my mind.  Three languages.  Five years ago it was only one.

Back then I considered myself a citizen of the world.  I cared about folks of different cultures, races … and languages.  But I was just scratching the surface of being international. 

***

In December, 2018 I went to Senegal with my Belgian friends for the first time.  Senegalese folks speak French, and not English.  Despite studying the language in high school decades ago, I’d forgotten most of it.  I struggled to communicate with my new African friends.

I’ve now been to Senegal four times and my French skills have improved.  I can compose simple sentences but when the other person speaks fast in return, I’m still lost.

I am on the French road … la route française.

***

Now I’m immersed in a Dutch course.  It’s Level One, the beginning of an immense journey to Level Five (or perhaps Level Ten, the most advanced).

I often shake my head, fascinated with how slow I am in catching on.  A classmate who studies neurology says that my 74-year-old brain is smaller than a young person’s and can’t make connections as easily as it once could.  So science is giving me an excuse!

My exam is in two weeks – Tuesday, November 7.  I’m throwing myself into the book, the audio samples and my notes.

I’m talking really simple Dutch to people like Arjen. He’s learning Spanish. I asked him how difficult that is for him. Scale of 1 to 10 (1 = easy, 10 = very hard). His response? 8! So I’m not alone in my struggles.

I am on the Dutch road … de Nederlandse weg.

***

Je deviens international

Ik word internationaal

I am becoming international

I’m a nice little Buddhist guy.  I float through life, blessing everyone.  Very occasionally I might get a tad annoyed … or even upset.

But I would never get ANGRY.  Or so I’ve said.

This morning I went out to breakfast at a very cool restaurant.  The manager was outside, cleaning tables on the terrace, which was open to the sky. We laughed for a minute or two.

I sat under an awning and fantasized about the wondrous yogurt and granola that soon would be coming my way.  I didn’t look at my phone.  I simply took in the flow of humanity and the ancient buildings.

After about five minutes, no one had come to say hi and take my order.

Something started rising in me.  It certainly wasn’t a flow.

After ten minutes my eyes narrowed and my mouth got tight.  Then a man sits down behind me.  A minute later he’s being greeted by a staff member.  Coffee appears.  For him … not me.

“Okay, Bruce.  Stop being a mellow jello!”  I got up and headed to the counter inside.

To the manager: “I’ve been sitting out there for maybe fifteen minutes, and no one has come by!  How come?”

Mr. Manager started talking about a payment difficulty he had with one table.

“I’ll give you a free latté.”  >  “I don’t want a free latté.”

I gave him my order.

I sat down again and felt the fury.  Me (Bruce!) … angry.

I enjoyed the flavours of breakfast.  And then it was time to pay.  As I walked to the counter, I asked myself if I’d said everything I needed to say.  Was I “complete”?  The answer was no.

I told the manager how frustrated I was that someone sitting down ten minutes after me got virtually instant service.

A female server chimed in with “He’s a regular.”

I ended the conversation with “This was bad service” and “It’s not okay.”  The server said “You’re right” and I got that she meant it.  The manager was silent.

***

Hmm … this was a new version of Bruce, something I’ve kept hidden under a layer of niceness.  There’s a time and place for this foaming at the mouth.  I didn’t call people names.  I didn’t swear.  I stuck to the issue.  I said what was true.

I walked home with a spring in my step.  “I’m proud of you, Bruce.”  I’ve forgiven the staff members.  I can feel that. And there’ll be lots of delicious yogurt and granola in my future.

Years ago I taught visually impaired kids in London, Canada.  My office was in Catholic Central High School.

I’d be heading home sometime after 4:00, just as Randy was coming on shift.  He was one of the school’s custodians.  Maybe he still is.

Somehow Randy and I started the ritual of “The Word of the Day”.  He would ask what the word was and something would come into my head.  After some meandering visit with “Gregarious” or “Hypothetical”, I’d end our conversation with …

And that, Randy, is the word of the day

I’m smiling now as I remember those good times.  This morning there was a resurrection, this time with me asking the question.  Maybe in the future I’ll get into the rhythm of someone asking me, day after day.

This morning I walked into Panos on Langemunt and asked Dominique, the manager.  “Sun” was her immediate response.  What a bright answer.

Then my eyes turned to Eva, a young employee.  She looked uncomfortable for a few seconds and then “Food” came out of her mouth.  Cool.  That’s a much needed word.

“What about you?” asked Dominique.  I heard “Love” escape my lips.  The best word in the history of the world, I’d say.  Hours later, I wish something unusual had come to me … like “Outrageous”.  Next time.

On to Izy Coffee, fortified with the same question.  Jamie was the barista: “Plausible”.  And then another: “Placebo”.  I could tell that he really finds both of those interesting, worthy of reflection.  “Plausible” especially gets me thinking.  I wonder about “Implausible”, and how to shift from something unlikely to something that actually happens.

Geert, a fellow customer, is next.  “Stoofvlees”.  Translation: Flemish beef stew, a classic Belgian dish. A yummy choice.

At the table beside Geert sat a man unknown to me.  I asked him.  “Hartverscheurend”.  Jamie helped me with that one an hour later when I returned to Izy.  It means “heartbreaking”. Such a sad choice for today’s word.

***

And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen

And if I may …

What is your word for this fine Saturday?

Sometimes I like to write in a stream of consciousness … tapping away without thinking and without stopping. No sentences, no rules – just flowing with the words.

My friend Dirk posted this amazing photo yesterday. I could create nice paragraphs about it, leading gradually to my insights. But not today.

I’ll just let go in a few minutes and see what comes. I’ll correct spelling mistakes later. There’s no good or bad, just words bubbling out of my mouth.

Why not?

***

Why am I doing this? Don’t care, font know don’t want to give nothing instead ho way inside these two

Who are you, dear men from the past and present? Who are you with your friends, with your sorrows? What has you fly into the air and dance around? And who do you dance with,?

Are you in Stone really long ago or are you hear now on my heart?

And fleshy one, where have you travelled? Who ate your companions? Have you seen the Roman ruins and tge skies of tomorrow?

Both of you! What have you learned here? Do you stay in your room or throw yourself into the world,,, what do you hunger for? What throws you sideways and dims uour mi d?

Are you me Are you a woman sometimes Will you ever grow old and feeble and slow and tired?

Is there eternity here in your faces or just a passing shower? Do you emergency from the rain with your head held high or is the umbrella your best friend?

Are we brothers? Some how do you know my joys and collapses in Belgium. Do we all speak foreign languages and yet see the truth in each other’s eyes?

What colour are here? You look bright, vivid, alive. Nio dull browns. No washed out half-assed efforts to fit in. Give me your red sobright give me your swathes of the brush on the canvas. No walls just flowing around f the circles of the world. Who is there in China? Do you see your friends sitting so far away?

Butni- not far away. Right here on the tip of your nose. Can you feel each other’s breath so warm on the cheek?

Will you stay for a vist or will you fly off home, never to be seen again? Is there a beginning here or so.e conclusion- so.e moving on from. This now to the next?

Willoughby be full of life or empties too easily? Will you k ow e erythi g or nothing?

Will we all die or is that just a mistake in judgment? Are you here u til time wi ds down? Will we laughed and cry forever?

Let’s findout.

***

I went non-stop. Just finished now. I can feel my head dipping down a bit with silliness such as “Was it any good?” And now that thought has flown.

There’s freedom here … floating up into the sky. A few spelling corrections and I’m on to the next.

Or … how about no spelling corrections? I guess that runs the risk of you not understanding me, but so what?

I just got it – I don’t need you to understand. And so I publish. Ah yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll publish without reading what I wrote.

Why not?

There is a fragile beauty in not being good at something, in not understanding, in having the world blow by you in a blur.

On the surface it’s all bad.  There’s always someone better at the task.  The head starts bowing in despair.  All is poop.

But there is indeed a light at the far end of the tunnel, if only I have eyes to see the glow.

“Really look at what you’re doing here, Bruce.  You’ve thrown yourself into a new country and a new language.  You’re returning to the cello, the piano and the guitar.  Well done.”

Thank you.  I needed that.

I’ve just returned from three hours of my Dutch language class.  Isabel, the teacher, speaks slowly and clearly.  And I don’t understand 80% of what she’s saying.  When we listen to audio conversations, the speakers are fast, and I get close to zero.  We get paired up for simple dialogues.  I need coaching from my partner.  We’re asked to write e-mails, such as responding to a wedding invitation.  And then I’m glued to Google Translate.

There … that’s enough moaning.  My friend Paula says that of course we get lost in class.  If we were good at Dutch we wouldn’t be taking the course.  She’s right.

What did I expect?  A walk in the park?  Not for this language learner.

This writing is helping.  The overwhelm is lessening.  My eyes are open again … and there’s a horizon out there.

I walk on

Thanks for listening

I often eat breakfast at the Hema cafeteria and I always take a spoon for my coffee.  For many months I would rummage through the spoon container until I found a perfect one (unbent).  Voilà:

It was simple, elegant, a stainless steel work of art.  I needed even a spoon to be an expression of me.  I wanted my life to be a work of art.

You have to admit … this is what a spoon should look like.  The best restaurants and dinner scenes in movies probably all have ones like this.

One day last week, as I searched for the right spoon, a voice inside simply said “Don’t.” That there was another way. It was a quiet voice, one I’ve come to trust. So … first spoon touched was mine.

Here’s what today’s spoon looks like:

Perfectly imperfect. Twisted a bit, weathered, used. Yes, that’s it. I have walked the streets of life for 74 years. Of course there’s wear and tear. My tummy seems to be growing, along with my nose hair. I have a delightful bag of skin hanging under my chin. My hip often hurts.

I look at the faces passing by the window of Izy Coffee. Hardly a Hollywood image to be seen. Ordinary bones, skin, hair. Showing the athletic or the sedentary. Just starting out in life, approaching the finish line or in between. Plain folks.

Not a perfect spoon in the bunch

But all ready to sip on the next delicious flavour

Here are three boats, each with two chairs. Which one do I love?

Oh, the red! The rounded wooden door. The house plants. How can I resist?

Those gears are so cool. And the chairs are perched at the stern of the boat, giving wide open views of the water. This must be the one.

The colours are more muted than Number One, the view more enclosed than Number Two. But this is my favourite. The coffee cup is nice but there’s something else happening here.

And so I am home

I love holding the moment to my chest and squeezing. Loving it. Do I do this all the time? No … but often. There is so much to be cherished in this life.

The Buddha talked about empathetic joy – being happy about other people being happy, about them expressing themselves, about them succeeding. Today five teens, boys and girls, passed me on their bicycles. They were chatting, smiling and gesturing as they easily navigated a twisting bike path. I smiled too. Their sweet energy came over and visited me.

Months ago, I found this story on Facebook, written by The Love Rabbi-Yisroel Bernath. Please ask yourself where your life is in all of this.

In Washington DC, at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approximately 2000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

After about four minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About four minutes later, the violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At six minutes a young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At ten minutes a three-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent – without exception – forced their children to move on quickly.

At forty-five minutes: The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About twenty gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After one hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

I’m leaving Oberhausen today.  The city hasn’t touched me.  Not its fault … and not mine.  No doubt there are thousands of people happy to call it home.  As for me, my body hasn’t been well, and that colours everything.

Oberhausen feels dark, even during the day.  The brick buildings are more black than red:

Here’s some colour in the centrum.  I like that.  The photo also shows how rectangular the city is … fewer curves than I prefer:

The other word that comes to mind is empty.  This pic is in the morning but even the afternoon provides only a sprinkling of human beings:

More about emptiness:  Bike paths are everywhere – reddish brick beside the grey ones for pedestrians.  But in my two plus days here, only once did I see a cyclist use one.  And a mere five riders passed within a few metres of me during my visit.

I was the only one in this church:

I found this athletic field.  Very cool.  I was so focused on taking the photo that I don’t know if the keeper made the save:

Right beside was this 100-metre running track.  I resisted the temptation to show my stuff. It’s okay – wouldn’t have been inspiring. But when I was younger …!

There are lots of cultures in Oberhausen, including many folks from Africa I believe. And on a main shopping street, I found Lebanon and Syria side-by-side:

Everywhere I travel, I feel close to the people who live there. In Oberhausen, I came upon this tribute to German soldiers who died or went missing (vermisst) in World War I. I’m used to memorials for Allied soldiers. This German one is just as important. The fear of dying ran through both.

How many folks have sat on this bench, enjoying conversation with friends or family? Many.

Finally, here is a young guy who was with me for minutes on end. A privilege to share eyes …

This feels familiar.  I’m in a new place, eager to describe my travels.  But my body has something else to say.

I woke up feeling constipated, so typical for me after a train or plane.  No big deal.  I took my Restoralax and opened the door to a new city.

Google Maps told me about a cool breakfast place and I followed my screen along ordinary streets complete with ordinary people.  There is something sweet and real about the plain.  I walked slowly.

My destination appeared:

Café Bauer in Oberhausen centrum.  I went inside to the warm.  The server had a big smile and a bit of English.  I had no German.  I pointed to something on the menu and he smiled again.

Turns out that my choice was a small banquet – meats, cheeses, fruit, croissant, baguette, jam …  I dug in, washing things down with a cappuccino.

And then, after the meal …

Oww!  Pain down below struck with a vengeance.  I headed to the bathroom but couldn’t poop.

Out the door to the street and a frantic pumping of the legs back to the Airbnb.  The pain demanded release.

I opened the apartment building door and climbed the stairs.  The day before the host had told me that I needed to turn the key to my unit twice to the left to get access.  In the moment, I forgot.  I did it once.

And there I stood, with the door open two inches and the key stuck in the lock.  I could see the bathroom door inside.

I yelled “Peter!” and he came running from the next apartment.

Two results were produced.

***

Exhausted, I lay down on the bed.  I moaned.  My eyes were closing in the midday hour.

I needed a consolation.  I fumbled with my phone until I found a podcast from the Rouleur magazine.  The writers are usually brilliant, capturing the soul of cycling.  Through the bleariness, I heard two men talking about the union of art and the bicycle.  Their words caressed my troubled mind.  Sleep came and went and came again.  Hours passed.

Eventually I went out into the world again … saw this and that, did this and that.

But the call of my bed brought me home once more