Acc-en-tuate the positive

This weekend was just the ticket, though not a rest. . . too much to do, like study for my driving theory test (was going to do it this morning but still flunking the practice tests so it will have to be tomorrow), proof another country report, cook, clean, etc. . . but on Saturday the F-word succeeded in kicking my ass sufficiently to get us out to the Ardennes with a group of friends and acquaintances to kayak down the Lesse river.

Very much kayaking à la Belge, which meant the 'rapids' were very slow indeed, there was only a 5% chance of falling out of our big plastic shells, and we followed the direction of the current from point A to point B - when we felt a bit tired all we had to to was steer away from the gravel banks and the flock of incompetents who'd descended on the river. Doesn't matter. There's an incredible fucking charm to tiring yourself out by propelling yourself over the water - even more like flying than cycling - and it was very, very beautiful down there in the Furfooz-y area. No Canadian savagery or even British haunted broodiness, but lots of trees and staggeringly big cliff faces, lots of 'holy fuck would you look at that'. And of course, since this is Belgium and everybody is an organizational idiot, no life jackets or loud warnings or other intrusive safety features - just the sun (thankfully, amazingly) and wind on the skin as we merrily rolled along.

Which is tied to a realization on Saturday morning as we went to meet the group. Yes, I live in Belgium. Yes, these people are incompetent organizational idiots with absolutely no fucking notion of how to do anything in a reliable and systematized manner. And yes, that's going to annoy the fuck out of me time and again and again and again. Yesterday it was Fortis, awhile ago it was Belgacom, before that the maison communale, before that ING, before that Fortis on a different occasion, and tomorrow it's going to be the people I have to deal with to get my driver's license. There'll be no end until I leave, and Belgium being Belgium, I fully expect a year or two of hangover annoyance after I leave . . . they'll find a way, the fucking cunts . . . this place is like a Roald Dahl short story.

And, just like I enjoy Roald Dahl short stories, I have to enjoy Belgium. Part of that enjoyment will have to be negative in its nature, as my boss instructed me when the Fortis fiasco almost had me weeping with rage on Wednesday - I must simply accept the stupid things they do here as the status quo, and then be very happy, even overjoyed, when they manage to pull their thumb out and something goes right.

But another part will have to be, since we plan on moving back to a litigious, Anglo-Saxon, stick-up-its-ass society, that I need to enjoy the irresponsible, unregulated fuckery that Belgium is to the greatest extent possible while I can. And the driver's licence is a case in point; here, it will take a minimum of three months, while in Canada or Australia I'd be looking at a minimum of two fucking years. Unpasteurized dairy is another case in point. If I wanted raw milk in Canada or Australia, I'd have to set up some sort of illicit operation with a farmer; here, I walk to the street market and point. With the corollary that I can buy delicious cheese that smells like Death Herself and tastes like blue heaven at any supermarket, while in Canada or Australia it's all sanitized to the point of tastelessness.

And if I wanted to kayak in Canada or Australia, even in a river that I could wade along for its entire course, I'd have to have a life jacket; here, I can spend the entire day on a river with about 200 people without seeing one. Rock. And. Roll. I think I'll take Friday off and that we'll head back to the area - the park looks incredible, so it'd be good to spend a day there - running up and down the Roman ruins, playing amateur archaelogist, and spelunking in an irresposible, dangerous, and oh-so-Belgian manner. Wheeeeee!