Train trouble

Before I started work, H fretted over me having to take four trains every day, two there and two back withe a change-over in Brussels. I gave him a whimsical shrug. I didn't mind, I said. It seems romantic to take the train every day. I love trains, I love train rides. He looked at me incredulously, and then, after reflecting, mentioned that car rides were much more romantic to him than train trips. He had trains growing up, I had cars, and I guess in the end we both wanted what we didn't have.

That was before. After just two weeks of commuting by train, I'm amending my opinion on the train system here for the much, much worse. In theory, when it works, it could work beautifully, and there are certainly moments when I find myself in a particularly quiet and uncrowded car, gliding along, watching the patches of green and red and gray fly by, and thinking to myself how nice this is. It feels cozy and safe and warm. But the train system here has proven itself to be a veritable mess. I took about two trains last week that were actually on time - that's two trains out of twenty trains I take per week. I'm not very good at math, but I'm sure that that's a pretty lousy record. This is only after I had two trains totally cancelled on me the week before. I reluctantly climbed into a cab and gave the address of my office building. Twice in one week. At twenty-five euros a pop. (It was either that or be almost an hour late for work in my first week. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but it seems to me there's only so many times you can call in and let them know your train was cancelled.)

Recently, my husband picked up a pamphlet from the NMBS - the train system here in Belgium - with the title, roughly translated: We thank you for your understanding and your trust. It explains that in the last few years there has been a massive influx of people commuting by train on a regular basis. Expansions have been planned, construction has begun, and disruptions are an inevitable result. Delays. Cancellations. The panic-stricken faces of people scanning the announcement boards for alternatives to their interrupted course. The crowds in Brussels-North Station that are hurrying in mass unison, two minutes before their train leaves, from one track to another because a change in arrival was announced at the last minute. The people standing in the aisles during a rush-hour ride because, when a train is actually on course and on time, everyone better take it.

This has apparently been the month with the worst train record in the history of Belgium. I can feel the ripples in the pond. When I get into that quiet train car where I can settle back, stick my nose into a good book and let the steady whir of the train relax me, I still hope I find the ride romantic. In the meantime, maybe I always underestimated car trips. Maybe I can borrow some of H's visions of the open road. The symbol of independent adulthood for over half a century. Sounds romantic enough. I will, at the very least, give her a good try.

Working

I'm impressive in interviews. I've been to lots, I know the ropes, and I can knock the ball out of the park at any time. I wiggle my way around questions ("Because of my extensive experience unjamming photocopiers and refilling staplers..."), throw myself whole-heartedly into management speak ("Firstly, I think it's very important to pre-plan for the planning before you plan..."), and come across as the most easy-going person ever ("There was nothing I didn't love about my last job. God! I would have married it if I could have!").

I started a new job this week. It all happened very quickly - I submitted an application in early December and was interviewed two weeks later. They called within 24 hours and offered me the job. Because I'm just that good. They knew they couldn't live without me the moment I left the interview.

Okay. The truth was they were slightly desperate (someone left last-minute), they didn't do a very good job of advertising the position, and it's quite possible that I was the only person who applied.

And so, I'm a working woman again, in a slightly different field, but sitting behind a bigger desk than I had in Philadelphia (and I mean that quite literally - my desk is, for some reason, the size of sturdy six-seater dining room table). I feel silly now for all that stewing and hand-wringing I did over whether or not I would find something. All those hours after Dutch class I poured over job ad sites, more and more obscure as the time ticked away, feeling a restlessness slowly build into panic.

And now, after all that, my time off seems so short. Not that I'm complaining. Because, as much as I joke, it really is nice to feel like I'm contributing to something again, to get up every morning and have somewhere to go, have things to do that people are depending on. One step closer to calling Belgium home. And for that, I have to say I'm thankful.