DISCOVERING ANTWERP AND ME:
I can admit freely and without shame that the first day I arrived in Antwerp, I was deeply overwhelmed. The train ride that I had taken from the Netherlands (I was late and almost missed my train, of course) was exhausting – In my rush to make the train I had accidentally jumped in first class and was then promptly kicked out by the conductor, only to find no access to second class. The result was a tired South African student sitting on her bags in the entrance of the train, watching the Netherlands fly by and slowly become Belgium without much formality.
Antwerp Centraal Station is massive and imposing – the intricacies of the masonry along with the golden detail in the roof and the elaborate windows that remind you of Belgian lace – creates an impression of aged opulence. As a socially conscious South African I of course looked at it in awe without being able to shake thoughts about the Congo and what happened there; but that is a story for a different day. I dragged my bags across the cobblestones of Antwerp and into the chaos that is the traffic here and there an adventure began that has not yet lost any momentum more than a month later.
I am fortunate to live right on campus, with the sound of students outside my window mingling with the sounds of the nuns in the church opposite my house. The entire city, and also my street, is decidedly catholic with statues of saints on street corners and with beautiful little churches wherever you go. The city has beautiful old parts where I am astounded at the architecture and simply the age of everything there. I have also discovered a personal sanctuary in the Stadspark where I regularly sit and read or just watch life go on by.
The harbour is another treasure that I discovered in my first week here, with the MAS museum where I can go to the top and watch over Antwerp whenever I want to. There are newer parts, less beautiful parts, dark alleyways and disturbing graffiti – all of these elements contributing to my discovery of a city that is overwhelmingly human. The mere fact of existing in Antwerp has been teaching me and challenging me more than I could have anticipated.
Then there is the exchange part of living here – which is much more challenging to try and condense into a few paragraphs. I live in a house with 16 other students of whom 4 are from Belgium. The rest of us are form all over: Italy, Greece, Turkey, Austria, Germany, Malaysia, France, Japan, the Netherlands and Poland. Every night we make dinner together and, over and in between our vastly different cultures and differing degrees of English fluency, become best of friends. I have spent late nights in the city dancing in obscure clubs but even more nights in my pajamas in our kitchen trying to figure out what life is like in Istanbul. I have debated everything from religion to the European project to the true merit of Italian cooking with them, cried about missing south Africa on the shoulder of a confused Greek girl, fought with someone about dishes and baked a cake for someone’s birthday. In short, I have found true friends – even family – here. That has been the most valuable part of this experience.
Then there is the University – which has been such a valuable experience. The courses I am taking have been so vastly different in their approach from what I am used to at Stellenbosch, it has really challenged my approach to legal questions and has taught me to be more open and adaptable in my approach to the subject matter. The debates we have in class and the presentations I do inevitably always confronts the class with the differences between us, and somehow forces us to build bridges. The knowledge that I have acquired in the past weeks about German law, about the Polish electoral system, about Czech issues with communism – has made me so much more aware and exposed to the world. With direct implications for how I think about South Africa.
I have learnt and grown, and I am looking forward to the rest of my adventure here.
There is one special aspect of going on exchange, and specifically in Europe: the opportunity for adventure. I call it adventure simply because that is honestly my perception of it. Travelling in Europe is easy and affordable once you actually get here – and there is a smorgasbord of cultures and histories and languages and peoples and foods and … experience. Right at your fingertips. The Schengen visa helps, of course. And being placed in Antwerp doesn’t hurt either. They call it the heart of Europe for good reason: it is exactly two hours away from London, Dusseldorf, Paris and Amsterdam.
And so, with my student card and Belgian Go-Pass, I have gotten into the habit of jumping on a train every weekend, going to some small town, casually crossing the border to the Netherlands or Luxembourg or France, feeling like an adventurous explorer –immersing myself in the cultural feast that is Europe. I have of course visited Bruges – the misty waterways and swans and smell of chocolate is ruined only by the loud American tourists; Gent – it feels like a tiny and a little happier version of Prague with all the towers and churches; Amsterdam – wow; and Brussels – the one city that stole my heart. I can write for hours and hours about how much I love Brussels. But this blog is actually not about these weekend expeditions. This blog is about my great adventure: Christmas and New Years in Istanbul.
I got a ridiculously cheap flight ticket to Istanbul and bought it impulsively. It was cheap for a reason: I had to spend 13 dark and cold hours in Kiev – where I soon learnt that English is not common everywhere and airport’s lights and heating get turned off at 24:00. But again, I will always remember the night of 22 December 2014 that I spent alone in a dark airport in Kiev, freezing under my small little blanket, being overwhelmed by how big the world is and how small I am.
And that was not even the start of my adventure. Istanbul was an experience that I can only describe as weird. Weird in the most literal sense of the word: otherworldly. I felt like an alien exploring a new planet. I could not understand a word that was going on or being shouted at me. The area where I lived was very traditionally Turkish and not at all used to tourists or anybody non –Turkish for that matter. The streets were filled with sounds and smells that I have never encountered. The traffic was scary, the sky was blue, the food was spectacular. I encountered tastes that I have never imagined, and familiar ones perfected. I wandered and got lost in the endless bazaars and weekend markets, visited the Mediterranean and Black Sea, saw some 2000 year old mosaics, helped an old lady gather nuts and beetroot, and faced my fear of non-Westernised lavatory systems.
And of course I stood in absolute awe in the middle of the Blue Mosque, overwhelmed by the vast detail of the mosaic arches and columns, inspired by the silence of the space. I walked in the Hagia Sophia and saw the most beautiful monument to religious tolerance. I stood on my toes at one of the windows of the Hagia Spohia and was able to stare out at the city skyline of Istanbul. I stood in the ceremonial hall of the Dolmabache palace and looked up at the 36 meter tall archway with the 4.5 tons of crystal chandelier dangling from it, and in the holy room of the Topkapi Palace I looked at the golden chest in which Muhammad’s cloak is stored with Imams praying over it night and day.
I had a snowy Christmas in a crowded old Turkish bar full of loud men with huge moustaches. I lived with a beautiful old Turkish lady who could not understand a word English. Every day I greeted her with a “hello” and a smile, and she would smile back and say “Merabah”. Sometimes she offered me food or tea with gestures, other times we just smiled and laughed because we had absolutely no way of communicating. When it was really cold and all my clothes were wet from snow or rain she would dry it for me, and one time I bought some sesame cookies for her. In 10 days I made a friend with a person with whom I had literally not exchanged one word in a common language.
I am writing this at Ataturk International Airport. Soon I will board my plane, kill some outrageous amount of time in Kiev, and then get back home to Antwerp. I have exams coming up and I have missed my housemates and the silly student things of life in Antwerp – it feels strangely like I am on my way home. I am excited about that. But mostly I am excited about the fact that I am in the middle of this life changing opportunity: to have a place feeling like home right in the middle of Europe, and to have the opportunity of going on adventures while I am here.
My final few weeks of exchange went by in a blur. I wrote exams, I got strangely used to the European winter, had a fight with a friend, organised a farewell party, went through the horrible ordeal of trying to get gifts for the people back home, started packing. And suddenly: here I am, on Schiphol airport, on my way back. As my train left Antwerp today it was with mixed feelings that I watched the majestic Central Station disappear from view.
BACK IN SOUTH AFRICA:
I am of course incredibly excited to go back home. I am excited to be at the end of a great chapter and at the beginning of a new one. In the words of Herman Hesse: every step is birth, every step is death.
What struck me today, however, was the extent to which a place can become home in such a short period of time. I spent the morning wandering down Wolstraat, habitually avoiding the horrible traffic speeding down St-Jabobsstraat, saw the same old beggar that always plays his violin in front of the cathedral, absent-mindedly ignored the incessant screeching of the seagulls… and automatically steered clear of the open streets next to the Schelde because I knew it would be windy and extra cold there.
The city had become familiar. More than that, the people had become familiar. Not only in the sense that I had made great, lifelong friends- that is of course also true. I had a fight with a friend – after which we realised that if we had fought, we must truly be friends and not just convenient companions for the duration of our time in Belgium. The friendships that I have made on this exchange are truly priceless. But there is even more:
I had become part of something. I had grown to know the city to the point where it was no longer a daily process of discovery and adventure and exploration – rather, it was simply home.
These last weeks had of course seen the terrorist attacks in France, followed by the deployment of the Belgian army in Antwerp – and I found myself discussing what this meant and how the city experienced it – how I experienced it – with people who had been living there for their whole lives. We had something in common – the city was home.
This is perhaps the most valuable part of the exchange for me – the opportunity to grow roots somewhere, set up camp, get a completely new set of reference points… and then softly, gracefully, uproot again and leave. It is as if I had been allowed to be a fly on the wall of someone else’s life for 5 months. I have learnt and grown so much – and the move back to South Africa is filled with excitement and potential for me. Because, as Terry Pratchett says: the reason we leave is to come back changed. Coming back is not the same as never leaving.