Home in Brussels

Before you know it we’ve all settled in to a routine, got adjusted to living in Brussels and actually feel as though we have a normal life. We’ve even managed to get into a passive aggressive argument with another member of our building through note placement on each other’s cars...that’s how Europeans do it apparently, being rude is a way of life for most of them. When we first moved in we paid for, in addition to the ridiculously high rent, a parking spot in the garage below our building. So after the second day of work Emily pulls into the garage and someone has already parked in our assigned space, thus the only space available just happens to be the one space that makes getting into and out of extremely difficult. We contacted our “Business Apartment” housing manager from “Home In Brussels” and told them of our situation. He responded and said that space #1 was available and that we could park there. Problem solved...for a month at least.

A month goes by, I play a little rugby with the Brussels Celtics, hurt myself, we take a few side trips, scope out places to eat and hangout, and everything is going fine and dandy, until Emily gets a note on her car the next morning before work saying “This is my spot, I have been renting it for over a year. How DARE you park in my spot. What were you thinking?” Emily shows me the note and I understand putting a note on someone’s car if that is indeed your spot and you have no idea who’s car it is; however, using that language if very uncalled for and borderlines on douchebaggery...or a typical European attitude when they don’t get their way. Emily tells me not to go talk to them, because they left their apartment number, especially since there was a good chance I would reflect the amount of cynicism they directed toward me in a more of an angry “I don’t have time for this child’s play” attitude. So Emily goes to work, comes back and someone is again in our assigned spot so she parks in Space #1 AGAIN...because I told her to. I mean why not...we’ve been there a month in accord with the property manager’s instructions. Apparently once you get a “business apartment” in Brussels, which, if you rent anything less than a year, some crazy Belgian real-estate laws make it almost impossible to rent from anyone other than a high priced “Business Apartment” rental company, the property mangers stop caring what happens. We were trying to call and e-mail about the parking situation but still nothing.

The same evening Emily returns downstairs to see where the note placer parked and they, of course, smugly backed their car right in front of Emily, so that she couldn’t get out. I’m glad we didn’t have to go anywhere. We finally got a reply back late that evening from the property manager telling us to report the car in our original spot to him so he could call the police. I asked him why this wasn’t a problem a month ago when it began, but no answer. We decided that we would put a note on his car telling him to park in his own space...#8, the almost impossible to get in and out of space, and if he failed to comply we would contact the police. We would also put a note on the douche bags car telling him the situation. So, I’m happy to report they left another note on Emily’s car the next morning saying it wasn’t a big deal, that they were never at their apartment anyways, that they traveled almost all the time. But that still makes me wonder, if it wasn’t a big deal, then why the harsh note?
Regardless, besides the parking situation Brussels is an amazing city. Brussels is a great place to visit other sites throughout Europe which is ideal for anyone wanting to do a European vacation and get in other cities as well. From Brussels you can take a train to London, Paris, and Amsterdam all under two hours away and many low cost airlines fly out of Brussels Charleroi to all over Europe...plus Belgium is the land of Beer, Chocolate, and the Mannekin Pis. Statues of little naked boys taking a piss are what make cities important you know.

Emily and I are venturing to Paris this weekend (send all hate mail to sancho@roadhusband.com so he can ignore you). Hopefully in Paris we can see all the sights including some beret wearing, skinny cigarette smoking, Frenchman being rude and snobby to us...wouldn’t be Paris without it.

Flying United

Take a Second and Look at the Survey to the Left....and VOTE!

The day finally came. The day that we were set free from the barren, demoralizing, waste land that is Arlington Heights. Finally I could re-focus on something that both Emily and I had been looking forward to for over two months...moving to Brussels, Belgium.

We were ecstatic to find that our paperwork had been processed and shipped out to us this past Friday, which means that we were on the evening flight out on Monday after we received our passports and visas. The only problem now was to get our suitcases fully packed and ready to go. As always, we overpacked so that we have four giant suitcases around 70lbs each, while we each have a loaded backpack and a separate carryon. My carryon bag contains some heavy articles and my camera bag. The next step was getting through the worst part about traveling...the airport.

As you may know United Airlines has merged with Continental to become the United States’ largest airline, which means they can now screw over their passengers with the slightest of ease. And, since Chicago's O’Hare airport is the hub for United we havefirst hand experience of how half-assed they really are now.

Upon entering the United terminal at O’Hare Emily said “let’s just go right here,” which was the international “economy” check-in. As surprising as this might be, Emily’s company changed their policy two years ago about business travel. Since this particular flight wasn’t over 10 hrs (including any layovers), Emily had to fly Coach, which she hasn’t had to do on any long flight yet. Welcome to International Cattle Class sweetheart. But, since Emily had Gold status with United we could check in with the Business and First Class line...but it was about 75 meters down and we were toting all that luggage, thus her idea to check in “right here.” Fortunately there was no line and we got up the electronic counter that was “manned” by a middle-aged women giving us the stank-eye all the way up to the counter. You could tell she was hoping that wouldn’t ask for help...but we wanted to ask a few questions; mainly because United F*cking Airlines changed their upgrade policy all of a sudden. It used to be that, if a seat in Business Class was available, you could use 15,000 miles to upgrade to business, but NOW, it’s 20,000 miles AND $500. Really? $500? That was indeed confirmed by the lady trying to help us; therefore, no upgrade for us.

Trying to get checked in required this lady to continually punch buttons for more than 5 minutes, apparently trying to locate Bin Laden, but who knows really. After getting Emily checked she then proceeded with a 10 minute button clicking escapade designed to find Gadaffi as well. Before we know it we get to the point of checking our huge bags. We put the heaviest on the scale and it’s a whopping 74lbs. The lady begins to tell us that the bag will costs $400 because it’s over 70lbs and that if we can get it to 70lbs by moving things around it will only cost $200. We move some stuff around and all of our bags are now between 65lbs and 70.5lbs. They begin to charge us $800...$200 for every bag over 50lbs (Another policy United changed for International flights about a year or so ago) Well, that is, until Emily points out that she’s a Gold member, which the check in lady could have easily noticed on her ticket, or the fact that Emily presented her Gold card upon check-in. I guess that would only have worked if the lady had actually picked it up and looked at it, but that still presumes literacy would have been part of the equation. Eventually they realized that, along with Gold status, Emily gets to check three bags of 70lbs or less without paying a fee.

Now one bag is left and is assigned to me, a mere “Silver” status member, which basically means I get to carry around a useless card and get free upgrades to “economy plus.” Therefore, she checks my bag, I pay $200, and she doesn’t put the “priority baggage” sticker on my bag. This is what happens next. I say “why didn’t you put a priority sticker on my bag” “because you aren’t a Gold member and you’re not flying business.” I reply “I understand, but why would you put them on my wife’s three bags and not mine?” “you’re not a Gold member.” Again I say, “I know, but you do realize that her bags will come out with all the other priority bags and we’ll both still have to wait on that one bag? So really you shouldn’t have put a sticker on any of them, which would make make the eventual endless wait on baggage in a foreign airport at least somewhat amusing when a bag actually makes it to our destination, as opposed to us standing there in discontent waiting on one single bag that should have come out with the rest?” Of course all I got was the ghetto Stank-Eye as if she shouldn’t be told how to do her job. Was I being an ass? Probably, but I have to admit that I WAS making a valid point...something that could have been adverted with a little “customer service.” But, I forgot, United did away with that policy a long time ago as well.

The final question Emily asked upon our departure of “Check-in Hell” was...”Can I access the Red Carpet Lounge with my Gold card even though we’re not flying Business Class.” And, of course, the reply was a few seconds of what appreared to be thought, but was really a faux pause for making up an answer..”Sorry, no, you can’t”

We immediately proceeded to the “express check-in line”...because Em has status and right before we walk in I notice that my mileage number isn’t on my ticket. That’s the fault of American Express, which Em’s company uses to book our tickets. But, that’s not a problem because it takes, literally, ten seconds for someone to fix. I walk back to the check in counter and found a young lady chatting with her friend. “Excuse me, I don’t have my mileage plus number on my ticket.” I handed her my card. “Can you please put it on my ticket.” After I said that I got the biggest stank eye, as if a friend with a bad gambling problem had just asked you for $500 right before the final four...for “bills.” (Sorry to inconvenience you from gossiping with your friends about “yo babby daddy,” I wouldn’t want you to lift a finger to help or anything.) Regardless, she took the 10 seconds out of her busy life to print out another ticket with 9 numbers on it.

As we walked through security and had our bags ripped apart by the TSA agent who saw a “black mass” in our bag; which is always true, because Em packs two square boxes of MBA prep flash cards, and that’s what they look like on the screen. Therefore, they took everything out of our carry-on, and began swabbing everything: our bags, Emily’s cards, our DVD’s, my hands, and Sancho’s ass. Yeah, they took my poor dog out of my camera bag and swabbed his ass, just in case he was packing explosives up there. After regaining his dignity, Sancho was back in his bag and we re-packed our bag, because this retard couldn’t do it, we eventually laughed at the whole situation, because,...what else can you do?

As soon as that was over I looked at Emily and told her that the moron that checked us in was wrong about the Red Carpet Lounge, and that, as a Gold Card member flying Economy, you can access the lounge on an international flight. The other perk of her status is that she get’s to bring a guest...Me. It’s happened before, after Em’s company made me start flying with the luggage that she can get into the lounge on her Business Class ticket, but since she was only “Silver” at the time...I had to stand outside and beg for change.

The lounge was the same...overly crowded so that you have to fight for a seat, but we had some time to look for apartments in Belgium and make some phone calls to the family. All was normal, even the boarding, which was flawless. The rest of the shenanigans that was our flight began after take-off.

After entering the plane we realized this 6ft 1 female was sitting in both of our seats. She was a basketball player, because I could tell by the huge ear phones she had on, plus the USA Basketball sweats and headband, as if she was prepping for a game. I’m assuming she didn’t think she could fit in one seat and felt the need to stretch out between two. As soon as we arrived she “realized” she was in the wrong seat, she got up and moved to the two seats in front of us. Why? Because we were sitting in the Emergency Exit Row, as was the row in front of us. So she was just floating around trying to find a bigger “leg room” seat. Granted we were all in “Economy Plus,” which means we have a few extra inches of leg room to begin with, but I’m just assuming that as a 6ft 1 “basketball” player she felt she needed “extra” room. I’m the same height, I could tell because we were the same height when she stood up...but the funny part is that I’ve never felt the urge to sprawl out or wander to different seats because I couldn’t fit. Uncomfortable, sure, in regular Economy, but this wasn’t the case, but maybe it was because I didn’t have giant headphones on to alter my geospatial awareness.

Before we lifted off the gay fight attendant chatted with Emily and I and he was a real pleasure to talk to: very funny, witty, and made us feel as though we were wanted aboard. After Emily had told him about her now having to fly coach instead of Business, because all of her company’s money is going to “Executive Bonuses” and the rest is used to put us in housing where we sleep on the floor, he felt sorry for us and brought us a cup of Champagne from “Business Class.” Yeah, they get Champagne in Business and “First Class.” I’m also wondering if, by me talking about this man’s kindness, that he’ll get reprimanded, I’m a little concerned; however, because we all know that you can act like a total bitch with United and not get fired, but I’m not sure it goes the other way.

Regardless...six hours into an eight hour flight and I’m pissed because I can’t sleep, which isn’t surprising. The seats are ridiculously uncomfortable. The worst part is that we’re in Economy Plus...extra leg room...add to that the leg room from sitting in an Emergency Exit and I can stretch out my legs as far as I want, but that’s doesn’t make any difference if your seat only reclines three freaking inches. All the leg room you want, but you still have to sleep upright like a homeless guy under an overpass. Needless to say, Em and I slept for about 20 minutes each, and we were lucky to get that, so after a few movies, which all suck because they’re on a 3 inch screen and we have to use headphones that cut out in one ear periodically every time something important happens. Perhaps this is why that Amazonian basketball lady wears headphones?......doubt it.

About an hour and a half before we land they give us some sort of breakfast...yogurt that explodes onto my shirt when I open it...like a...(I’d better not say), due to the pressure, and some banana bread...which I hate anyways...not their fault though. I got up to use the restroom, which was right in front of us, and I tucked my shirt back in, fixed my hair, and exited to see Emily sitting there with both bags of trash...a.k.a. our breakfast leftovers in her hand. I took them so she wouldn’t have to sit there holding them until they came by with the trash bag. I turned around in the direction of the front of the plane...right by the bathroom I just came out of, and I found a flight attendant at the end of the “Business Section.” I said, “Can I throw this away?” Normal question right? Hell NO, not on a United Flight!

She immediately flipped out on me, as if I had just ventured in to some high level security clearance level that immediately threatened national security. “WHAT,..NO, SOMEONE WILL....GET OUT OF HERE NOW, YOU CAN’T BE HERE!” (Verbatim, this is not a joke.) WHAT the hell just happened? She gave me another stank eye and I tucked my tail and made my way TWO (2) rows back, with my trash in hand, to sit, scolded, like the result of an Indian Caste System until I was prompted to throw my trash away. So in an effort to dispose of some trash I unintentionally let the terrorist win. Perhaps if I had a wet nap and asked if I could wash the scrotum of an executive business man in first or business class, they might, just might, let me past that fabled curtain....which I had just passed to use the bathroom a minute earlier, and give me the “status” to dispose of some trash instead of walking 15 rows back to my own “class” of trash can. I mean, if they had any idea on how much money they make off Em's company from purchasing full-fare, last minute, refundable, international, tickets, I think they'd make an exception...but seeing as how they can't get most of the meaningless tasks right...then I'm not at all surprised.

As much as Em and I love traveling...I absolutely despise flying...unless it’s on an Asian or Indian airline. They at least, for now, have a concept of what customer service is like.

Forward this to anyone who flies United...or who flies a lot, regardless of airline.

A Section From My Book..."Better Be On Your Toes"

I’m sure most of you have heard the stereotype that asian people can’t drive. We’ll at this point in my life I had confirmed that stereotype and verified it’s reason for existence. As Chris Rock once said “I’m not saying I agree with stereotypes, I’m just saying they exist for a reason.” I had now found out why this particular stereotype exists, but I also remind myself that basically everyone reading this believes that they are an above average driver themselves; therefore, I can only imagine that most people in China believe the same thing. Now China is expanding at a rapid pace, more and more cars are being built, more and more people are buying cars, and more and more people are taking to the road without the slightest ability to drive. Of course, on the other hand, perhaps they do have the ability to drive, but maybe they just don’t give a shit what happens, as long as they get from point A to point B...the problem arises when you are in between their point A and B.
I had been forewarned about the driving in China; warned by my sister-in-law, and from some of Emily’s colleagues who had been to China before. From the onset, leaving the airpot en route to our hotel on our first day, we almost got sick in the car from the constant swerving in between cars, dodging huge trucks and easily surpassing the speed limit by 40km/hr. We both had a nauseating feeling, similar to what you’d get after listening to that douche bag Glen Beck put together a coherent argument. Add to the constant lane changing and swerving, the persistent use of the horn to honk at anything from a jaywalker to a leaf blowing down the street, you’ll ultimately end up with a scene of chaos, with people running to dodge the cars, mainly because the cars aren’t going to stop. So, while there are many road and vehicular laws in China, they’re obeyed about as much as they obey intellectual property right laws. Anytime you get into a taxi, walk across the street, at an intersection I might add, you are literally taking your own life in your hands. It’s something that does take time to get used too, because I rarely get scared inside of a car, even when my wife drives, but I have been seriously scared in China.
Don’t laugh yet, I was scared indeed; however, the day I was scared the most was the day I almost got hit by a car...on the sidewalk. On a day where I felt adventurous I had found myself wondering aimlessly about the great city of Huangdao to see what was on the backstreets and how the real China really was. When you venture out into a city, and I always encourage you to do so, you will most certainly find the most remarkable stuff on the side streets and away from main tourist attractions. Whether it’s mom and pop markets and businesses, new intriguing restaurants, or some cultural or historic parks, but, what you do find will always surprise you and make for a more encompassing stay. On the other hand, you can also find restaurants serving cat, dog, monkey, or just emit smells that will make you gag. You will stumble upon massage parlors that specialize in “happy endings,” and find some of the strangest stores selling anything from boot-leg DVD’s to LSD. I’m just saying that’s its an adventure, one that everyone should do...just be careful of where you walk in to and who you ask for a hand.
But, what you don’t expect to find is a car driving on the fucking sidewalk. As I made made my way through some random back-streets and I made my way back upon the sidewalk of a major road in Huangdao I began to enjoy China for all of it’s development and culture mixed together. I was casually walking along checking out the clothing stores and the occasional handi-craft markets. At one point I was getting lost in my own thoughts, a scary notion in itself. But, as I walked down the sidewalk a loud horn erupted from behind scaring the shit out of me. I looked to the right to make sure I hadn’t walked into the road. That wasn’t the problem, I was clearly in the middle of the sidewalk...then another loud honk, I quickly turned around to see a car coming directly at me...right down the sidewalk. He wasn’t driving slow, but definitely going fast enough to cause serious harm to anyone or anything that got in his way. I quickly moved close to the stores next to me as he whizzed past. I then began to contemplate what exactly had just happened to me and look around at other people to see if they were upset, but, of course, they paid no attention since this driving technique was quite obviously a daily occurrence. Never would I have imagined that walking down the sidewalk would be so dangerous in China. So, let this be a lesson, if you find yourself in China, regardless if you’re walking, riding a bike, or getting a taxi, you’ll have to be like a midget at a urinal...on your toes.

Refinery Compound Living...Part 3, There Seems to be a Pattern

If any of you have every read any of my blogs or randoms posts then you’re well aware of the two past compounds Emily and I have been sentenced too. Fortunately, the compound in Taiwan was short lived, thanks in part to a timely heater explosion which drastically reduced our time there...kinda like being paroled for undue hardship. The Jiao-Kou River Town compound was a bit longer, around 5 1/2 months, just long enough to give me a few neuromuscular ticks and a lazy eye.

Since returning state-side in May I’ve had vivid images of nice locations, such as our previous assignment in Malaysia, where the location completely spoiled us, and all memories of refinery compounds were suppressed and diluted with some vague pleasing moments. You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now. Perhaps all those shots to the head during my rugby years played a factor in my premature thinking, or...I’m just a sucker who really does think “We did our time, it’s easy sailing from here on out.” Either way my visions of nice locations were shot down like Dick Cheney’s hunting partner.


Two weeks ago I was sitting and biding my time in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of Detroit. Emily was doing a trouble-shoot for the refinery there and working her usual 80-hr weeks leaving me to the thoughts in my head and some Rosetta Stone Spanish lessons...the latter being the most productive of the two activities. The day before my birthday we got some “splendid” news that we were to head to Japan, land of electronics, robots and people with pent up aggression against Americans since 1945. Emily and I have heard nothing but good things about going to Japan on an assignment, both work and tourism related. The only bad thing ever reported was the cost...and that statement is definitely true. I did the usual research and find out we’re on the island of Shikoku, Ehime Prefecture...about half-way between Matsuyama and Imabari. Ok, it seems a little remote, but transportation in Japan in smooth and efficient...right?


Upon reading the site report from the Chief already there, the reality of living in another “Refinery Compound” struck again and all those repressed memories began to re-surface. “But, it’s Japan, it can’t be that bad.” Oh, but it CAN....and It IS!

Em and I left Chicago on the 12:03 flight to Tokyo, Narita airport. I got upgraded to business class for the first time in over a year and we actually landed early in Japan. We transferred airports and made it just in time to catch an early flight to Matsuyama. We landed, caught a taxi to the hotel, and prepared for some much needed sleep. So far everything is going great..that is, until the next morning when we meet up with the rest of the crew and the people taking us to the refinery. The other crew members begin to inform us of how remote the refinery is...nothing accessible by walking so you need a car...but, we get our own apartment!


We finally arrive on site and the refinery workers make me and the other road husband sit through a briefing on how not to screw up the apartment...as if that’s my job when I get here. They take us to our apartments, we open the door, and are hit with 90 degree musty heat. The apartment is a nice size place...only problem is that we only have two asian versions of window unit A/C’s...which can’t cool the whole place. So we closed off two of the bigger rooms that don’t have A/C, or furniture, because why would we need furniture in this place, we should be packing our own! The ONLY furniture is a tiny table and 4 small chairs, a metal cot for Emily to sleep on and a folded mattress for me to sleep on the floor...we were lucky enough to get two small bean bag pillows though. OH, forgot about the 13-inch TV in the corner with 5 Japanese channels.


The refinery people spent all of 3 minutes showing us how to use the gas stove, which I found out this morning doesn’t work all that well, and they proceeded to tell Emily to get into her Nomex and meet them outside in 10 minutes to go to work, BUT, not before they took the time to scold me for having my shoes on in the house. I understand their culture and try to respect it, but I just carried two 70lb suitcases up 3 flights of stairs; I’m sweating my balls off and they don’t have the miniscule bit of respect to let Emily cool off and get situated before demanding her to be downstairs. (Just to spite them I wore my shoes around the house all afternoon while I unpacked, even trying the occasional moonwalk across the floor)


Now, we’re supposed to buy groceries so we can cook...seeing as how the nearest restaurant is 15-20 minutes by car, so we went to the store and bought a few groceries and washing detergent...totaling $120. When we get back we realize that all we have for cooking is one small pot, one small frying pan, two plates, two soup bowls, two spoons and forks...THATS IT...minus the giant rice cooker, of course, which is also labeled in Japanese. This morning we woke up to realize that A.) We don’t know how to get the hot water to work in the shower...that takes 15 minutes of hitting some Japanese labeled buttons and twisting knobs. B.) The stove won’t come on and I almost singed my eyebrows when bending down trying to get the gas burners to light. C.) Some device on the wall keeps beeping and I don’t know why...again, it’s all in Japanese. D.) The washing machine..all in Japanese, doesn’t seem to work, but then again, who knows what button I’m pushing. I may be accidentally signaling Godzilla to come take a peak and we don’t want that kind of havoc around a refinery...do we?


Like all refinery compound assignments, I hope this comes to an end quickly. Fortunately, the Japanese adhere to a strict schedule, and usually get things done promptly. Also we have 3 rental cars to share between all the crew, which means that Vito (the other road husband) and I can use a car during the day if need be...I just have to finish forging the expiration date on my international drivers license first and figure out how to read an all Japanese GPS device.

Until then, it’s back to the tiny table for me...studying some Spanish and entertaining the voices in my head while keeping my lazy eye searching for signs of Godzilla.