lost in brussels

I have just returned from one of the most hilariously frustrating days ever. Today I was supposed to go and meet with my internship supervisor just to go over some details before I start work. Luckily (or so I thought) our trip coordinator Keira had printed out directions for how to get to ENAR. It appeared to be just about a 30 minute bus ride away. So around 3 PM today I boarded the bus, and rode out to where I thought I could find my internship. Keira had already warned me that my internship wasn't in the same type of neighborhood that I was probably used to in Brussels, but I was so excited nonetheless. Upon getting off of the bus (where I'd just spent my last 2 euro for a ticket, more on that later) I found myself in a pretty isolated neighborhood with a train station. I was determined not to get lost, so I headed off in what I thought was the right direction, according to the directions Keira had printed for me. After walking for about 10 minutes and not seeing anything, I realized that I was probably going the wrong way. I had somehow managed to walk into a very rough part of town with very few streets. It was near a set of train tracks, if that gives you a visual. I figured I'd probably gone too far and started heading back the way I came. I stopped several times to ask for directions, but unfortunately no one in that neighborhood appeared to speak English. The one person who did had no idea where the street that I was asking for was. This didn't seem like a good sign to me. I was so frustrated that I was literally talking out loud to myself and I'm sure people thought I was truly crazy. I wandered around the main square for about another 30 minutes then finally decided to throw in the towel and call ENAR and hopefully get some directions from them. Georgina, who I spoke to on the phone, was so nice and sweet and helpful. She told me that I was pretty much in the completely wrong area, and told me which bus to catch to hopefully head in the right direction. By this point, I ought to mention that I'd worn my brand new flats, and my feet were screaming in pain. I began looking around for the bus stop she'd mentioned, when I realized I didn't have any cash on me and so no money to pay a bus fare. My goal quickly shifted to finding an ING (the local bank). By this point one of my feet had begun bleeding, so I was forced to take off one of my shoes. I hope you have a good mental image of me, one bare bleeding foot, shoe in hand, crumpled map, looking close to tears and hopelessly American.  I was asked several times whether I was "mal" (sick) or crazy, and some people just straight up laughed at the sight of me (one baby with her mom just pointed). Throughout the whole ordeal I promised myself I wouldn't cry, and so with that in mind I attempted to soldier on. I began asking around for an "ee-en-gee" (which is basically how I could gather you say ING in French) and after about 30 minutes of conflicting directions finally seemed to be headed the right direction. By this point, however, both my feet were bleeding, so I was completely shoeless and wandering aimlessly. I almost cried in joy when I finally spotted an ING. I went inside and tried to use my cards, but just my luck, neither card was accepted there. I had pretty much reconciled myself to the fact that I would probably remain lost in Brussels for the rest of my short, pitiful life, when I spotted another bank. Hoping against hope that this one would accept my card, I tried it, and was able to take out a 50 Euro note. I had already called my internship by this point and told them that I didn't think I would be able to make it in time, but would see them on Wednesday. With money finally in hand, I traipsed a mile back to where the bus station was and waited for my bus. When it finally arrived, I boarded and attempted to pay with my 50 Euro note for a ticket. The bus driver informed me that he wouldn't accept such a large bill, and basically told me to get off the bus, and then I really did begin to cry. By the grace of God, some young father with his daughter in a stroller behind me offered to pay my fare, and I was honestly too grateful for words. I guess when bad things happen, sometimes the good Lord sends you a type of angel to help see you through. I don't know who that man was, but I will honestly never forget his help. I rode for about 30 minutes back to my neighborhood, and finally arrived, exhausted, 3 hours later at my apartment. I guess lesson learned from this crazy experience is a) never leave home without 2 sets of directions b) NEVER go out in Brussels without cash and c) always, always appreciate the kindness of strangers. When I look back on this experience I'm sure I'll laugh, but for now I think I'll just head to bed.