Mechelen

We painted the ceiling of the Grote Markt (main plaza) by enjoying ice-cream and waffles, walking along the canal, looking for the gossip lane, the endless one-way street, the A.B. Straat, the area where the feminists gathered.

Waterloo

This was where the Battle of Waterloo happened, 18th June 1815.

There were all these patches of white...

but like Ukrainian angel said, "It's winter. What did you expect?"

Tomato soup at Wellington Cafe and sky jumping competition.

St. Petersburg

St. Petersburg, SPB, or St.Pete - everyone seem to speak very highly of it so I adjusted (read: lower) my expectations to avoid major disappointment. It is one of those cities - everyone speaks about how amazing it is - you get there, experience it with your own eyes and ears, and just have to nod, and admit they were right.

The incident on Friday night meant time was short. Dazzling lights, wine lounge and tea house set the scene for a very cultured Sunday with High school 155, the walk down Nevsky Prospect full of beautiful buildings, monuments and those police, the many rivers and bridges, the Don Quixote ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre, the highlights of the State Hermitage Museum, the Russian Orthodox mass, the Russian donuts and the coffee that tasted like coffee but it was not, the pancakes, the conversations and the company of my amazing host (the environmental scientist with a strong passion for art and history) Tanya, and Sergey, who practically organised my great weekend.

  
 

the detour round Bologoye

Arranging her doctor. 22h. The right train. The beer. The vodka. The 18 year old Spartak fans. The other university students. The dough wrapped chicken. The "conversation" about "account vs accounting", about "lawman". An orchestra of endless vodka shots. The first sight of beer. The Russian classes. The Spartak chants lessons. More vodka. The sleeping carts. 6h. Train should have arrived. Watched other people having breakfast with full sets of cutleries, as if they knew the train would be delayed. The thin woods outside the window. The no cellphone reception zones. The whisky and apple intercession. More food magically appeared on the tables. The race to the local shop at a station for more beer. More beer. 21h... this 23 hour train ride (as oppose to 7-8) was by far the most memorable train ride. The authentic Russian experience.

Moscow

"...like a million pieces of vividly coloured gems scattered on a black velvet."

Moscow at night in early winter was more pleasant than during the day - at least you could no longer see the grey low sky. It would have been different if it had snowed but it didn't. It was a city where theatre posters were plastered everywhere, where women were all dolled up, where plenty of restaurant hotel/metro staff had a one line JD (sit there with a poker face and watch people coming in and out of the washroom, for example), where a shopping mall filled with luxury brands lit up like Disneyland stood on the Red Square, where many super cars were fully covered with dirt and the number plate could not even be found (dirt does not discriminate, it seemed), where the old ladies looked just like they had walked out from a Soviet movie,  where bare nails seemed to be a crime, where prices were either extremely high or very low depending on where you look, where sushi were very present, where boulevards with 8 lanes were just the way they should be, where even low or mid range stores had their country of origin printed underneath its logo, and where papers and documents mattered so much, that even menus in restaurants are signed, stamped and approved by the "Managing Director". 

I had always been fascinated by Moscow and got more than I expected as a complete experience. It was where we had to check in to the same building with full passport checks every single morning even when we were there for weeks, where they loved the question "so for which company are you here?" and you get to choose 1 of the 3, where the person who greeted guests rode a bike, where my magical password was 618, where expats had so many great stories to tell about "how things work here", where we had a crash course on exactly that first hand by working only with locals (and a Japanese top exec who did not speak Russian or English. Tough life.), where everyday and any day could start with champagne and caviar, where Tverskaya was the hood, where men had no hesitation voicing their interest in and out of professional situations, where they thought both Kristi and me were Russians, where 20 vodka shots for a handful of people were not enough, where Starbucks quietly waited for us round the corner, where vodka dominated yet resembled water in the supermarkets, where Pelmeni and Shashlik tasted that much better, where lunch was Borsch, Blinz or other good soups, where we repeatedly abandoned the car for the apparent danger of the subway, where we even dragged the "never been on the subway" director down to the elaborately decorated stations as she watched commoners in awe, where we scared the chaffeur (and ourselves) on that Friday morning after Seb left, where even the daily subway commute back to Belaruskaya was an adventure thanks to the gates, doors, crowds, rubbish bins and most importantly, the old ladies who were there for the sole purpose of watching you.