And in an instant it happened. Dreams of washing down Belgian-chocolate-covered Belgian waffles with a sudsy Trappist or Abbey beer vanished without so much as a burp.
Our sights are now keenly set on the Alps where large St. Bernards with their mini casks of brandy will follow us as we read Heidi and arrive excruciatingly on time.
It is true that we were 99.8% sure that our next city would be Brussels; we had started to look for apartments and the Pretty European was slated to start work for the European Union on 1 October. But in a move that would do any ninja proud, the 0.2% option sneaked in and made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.
The Fédération Internationale de Football Association, ironically headquartered in Zurich, swooped in and nailed the 35-meter free kick over the 6-man wall and into the upper V (see what I did there?) to score an incredible translator along with her wise-cracking American who thinks the mountains are “totally rad”.
That is the story. This all happened a week ago and now I’m learning German. Sehr gut, haben Sie ein Lieblingszahl? Ja, mien Lieblingszahl ist fünfundfünfzig. Ich stamme aus den USA und ich habe zwei Büche. Meine Schürze ist blau, der Himmel auch ist blau.
Sorry, Brussels, I hardly knew thee. Hello, Zurich. Um, your money is funny lookin’ and they say your German is funny soundin’ but I think we can get along.
Where’s the line for the free St. Bernard with the cask of brandy? No, I don’t need the dog.