Because after all, it really is a small world

On Thursday night, I went salsa dancing with my new salsa dancing partner Fred. We took a break and I was looking around, thinking to myself that here I am, an American, with a guy from Ghana, dancing Latin dances at a club in Belgium. That’s three (or four, depending on how you interpret the origins of salsa dancing) continents in one experience.

On Friday afternoon, I had coffee with some of the students in my French course, including two students from Poland, one from Holland, one from Spain, and one from Singapore. The girl from Holland had lived in Singpore and the guy from Spain had lived in Holland.

On Friday night, I had tea with Mohcin in the Moroccan quarter of Belgium, which might as well have been Morocco itself, and we discussed Israel and Palestine and the U.S. and everywhere in between.

On Saturday afternoon, I wandered around with a map and happened to meet an Irish bookshop owner (her shop includes pretty much every book on my reading list, and she has a book club!), and a guy from Belgium who had lived in Sweden and hardly spoke French, but was fluent in Dutch and Swedish, and a guy from Chile who ran a Spanish deli and wine shop who had an Argentinian girl helping him.

On Saturday night, I was in an Irish pub, having a conversation with two Irish guys and a Belgian girl, two of whom had lived in Spain and one of whom had lived in France.

…Just your average Brussels weekend. It’s almost enough to make your head spin. And I love it.

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