Fête de la Communauté française de Belgique

This weekend was the celebration of pseudo-independence the French-speaking region of Belgium, la Fête de la Communauté française de Belgique. Ever since 1975, Belgians who speak French have commemorated September 27, 1830, the day when Dutch forces were driven from Brussels once and for all. The next month the people of Belgium gained a sovereign state with French as its official language, and ever since every Belgian has happily spoken French, right? Of course not! Only 40% of Belgians speak French, with most of the rest ardently clinging to their Dutch mother tongue.

Perplexing origins aside, the past few days have been one crazy party throughout the south of Belgium. Thursday afternoon the fun started with street performers throughout the center of Mons juggling, dancing, trying to sell me things, and even convincing me that the accordion’s existence might not be all that bad. Friday night I met up in Brussels with my roommate Virginie and her friends Cécile and Nadeige for a night of franco-phono-centric madness. What better way to begin than with giant hamburgers at Cheese Cake Café? I’ve thought of my year abroad less as a painful separation from American cuisine and more as a happy escape, but these Belgian natives do know where to get a good cheeseburger.

Carnies

I surprised myself by quite enjoying this taste of home at Cheese Cake Café

Next we went to Grand’Place to see a free concert by some of Belgium’s best-known artists: Puggy, Suarez, Saule, and for the grand finale Stromae. The Place was packed. In fact it was so packed we couldn’t get in; they said the space was limited to 6000 people and didn’t even consider letting us sit on people’s shoulders. So we ended up watching the concert on a small screen half a mile away, which, thanks to a few beers, turned out to be almost as fun. Afterwards I discovered that Belgians like dancing to Nicki Minaj, Brittany Spears, and ABBA as much as any American, and sing along just as enthusiastically.

Gigantic concert in Grand’Place that we weren’t able to see in person. Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/frf_kmeron/6185924418/

Craving the religious satisfaction of experiencing Stromae live, hordes of pilgrims trek to Grand’Place, its festooned spire rising in the distance as a beacon of hope. Little do they know that soon their souls will be crushed by heartless authorities who care about something called “safety.”

Just like being in the Grand’Place!

From right to left, my roommate Virginie, her friend Nadeige, and me, enjoying some patriot Jupiler beer and faking the words to songs

Still more francophone festivities continued Saturday night. I met up in Mons with two English girls from the University, Abi and Lindsey, as well as some Belgian guys they met last week. We drank a few patriotic beers, listened to some more live Belgian musicians who I had never heard of, and continued the patriotic beer-downing ritual with a sausage-frites sandwich thrown in for good measure. I could get used to this kind of patriotism.