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Picnics on Carlton Hill, warm cans of cider, hungover hostel shifts, nights out dancing, long days working, hot check-ins, late check outs, old town and new friends, sketchy bosses and weird guests, bad coffees, football fans, cash ups, and fire drills, free breakfasts, plates of nachos and endless pints of dark fruits.

#stchristophersinn

Since i have been back a lot of people have asked me "is it good to be home?" and i always didn't really know how to answer, i mean of course it is good to be home, otherwise I wouldn't call it home. But i do miss my european life, the friends and family, the travel, the cities, the language, all of it, I guess thats kinda the tax you pay for having great experiences like an exchange.

However in the last week a few people have now asked the same question but in a different kind of light, "it must be good to be back here now?" they ask in a worried kind of tone. This is all because of the terror and tragedy of the Paris attacks. And people say, "oh thank god your not over there anymore", but my favourite one is, "was there anything like this that you noticed in Europe?" then in a hushed voice "you know, like ISIS?"

The first time people said these things to me, I was kind of shocked, like oh Yeah! I did actually live there for a year! But i still lack the connection with what they are saying and how it could have anything to do with me because the Europe I knew was not one of terror or hate or violence. The Europe I knew was one of Love.

The cities that I explored, Paris, Brussels, London, were cities of energy, of life, of human success and joy. I didn't see hatred or division in these cities and countries, I didn't see Us and Them. I saw midnight dancing in Lisbon streets, jazz bands playing in Brussels, friends laughing together on the London Underground. The Europe I know is one of Love.

So when people try to ask me if I am glad I am not there now, I will say no. Because my Europe is one of happiness and good memories, my mind does not support an image of this a vibrant and diverse continent in such a damaged and divided light. I will remember it how it was and how it will be again and that is what I miss, because if I let that hatred and terror in and let it change the way I remember one of the best years of my life, then what was the purpose of it all? I went away for cultural experience and understanding, and I got it, so I choose a Europe of Love.

Iberian gold.

My train is pulling out of Lisbon's station and we are leaving the tiled pavements of the central city and brightly coloured buildings are making way into container ships and cranes of the port. With its old brick warehouses and the smell of fish and gasoline. Soon this will drop away and we will be left with views of windy seas glittering with the afternoon sun. Emma, Viktoria and I arrived in Lisbon at 2am on Sunday morning after our Ryanair flight was delayed by two hours and our taxi couldn't find the address of our apartment. Nevertheless the owner was there to welcome us and inform us that it was still early enough to go out for a mojito in the Bairro Alto district. And so we changed into something more appropriate for the 24 degrees and stepped out into the night. After climbing to the top of the hill where the notorious party district is we realised why they decided to install trams going up the hill. And by this time we were all far too exhausted to face a big night out, so after meandering through the cobbled streets and drunken bands of internationals, we headed back to bed and collapsed. Sunday was a slow start but in no way a lazy day. We had to find some food somewhere, so found a supermarket and had a late breakfast. We spent the rest of the day walking through the city's beautiful mosaic streets and tiny alleys, winding up the hill to the castle and down through the famous Alfama area with its tiny bars in every building. After dinner it was still light and early so we headed down to the square and found a "refreshment kiosk" or an open air bar, with Latino music and couples twirling underneath strings of fairy-lights. We sat here for quite an while just watching them, in awe of the smooth and effortlessness of their movements. In envious longing we watched these strangers dancing with the rhythm and coordination we could only dream of having. So we just watched. After having our egos take a beating from these golden skinned Portuguese dancers, we headed home for an "early" night. Monday meant pancakes for breakfast/lunch and then we took the train to the Belem Tower, a beautiful fortification about ten minutes out of the centre. Here we walked around the seafront and through the gardens of the maritime museum. After an ice cream we headed back to Lisbon to pick up a few souvenirs and postcards, which were written over a glass of beer in the sun on one of Lisbon's many squares adorned with fountains and monuments holding plump metal men off the ground. The Coast is now in full and private wee golden sand beaches are interrupted with rocky outcrops with families of young boys and fathers fishing dinner from the Atlantic. After a dinner of pizza and ice cream we decided we would try to find the famous Fado music of the Alfama streets. But it seemed that although famous, Lisbon's night life is not a Monday night kind of thing. Regardless we were all very tired this morning. French toast and coffee seemed to work magic, if only for enough time for us to clean and vacate the apartment and end up sitting by a fountain for almost an hour. Since then and now we have walked to the water front and then again sat there in the sun, listening to a local musician and the sound of the waves on the rocks below us, then we found lunch, picked up our bags and here we are on the train. The other two asleep in front of me, blistered feet, red noses and all; absolutely knackered but ready for a few days on the beaches at Cascais.

Patchwork

Its strange the way that you can measure time, taking care counting seconds, watching the hours and writing the date, but then all of a sudden you look up and the thing you thought that you had in your grasp has disappeared from the palm of your hand.

Its the end of the second week of June. Tomorrow is Monday. The start of my third to last week with my host family. My third to last week of living in Tervuren. My third to last week of being an exchange student.

It shocks me every time I remember when this started, from the applications to the departure camp to the first night in my new home. Its strange to think how many things have happened since then, all the great memories, all the bad moments and the scariest thought is thinking of how many things have happened that I can't even remember. All were significant in getting me to where I am, all are part of my timeline and history now. All have helped me to continue forward. And time has gone so quickly that I have forgotten fragments of it, all I can hope for is to be able to hold onto the ones that are left. I hold onto them with all of my strength and I will keep them with me, because when I look forward to where I am going, these moments, memories and lessons are going to be what are going to help me get there. Its like when some people go through bad experiences and they describe that they feel like parts of themselves are falling apart or being lost. From this year, the opposite has happened. Pieces of myself have been found, segments all glueing themselves together and creating who I am today. Whether you measure these fragments in moments, memories, lessons, seconds or days, I now have a life changing patchwork of experiences to get me to where I going.

I had my last day at school on Friday. A day I had looked forward to since the beginning, as its no secret that school is very mediocre for me in Belgium. So it was finally the day to say Goodbye to that horrible place. I was so excited and happy all day, even without the aid of caffeine! And the sun was out, we had 32 degrees for the most part of the afternoon! It was actually an enjoyable day at school, a very rare thing at Crommelynck. In most of our classes we didn't do anything, just a lot of selfies with the teachers and we had a wee shared lunch and everybody signed my t-shirt. Then the strangest thing happened. In our final hour of class, this strange feeling hit me. I looked at Viktoria next to me and the look in her eyes told me I wasn't alone. A strange melancholy struck us as we realised that this was it. The Last Day. After being so happy to have school over with, I didn't recognise the sadness creeping up on me and was surprised when it hit me. This was the end of the biggest part of my exchange. The components of our exchange life were slowly being stripped away, and our cornerstone had just been removed.We are no longer bound to our school schedule or measuring time by the class we are sitting in. We no longer have a solid 8 hours a day of French. After thinking about it on the tram ride home from school on Friday, I now realise that it was naive of me to think I wouldn't feel sadness for finishing school. It has been such a huge part of my life and although it has been pretty testing and extremely boring, I do have some fond memories and some really great friendships from my experiences at school. There is no way to think of or to comment on my year in Belgium without taking into account the past 9 months of school, and so I am grateful for everything that it has given me.

Class Of 2015

On Friday night I went to my Belgian schools sixth form ball. It was such a great night, different to New Zealand formals but just as good. And the reason it was so enjoyable was because of the great people who I was with, so this week I would like to say Thank You to all of the great people at Athénée Royal Crommelynck, my high school. School here hasn't been easy for me to say the least but my class has always made sure I am okay and they explained things slowly when I didn't understand, which was a lot of the time. They have made a somewhat boring school burst with life and have made my past 8 months at school so much fun. My class was so friendly and welcoming right from the beginning, I have so many great memories with you all and I will miss you all when I go home.

My year level on our 100th to last day celebration

Redouane, Viktoria, me and Alex at the Ball.

Four day ocean race.

Well, really it wasn't the ocean, and honestly it wasn't a race.... but got your attention right?

So I just arrived home from four days sailing with my host family on a 40ft yacht on the Ijsselmeer in the Netherlands. We had a long weekend so my host family rented a yacht for us to spend the four days on. So on thursday morning we picked our boat up from a little harbour near Medemblik, as did the family who was also joining us on their own boat, and we sailed the whole afternoon to a wee town called Stavoren where we stayed the night. Each day we set out at about 10am and sailed for the most part of the day to a town we would dock into for the night.

It was such a great weekend, being out on the water again was so refreshing and a lot of fun. It was also great family bonding and a somewhat relaxing break from our usual hectic weekends. Also it was great to escape wifi and 3G for the weekend, read some books and take some photos.

Here are my favourite photos from each day.

Day One: Stavoren Port at sundown

Day Two: First time through a lock

Day Three: Me, on the helm upwind in 25knots

Day Four: On the dock after a long weekend on the water.

Hamburg

So last weekend I went to Hamburg for four days to stay with Jorga and his Family. Jorga lived with my family in NZ for 5 months at the beginning of 2014 through AFS.

So I flew by myself on Thursday night to Hamburg, the first international flight that I had been really alone. To be honest, in Europe crossing borders is almost easier than crossing islands in NZ, unfortunately this means my passport does not get the array of stamps I was hoping for.

Hamburg was a great experience, seeing how Jorga lives was so interesting as I had only known him in his New Zealand life, which I can now safely say is very different from his life in Germany. Its amazing that I felt like I really knew and understood him last year, but I got to see where he grew up, where he went to school and even met some of his friends, and it didn't completely change my view of him but just showed him in a different light. Not to mention, him speaking german so casually threw me for the first wee bit. I mean, I know he grew up speaking German, but because he never spoke it around me I only know him to speak english fluently.

The city its self is beautiful, but in a strange way. The centre of town is really new, I mean like a couple of years old and it could be an awesome place, but it seemed to lack life. However the parts of Hamburg that I would recommend visiting are the complete opposite. Verging on derelict but bursting with life the surrounding suburbs have contagious energy, Ottensen in particular was my favourite. This is the suburb that Jorga grew up in and it has so much character. Its stylish but edgy and its busy but not touristy, every street has at least a few boutique shops and an independent cafe housed in the old buildings that are either pristine or painted up in graffiti murals. Of course as well, they have an incredibly good ice-cream shop, which is apparently the best in Hamburg.

I would love to go back and spend a few more days in Hamburg, just to explore more of these neighbourhoods, and in the same way that I visited Jorga’s Family, I would love for the Van Den Abeeles to come to New Zealand. It was a fantastic weekend and a really interesting experience.

Tyne Cot Cemetery, Flanders Fields

Speech

So as I mentioned in an earlier post I made a speech on Anzac Day at the Mayoral Reception held in the city of Ypres/Ieper.

Every year on Anzac Day a New Zealand student and an Australian student presents a speech about Anzac at this reception. This year, because I had also been involved with the Light Front and had contact with the embassy, I was asked to represent NZ at this event. They asked me about it months ago, but in true Bowater style I really left it until the last minute to write my presentation. So two weeks ago I got a message asking me to send my speech to the embassy so it could be checked. I said I was just putting the final touches on it and would send it in the next day or two, this bought me some time to actually start writing....

It was an incredibly hard thing to write about, I found and I didn't even really know where to begin. I was asked to present my view and my relations to ANZAC, however I really struggled to put this into writing. Nevertheless I finished and sent it off. I practised it all week and by Saturday morning I knew it practically by heart.

As the morning passed, my nerves grew and by the time we got to Ypres, my hands were shaking and I could feel knots tying themselves in my stomach. I met with the Australian student and thought this would help as we were both in the same boat, however she informed me that public speaking was not difficult for her and she was cool as a cucumber. Anyway, the ceremony started and the Australian Minister for Foreign Affairs and Jerry Brownlee said their speeches. Then the Australian student, who did an awesome job and read wonderfully, meanwhile I was trying to hold it together. Then it was my turn.

All I can say is that I really surprised myself. I was able to keep my voice even and didn't even race through it, however my knees were shaking so much that I thought I might’ve actually collapsed had it not been for the podium I was holding onto. Afterwards we received a gift form the Mayor, a lovely book about the city with gorgeous photos in it, and then it was done. I breathed a sigh of relief, and tried to stop my heart from beating out of my chest.

The coolest thing about the day was yet to happen though. The Ambassador, Mr Brownlee and representatives from the Armed Forces, then came over to congratulate me and tell me how proud they were of my contribution . Following them were three other people requesting a copy of my speech, one of whom I gave my hard copy to to post in the paper. It was such a awesome experience, and such a confidence builder in my public speaking. A moment I will never forget and an opportunity of a lifetime, I really owe it to the NZ embassy for giving me this chance and once again thank them for the immense amount of effort that went into organising the day.

Speech that I read at Ypres Mayoral Reception on Anzac Day

Tena koutou, Bonjour, Goedendag and Hello,

My name is Fenella Bowater, I am 17 years old and I am an Exchange student from New Zealand. For the past seven months I have been living in Belgium, attending a french school and enjoying life as an everyday citizen.

Almost every year prior to this one, I have stood next to my sister on this cold april morning and looked up at the Memorial cenotaph in my hometown, Lyttelton, I have read the names and heard the bugle blow. I have lain wreaths and worn poppies. I have watched my father in his Fire Brigade uniform as he stood and saluted the fallen.

But I am part of a generation with fading connections to those who fought and to the reality of war. I do not know any soldiers, I have no ancestors who went to war. I read the names on the cenotaph but I never recognize one.

So for me and I’m sure like many other young people it can be challenging at times to understand the importance of today.

However, this year, 19,000 kilometers away from my home, that I feel more connection and understanding of ANZAC day than ever before.

Being away from my home, my family and my friends has helped me to realise the true meaning of ANZAC and reason we are all here today.

I believe the term “ANZAC” is about being there for a neighbour in need, it is about being the shoulder for someone to lean on or being the hand for them to hold onto.

In their darkest hours of need when the world was falling apart around them, Our troops, the flag bearers of the ANZAC spirit knew that there was always someone beside them, brothers who would watch their back as enemies stormed and sisters who would hold their hand or mend a wound.

Because the ANZAC spirit is not about individuals, heroes or victories, it is about friendship and the courage to help others in their worst moments.

And this year more than ever I have been confronted with dark days and lonely hours, and now more than ever I have reached out to those around me for support and strength. These people may not be Kiwis and aussies, but they were there when I needed them most and that is embodying the ANZAC spirit.

So I do not think of ANZAC as being just for those who are born on home soil or just the men and women in our armed forces, I believe the ANZAC legacy is for any man or women, child or adult who shows friendship, camaraderie and support for the people around them.

I believe we are here today not to glorify war or celebrate victory, We gather not to commemorate fighting and aggression, We gather together today to celebrate life, we celebrate the human spirit and the value of friendship and also to honour courage and to acknowledge the sacrifices made for our freedom.

So as a young person,I am here today not only to remember the fallen, but also to be reminded of the responsibility and the legacy that they have passed on to me and to future generations.

Anzac Day, 100 years.

I am sitting in the kitchen, its 11:30am but my mind still hasn’t woken up. After sleeping for 12 hours I still haven't recovered from the immense day yesterday.

I guess I should begin at the beginning, at 2am. Iriaka, the other kiwi AFSer in Belgium stayed at mine the night before ANZAC day, and I don't think it would have been half as easy getting out of bed at that hour in the morning without her support. We had to be at the NZ embassy in Brussels at 3am and unsurprisingly my host parents weren't super keen on getting out of bed at that hour, so we took an Uber Taxi, a new experience for the both of us - Google Uber Taxi if you don't know, its too hard to explain.

Without too much trouble we arrived at the embassy to find a bus and a group of sleep deprived kiwis trying to stay awake in the darkness. After two and a bit hours on the bus and a quick nap, we arrived at our destination, but a few bus troubles made us a few minutes late for the Dawn Service at Polygon Woods.

Nevertheless, it was a beautiful ceremony and the location of the cemetery was so serene. I won't go into too many details about our itinerary because of the sheer mass of details that I would like to include. Instead here is a brief run down of events and a few of the photos I took.

After the dawn service at the Buttes New British Cemetery in Polygon Wood, we went to a Breakfast in Zonnebeke with the rest of the Officials and many other Australians and New Zealanders.

Then it was on to the New Zealand Memorial in Mesens. Here there was a ceremony for only New Zealand and about 70 people attended. It was a really nice, intimate service in a very spectacular location looking out over the misty Fields of Flanders. After this, there was a quick wreath laying ceremony at the New Zealand Soldier memorial in Mesen, where the members of the NZ Armed Forces did a Haka.

This was followed by a morning tea put on by the town of Mesen and then on to Ieper/Ypres for the Menin Gate ceremony which was very similar to the ceremony I attended there in November (See post from Nov, 11 2014).

After this it was time for my big moment, speech time. I will cover this in another post later...

Next we had a guided tour of the Western Front in Flanders and the battle fields where the ANZAC troops fought. During this, we went and visited the Tyne Cot Cemetery, the biggest Memorial for Commonwealth soldiers in the world where almost 11,954 soldiers are buried, 8,367 of which are unnamed.

After the tour was a Afternoon Tea with the NZ Ambassador, Paula Wilson and the Defence Minister, Jerry Brownlee, who were NZ’s official representatives at all the Belgian Ceremonies.

The last ceremony of our day was the wreath-laying ceremony at Berks Cemetery Extension. This was the smallest ceremony of the day, and finally the sun came out. I heard many people in our NZ bus say that this was their favourite ceremony of the day, mainly because of the intimacy and the incredibly touching speech made by Lieutenant Colonel Darren Beck. Also the NZ defence force Maori Cultural Group, who had been performing all day at the events, did a song dedicated to the wives and loved ones of the fallen. I thought this was very beautiful and by far my favourite of the day.

At the end of the ceremony we also got a chance to take photos and talk with the NZDF personnel before we all boarded the bus again and went back to Brussels, arriving at 8pm.

I would like to thank The New Zealand Embassy in Belgium for organising the bus and events that we all attended. I never would have gotten these opportunities without them and it was a perfect day of commemorations and remembrance. I met some wonderful other kiwis on the way and was lucky enough to represent the students of NZ in the ceremony in Ypres.

A day I will never forget.

The final holidays.

My final round of school holiday is half way through and it feels like i have already run a marathon!

Last Thursday I arrived back in Belgium at midnight, I was knackered and had picked up a killer cold on the way home. I slept for 12 hours until noon on Friday. Lucky I woke up, because Georgia arrived at 5:30pm. She is a fellow Kiwi AFSer who is living in Italy for a year.

We spent Saturday chilling at home, while I tried to recover from sickness. Then Sunday was all go with family activities for easter and way, way to much chocolate! Seriously Belgians can put away a huge amount of chocolate, never try to compete. We stayed the night in Bruges with my host grand-parents and we cycled into town to see the beauty and history that Bruges is famous for.

Monday was another semi rest day, although we went to the beach and Georgia got to see the magnificent Belgian coast. I’m not sure it measured up to the Italian ones she is used to, but I think we were just happy to escape the chocolates for a bit of fresh air. After returning to Brussels in the evening we planned on going into the Centre of Belgium’s capital the next day. It was a great day and we caught up with Iriaka, the other kiwi in Belgium for AFS. I think we ended up sitting in one cafe for about 3 hours just talking, enjoying the familiarity of the accents and banter.

Wednesday was then on to Ghent, my new favourite Belgian city. I would compare it to Amsterdam but Ghent has something all f its own. It hasn't got the crowds of Bruges or the frantic commercial bustle of Antwerp. It is clean, quiet but not dead, it was a comfortable city.

Thursday we went international, we took the train to Maastricht in the Netherlands. While it was yet again a nice city, that was kind of all that it was. And the mass amount of stock standard shops didn't quite give the vibe we thought we would find there. But I was happy to show Georgia how similar the two countries are, something she couldn't believe.

Then Friday was finally Antwerp. It was such a lovely day, 22 degrees and blue sky. Unfortunately a bad choice of shoes meant i suffered blisters all day. We shopped for a bit, but Georgia, Iriaka, Emma and me were a bit much for the shops to handle in the end and we had an ice cream before taking the train back to Brussels. We thought we would show Georgia one final Belgian treat before we went home though, a beer at Delirium. The bar with the most different beers in the world, I think they have about 2005?

Yeah, so it was a crazy busy week. I am now at the beach again at my host families apartment that they have rented for the whole two weeks of the holidays. I will be here for three days trying to get better as my cold is still hanging around. Then I am going back to Brussels to film my short film for my media class in NZ, then a couple of birthdays and back t school next Monday.

I think school will actually be a relief after these holidays, I am so run down and exhausted. Note to self: Don't try and pack too much into holidays that you forget to relax.

A crossing from hell or an amusement park ride?

Right now we are on a ferry back from the beautiful island of Hydra in the Mediterranean. Probably the most beautiful place I have ever been in my life and I feel like that is saying something. But more about that later, right now we are seemingly on the roughest boat ride of my life! And that also is saying something coming from a sailor.

It started off fun, a few bug swells and the kids on the bow got a bit of salt spray in their hair. Then after about fifteen minutes a few were coming inside with a tinge of green and clutching plastic bags. Things started to rattle around and of course the boys all laughed and messed around on the bow. After a few huge rollers the captain came down to calm everyone and tell them all to sit. The green faces multiplied.

As much as I tried to give my advice for sea sickness, they ignored it. Sitting at the back or front of a heaving boat with your head down is never a good idea, but hey, I tried. My stomach is doing okay so far, others a lot worse for wear. The crew keeps assuring us that everything is fine and the captain is very good. Well, I assume that’s what he is saying in his rambling Greek. I certainly hope it’s not the opposite.

I’m looking around at heads buried in arms or plastic bags, headphones in and nobody is keeping their eyes on the horizon as I suggested. The picture of Jesus is still on the wall but I fear for the coffee cups.

Let’s hope my sea legs haven’t disappeared with so much time away from the water. I think I have a better grip on this than most, but not willing to make bets yet.

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