WebbAbroad

Just recently, a sunshined sky broke free for the first time from the dark and dreary, grey and gloomy clouds that hang over Belgium on a regular basis. It. Was. Glorious. 

Having slept in for a few hours, I wasn’t aware of the festivities already taking place — that is, until I heard a full band outside. Yes, an entire marching band had manifested during the early daylight hours, and proudly paraded around the city, gracing weather-weary residents with jovial jams. Melodic music with punchy brass and upbeat drums broke apart a silently held tension. It felt like Spring had fully arrived on what should have been a regular Wednesday. The city was alive, and as I stepped out into the streets I saw massive hordes of students, pensioners, and more wobbling along the cobblestone curbs.

I thought to myself that if every day in Leuven were like this, it would be a perfect paradise.

I had to see for myself what the city looked like in the sunshine, so I swiftly made a sandwich and marched for forty minutes towards the Kasteel Arenberg, or Arenberg Castle, to have a picnic while taking in the park views there. Sunlight sifted through tall, lanky trees onto a concrete paved pathway as I walked. Bikers whizzed by, throwing up a hand signal for “Hi.” To me, it seemed the sun was brightening everyone’s mood too. As I settled onto a bench with a beautiful view of the Castle, I watched Eurasian Magpies fly by and hop along the freshly greened grass. I watched students gather, chat, and disperse over the hour or so I sat there studying — studying Dutch, yes, but also the first cracks of the vibrant student community shining through the gloom of my time in Belgium so far. 

Later in the day, as I was walking home from my Dutch course, I took my regular route home, passing through another park. The sun shone on the shoulders of a plethora of people — in fact, a completely filled field. Almost four weeks into being in Belgium, I hadn’t seen more than six or seven people in the whole park; now, there was a crowd beyond my ability to count. Yet, in that moment, there was no standing space for students, whether around the pond, on the expanses of grass, or even in the small shade-providing ruins dotted throughout it. Foldable tables lined the premises, and I watched as someone stumbled into one and a cup of beer barreled towards the ground, soaking into a sandy patch and evaporating quickly. I found myself pausing just to take in the spectacle. Here was the community of Leuven people spoke about, the students spanning across the sprawling lawns, laughing, gossiping, smoking, and smiling. That was what I had signed up to go abroad for: a city full of students sharing these moments. 

I raced quickly towards our Loyola abode, where I was met with more music. The house next door, with its ragtag bunch of roommates, was tossing tunes through the air without a care for anyone else. I loved it. Sure, they were a tad tipsy in the early afternoon, but they were letting loose after being cooped up inside for the winter. It was like the city had become one fantastic festival, and everyone was having their fun with it. Students sat outside the Nachbahr Huis (our Loyola home) on benches left empty for the last month.

You get the idea. The city thrived in the light.

Having heard from a reputable source that the nightlife for these dreamy days was worth engaging in, I pushed myself out the door with some friends. The excitement had not worn out the people of Leuven; the moon had just driven them inside the bars. We hit three locations throughout the night, bars filled to the brim with people of all ages and of all cultures. We came out onto the cobblestones every time we left a place to a bustling burg that was living it up long into the night. 

But while warmer weather brings whimsy and joy with its sunshine, of course, its first appearance was also accompanied by some chaos in the corridors of Leuven.

I began to see some minor mischief as we wandered the walkways of late-night Leuven; pizza boxes strewn all over the streets, smashed glasses in the Oude Markt, and bags of trash broken and thrashed about. As we drifted towards our destinations throughout the night, we avoided increasingly high piles of waste, zigging and zagging around them and past people pressed together in the streets awaiting entrance into crowded clubs. 

As the night winded down, and we all headed home, the rowdiness raged on, and the scene in the streets grew worse, apparently. Upon arriving home, I noticed the compost bins in the Huis storage had been shaken out onto the courtyard. Bits of beef and bread were spread everywhere. With a bit of worry in my mind, I headed to bed. 

When I awoke the next morning, and steadied myself to head to class, I noted that it looked like a bomb had gone off in Leuven. Litter was left everywhere from the night before, and the sustained sunny weather had set the scent to scale up, sending an acrid note into my nose. 

I wondered: Was this a reasonable result of months of gloom being cast away by the caress of sunrays? Was it my place to complain, or should I just enjoy the sunshine? 

Either way, I’d had quite a wonderful day in Leuven, between the cascading light and community — I even enjoyed the bit of chaos, save for the smell. That sunny day felt like the welcome to the city I had expected, and I’m looking forward to some more warm weather days down the road.