Breakfast in Brussels

I’ve come to the conclusion that one can tell, merely by looking, a French speaker from an English speaker. I think that we hold our respective mouths differently, as if prepared to speak from different parts of the mouth. I’ve noticed that I can guess pretty well by looking a person in the face what language they most likely speak. Given time, I think I could do it with even better accuracy.

It’s not race. People here seem about as diverse as DC or New York in that sense. The predominant skin tone is that of either native Spanish or Italian, but there are also plenty crackers, darkies, and middle easterners. Asians here appear almost to be almost exclusively tourists. Either Asians don’t visit Belgium much or they have the good sense to learn French before doing so, because those I’ve seen have been much more apt to speak English or French than any Asian language.

At any rate, the theory that one could tell with a glance to your face the language you speak would explain how everyone knows to talk to me in English here. I prefer that explanation to the notion that I stick out like a sore thumb that someone wrote “TOURIST” on.

So these are the ramblings of a man waiting for his train from Brussels to Brugges. Well actually, I’m on the train now. Went to bed earlier last night than I have for months, and slept in today anyway. Oh well, I feel better rested than last night at least.