Belgian Bureaucracy

I'm waiting at the Stadskantoor, the City Hall, a new-ish, glass-fronted building next to the train station in Leuven. EU and Belgian flags flutter in the afternoon breeze over a shiny metal sculpture called the "Hand of Prometheus" that reaches, palm outstretched, for the skies. As a foreigner, I've got to register here within 8 days of arrival, as soon as I get a permanent address, which thankfully, I've just secured; a 1-bedroom apartment not too far from work. I've got my ticket and am waiting for my number to be called out, an experience I've had quite a bit lately, what with changing countries and all. Quite a few counters seem to be empty as  other aliens from around the planet trying to make a life in Belgium wait their turn patiently. Where on the efficiency scale is Belgian bureaucracy going to lie? Slow and infuriating, with malfeasance and the almost compulsory greasing of palms at every level like in India, or is it going to be more like the well-oiled system in Australia, with super-friendly staff and little to no waiting times.

Ads for events at the Stadskantoor flash by on the display screen, interspersed with the flashing of ticket numbers accompanied by a 2-tone bell. "De Staadsoorpan" says one, which looks like a concert announcement, with a picture of a musician and some musical notes. I make a mental note of the event. Live classical music  could go some way towards livening up these increasingly long evenings of the fast approaching winter.
I strike up a conversation with the person sitting next to me, and it turns out he's about to complete a PhD at Leuven, and he's here to arrange his departure documentation. And, he's from Bangalore. I think it's fitting that one (erstwhile) Bangalorean begins his stay in this obscure part of Europe as another ends it. 

When my number finally flashes on screen, I've been waiting for three quarters of an hour. The girl at the counter is friendly, but I realize it's going to take a further 2 visits, with a police visit to my home to confirm my address in between to complete all registration formalities and be issued with a Belgian residence card. If I had to make a judgement based on this one experience with bureaucracy here, I would place it near the Australian end of the scale, maybe a few notches below it.

Leuven Bus Routes Deconstructed

The link to bus routes from the KU Leuven site (http://www.kuleuven.be/transportation/pdf/bus_bike_map2010.pdf) gives you this sphagetti-mass of bus routes.

I've extracted from it some routes of interest to me (based on my current destinations), but these criss-cross the city in a north-south and east-west fashion, and connect the main train station to the university (Arenberg campus) and might be useful to other new newbies to the bus system here.

Leuven Bus Routes (map source: Google Maps)

Clicking on a bus stop on Google Maps also gives you a list of bus numbers routing through that stop.
The Leuven bus website, for more timetables: LIJN.
A word of advice: buying a lot of 10 tickets at the train station is 1 euro cheaper per ticket than buying it on the bus.

Cheap French Wine

It rained all day in Leuven. But the local supermarket, with its bonanza of French wines more than made up for it.

My French wine, purchased for 3 Euros (4.2 AUD) turns out to be reasonable. At this price, I would be drinking cat-piss in Melbourne.

Laundry Trouble

Why does operating a washing machine at the local laundry have to be so godamn difficult? Instructions are posted in every language ever invented, except in English. And to top that, the washing machines don't accept coins. No-siree. They accept tokens that you exchange for your coins at another machine, tucked away in the corner. But hey, I've got free WiFi while I wait for my clothes and I won't complain too much!

Arrival

I have arrived in Leuven, Belgium. It's 9 am in the morning, and I have just slept for the last 15 hours.
The sound of church bells, in fact a single bell suspended outside the belfry (in an unusual configuration) of the 13th century St. Jacob's church next door, has woken me from the depths of jet-lag-induced slumber.

I'm staying at the St. Jacob Bed and Breakfast till such time as I find permanent digs.