It’s hard to believe that we’ve been in Brussels for a year now. I can clearly remember the lead up to our departure: quitting my job, packing up all our possessions, saying many goodbyes to friends and family, and spending our last few days in D.C. in a hotel room with eight suitcases and one angry cat. I can also remember our first few days in Brussels and how overwhelmed I felt as we explored our neighborhood jet-lagged and I tried to recall my high school French. There were so many firsts: our first trip to the grocery store (who knew you had to weigh your own fruits and veggies?), our first time driving in Brussels (our GPS took us through the downtown on a Saturday night), and our first trip to the dreaded commune.

A year later, I’m so glad that all that newbie stuff is over. And, while I’m not exactly sold on expat life and still really miss the comforts of home, I’m happy to feel more settled. Plus, I’m so grateful for the many travel opportunities we’ve had over the past year. We’ve seen so much of Europe and plan to continue to discover new corners of the continent over the next two years. So, when I’m really craving a burrito or a deli sandwich or a restaurant menu with more than one vegetarian option (Europeans love them some red meat!), I think about how much fun we had exploring Lisbon or London or Stockholm.

To celebrate our one year Brussels anniversary, we spent the weekend in Barcelona. The city had such great energy, and I think that if I ate pork products, it would be one of my top cities of all time. (I kid you not, most menus had maybe one option sans-pork, making eating a bit of a challenge.)

Here are some shots from our trip to Spain and other summer trips.

One of the highlights of our trip was visiting the Segrada Familia.

A shot of a bull fighting ring-turned-mall during our bus tour of Barcelona.

We had half a beach day before the clouds rolled in.

We had the best breakfast at this little bakery. I always thought the French had the monopoly on pastries, but this place made me reconsider.

One day last month we made the trip up to Ghent for the day. I agree, it’s as charming as Bruges, but way less touristy.

A view of Ghent from our boat tour of the canals.

Every two years, the Grand Place is covered with fresh flowers for five days. This year’s theme was Africa.

I have always loved the summer Olympics–the heart-tugging background stories, the camaraderie, the patriotism–it’s all so enthralling and so emotional! I’m not much of a sports fan, but I’m always glued to the TV, cheering at the top of my lungs during the Olympics. I have so many good memories attached to the games: I remember watching Mary Lou Retton win gold as a child and performing my own copycat floor routine on couch cushions. (I think I may have even made my parents score my performances:) Then there was our family trip to the Atlanta Olympics where I got to watch the U.S. women’s softball team win a gold medal in the sticky, Southern heat.

This year is no different, and we’ve been tuning in nightly to the BBC coverage of the Olympic Games. I have to say, watching in the games while living in another country is a totally different experience. I understand from my Facebook feed that people aren’t too pleased with NBC’s coverage, but at this point, I’m considering tuning into Dutch TV because I think not understanding a word the commentators are saying might be better than listening to the Brits.

My distaste for BBC coverage began early in the games, when “Team GB” was having a hard time winning their first medal and the commentators complained continuously about how the world was conspiring against the hometown team. Each athlete with a prayer of winning a medal was interrogated almost to the point of tears by the correspondents if they did not perform well in their event. Several athletes were reduced to pleading, “I’m really sorry. I did my best. I gave it everything I had, really.” Now that Team GB has moved up in the medal tally, it’s not stop gloating and talk of world dominance. Very unsportsmanlike, if you ask me.

Then there is the fact that BBC only covers events that Team GB excels in. I have watched more equestrian, rowing, sailing and indoor cycling in the last week than I have  in my entire life. To be fair, I’m sure this is true anywhere as you want to broadcast the country’s successes, but I haven’t seen any coverage of my beloved gymnastics! Not a single minute of prime time airtime!

Despite my whining, I consider myself lucky to be able to watch the Olympics with commentary in English, even if the Team GB-dominate coverage leaves me missing Bob Costas. But, if hear “God Save the Queen” one more time, I’m going to officially lose it.

Madonna and I have a long history. She was one of my first loves, right up there with the Care Bears and She-Ra. The Immaculate Collection was my first album and since that purchase, she’s played a role in many of my most important moments. For example, one of my favorite memories of my bachelorette party is drinking champagne and dancing around to vintage Madonna in my pajamas at 2 a.m. with my best friends. Classic.

I have wanted to see her in concert forever, but the timing has never lined up….until now! On Thursday, Alex and I fulfilled one of my life goals (don’t judge!) by going to see her MDNA tour in Brussels. The weather was cold and rainy, but she was amazing. If I look half as good as her at 53, I’m doing something right. Like all experiences here, there were some major differences between seeing a concert in Brussels and seeing one at home:

1. If you see a concert at a football stadium, be prepared for riot-proof glass and gates to divide the stadium into policeable sections. There were also an excessive number of police officers and EMTs for a country that doesn’t seem to put too much stock in law and order.

2. Prior to the concert, folks socialize in their respective sections with glasses of wine and baskets of frites, not taking their seats until after the opening act is done. It’s quite civilized!

3. Everyone stays seated during show, unless you’re up in the mosh pit. I was one of only a handful of people dancing in the aisles and singing along. Folks even stayed seated and stone-faced during a performance of Vogue. I mean, come on!

4. No encore. After she left the stage, the crowds started filing out of the stadium. Hold on there, folks!

Anxiously waiting for Madonna!

Enjoying some frites and beer pre-concert.

The MDNA stage pre-concert.

On Friday, we went to the Delirium brewery in Melle with Alex’s parents. We all love Belgian beer, but Delirium is a family favorite, so we wanted to go to the source to learn how they produce those delicious brews. Our tour guide, Henrik, gave us a fabulous two-hour private tour of the brewery, followed by a tasting session where we were given generous pours of five different Delirium-produced beers. (Generous pours of Belgian beer=Stumbling out of the brewery.) I highly recommend the experience for anyone visiting Brussels! Check it out:

Where the magic happens!

Our guide, Henrik, showing us the factory.

Yep, those are hairnets! Don’t worry, we took them off before going out to dinner.

Alex and his parents on the tour. Look at all that yummy beer behind them!

The Delirium “museum,” home to all sorts of beer swag.

Henrik preparing our tasting.

La Guillotine, a trappist beer and Delirium Tremens and Nocurnum.

Last weekend we went up to Sweden to celebrate midsummer Swedish-style. According to our Swedish hosts, midsummer is a solstice celebration, though it seemed more like an excuse to drink schnapps and eat herring:) All jokes aside, midsummer is serious business in Sweden, where folks get the day off to celebrate the holiday with family, friends and the greater community. There seemed to be so much excitement and tradition attached to the holiday that we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to check it out.

Our weekend began on Friday at 5:30 a.m. when we were picked up by our Swedish hosts (who live in Brussels with us) to head out to Charleroi to catch our flight. (Note: As in most European cities, Brussels has a “cheap flight” airport, located far outside the city and frequented mainly by Ryan Air and other budget, no-frills airlines. Since our midsummer plans came together at the last minute, Charleroi was our only option!) We landed in Stockholm about 10 a.m. and headed to the store I began referring to as the Swedish Wal-Mart for provisions. On the menu: jarred herring in different sauces, boiled potatoes, meatballs, sausage, lox (only purchased because I refused to eat the jarred herring), caviar, and strawberries and vanilla ice cream for dessert. On the ride to the country home, we heard about the history of midsummer, how it was a celebration of fertility and the many traditions attached to the holiday. We were informed that we would be required to dance around a 20-foot phallic pole, sing Swedish drinking songs at the top of our lungs and happily drink lots and lots of schnapps. Alex and I also agreed to at least try a piece a herring. (We did, and it was OK, but one piece was enough for me:)

Midsummer was more fun that we could have imagined. We stayed in a beautiful country house on a lake, and it was so nice to get out of the city and breathe clean air. Since Sweden is so far north, the sun set around midnight, providing us with hours of well-lit fun. We had a blast drinking, dancing and laughing well into the night. Check it out:

The lovely little country cottage, a three-hour drive from Stockholm.

The house had a beautiful view of the lake. Sadly, it was too cold for swimming.

A patriotic view of the lake.

Getting ready for the festivities to begin!

The pre-dinner table with a view of the lake.

The midsummer buffet of traditional dishes like herring, eggs with caviar and boiled potatoes. The meatballs and sausage came later!

After each traditional drinking song, we took a shot of schnapps. (No wonder we weren’t feeling so hot the next morning…)

Our host getting the festivities started!

We had lunch at Max, the Swedish McDonald’s. The best part of the experience: Free coffee and balloons!