l'Etranger in Brussels

I rose at an inhumane hour this morning to get the first train to Brussels. Another day trip in the capital of Europe lay in store. I was going to a high-level meeting for which I was an impostor: totally unqualified, unprepared, and which would be conducted in a language I don't understand. I did not enjoy my 4:45 alarm.

The train is affectionately known as the zombie train. I understood why as I foggily bumbled around Brussels vainly searching for the meeting venue.

I briefly entertained hopes of concealing my linguistic inadequacies by combining my mediocre French with a breezy arrogance that I assumed would disguise me as a local. My delusions were duly shattered as I entered the building, where a security guard gruffly mumbled a question to which I casually replied 'oui', only for him to stare at me blankly, before asking in perfect English what meeting I was there for. I meekly dug into my bag for the invite, and resigned myself to being another monolingual Brit abroad.

When I finally reached the right room I found a small group of well-acquainted and effortlessly polyglot development policy types, who eventually acknowledged my bleary-eyed presence with polite nods. Before the fraud of my presence at the meeting could be unmasked the meeting's chair, the eldest of a long line-up of EC officials sat before us, had launched into the introduction.

I eventually found my interpretation headphones and settled into the following cycle: try to listen with the English translation at low volume in order to learn some French; try to listen in English to take notes for the report I had to write on the meeting; get confused by the interpreter's unerring speech patterns and imperfect translations of concepts I'd struggle with anyway; get embarrassed then immediately relieved no-one could see my inner failings; zone out and indulge in lengthening blinks until someone spots me and I sit up straight, take a deep breath, then try to listen to the speaker to practice my French...

The meeting itself was slightly dry and laboured, but explored an interesting and important shift within European international development policy. The core of the meeting was a recent report assessing the EU's first attempts to involve non-state actors (civil society, local authorities, etc.) In not only the implementation, but also the design of their development programmes. an unquestionably positive move - how can one hope to 'help' people effectively if they're not even given a role in the design of that help? And as the world's largest spender of development aid, the EU has a huge amount of influence. Of course the new policy has not been implemented perfectly, but I was impressed with how openly the official present tried to understand the various complaints. Overall it was a useful and instructive meeting, even if most of it went over my head.

Brussels is a unique and fascinating place. Before I started going with work I'd unthinkingly swallowed the media's line that it's a dull town of irrelevant institutions and anally retentive bureaucrats, removed from the real world. It definitely exists in its own bubble, but the more time I spend there the more I see that it's actually a beautiful and lively city of complex but noble institutions and huge number of immensely bright, well meaning and attractive young professionals. My sense of their brilliance this morning was probably amplified by the certainty of my own uselessness.

And so as I dozed on the train back, unpicking the day's events, I realised that, although I hadn't contributed a great deal, it is essential for my development to be in these types of situations: to improve my French, to improve my understanding of the debates, and above all to get into the culture of the fascinating and hugely influential Brussels bubble.