Every time I see the “I turtle my home” advertisement for the yearly home-improvements expo, I know that another year has passed since we first settled in Belgium. As we have just passed our two year mark, I am inspired to take a close look at the best and the worst that this country may offer.

Cobblestones. Yes, they look beautiful and add a certain kind of charm to any street, but I am not one of those European women who can traipse across a paved trottoir in stilettos without mishap.

Smoking in pubs. If a pub makes 30% or less of its profits from food, then smoking is still permitted inside. This makes for an unbearable environment in winter, encouraging us to be a little more selective when choosing a watering hole.

No government. Belgium has now beaten Iraq for the world record for the longest discussions to form a coalition government – over 269 days have passed since the last election.

No Sunday shopping. Walking down the main shopping street of Rue Neuve on a Sunday is a surreal experience, with all doors closed and not another person to be seen.

The language barrier. It is often exhausting to have to get by with my very poor language skills. When a two page letter arrives from the commune, or when the apartment syndic is holding its annual meeting, I am completely out of my depth, and I often yearn for the days of effortless communication.

Too much to do. Not a week goes by without another festival or event. Blue sky days are the worst – it is so quick and easy to get around, and so few plausible excuses as to why one needs to stay inside.

The distance from Australia. I did miss the ambiance of a barbeque and the Hottest 100 on Australia Day, and it is too far away to just pop back to Oz for a wedding or birthday celebration.

The lifestyle. On a weekend we can stroll down those treacherous cobblestone streets to find a cute little crêperie housed in an Art Nouveau building. We might then stroll past some antique markets while listening to an accordion player busking outside, before enjoying a hot chocolate and some macarons in a bustling café. With treats like this, each week feels like a vacation.

The language barrier. Learning French is extremely difficult for me. Even with one-on-one lessons twice a week, I struggle with basic conversation. I hate memorising verbs and vocabulary, so being forced every day to talk with neighbours and read advertisements is the only way that I get any practise in.

The attitude to food. The Belgians take their food very seriously. I love that every hot drink is accompanied by a mignardise – a tiny chocolate or biscuit to finish off the experience. Beer is often accompanied by amuse-gueule (literally “mouth entertainers“), such an exotic term for a bowl of chips or peanuts.

The location. There is so much to do within a two hour train ride. Not only can one reach London, Paris, Aachen, Cologne, Rotterdam, and Amsterdam on the high speed rail, but within Belgium the local trains can take us to a myriad of fascinating towns, each with their own dialect, customs, festivals, and specialty beers, tarts, or biscuits. With a metro-stop right outside, living car-free has never been easier.

Puppies. There are dogs everywhere here. They are welcome in pubs and restaurants and often accompany their owners on a gentle promenade down the street. In winter they are also often outfitted in cute little jackets to keep their bellies warm in the cooler weather.

The healthcare . Every resident of Belgium can access the same world-class healthcare. No one over here needs to worry about losing their house if they get diagnosed with cancer.

The people. The people that we meet here have such interesting stories. If they are expats, they tell us stories about their country of origin and the path that took them here. If they are Belgian, they give us insider insights into this curious country. Dinner parties have never been more fascinating.

Family life. There is a strong emphasis on making time for the family. At my work, most people leave at 5pm and working on the weekend is unheard of. Including public holidays, we have over nine weeks of vacation leave every year. Women are entitled to 15 weeks paid maternity leave, which I hope to make use of when Adrian and I hopefully add an extra member to our family in August this year.

Thanks Mum! I am a little sad that Adrian and I won’t be able to return to Australia this year to attend our graduation ceremony for our Masters of Public Health. So my mother sent us these two cute little representatives who received their gown and mortarboard in our place.

We still haven’t been sent our final grades for our last course – hope this doesn’t jinx us.

We drove up to Newcastle for several days so that I would have a chance to see my extended family before we escaped overseas again. It was lovely to see Nana, still sprightly and vivacious and so happy to have everyone home for the holidays. I was saddened by Pop’s absence – his memory is still very much alive in our thoughts and stories, and his mischievous smile still peeked out from the photos on the mantelpiece, but he was no longer at his proper place at the head of the table.

We exchanged gifts, and food was also major theme for the day. We started the day with egg and salmon filled croissants, made mini pizzas for lunch, and capped it off with roast turkey and tofurkey. Adrian and I decorated gingerbread people in festive and delicious costumes, but I am afraid to say, they didn’t even make it 24 hours before being devoured.

Adrian and I were so pleased with our decorative abilities that we proceeded to decorated my cousin’s hair in a manner fitting the occasion, which promptly fell out after several energetic games of Tag.

My Nana mentioned to Adrian that she had always dreamt of having dinner out on the lawn in the backyard, underneath the trees. I sympathised with her that such an impossible dream would never be realised, as we had always had dinner on the verandah. Adrian, however, told her that if her dream was that easy, he would make it happen. He simply rummaged through the garage for a spare table, picked it up, washed it off, and brought everything down to the lawn. In no time at all, a festive table was decked out under the afternoon sky, and we all sat around it, listening to the clinks of wine glasses and laughs of kookaburras as the day wound to a close.

Today is October 15, the National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day in the USA. I have watched family and friends try to piece themselves together after these tragedies, which are made all the more difficult as often an answer cannot be found to the question “why?”

As a scientist, I know that thorough analysis of health issues begins with a quality data set. The S.3142 and H.R. 5979 Stillbirth Awareness and Research Act sets out clear requirements for each state to record pregnancy and infant loss in a systematic way, which will help researchers establish a national database to look for patterns and common threads between cases. This is the first step in identifying associations, which can lead to causes, then treatments, and then cures. I hope that the US government will find time to pass this Act amongst all the election and financial chaos.