We love to throw parties, and especially one with a theme. This weekend we had our annual Belgium Party. Why Belgium? Well, it started a couple years ago after a trip to Europe. We went to visit a friend in Amsterdam, but one weekend we decided to hop a train and go to Belgium, because—we heard—they have good beer and chocolate covered waffles.

We chose that particular weekend for a music festival happening in Antwerp. And since the train ride is short, we got there in plenty of time to attain a map and get acquainted with the city. We discovered the music festival was on a bus route that ran right by our hotel.

That evening, the driver assured us with a nod (he seemed not to speak English) that he would tell us where to get off. We settled into the front seats and watched the old city of Antwerp slide by.

As the miles passed we began to notice the commercial buildings lessening and the residential neighborhoods growing. When the driver motioned we had arrived at our destination, we were in the heart of a residential neighborhood. We looked at the map again and indeed we were in the right place.

I have to admit I was a little nervous as the bus pulled away. The (American) tell-tale signs of a music festival were nowhere in sight. There were no large groups of people getting off the bus or headed the direction we were; There were no signs pointing the way; And, we couldn’t hear any music. I was afraid we were in the wrong place, or had the wrong time. With no other option but to follow our original plan, we walked a few blocks to where the festival was supposed to be.

When we turned the final corner we were delighted to see the street cordoned off and signs for the festival. We had arrived. I was instantly charmed by the Sesame Street style row houses and cheery people milling about. Children played as smiling policemen chatted with parents. I watched a nearby trashcan half expecting Oscar the Grouch to pop out, but maybe everyone was too happy for him to make an appearance.

The festival was contained in a grade school playground; The school rose four stories and completely surrounded the concrete space. A large stage was set up on one end, and food booths (mostly African cuisine) lined the opposite end. In the middle was the bar where we spent most of the night chatting with the locals and making friends.

We had a blast hearing new music and talking for hours with one chap in particular. Geert—a drummer in the band Lost Romeo—told us everything we wanted to know about Belgium, beer made by monks, and why the country is split by two languages—French and Dutch. It turns out the ad we found for the festival was in a neighborhood newsletter. Our new friends were surprised and amazed that we had come all that way for their block party. We were too. That little adventure still stands as one of our favorite happy accidents.

At the end of a very fun night we asked Geert if there was some bit of Belgium information we could take back to America to tell our friends. He replied, saying he’d like us all to know fries are Belgian not French, and they are called pomme frites. Keeping to our promise, we have a party every year and make pomme frites and serve beer made by monks. The chocolate covered waffles are part of the party because I couln’t get enough of them while there and I need a good excuse to make them here.

This year I stepped up the decorating by breaking out my Cricut and Cuttlebug to make signs. The front door says “Welcome” in Dutch and French—the two languages of Belgium. I embossed the Belgian Facts cards to make them pretty as well as informational and cut words out to stick on the beer cooler. I even went as far as to screen-print t-shirts for a few guests (love my yudu!).

This party is our homage to taking chances and following your heart—and, of course, a celebration of good beer.