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The land of Chocolate, Beer and Waffles
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Belgium.
Land of chocolate, belgian waffles, and over 1000 different varieties of wonderful, glorious beer. And to a lesser extent...Brussel Sprouts. But hey, three out of four aint all that bad. I'd always been intrigued about heading over to Belgium, as i said, it had been on the cards as a viable option well back when i was planning my next move back in Prague, hell, from the outset of the trip i had the inkling that i'd probably find my way to this cosy little nation. One of my favourite comedians, Eddie Izzard, freqeuntly inserts references to Belgium into his evocatively ranty routines, and though i never quite understood exactly why the notion of 'Belgium' was so hilarious on a continual basis, i figured the place and its people must be seen to be understood.
I slept a few winks on the 1am bus to Dublin airport and zonked away to to random tunes on my trusty Ipod. The Pod has certainly lasted the distance on this trip, providing me with an endless stream of quality rock music and enhancing the adventure considerably. Dunno where i'd be without it, quite frankly. Probably the same bus....just bored shiteless. We arrived wearily at Dublin airport well before Dawn had even begun to show her crack, and i conducted the usual routine of checking in and all that jive amongst a bevy of fellow early morning travellers, most of whom looked equally rooted as i did. The flight was seamless, and in no time at all, we were locking our seat belts and descending on Brussels airport, over a quiltwork blanket of green and yellow fields. It was muggy and tropical outside, and with my new friend Taryn from Perth who i met on the plane, we jumped on the shuttle bus to Brussels some 45 minutes away.
My first impression of Brussels was that it was dead and almost deserted. Here i was, in the capital of Belgium, in the heart of the main train station, with barely a single fool around. It was kinda weird. I hoarded my gear through one of the main town arteries, and noticed heaps of Islamic and Muslim folk, burquas, headscarves, and a significant ethnic community thriving in this immediate area, later finding out that Brussels was significantly multicultural. In the schorching heat with far too many kilos attached to my sweat-ridged back, i again suffered the wrath of sandpaper-grade chafing within my burning hot denim jeans, a foolish choice of apparel for this boiling climate. I made my way to the first hostel on the map, and realised that the plan to just rock up to Brussels on a Friday night and expect a hostel dorm bed was probably wrought with stupidity. No vacancy here. However, i made my way to the 'Van Gogh' hostel some blocks away, cursing my heavy load and sweating like an absolute chafer, sensing that this walk was going to be futile, and that this mob, too, would most certainly be bereft of vacant beds. Someone must have had sopme sympathy for me though, as somehow, i managed to snag the very last bed in the whole place, securing my presence in Brussels for two excellent nights. Elation!
With the load off, i aired out my sweat stained shirt and had a walk through streets of the various sectors of town. It was a weird city, and eerily quiet for a capital city on a Friday afternoon. The main town square evoked memories of Prague, with its glorious centuries-old gothic structures and spires, and cobblestoned alleys leading in all directions to the one plaza. The alleys were thick with restaurants, spruikers, and sandwhich boards advertising their fixed price menus of the day, African, Italian, Moroccan, Turkish, French. Something i noticed about Brussels instantly was the sheer diversity - it was as if the city was a melting pot of culture, the attributes of every place i'd come across individually on this trip were suddenly all fused together forming and thriving amongst this one location. Though it all felt pretty low key, the place oozed this inexplicable eccentricity that balanced out the 'boringness' of the place. At one minute it could be dead as, the next minute, completely wild.
Heading back up to the hostel to check in, i discovered an enormous crowd amassing around the central city park, and a huge festival going off in the guts of town. This would probably explain why the joint seemed so deserted - every man and his Belgian dog were up here. Well, it turned out that i'd arrived in the middle of Brussels on the biggest day in the Belgian calender, their day of Independence. As a thick cavalry of armaments, rocket armed tanks, military vehicles and little Belgian men in berets pounded through the crowd lined main streets, i looked on in complete amusement at my impeccable timing on this auspicious day. It was one great big military beat-off, and i wondered deeply what the point of it was, why we were all supposed to be awetruck and impressed by this display of militaristic pounding. I scored some free Belgian chocolate, and kept on walking.
Upong checking in to my sauna-esque dorm apartment, i got chatting to two lovely Aussie lasses, Krystal and Erin, and met my roommate, a top bloke from California named Kevin, later nicknamed Big Kev. Got to chatting with these dudes, conversation flowing as freely as ever, eventually joined by a chain smoking Californian design student Capricorn named Parisa, Davey from Detroit and a trio of fast talkin' Chicago folk. Once again, in no time at all, i'd acquainted myself with another fresh group of faces, wonderful people who, by the chance decision to come here on this day, i was fortunate enough to meet. The good times got better, as we hit the plush, cosy hostel bar across the road for 1 Euro beers, overwhelmed by the sensational range of Belgian brews on offer for almost a third of the price of the cheapest shite beer back in Galway. We drank stupidly, talked ridiculous jive and had a ball.
On the advice of the fast talkin' Chicago bloke whose name i forget, we all trundled up to the main festival area and witnessed a sensational show of fireworks in commemoration of Belgian Indpendence, again, all of us were completely dumbstruck as to our impeccable timing, arriving on the perhaps the best day of the year to be in the captial of Belgium. For some reason, Chicago clown and the yanks persuaded me to take the sax with me to the fireworks, and on the drunken trundle back to the hostel, i pulled the old girl out and wielded some headturning riffs for the proud Belgian masses. It went down a treat and impressed the pants off the yanks, thrusting the night into another echelon of partiness. Everyone was in excellent spirits, and i was elated to be amongst these fine value characters. Davey from Detroit shook his head at me and half-jokingly cursed my ability to not only smooth the ladies with an Australian accent, but implied that i was 'The Pied Piper of Punani', armed with the ability to be able to instantaneouly lure women from any bar with my sax, should i choose to not speak a word at all. (for the sake of accuracy, i might add that i was no stranger to the ways of the lady on this night, certainly thanks to my ever faithful travelling partner, the Sax).
Again, the sax had proved its worth, despite its heaviness, and in the melting balmy Belgian heat, our gang of Westerners lied around outside on blankets strafed around the hostel lawn, drinking beers, talking about everything and anything, and eventually, falling asleep 'pon Dawns crack together under the stars of the deep blue Belgian sky.
There was now very little doubt that heading over to Belgium was a good move.
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| 101. | The land of Chocolate, Beer and Waffles - Brussels, Belgium Jul 21, 2006 |
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