Pearls of Wisdom and Foolish Mutterings

And then there was Brussels…

Incredible, historic, medieval, majestic Brussels – what a delight it was! On a whim, we took the train to Brussels—about a 2 ½ hour trip. The Central Station was a beehive of activity, but it was nothing compared to what greeted us on the street. Throngs of people, cars and motor-scooters darting in and out of traffic, tour buses somehow navigating the ancient streets; the whole city hummed with excitement. We hopped on the first tour bus we saw and rode around the city, craning our necks to catch at least a glimpse of everything all at once. There was so much to see, it was impossible to take it all in. The architecture is breathtaking; there is only one word that does it justice—majestic. We saw the Royal Chateau where the King lives; the flag was flying atop the palace which is the signal to all that the King is in residence. When he is gone, the flag doesn’t fly. We saw the Arc de Triomphe, magnificent cathedrals, the Atomium, the Chinese House, the Japanese House, and too many other sights to list individually.


We saw so much during the tour, but the thing that absolutely amazed me was the way the huge tour bus squeezed around corners and glided through the narrowest of openings, never once hitting anything.  My words can’t do it justice; you had to be there, holding your breath as the driver magically maneuvered between cars and around tight corners, to really appreciate the skill it required. At one point, we came around a round-about to find a tiny car (all of the cars are tiny) parked at the edge of one of the streets that jutted off the circle. There was no way for the bus to get past it. The bus driver honked his horn a couple of times, then a couple times more, until finally he lost patience and honked long and loud, over and over. On the grassy circle of the round-about, there was a group of teenagers playing soccer; they had looked our way once or twice when the driver honked, as had everyone else on the street. Suddenly, when the driver laid on the horn, it was like a big magnet drawing everyone to the showdown between the tour bus and the absent driver of the parked car. People came from every direction at the angry sound of the horn. There was one man in particular, who came out of nowhere, waving his arms and shouting to the bus driver, motioning for him to stop blowing his horn. A crowd had formed around the car, but still no driver in sight. Then a woman came hurrying across the street—it had to be her car. She pushed through the crowd, juggling her packages as she searched in her bag for her keys. The man who had gestured so wildly at the bus driver now turned his irritation to the woman driver.  I wasn’t close enough to hear the language they spoke—Italian, French, Dutch, English—but it was plain to see that he was chewing her out. She started her car and pulled forward ever so slightly, then stopped. She started to get out of her car, but the aggravated man was there before she could open her door, gesturing at the bus and then at the street in front of her; it was obvious he was telling her to move her car further down the road, which she did, finally.  As our bus pulled past her, Angry Man was arguing loudly with another man who had stepped forward out of the crowd. Meanwhile, the woman driver pulled away and drove off in the other direction, leaving the two men and the crowd behind her.


We continued on our way and finished our tour, ending up back at the train terminal. The one thing we had not seen was the famous little “pissing boy” statue—Mannekin Pis. So we struck out on foot to find Mannekin Pis. But not before we stopped at a restaurant to have… what else?  A Belgian Waffle topped with strawberries and crème, with chocolate drizzled over the top of it all. It was delicious!





It didn’t take us long to locate Mannekin Pis, as there were street signs indicating all of the tourist attractions. There was a very large crowd gathered around the statue with everyone taking turns having their picture made in front of the famous Mannekin Pis. Of course, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take pictures of each other in front of the famous statue. We left there in search of Belgian chocolates, and found chocolate stores everywhere. We bought our chocolates and then just wandered around the quaint streets, taking in the incredible architecture, snapping photos left and right.


I remembered that the flavored beer we look forward to every year at the Renaissance Festival back in Houston is Belgian beer. We found a pub and went inside to ask about the peach beer that we pay $12 a bottle for every year. Yes! They did have it, but it was on the menu under Beer Cocktails. Peach beer, it said on the menu, made of peach syrup and blonde Belgian beer. We weren’t sure if it was the same thing we have at Ren Fest every year, but ordered it anyway. We watched as the bar tender poured a thick liquid from a bottle into our beer glasses about one-fourth of the way up. (I don’t know if it was peach syrup or some kind of peach liquor, but the menu said peach syrup.) Then he filled our glasses with blonde beer from a tap, taking special care to get just the right amount of “head” on the beer. He brought our glasses and set them before us—the moment of truth had arrived. We sipped, watching each other for a reaction. Ahhhhh!!! It tasted even better than the $12 a bottle stuff at Ren Fest; and better yet, we got two beers for only 7 Euros. We finished our beers and wandered outside to prowl the shops a bit more.


Unlike Amsterdam—where the people are very matter-of-fact and, while not what I would call unfriendly, they could never be described as warm and inviting”—the people in Brussels were just the opposite. They were charming, with easy smiles; and as we walked down the street, no one bumped into us in their rush to get somewhere. We passed a small band set up in a square. We stopped to listen (the music was lovely) and as we stood there, a couple waltzed past us to the beat of the music. Old-world charm is a phrase that surely must have been coined for places like Brussels.


Finally, we made our way back to the train station to catch the train back to Amsterdam. I hated to leave Brussels—in just one day, I had fallen in love with the place. On the train ride back, we marveled to each other how simple it had been to board a train, sit back and relax, and not quite three hours later, step off the train in another country. We decided that another trip to Europe is definitely in order; one with no business, only pleasure, so that we can take advantage of the fabulous rail system and travel from country to country. There is indeed a whole other world out there and I want to explore it.

If you'd like to see the multitude (!!!) of pictures I took in Brussels, you can find them here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/kayspage/Brussels0309?feat=directlink