Two Sprouts In Brussels
Brussels
September 15, 2019
One of many sights that awaited us in Brussels.
By the time our last day in Noordwijk arrived we had finally gotten a handle on the train and bus system and had our route to the airport worked out. We walked the quick couple blocks to the bus stop through the hodgepodge of shops and bars across from our foster neighborhood, trying to take in everything one last time. It was early enough for the tops of houses and statues to be haloed in bright white sunlight, backed by the colorful flags lining the precipice between concrete and the beach directly in front of us. The flags flapped a goodbye wave in the chilly breeze as we hopped on the bus, confirming our stop at Leiden to the bus driver with a little more confidence than we’d arrived with. A short ride later, we were rolling our suitcases into the enormous brick sprawl of Amsterdam Centraal to catch our train to Brussels. Our train was the Thalys into Brussels-Midi, which is somewhat of a halfway point between Amsterdam and Paris by train. For once it didn’t take long to find our platform, and we arrived quite early so we were able to relax and wait for the train without any last-minute scrambling. The trip would be just under two hours which had us arriving in Brussels at noon.
Once in Brussels, we were thrust into chaos almost immediately- this station was much busier than Amsterdam had been, with more of a bustling airport atmosphere. People rushed all around us and the speakers blared with announcements in French and Dutch, neither of which we really understood. We found ourselves once again muddling around, squinting at train boards and inferring what the common words- “platform”, “train”, and “ticket” must be. If we returned, I’d be sure to bring an actual paper translation book as well as invest more time into learning French to better communicate and navigate Belgium and France. It doesn’t feel great in the moment to have a deadline to be somewhere while in the midst of losing your bearings completely. After some investigation we dragged our suitcases up to a platform on another floor, having about a 30% certainty that we were going to the right place. Our guiding light was a screenshot of google maps taken in Amsterdam when we last had WiFi – again, not completely recommended.
A cute alleyway we passed as we roamed the city.
We emerged onto a dirty, desolate platform pretty reminiscent of a BART station at midnight. A train rolled in displaying “Brussels-Centraal” over the door, which matched what I believed was our end stop based on that one vague screenshot. As the doors slid open we were greeted by the sight of a very used toilet sitting in the area between the passenger cars, and a man that looked fairly out of it lolling on a chair to the right of the toilet car. We glanced around the empty station, trying to do some quick calculations on the odds that this was the correct train and whether we should get on despite the rather sinister aesthetic. After a quick debate, we decided to chance it, figuring we could probably retrace our steps (or tracks, as it were) if it wasn’t. We hustled into the train car and stood awkwardly with our suitcases across from the door so we wouldn’t miss any stops. The doors slid open at our stop and we gratefully stepped away from the porcelain throne mocking us in its little closet and onto a much more populated platform. About ten minutes later we were emerging into the noon sun out of Brussels-Centraal and onto a rough cobbled sidewalk. To our great relief, we had successfully located the street we were looking for (usually ON the buildings not on signs as learned in Amsterdam) and Brian navigated us towards our Airbnb with saved offline maps from Google. The Airbnb was located in an art studio chock full of pop art pug statues, meme-esque posters, and other odds and ends. I’d arranged with the host for us to leave our suitcases with him until our check-in time at 2:00 so we could wander around unencumbered and find some food. It was turning into a pretty warm day, so we were quick to shed sweatshirts and suitcases at the gallery before heading back out into the sunlight.
The streets hummed with the unfamiliar buzz of indistinguishable conversation and the distant sound of classical music. As in Amsterdam, we were swept up not only by the crowd and the noise but by the venerable beauty of the buildings all around us. While New York or San Francisco certainly have a beauty and a presence (and a soft spot in my heart), Belgium has a magic that only such an old city can. It’s incredible to step over cobblestones warped in the middle from the countless travelers that have walked there throughout centuries, see old foundations settled deeply into the earth like spreading roots beneath the road and look up to Gothic architecture and ancient masonry looming over the streets as churches, houses, and stores. Stepping into an old, majestic building only to see it’s a convenience store is a feeling that never got less weird. As we walked along, the music echoed through the streets from the direction we were headed- and as we turned one last corner, we could finally see where it was coming from- the Grand-Place, the central square of Brussels. A stage was set up in the middle of the large plaza, the musicians tuning their cellos, violins, flutes, and more as hundreds of spectators gathered. Entering the plaza is one of the most magical moments I can recall from our trip- as we turned into the square, we were greeted by some of the grandest buildings I’ve ever seen. They stretch impossibly high on every side, topped with thin strands of clouds twisting in a perfectly blue sky. While the orchestra boomed The Phantom of the Opera and the crowds swelled to elbow-bumping capacity, we craned our necks up to take in the hundreds of extravagant details on each building- carved stone pillars, ornamental railings, and dramatic statues balanced on rooftops.
The Grand Place Square
Beneath a large focal bell tower, dozens of windows housed in delicate arches made up the bulk of the Maison du Roi, or King’s House, with the uppermost row of arches pointed into spires holding little green cherub statues. Neighboring the Maison du Roi in both proximity and grandiosity is Town Hall- while covered in scaffolding that dampens the full effect, it features Gothic statues and gold accents all topped off with an enormous, ornate spire. Guild Houses, also generously outfitted in gold, slot into any available space between the large buildings. At street level, striped red and green awnings float above chocolatiers, brasseries, and (most excitingly), stands serving Belgium waffles.
After taking in the square, and the music until its finale, we followed our noses to the nearest waffle booth and bought one to share before wandering on to Les Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert, an (you guessed it) extremely grandiose shopping mall.
Les Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert
There are many stores on display, but in particular we were drawn to the chocolate shops. Of course, Belgium is known for chocolate, and we found it carved into every possible shape imaginable- wrenches, cats, scissors, and even the famed Manneken Pis- we’ll get to that. This is a great place to walk through just to see it, and if you have extra money burning a hole in your pocket there are ample things to spend it on.
Chocolate tools in one of Les Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert shops.
Next it was time to go into full tourist mode- we had to see Manneken Pis, the statue we had so far only beheld in chocolate and photos. I found multiple versions of how this statue came to find itself in Belgium, but it really doesn’t impact the joy of getting to witness what has been dubbed “Europe’s most disappointing tourist sight” on a Dutch tourism website (steddentripper.com, if you’re interested in finding other disappointing sights). The Manneken Pis is doing what it sounds like it is- it’s a 24 inch tall statue of a boy placed on a fountain so that it “pees” into the pool below.
Manneken Pis in one of his many costumes.
It’s a short walk from Grand Place, and you’ll know when you’ve found it because everyone else will have already found it and will be standing around the base. It stands behind a gate and when we saw it, he was dressed in a little suit- a quick google search estimates that the little guy has over 800 costumes for different calendar occasions. We fought our way close enough for a picture, and honestly, after trying to get a picture with the Wall Street Bull, this was a piece of cake. The Manneken Pis has a sister and a dog that are made in his likeness- aka also peeing- so once we were done with him we tracked down those as well. The girl, Jeanneke Pis, is behind grated bars so lacks similar excitement, but the dog, Het Zinneke, is pretty funny and much less crowded than its human pee-rs.
Once done with this we grabbed a beer at Poechenellekelder, a cafe-bar with barrels for tables, and colorful bikes riding vertically up the outer wall.
The outside of Poechenellekelder.
It sits right next to Manneken Pis, so there’s a great view of the chaos going on over there from the outside seating. We sat at a barrel by the door, sipping and people watching- truly one of the best vacation activities, especially when the atmosphere is so much different from home.
Enjoying a beer while people watching outside Poechenellekelder.
One beer later, about 3 o’ clock, we headed back into our Airbnb to check in. A friendly art attendant gave us a tour of the rooms, which were up three flights of stairs so narrow and the ceiling so low that Brian and the attendant had to crouch and pull his arms in. It was two stories itself, an upper bedroom and a lower living space, and had a nice view over the streets below. Everything was white brick and covered in art that had English words in bold print, which seemed to be trendy there. We spent an hour or so resting and catching our breath, as we had left the house that morning at about 6 and been going ever since. We only had one night in Brussels, however, so we were soon back out on the streets looking for an early dinner.
As in most of the places we visited, almost every restaurant has callers out on the street that are very persistent in getting you to come in. We were eventually talked into dining at a neat, white table-clothed restaurant by a particularly charismatic caller who sat us at an open air table on the street. The food, as with the language, was primarily French, so I ordered a Steak Frites, and Brian ordered a Moules Frites. They don’t give you ketchup with the fries (I am a ketchup savage) and we’d been warned by the internet not to ask, but nonetheless enjoyed our food. As we ate, we admired the skill of the caller who had grabbed us. He was near enough to our table that we could watch him work- he would stop people on the street and greet them, adjusting his greeting to different languages if they did not respond similarly. He engaged people in French, Dutch, English, Spanish, and possibly Mandarin, and appeared to be quite proficient in all of them. He had masterfully reeled in another couple guests by the time we paid the bill and departed.
Since we were in a city so known for beer, Brian was of course excited to try more brews. We went to Au Brasseur, which had a Delirium beer flight and free peanuts available, and sat beneath awnings covered with the trademark pink elephants.
Our flight of Delirium brews at Au Brasseur.
We watched as a drunken lady threw fries to pigeons on the streets for them to squawk over, and listened to the couple nearest us, a British guy and American girl, argue the ethics of a variety of scenarios. Brian and I both recall him telling his girlfriend that she was “fundamentally impaired” due to her upbringing, over the sound of peanuts crunching and a street performer who had set up near us. They didn’t stay long. The pigeon feeding lady got up and began to dance in the street, both with her partner and with whomever she came across there. A kid who looked like a Dutch version of my little brother chased the pigeons around, cawing at them and flapping his arms. With the unhappy couple gone, it was a truly fantastic scene, almost a tableau in how perfectly joyful everybody looked. The sun was beginning to sink low over the buildings so we decided to get moving, taking our buoyant moods with us through the crowds and back to the Grand Place. In the fading light, the buildings we’d stared so long at earlier were even more striking.
The Grand Place at sunset.
The setting sun lit up the gold that adorned their exteriors, creating an incredibly picturesque scene of jostling tourists beneath glowing monuments of the past. Bunches of red, magenta, and purple flowers atop light posts and in boxes, staccatos of color in the corners of the greyscape of cobblestone. We took the opportunity to take about a million photos, each a bit sillier than the last.
One of many silly photos taken that evening.
As our final act of the night, on our way home, we bought a tiny Mannekin Pis statue from a grumpy shopkeeper in a store not unlike a 7/11.
The beer could be to blame for how vibrant and fantastic everything looked and felt, but either way I remember it as an almost perfect evening in Brussels.
