Luck was against us on the Saturday morning we attempted to depart Amsterdam for Brussels. Slow to wake up, we missed our tram to the station by a couple of minutes. The next tram brought us to the far side of the main hall and we sprinted along the underground corridor, across 14 tracks and up a flight of stairs and arrived on the platform at 9:22, the same minute that our train must have left the station, on time to the second. It was only an hour until our next train, so we called Michelle who was just leaving Cologne to meet us, and told her we�d be an hour late. Nevertheless, we met up successfully in Brussels. This was exciting, none of us had every really been in Belgium before, Chris and I had been driven quickly through it once when we were young, but I�m not sure our feet had ever touched the ground. Also, nobody really knew what to expect. I mentioned that we spent a long time planning the trip, but all of that effort had gone into logistics, none of us had actually had time to read about Belgium. We were in for a happy surprise. Our first stop was for lunch, and it was only then that it really struck me that we had changed countries again. Now that there are no controlled border crossings in the EU, and no need to change currency, you often don�t� realize that you�ve entered another country until the man at the lunch counter asks for your order in French instead of German or Dutch.
After a quick bite to eat we started walking towards the Jacques Brel youth hostel following the map we had newly acquired from the tourism office. On the way we stopped to check out Brussels� magnificent 12th century cathedral. Formed from white stone, it looks almost newly built and must have been recently cleaned. Chris was tired from all the train trips so we didn�t stop long and wanted to get to the hostel where we could take a break, but we still took out time to admire the ornate design of the building inside and out.
Brussels proved to be a very striking city. We went directly downtown again after a brief sojourn chez Jacques Brel, and were amazed by the beautiful buildings that line Brussels� sloping streets. The central market square, la Grand Place, has to be seen to be believed, each building looks like it could be a porcelain model, a masterwork of detail sitting in a curio shop, but instead lies downtown reflecting the suns rays from its gilded fa�ade. Of course we couldn�t visit Brussels without paying a visit to it�s statue of a mischievous peeing lad, the Manneken Pis and a symbol of the city. None of us realized though how small the statue is, or that they dress him up in just about any kind of clothing ever conceived. He was wearing a sailor�s costume when we saw him, but picture postcards for sale in a wide radius of shops depict him dressed as Elvis, a Musketeer a king. Apparently it has been a custom in Brussels to donate clothes to the statue for hundreds of years. It really is strange to see tens of people gathered around a tiny brass statue, it�s not much bigger than a football, dressed as a sailor and peeing into a basin.
We left our watery friend behind and went for a quick foot tour of Brussels. We passed along some of the city�s beautiful sloping streets which open up views of whole neighbourhoods, topped with the spires of churches and old houses. We walked through the gardens of the royal palace and passed whole streets filled with restaurants. We hadn�t heard much about Belgium, but everybody we�d asked had said that the Belgians enjoy eating and drinking. These streets are standing testaments to this tradition, mussels, escargot, waffles and beer can all be bought right from vendors on the street. I have never before seen an escargot stand. It looks almost like an ice cream stand, but the garlicky smell and piles of discarded shells give it away. After doing out best to take in the city, we began to search for the inevitable, a place for dinner. We settled on Greek food, which became a little worrisome after we realized who had won the most recent world cup game. Hordes of Turkish fans poured into the streets celebrating their win which placed them in the semi-finals with Brazil. Cars, blaring music and draped with Turkish flags crawled through the streets of Brussels since the thousands of fans on foot wouldn�t let them pass. We were sitting outside and could barely hear each other talk for the honking horns. It was another world cup party but I�ve never seen so many people in the streets, especially not for a victory in the quarter finals of a tournament.
We hadn�t been able to afford typical Belgian food, which seemed to be steak, lobster, and mussels, but we did insist on having Belgian waffles for dessert. We stopped at a caf� on the street that specialized in waffles, and ate them over the blaring horns that were still going, even seven hours after the game. After we�d finished eating, we went back to the now beautifully lit, Grand Place where we planned on watching the free concert that was being held as part of a week long festival of music. That evening turned out to be electronic music, a series of DJs would come up on stage, one at a time, and go nuts on their turntables. Some would sit there and smoothly change records, while others rocked spasmodically back and forth to the music, flipping records in the air and doing their best to put on a show. Some of the songs were interesting, but most were loud, cacophonic blasts of sound. We watched the first couple of acts, took a few pictures of the square at night, but then walked back into town in search of Belgian beer. Brussels Turkish population were still celebrating in the streets long after we went to bed. I can only wonder what it must have been like in my predominantly Turkish neighbourhood back in Cologne.
