That's In Belgium, Isn't It?

It was dark, cold and we saw nothing more of Brussels than that which was viewed, murkily-lit, from a taxi jaunting along the tiny roads of the capital close to midnight on the Friday, and all that we saw from the doors of the taxi and the spinning door of the hotel. Marble floors. Courteous staff. The softest bed I think I may have ever slept in and most importantly, a power shower.

I’m a big fan of showers.

After about an hour of international satellite television (no comment), power showerage (mmmm) and soft bed dozing, we fell asleep.

We woke up at a mobile phone-prompted 8am, and actually got out of bed at around 9am. More showerage ( you have no idea how clean I would be if I had a shower like that in my house) and a most decorous descent to breakfast. Let me say, any description of the breakfast beyond the vast and immense praise for the coffee will give readers a distorted view of how much food we had. Suffice to say the breakfast was good.

After retiring to the room for additional clothing we sullied forth into a just-rained-on Brussels. The whole place, whilst cold as I can imagine hell would be, was absolutely gorgeous – the cold and the wetness of the past rain lending an aura of cleanliness to a city whose oldest buildings are blackened with soot.

The opening out of the Grand Place was a surprise I’d gladly experience again, if only I could retract the overwhelming impression of the tall buildings and the wet cobbles and the crowds and the severe grey grandeur and expansive finesse of the beauty of the facades.

The centre of the square was taken up with a nativity scene. For this the public authorities of Brussels had seen fit to provide pine-like foliage to surround the stable, which was thatched a bright yellow, one half occupied by three of the most photographed sheep in the Northern Hemisphere. Dotted around in the foliage were several GRP animals -donkeys and cows, just standing around as cows and donkeys do. These were special though; at night they became luminously coloured. With bright spangly spots. Hallelujah!

There is a Christmas fair on in Brussels at the moment - huge numbers of wooden stalls selling just about everything - gluhwein, sausages, sauerkraut and pork and potato and onion being cooked up in enormous pans... We walked through all this, enjoying the spectacle of it all, just flowing with the dribs of the crowd. I allowed myself to be sold some beer from a stall, with disproportionate pride at the fact that I knew the french word for 'honey' when the fluent beer-making gentleman's English faltered. Interesting beer. Good beer...

One thing that really made me smile was the discovery of two merry-go-rounds in different areas of the fair. Almost grotesque...but not...solely for children; there was a giant purple wooden stag beetle to be ridden that rolled around, a flying fish with bicycle pedals that swung out above the heads of spectators and blew bubbles, an iguana you could climb inside whose head and tongue lolled about whilst bucking (gently) like a bronco...Leonardo's flying man, again with cycle...a giant rearing unicorn with steel wheels...all of it was very Heath Robinson, but the metal was burnished and brown and cold...so...visceral, and I loved it. All so fantastic and home-made-looking, it was a thing of child-like imagination carried through into reality...and I thought it was brilliant.


Continuing through the route of the fair, we discovered an ice rink in the middle of a wide boulevard bordered with yet more stalls; silks and fragrances, rum punch, more sausages, and warming gluhwein sold everywhere. At the end of the boulevard was a large ferris wheel ( the basket span around in the wind, making photos difficult - it was so cold, but an amazing view),
we had some gluhwein, wandered back along the route, ducked into an alley and discovered a little bar. Coffee, hot chocolate, biere
brune...astonishingly lost the ability to speak French on my part. I kept
inserting new and exciting syllables that weren't there before.
Brussels has a stunning cityscape.

We ate at a place called 'Falstaff's' on Saturday evening. Fantastic turn of the century place (the 19th-20th turn of the century, not that crass and materialistic recent one) with Mucha-like pastel glass murals and wooden fretwork, great tables outside under the radiant heat of electric bars...gorgeous. The food was heavenly - I heartily recommend the Chicken Waterzooie. If you find out what the hell waterzooie means, I'd like to know.

On Saturday night we (eventually) ended up in the bar under the hotel, and then, out of curiosity more than anything, we wen to the hotel nightclub. Despite it being about £7.50 per drink, we had one each and marvelled at it's 80'sness. If you've ever seen anyone play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City...with the whole 1986 vibe, you'll know what it was like. An oriental-looking gentleman along the bar from us bought himself a bottle of Johnny Walker at about £100 and sat sipping it slowly...making sure everyone saw that he had a bottle to himself...pure comedy. The barman struck us as the bastard lovechild of Manuel from Fawlty Towers and one of the Chuckle Brothers. it was an entertaining evening...and we got to bed at about 1am.

We had a late day on Sunday, and went a little easier on the breakfast this time.
We walked about a gloriously bright, clear and cold Brussels, taking in the abandoned and beautiful Parc de Bruxelles, and a couple more cafés...we marvelled at the suspended dragon stealing a cow under an arcing glass ceiling in the Galerie St. Hubert, bought postcards and I decided against buying a moleskin gauche notebook on the grounds that I haven't yet filled my 5 other, less fancy ones...Eurostar was late on the way back, and we arrived home at about 11pm.