Brussels

I hate how I've written the last few posts, not the poems but the other posts. I sound so dull.

But yeah I can get rather formal at times, especially given that I've practically sent out my blog address to everyone well almost everyone I know doesn't help either. But we'll leave that discussion for another time.

The trip to Brussels was great. On the second last day I finally managed to drag my sorry ass out of the hotel after work and head 20 minutes downtown to see the sights. Obviously I got lost almost immediately and got on the wrong train. Duh. Well things were in French, luckily I realised the mistake almost immediately and got off at the next stop to wait for the real one. Fortunately that train stops there too, if not it may have been a disaster.

The sun sets quite late and I wandered from the station to the Grand-Place, a famous medieval square or plaza in Brussels downtown. The beauty of the place took my breath away: ancient 17th century gothic architecture and the sheer size of it all was stunning. I wandered about - finding tourists from all over, mostly were Americans although more and more Asians were coming to Europe as well. The cobblestone square is a public meeting place, originally it was the center of trade in Belgium and the surrounding buildings were the offices of 17th century corporations.

That day as I sat on the sidewalk watching the people pass, it was just a hang out for kids and tourists. People sat where ever they want, even in the middle of the square there were groups just sitting down enjoying the evening air. I saw an Asian couple sitting down eating ice cream, parents with their kids, a bald man on a bicycle and the funniest thing was a man walking by with a fat grey tabby on his shoulders - the cat had a bewildered look on its face and a leash was hanging down its owners back. At least it wasn't trying to run away, maybe it just got sick of walking.

I also saw a young indian mother with her 2 or 3 year old boy. He was running up and down the center of the plaza when another blonde 2 year old came over and tried to make friends. It was funny watching kids trying to make friends, awkward but honest at the same time.

I overheard a conversation, a grand mother, her son in a suit and tie and a young blond child were walking. I could only assume she was his daughter and her grandchild.

I listened to her tell her grand daughter, "A long time ago, one of your great-grand fathers lived in this building."

"A very, very, very, very long time ago," added the dad.

The girl just stared at the building, it was a large grey structure with gothic carvings and statues all over. Four stories tall but taller still with the large bronze domed roof and hellenic pillars framing the highest floors. A broad staircase leads up to a pair of large black doors, now closed. It's now an art museum.

"Did he die?" she asked

"Yes," replied the grandmother, "a long time ago."

There was a pause as she considers that. Then she grabs her father's hands and those of her grandmother using them as leverage to swing in between.

"Let's go.." she said.

History can wait I suppose, especially when there are so many more fun things to do in life. The last thing I heard was her laughter as she raced up the square with her father.

I took refuge from the sunset later that evening on the terrace of a tavern called Roy de Espange or King of Spain. It was at the southern end of the square (well south if you considered I came in from the northern side - I have no idea where north actually was). The food was considerably Belgian, but it was interesting at least.

By then I had wandered all over the small streets along the plaza, all of them winding somewhere or another towards more collections of old buildings that have been refurbished but still maintained that ancient austere look. It would be drag to tell about everything I saw, suffice to say it was rather dark and late before I was done - and had to take the taxi back as I was advised.

The next day I flew back. That was another adventure.