Allan VS the EU—Day 1: On my own in Brussels

For a while, I really wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. My flight to London went well enough, but once I was there, things decided to be complicated. It took me half an hour just to find the damned subway route that I knew was connected to the airport I’d flown in to.
I made the silly mistake of thinking London’s subways would be straightforward in their organization. Instead, their subway maps reminded me of some of the Celtic knot work I’d seen in Scotland. And this is before taking into account all the subway stops they didn’t bother actually putting on the maps! Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is when you’re even slightly uncertain that you’re on the right train and it makes stops that your train doesn’t make on the maps? Stupid fucking British train systems. It took me over 3 hours to get to London Waterloo station, but at least it all turned out alright in the end. Thank god I’d planned lots of excess time.

The famed “Chunnel” that runs under water between England and France was not as glamorous as advertised. It didn’t seem particularly fast, although I knew it was. The view of an underwater tunnel has little to offer. So it was basically just like a train. That was okay, it gave me time to plan out in more detail what would be going on during my stay, and to get my stuff together. And I would have done just that, if only Robin Hobbs hadn’t written this wonderful book titled Fool’s Errand that sat in my pack and wouldn’t stop begging me to read it.

Robin Hobbs, though not a significantly European aspect of my trip, is without a doubt the best fantasy writer I have ever come across. The books may have strongly adventure-centered plots, but her characters are truly the center of her writing. Their interactions and characterizations feel utterly truthful and real.

But I digress.

When I finally got to Brussels I realized that inexplicably I had somehow managed not to print out the directions to my hostel. Well fuck me.

The closest I had to directions was that I knew the hostel was located 1 kilometer from the station Comete de Flandre. I was able to get that far after some extensive efforts figuring out their subway, but the result still left me wandering the slummish streets of Belgium for an hour and a half with all my luggage. I simply couldn’t find anyone who could direct me to Rue De l’elephant (Elephant Road I imagine). Even from the start of my journey the sun was setting. After Scotland it felt very odd that the sun would set so early.

These streets were not streets that I felt comfortable being caught in after dark. The neighborhood felt at least slightly poverty stricken, though I do not know if it really was. I also hate cities – any place that people put themselves at risk simply by roaming the streets after dark, I just hate it. With all the luggage with me, I pretty much had tourist stamped on my forehead.

In the end I asked over a dozen people, most of whom didn’t speak English. But I’d repeat “Rue de la Elephant?” in a quizzical voice, and they’d start giving me directions in hand gestures or very broken English. I was practically astonished when I finally did reach my hostel. I have the feeling that this trip will be an interesting experience, playing the part of the foreign guy who doesn’t speak the native tongue, but nonetheless will need to communicate with others routinely.

I realize how different it feels travelling alone. I almost skipped dinner, not because I wasn’t hungry, but because it seemed like it would be such a bother to find a place, and eating alone in a restaurant isn’t so appealing. And I really wasn’t excited about wandering the streets after dark again after the last hour and a half. A part of me just wasn’t sure if it was worth the effort. The same goes for planning things to see while I’m here. With only myself to experience it, it suddenly almost doesn’t feel worth the trouble. Funny, since at so many times in Scotland I found myself detaching from my family and striking out on my own to experience the various places.

And now? Now I find myself exhaustedly writing in a youth hostel café, ignoring everyone around me, though it’s probably the highest concentration of English speakers in the city. I feel like I should talk to someone, but have very little energy or drive to actually do so. I do, however, have a desire to sleep. I’m exhausted.

Goodnight.

12:43am 07/04/2004