Parliment

As it turns out, just outside of the grandeur of Grand Palace Square, the world of Brussels transforms into a very long string of shops, composed exclusively of cheap Greek restaurants. The lengthy block is nothing but a narrow alley of Greek restaurants, side by side and all outdoor dining. The result is that the sidewalks on both sides are really buffet tables with tiny gaps in between restaurants. It’s really kind if bizarre.

So if you’re a Greek restaurant on a long block of Greek restaurants, how to you beat the competition? Be aggressive. I’ve never before had waiters yell to me to ask if I would like a table when I am clearly just trying to walk down the street. Then again, I’ve never been to Brussels before. Finally, a calling from one waiter was actually successful in attracting my business. I knew I had to eat somewhere on this odd block. If the atmosphere was not particularly pleasant, it was certainly unique, and I enjoyed the man who walked the streets playing accordion.

As I write this, I just finished a tour of what I thought to be an art gallery when I began the tour, but what turned out to be the Belgium Parliament building. Their government chambers alone was pretty amazing. The floor used 12 different types of wood, the paintings were all 300 years or older in the main chamber, and the entire building was of 14^th century design (though most of it was destroyed and rebuilt in the 1600’s). The 60 year old man who designed it in the 14^th century agreed in his contract to live at the site where it was being built. In case anything went wrong, they wanted him to be on hand. He also agreed that if the royal family did not find the building to their liking, he would reimburse the city for the entirety of its cost. Pretty hefty contract, no? Lucky for him, the royalty approved.

I had not realized previous to my visit that Belgium has not really been a country for long. To hear them tell a history of their rulers, they’ve been of Spain, Italy, France, and Holland alternating every decade it seems. These European superpowers never could rightly settle whose property it was of. For most of their history, the Belgium people had no more say over who was king than the American people had over Bush. Coincidentally, they liked their foreign rulers almost as much as I like Bush.

It’s odd to have a country display their lineage of rulers with no pride or attachment. Until 1830, when they revolted, they had boasted only one ruler of Belgian decent. What attachment could I have expected?

But back to exploring Brussels. It just gets more peculiar. From the street of Greek Buffet and walking forward, if one were to turn either left or right at the end of the block, one is in for a pretty decent shock. This is because those who take a left or a right on that block find themselves stepping onto a block that is actually inside a building. Sounds odd, doesn’t it? It is. Because you’re not just in a building, you’re in a place with the fanciful looks of a Grand Museum of some sort.

Though it looks that way, it’s not actually a museum; it’s the fanciest fucking mall I have ever been inside. A mall for the most crispy of upper crust elite. Honestly, mall isn’t even an apt description, but simply the closest word that I know of to what it was. It was a hybrid, some cross between an insanely grand mall and a strip mall that just happens to have a roof over it. A beautiful artsy glass roof, infrequently interrupted with graceful archways adorned by statues of either angels or beautiful women.

As enclosed as the building felt, four way intersections with other roads open up at various points. Later, contemplating with my guidebook over a delectable Belgian waffle, I would learn that this was the Galeries Royales St. Hubert I had stumbled across. I don’t think I can fully describe the oddity of changing scenery from the most aggressive food strip I’ve ever seen in my life to the most pristine shopping center within a matter of footsteps.

This shopping center was also the first I’ve seen that seemed as if the intent was to dissuade lowly shoppers from dirtying the shops with their peasant-esque presence. Shop doors were all closed and uninviting. Inside them, there was rarely any staff in sight to assist customers, and though the halls were crowded, it was just as rare to see an actual customer inside a store. For the most part, people seemed to be exclusively window shopping, and not without reason. The shop windows were, for the most part, as decorated and museum-like as I could imagine them. The prices, of course, were outrageous. Then again, in a mall where the shoppers don’t shop, I guess that’s as understandable as anything else there.

The funny thing is that the museum shopping center that is an indoor street ends by opening abruptly into the streets, where their regular flea market is held. A real flea market, gathering of tents around a small portion of land, not like American flea markets. The goods were good and the prices reasonable there. Tons of dragon stuff. Tons. If I had had an easy way to transport them, I would have happily purchased several items I found. Unfortunately, everything I wanted was either extremely fragile or too bulky to take along on my backpacking trip. Oh well.

Next I decided that it was time to take on the legendary Brussels waffle. My guidebook did not describe this as an optional experience. It read “If you have not tried a Brussels waffle, you have not lived a fulfilled life.” Given this, I was eager. Indeed, the place I ate at specialized in Belgian waffles, and had a large menu of different options. I had mine served aflambe, lit by Grand Mariner, with Nutella spread lightly upon it. Or at least it was supposed to be serves aflambe. My waiter lit it on fire in the chalice of Grand Mariner, but the first sizzled out as it was poured onto the waffle. Oh well. It was definitely tasty, but I’d be inclined to try a different combination of things next time. The Nutella is just so good it masks the gentle taste of the waffle. It also happened to cost more than my lunch did, when I include the price of the hot chocolate I had with it.

Following my waffle expedition I decided that I had had a sufficiently exhausting day, and embarked on a long a very confused trail home.

As I write this, I have yet to figure out the Belgian metro system. They use tickets. I bought a 10-ride pass for 10 Euros when I got here. But leaving the airport and getting on the metro, I wasn’t required to put it into any machine, nor show it to anyone so far as I could tell. I switched trains twice, yet when I finally got off, still no need for a ticket.

This morning, to get onto the train, I was required to insert my ticket the same way the DC metro makes you do it, with electronic ticket-scanning barriers. But I did not need to do it a second time when I came back. Not getting on the train, not getting off. I think I’ll regret buying my 10-ride pass. I’m not sure what’s going on, but whatever.

I think it’s odd that every shop in the Grand Palace closed about an hour before the shops seemed to even start opening here by my hostel. It was like a human beehive walking home, I couldn’t even walk on the sidewalks most of the time, because such large crowds of people had turned up to look at outdoor shop displays. It became easier to dodge the cars in the road than to try and move through the brick wall of people.

The other odd quirk I’ve noticed about Brussels is that, though the area around here seems as dangerous as DC, children walk the streets alone all over the place. The whole area seems to be their playground. A bunch of them tried talking to me (I’ll never know why) and had a grand old time laughing and chiding me when they discovered I didn’t speak any French. They chased after me, and I think they were trying to insult me by piecing together broken English they thought they knew.

Yeah, sometimes children are fuckheads. Not that I’m angry. Not that I want to bang their heads into the pavement until the pavement is covered in the pink goo that was once a sentient life form’s brain mass. Just kidding, folks. It wasn’t funny to you, but to me your awkward concerns are funny. But even so, the kids were kind of jerks. Kids in the age range of five to eight just seem to be wandering the streets alone all over the place. I can only guess that either kidnapping isn’t a worry in this area or there is a strict unspoken rule that the gangs and suspicious people of the area will leave them alone.

On an unrelated note, I think that I will skip dinner tonight. I don’t feel particularly hungry, and dinner would involve both spending money and a good deal of hassle. It’s odd the way you can whimsically change your lifestyle when you’re on your own.

Now for you, the dear reader, I have a surprise ending to the tale of this day: A relevant set of words by someone for whom I have great respect.

“The more I studied the accounts of others, both written and told, the more it seemed to me that we attempt such histories not to preserve knowledge, but to fix the past in a settled way.” ~Fitz Chivalry Farseer, Fool’s Errand by Robin Hobbs.

You may be right, Fitz, you may be right.