TRAVEL LOG

On approach, ceilings were relatively low, but broken. Belgian suburbs appeared of German-style architecturally, upper-middle class. Swimming pools, cars and, large yards seemed surprisingly common.

Sunday 12/04/2005

Cleared customs without incident.

Searched every inch of the airport for an ATM machine that would accept my card, but to no avail.

It turns out that all ATM machines in Belgium are identical. They have an annoying symbol (Mr Cash) depicting an animated credit card with a smiley face. All are Visa-affiliated and require a Cirrus or Visa card, rather than Plus and Interlink, the systems supported by my Credit Union ATM.

Luckily, I was carrying $90 US in cash, which I was able to exchange for about 60 EUR.

Stopped at the Tourist Information desk to inquire about ATM machines and modes of transportation to the city centre. I was informed that no other ATM machines existed and, with regards to directions, that she didn t know Brussels at all. My first inclination was to question why the Tourist Information Bureau had chosen to staff their booth at the Brussels Airport was someone who didn t know Brussels but thought better of it. I explained my sketchy plan of attack and was asked why on earth I was bothering her if I already knew the route. Europeans.

Took the dingy but efficient Brussels Airport Express (Coach Class - 2.60 EUR), deboarding prematurely at Gare du Nord, when my intended destination was Gare Centrale. The scenery was typical Europe: run down, old.

In the end, it didn t matter. I caught the Pre-Metro 55 line to the underground Bourse station. The Pre-Metro was crowded with an eclectic ethnic mix, truly showing off Brussels 30% international population and demonstrating already the great linguistic divide: French vs Flemish.

When I emerged from the subterranean station, neither the Bourse (stock exchange) nor the Marriott were to be found. Just a bone-chilling, dreary street, with no open establishments in sight and the occasional pedestrian whizzing by. Frazzled as I was with the ATM matter, I was ready to pack it up and head back to US shores, but I decided to pick a direction and walk towards the Sheraton Hotel, visible at street s end.

A block north, the Bourse appeared, and right across the street, the Marriott shone brightly on cue.

It was 11AM now, and I entered the plush lobby, through the automatic revolving doors, to check in. I was informed in very good English that I would be permitted to check in, but my room wasn t yet available. I was, however, asked for a smoking preference and instructed to come back at 3pm. I checked my luggage with the porter and set off towards the Bourse.

I was without camera, or at least without a working camera, since after a recent incident, the battery compartment must be firmly taped shut. Without this crutch, I was unwilling to risk wasting my batteries on the frivolity of the moment.

Along the perimeter (North and West sides) of the Bourse were rows of festive EU Christmas Market booths. There was a Spanish booth selling churros, a German booth selling bratwurst, and various booths peddling arts and crafts. There was even an booth selling nearly American style hot dogs and hamburgers. Several stands sold gaufres belges (Belgian waffles), and nearly every booth sold vin chaud (Warm Wine), apparently a regional specialty consisting of red wine mixed with traditional Christmas spices, kept piping hot in steaming vats stirred incessantly with large spoons of questionable sanitation. The ineffably unique odor of the Belgian waffle (a sweet, salty, doughy, half-done cookie) intermingled with the cinnamony, overly fermented scent of Warm Wijn produced a sickening aroma reminiscent of a college kegger, though by the end of the trip I d truly developed an affinity for the combination.

Made my way to the Grande Place, which was spectacular but a bit underwhelming at first, in view of its lofty billing. The most majestic of all buildings was undoubtedly the 15^th Century Hotel de Ville (town hall), decorated with extremely intricate sculpture work and topped with a magnificent bronze spire. It was a spectacle to behold.

I trekked South, past tourist shops selling Belgian lace, tapestries, chocolate (sold by the kg), and waffles, until reaching the Mannekin-Pis by chance. The Mannekin-Pis (pissing boy), an unofficial symbol of the city, is a centuries-old statue of a boy peeing. At all times of the day and night, the tiny fellow is surrounded by throngs of (curiously, mostly Japanese) tourists falling over each other for a photo op.

I doubled back North of the Grande Place, coming across the glass-roofed shopping corridors of the Galeries Royales St-Hubert, the Galerie du Roi and the Galerie de la Reine, their ceilings draped with winged fairies of the alternative sort. Belgian window displays, especially those for chocolate, are always so extravagant, and those of the galeries were no different. Farther to the North and East, I ended up just short of the Palais Royal, where a row of trees, flanked by a statue of Queen Elizabeth II, showed off the abundant fall foliage I d observed from the air in all of its splendor. Concluding life was too short, I snapped a few photos. The batteries didn t run out.

On the way back, I stopped at the grocery store one block north of the hotel for some water. Browsing the aisles, I was struck by the bizarre Belgian obsession with Bolognese sauce. There was Bolognese sauce in a can, Bolognese pizza, fresh Bolognese sauce in a tub. Bolognese has to be Brussels adopted Italian son. Once the idea took hold in my mind, I craved it. I even purchased a small can of it at the store, along with two 1.5 liter bottles of Evian for .99 EUR. Otherwise, the grocery store was fairly standard. The wine selection was extremely unimpressive. The variety and sophistication of ready-to-heat deli meals was, on the other hand, unsurpassed.

I ended up in a third floor room at the hotel, with two double beds. For a **** European hotel, the layout was truly extravagant. Key card entry to both the elevator and room, impressive three-speed auto digital climate control (that actually worked almost too well, even when you weren t in the room), beds with pillow-top mattresses, covered with seemingly down-stuffed duvees, a brilliant view from the balcony of the Bourse/Grand Place, high speed and wireless internet access, a television set with 55+ channels, pay-per-view movies and video games, 24 hr room service, a fabulous wet bar, safe, an unusually large amount of storage space, ironing board with iron (especially rare in Europe), bath robe, working toilet (even more rare in Europe), and the biggest shock of them all: a shower curtain larger than a postage stamp, which actually covered the length of the tub, a bathtub basin higher than 1 inch, a somewhat intuitive shower that only took 30 minutes to figure out, and a shower nozzle that amazingly stayed in place without super glue. This was the most outstanding European hotel experience ever.

Bushed, I sunk down into the plush pillow top and took a siesta, arising two hrs later and showering (European technology never ceases to impress), and not re-emerging from the hotel until around 6pm.

By now, it was dark outside but only slightly cooler. The Bourse was now bathed in blue light, dark barber-pole style stripes moving up and down its pillars. The Christmas Market had been invaded by wall-to-wall Europeans, with the occasional American accent detectable. Christmas lights illuminated the streets.

I was stunned upon entering the Grand Place. The towering Christmas tree towards the Maison des ducs de Brabant now glistened with alternating sparkling lights, revealing a nativity scene near its base, complete with live sheep. Throughout the plaza were translucent bubbles filled with smaller versions of the tree, each mirroring the similarly shaped, inflatable metallic balls of various sizes, inviting children to amuse themselves endlessly in their reflection. Symphony music filled the square, and a synchronized light show (the traditional son-et-lumiere) was beamed from the Maison du Roi onto the facade of the Hotel de Ville. A distinctly themed, animated 30-second sequence was devoted to each EU member, including the toreadors of Spain, ancient Greece, baroque Austria, and the bobbies of Britain. Accompanying musical selections ranged from Mozart to the Beatles to Louis Armstrong. The program culminated in a sequence in which beams of light followed the precise outline of minute details of the hall s facade, presenting various architectural elements in psychedelic colors and shining a spotlight on the spire baring the image of the arch-angel Michael. It was the first Sunday of the night event, and the square boasted a crowd of at least 6,000 people for its inauguration, all of whom erupted in thundering applause at the end of each iteration of the performance.

In hopes of saving cash but satisfying the hunger that had lingered since noon, I ended up on the narrow, cobbled, neon-lit row of eateries a couple of blocks north of the Grand Place. This stretch is essentially an open forum where overly boisterous restaurant owners attempt to reel in naïve tourists by selling them on the merits of the menu, only to mark up the prices once the pitch has succeeded. The amazing part isn t that the solicitors must know at least a dozen languages to be effective, but that they know which language to use without so much as a word from the potential consumer. Dinner was fairly good; the moules (mussels, arguably Brussels official dish) were so fresh, I noticed granules of sand in a few bites.

After returning to the hotel, I passed out from jet lag and pure exhaustion.

Lunch: Corner Super Market

1.5L Bottle of Evian

Dinner: Restaurant Au Coin de la Mer (18 EUR Menu)

Stawberry Aperitif

Parsely-Dusted Croquettes de Fromage, with Salad of Sprouts with Tomato and Lemon Juice

Freshly Caught Moules Mariniere

Pommes Frites a l americaine

Tiramusi

Monday 12/05/2005

Monday saw many a repeat visit to favorite points of interest from the previous day.

I spent the early dawn hours in and off the Grand Place, hitting a few unexplored alleys and discovering some new details in the square. The labor-inspired guild-houses lining the western side of the square (near the Bourse) were particularly unique, with interesting names like the Roy d Espagne, La Brouette (the wheelbarrow), and La Louve (she-wolf)

At daybreak, I wandered back to the Mannekin-Pis, where I happened upon a rare site: the ceremonial dressing of the tiny statue in one of his 750 special costumes, resurrected on special occasions. He had donned what appeared to be a jedi knight suit, similar to that worn by Luke Skywalker in Starwars. The spectacle was captured by local news channels and met with the flashes of many a bulb from tourists and journalists alike.

I ventured slightly farther north, reaching the famed 13^th Century Gothic Cathedrale Sts-Michel-et-Gudule by mid-morning. The exterior was ho-hum next to that of Notre Dame, lacking its elaborate statuary with rare exception, but the interior was a bit more interesting. The main altar, representing the banishment of Adam and Even from paradise, faced the side of the cathedral, with pews in front and on its sides, bordered by 12 intricate columns (each representing an apostle). A mass was going on in a corner towards the rear of the church, above which I noticed some of the most detailed stained glass work I d ever encountered. Beyond the columns lay nativity scenes from around Europe, one from each contributing EU member. The scenes ranged from lifesize to miniature, intricate to abstract. One even included running water. Outside on the church steps I took in a nice panorama of the city.

It turns out that no one in Brussels wakes up before 11AM on a Monday morning, which completely foiled my plans for a breakfast of Belgium waffles. McDonald s didn t even open until 8:30, for crying out loud. I was able to snag a breakfast there, managing the only use of French I deemed necessary throughout the trip.

On my waffle quest, I happened upon an old-fashioned biscuiterie called Dandoy, just south of the Grand Place. The shop bakes larger versions of the sort of spiced biscuits served commonly on airplanes (Biscoff wafers), like the hound seen here.

Once the EU Christmas Market booths re-opened around 11, I made a bee-line to a Belgian waffle stand, where I downed a gaufre topped with whipped cream in record time. Real Belgian waffles taste more like half-baked cookies, crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside, than American Belgian waffles. It was really quite good, but very different.

Lunch brought pasta in a box from the booth just outside the entrance to my hotel, adjacent to another booth selling escargots by the dozen. I drank my complimentary glass of vin chaud at the make-shift bar and was joined briefly by a terrified, disoriented American woman. We didn t speak. I allowed her to believe I was a terrorist; perhaps I was. The vin chaud tasted a bit like warmed apple cider, but slightly more bitter, with a shot of Captain Morgan s. Definitely a pleasant and relaxing contrast to the bitter cold. I grabbed the pasta in the box, returned to my room, and inhaled it. The pasta itself was rather unimpressive. I detected bits of dehydrated onion, a sure sign that a canned product had been introduced at some point. My home made turkey Bolognese is sooooo much better, I thought to myself.

After another customary afternoon nap, I emerged for a few fleeting hours of daylight, traversing the same streets as before.

My night was consumed with son-et-lumiere. Repeated performances from various angles. The spectacle was just was just as stunning as before, but there were much fewer people in the square this time around (than on an opening weekend night).

The Christmas spirit saturated so the Grand Place, and I was in such dire need of Christmas spirit, that I found it difficult to let go.

Dinner at the German booth consisted of a brat on a bun with hot mustard and cabbage. You just can t beat that combination. After proceeding South of the Grand Place and caressing the statue of the hero Everard t Serclaes, just under the arcade of L Etoile, for good luck, which is a Bruxellois tradition, I followed up dinner with a visit to the Waffle Factory (no, not the Waffle House), one of Brussels many waffle-making store fronts that sells waffles to street customers through a window.

The combination of hot, gooey caramel and quickly melting whipped cream was heavenly but sticky.

I trudged back to the hotel at around 11pm, napping until 1am, at which time I awoke and found it impossible to fall back asleep.

I watched Room Raiders Global on MTV Europe, which took place in Britain and was actually surprisingly entertaining. This was followed by several fascinating specials on Chinese Culture and the Mandarin language on BBC2. Desperate for shut-eye, I landed on an Arts channel devoted to sheep counting at around 4AM, which at first seemed rather obscene, but turned out innocuous, once I realized they were just playing leapfrog.

Devoid of energy and famished, I tore into a bag of American trail mix, purchased Saturday afternoon on E Concourse in Atlanta, at about 4:30AM. After consuming 1000 calories and guzzling down the last of the Evian, I showered and ironed my dress shirt for the flight home.

Breakfast: McDonald s, Rue A. Orts - Grand Place

Sausage & Cheese McMuffin

Hashbrown

Brunch: EU Christmas Market - Belgian Booth

Belgian Waffle with Whipped Cream

Lunch: EU Christmas Market - Pasta in a Box

Spiral Pasta with Bolognese Sauce, topped with Parmesan Cheese

Vin Chaud

Dinner: EU Christmas Market - German Booth

Bratwurst with Saur Kraut and Hot Mustard

Vin Chaud

Dessert: Waffle Factory

Belgian Waffle with Caramel and Whipped Cream

Tuesday 12/06/2005

After unsuccessfully scrutinizing the street opening for the pre-metro from my window for signs of life for over 30 minutes, I decided to bite the bullet and check out.

The pre-metro ticket machine wasn t functioning, so I went through without paying, ending up at Gare du nord. Deja vu.

Transfer to the Brussels Airport Express wasn t without the usual controversy of Le train part de quelle voie?, which Ive determined is nearly impossible to determine without some sort of innate psychic ability.

I arrived BRU at approx 7am.

The security procedure for US-bound flights is mind-blowing. Clearing customs is a breeze, but on the concourse there is an additional security checkpoint before reaching gates serviced by US airlines.

A very attractive Belgian lady (I didn t know they made those), who was clearly Flamande, unwrapped, poked, and prodded each item and every nook/cranny of my carry-on luggage, which was quite extensive and took about 20 minutes. A man then frisked me, wanded me, and required that I switch on each electronic device in my possession.

Breakfast

Planter s Trail Mix - Coated Chocolate and Nuts

BRU TO ATL (flt 125) - Seat 1E (aisle, middle column)

Lunch

Champagne - Heidsieck (Monopole Blue Top, France)

Assorted Warm Nuts

Rosemary Shrimp and a Grilled Scallop, accompanied by a Daikon and Sweet Pepper Slaw

Roasted Chicken and Vegetable Soup with Orzo

Wine: Red Ferngrove Shiraz (Western Australia)

Seared Turbot with Lobster Dill Sauce, accompanied by Lemon Basmati Rice and Asparagus

Fine Cheeses selected to perfectly complement one another in flavor and texture, offered with Grapes

Wine: Red Noval Late Vintage Port (Douro Valley, Portugal)