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Belgium: famous for chocolate, waffles and beer - what's not to love? We were checked in to our Brussels hotel by a very stiff and stern looking man, who we fortunately knew to greet in French thanks to the tip off from a Belgian roommate in Dublin. Not that I'm able to speak a word of Dutch anyway - that has to be by far the most complicated looking and sounding language I've ever come across. Although the capital city is full of Dutch signage, apparently most of the Dutch peeps are not local to Brussels - they commute from other parts of Belgium for work, leaving the city and it's French speaking locals behind at the end of the day.
Despite this attempt to be linguistically considerate, the receptionist didn't particularly warm to us (or anyone, really) and within our first two hours he was already scolding us for breaking rules we had no way of knowing about. I swear he was making them up as we went along.
Never mind, it was nice to be in a three star hotel (luxury!) for a few nights, although we still found it hard to shake the habit of checking the bed for bed bugs and wearing thongs in the shower.
Belgian roomate tipoff number two was a cracker. We head into town to check out the Delirium cafe, which is a small alley filled with different bars under single ownership which serve literally thousands of varieties of beer. Belgian beer is delicious, but be warned it also packs a punch. One or two were the normal 5% or so, the rest were generally between 8 and 10.5%. Whoaaa! Across the two nights that we visited (we returned again when Ben and Gem arrived in town the next evening), we saw quite a few wasted tourists sprawled across the tables and the gutters after downing pint after pint as though it were Cascade Light. Especially the girls. Oh, girls. Projectile vomiting in the middle of the bar, or being dragged out comatose with your skirt around your ears...not a good look!
Late in the evening we wandered past the gang of prostitutes gathered on the corner, and arrived back at the hotel to be greeted by a much friendlier face than at check in. The night receptionist was the total opposite of the day time receptionist, happily drinking and chatting with the guests, grinning a contagious smile and having a laugh. He holds out his arms and escorts Gem and I to the elevator, cheekily joking that he can escort us all the way to our room if we like, while wiggling his eyebrows at the boys. He's good fun.
On our first morning we checked out the pretty main square, sampled some Belgian chocolates and viewed the famous 'manekin pis' - a fountain of a young boy peeing. On the way we walked past all the souvenir shops and chocolatiers displaying giant replicas of the statue, but when we came to the crowd of tourists we were amused to find not a large statue in the middle of a square, but a tiiiiiiiiiny little brass ornament tucked into a corner. Huh.
Gem and I spent almost a full afternoon doing some guilt free shopping without the boys hovering at the front of the shop waiting impatiently for us. Nice to have a bit of normality!
As lovely as Brussels is, it is a town about 20 minutes away called Boom that really drew us here...or more specifically, a little (read: epically huge) music festival called Tomorrowland.
This 3 day fairytale themed festival drew a sold out crowd of 180 000 to a line up of more than 400 DJs across 15 stages - just massive. It was incredibly well organised with the option of camping in 'Dreamville', clean facilities (even free deodorant, hair gel/spray etc at the toilets), free rides (thanks, sponsors), cheap drinks and food, lots of comfortable chill out zones and amazing stage designs - not to mention the incredibly high quality sound systems thumping out amazing sets. With only a little rain in the afternoon, we danced the day and night away.
Getting home - not so well organised. After missing multiple shuttle buses (staff told us they were not the right bus for the train station, but turns out they were), we consequently missed the last train, and found ourselves standing in a random dark street trying to convince taxi drivers to take us home to Brussels. One driver literally planted his foot the minute we said Brussels, just about running over our toes. Sheesh! Eventually we teamed up with some Spaniards and got a maxi together...which ended up saving us a lot of money despite the two dodgy dudes that practically tried to do a runner. Turned out the other two didn't know them, but had gathered that they'd stolen armbands to get into the festival - not such trustworthy guys.
Had a nice long sleep in the following day. We originally had planned on heading to Bruges for a day but realised we would be too rushed, not to mention hungover...not a good combination. Again, it remains on the wish list. Pretty bummed about this one but if all goes to plan we will be back for Tomorrowland 2013!
I conclude this entry with the story of the Belgian waffle fiasco. I will begin by presenting to you three facts, which are in no way biased toward the author. Fact 1: it is unacceptable and indeed, some would say insane to go all the way to Belgium and not eat a Belgian waffle. Fact 2: men (read:Mark) are unreasonably obsessed with watching fast cars drive a million laps of the one track while listening to nonsensical technical commentary. Fact 3: spending 24/7 with any one person, love of life or otherwise, is bound to now and then cause completely ridiculous arguments.
So, we found ourselves faced with a dilemma. It was 10:30am and the train to Amsterdam left every quarter past the hour. For the last 3 days in Belgium, I had been lusting after waffles but the timing had never been right. It was now or never. Mark is hellbent on making the 11:15, in an attempt to reach Amsterdam in time to watch the F1. We walk to the station via the closest shopping street, which is usually lined with waffle stands, but this morning the shops are shuttered and empty. It's apparently too early for waffles.
Mark: "oh well, guess you'll just have to get one in Amsterdam. Let's go."
Me: "ahhh pretty sure I didn't dream and save for years to come all the way to Belgium to eat a Dutch waffle. Guess we'll just have to catch a later train."
We have a short but melodramatic standoff until finally it's decided that we will leave the bags with the boys while Gem and I speedwalk down the street on a waffle quest. We find one and although the experience is a little spoiled by having to eat it while speed walking back up the street with cream dribbling down our chins and Nutella all over our hands - it is still the most remarkable waffle IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I graciously save Mark a bite (like I said, a totally unbiased account).
We miss the train. We miss the F1. After muttering under his breath "well you got your way as usual", Mark gives me the silent treatment for hours.
We are loved up again by the evening, but the waffle argument hovers over us to this day as an unspeakable, "agree to disagree but I'm totally right" kind of issue.
So I leave you with an important question. No pussyfooting/diplomacy allowed. An honest and decisive answer, please.
Am I right or am I right?
;-)
- comments
Pambo HAHAHA! Love it! And of course you are right :) You can see cars driving around a racetrack any where in the world, but an authentic Belgium Waffle can only be found in Belgium! I daresay this will now haunt you and become a tale to be told to your grandchildren, but on the plus side, it sounds like it was a waffle well worth it! I will get back onto my regular emails now and give you a little update on the going on's in Brisbane. Lots of love to both you and Gem! Missing you ladies like crazy! xxx