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Symbolic to the city of Brussels is a small statue of a little boy gleefully urinating. This emblem seemed fitting to us, since our experience of Brussels was somewhat off putting. Arriving at the central station on a Sunday afternoon. We discovered that there was nowhere we could buy a map from and that anywhere we might have asked directions from was closed. Undeterred, Dale found a hotel good enough to give him a map and we began the cross city trek towards our hostel in the 29 degree heat. The fierce cobblestones did their best to destroy the wheels of our bags, but we made it to our accommodation without incident.
All that trundling was thirsty work and we were both ready for our first Belgian beer by the time we had dumped our bags and freshened up. Imagining that in Belgian any bar you walk into would have an array of delectable beers served by the half litre and hearty Belgian bar snacks, we entered the first place we came across. It was an art deco place, cosy and comfortable, but quiet. (There were only two other customers when we entered). There were only two beers on tap (fortunately one of them was Hoegaarden) and when the barman brought over our drinks they were two of the smallest glasses of beer we have ever been served. Having glanced through the snacks menu and seen that all that was offered was a ham sandwich, a cheese sandwich, a ham and cheese sandwich, or an omelet, we decided not to linger.
Instead, we made our way to the big central square, surrounded by gorgeous ornate buildings which towered over the brass bands in the centre of the square that were playing jaunty folk tunes. Most of the grand buildings around us use to be trade halls, giving some idea of the city's former wealth and significance well before its status as unofficial capital of the European Union. We wandered by specialty stores selling chocolates, 250 varieties of Belgian beer, and waffles. The smell of the fresh waffles reminded us that we were ready for some dinner. Although there appeared to be restaurants everywhere, it was obvious at a glance that these were the typical tourist trap offering virtually identical menus to every other restaurant on the street with big photos of their meals plastered on signs out the front and special deals advertised in English "mussels and frites for 20 euro!" We ran the gauntlet of two or three streets lined with restaurants of this kind and restaurateurs trying to attract custom before realising that we could walk and walk and still not find anything better. So we chose one of the busier restaurants and sat at one of the outdoor tables. The French speaking waiter took an immediate dislike to me after I asked in English whether it was possible to have a half portion of the pasta (answer: a curt NO!) and huffed and puffed as I chose a salad instead. Grumbling he snatched the menus from us and stalked inside with our orders. Each time he returned to our table he would impatiently thrust things at us - drinks, cutlery, a bowl for Dale's mussel shells. I was cringing each time he returned, waiting for some new manifestation of his displeasure. We could not help but notice that in contrast to his treatment of our table, those around us were being treated a whole lot better! Dale's mussels in the shell were smaller than the mussels we get in New Zealand, but he had a half kilo of them to get through! They had been cooked with butter, celery and onions and tasted pretty good. We did not linger over our meals or stay for dessert but paid the bill (minus tip!) and beat a hasty retreat.
Our waffle experience was more positive - a hot, crispy waffle piled with strawberries, cream and dark chocolate sauce. We ordered it to take away and stood in the brightly lit main square which was still a hive of activity, the brass bands now playing modern classics like 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. Unfortunately not everyone was having a good time - we witnessed a punch up between a couple of Belgian youths, a temper tantrum by a small Indian girl (boy could she scream! ) and hawkers and beggars were never far away. Returning to our hostel we noticed a lot of rubbish in the streets, seedy looking adult video stores, and we kept catching a strong smell of urine!
The following day we did a bit of window shopping. With so many chocolate shops, we could not leave Brussels without sampling some of these Belgian specialties. We visited one of the Godiva shops and chose two chocolates each - Aztec dark chocolate, creme brûlée, pistachio creme fraiche, and classic chocolate truffle - at around a euro each it was not a cheap treat, but they were absolutely gorgeous! Food generally seemed to be quite expensive - though maybe we were just in a more touristy area of the city. Even a simple toasted sandwich which at a cafe in New Zealand might cost up to $8, cost 8 euros in Brussels.
When we came to leave Brussels it was cold and wet. Having had such a mixed experience of the city we weren't sorry to be leaving!
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