Flexing our Brussels
We arose on the outskirts of the Belgian capital in fine spirits given the remarkably clear blue sky that greeted us, a novelty for the trip thus far, and in great anticipation for a city neither of us had set foot in before. Home to icons Hercule Poirot and Jean-Claude Van Damme, we were extremely keen to see why Brussels was so highly recommended to us by friends and family alike (except for the Brexiteers) and began our tour in earnest at an icon of its own: the Atomium.
A landmark modernist construction built for the hosting of the World Expo, as most wildly pointless and great buildings were, it remains one of Belgium’s tallest and certainly most recognizable landmarks. Although, that probably says more about the lack of Belgian landmarks than it does about the Atomium’s splendour. Without attempting to sound too much like a spoilt privileged old fart, otherwise known as a Farage, its nine steel-clad balls are interesting for an underwhelmingly short period of time. Built to represent an iron crystal cell magnified approximately one hundred and sixty-five billion times, it is possible to visit six of the balls through a series of enclosed stairs and an elevator. However, upon discovering that it would be cheaper to buy my own iron crystal cell magnified one hundred and sixty-five billion times, we swiftly turned down the opportunity.
A lengthy tram ride later and one is released into the centre of an extremely busy glazed shopping arcade comprising several boutique delicatessens and designer handbag stores that, together, made Swansea’s Quadrant look like the dark pits of hell, which is a fairly accurate representation. A short stroll away from the Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert, and far more invitingly, lies Brussels’ higgledy-piggledy old town which is a thriving hub of traditional pubs and grand architecture with the slightly claustrophobic Grand-Place square at its heart. If a Starbucks façade clad in gold leaf is your thing, then here is the place for you. However, given the whole plaza was covered in metal crowd control barriers that were in the process of being dismantled by an army of sweaty construction workers, wait until the festival season is over.
Nestled in a peculiar cul-de-sac nearby sits a collection of eight unique bars that form the world-renowned Delirium Village. This, as you can imagine, was somewhere I was incredibly keen to visit. Known for its record-breaking beer selection, at two thousand and four different brands at the time of writing, I was fully prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening propped up on a stool sampling as many of their delights as was humanly possible. Unfortunately, the rowdiest, loudest, and clumsiest of all stag groups decided to spread themselves around all eight bars ensuring the impossibility of any peaceful slurping. Upon catching sight of another party about to stumble through the main doors we made a quick escape, to return at a later time.
The Manneken Pis, which translates wonderfully as the ‘Little Pissing Man’, is second only to the Atomium in the Belgian fame stakes and in no way did he disappoint. This snappily dressed chap has over a thousand costumes in his wardrobe, which even has its own museum, and his unique charm and charisma certainly belies his petite fifty-five-centimetre stature. We observed him in all his glory from the bicycle-themed bar opposite before the whole street corner was closed off for a special visit by some United Stater indie band that I’d never heard of. They were greeted by the mayor and subjected to large surges of water from the statue’s penis which, I gathered later, is the highest of all Belgian honours. It also happens to be the highest of honours on a Friday night in Wind Street.
With our time in Brussels, and Belgium as a whole, coming to an end there were just enough hours to stop off in the city of Liège before making our exit. Capital of the southern Wallonia region, locals are very quick to inform you of their distinct culture and heritage. So much so that many would fully embrace detaching themselves from the more northerly region of Flanders and becoming a wholly independent nation. While the city itself is not as architecturally rich as the capital or as welcoming as Bruges, it was interesting to sample a taste of its unique customs and language (which seemed to change dramatically depending on who you talked to). Following an entertaining, and blurry, week in Belgium, we returned to the road with a new and thrilling micronation in our sights.
J
