OT Brussels, Saturday
Rik Shepherd
We get up earlier, even though the alarm on the phone is set the same as
Friday, and go to Pain Quod for breakfast. This time, I have brioche instead
of ancient baguette. This does not stop the same small child starting at me.
We buy a couple of jars of blandice on the way out, as some of us do.
Carol has a firm belief that C&A, which doesn't exist in the UK anymore,
will be able to sell her a pleasing cardigan, so we go there and, after a
bit, do actually find one. Hurrah!
We walk through the Place de Martyrs, noting that they've started repairing
and cleaning the monument since we saw it last, to the Comic Strip centre
and its shop. It's a bit painful at first, as there are several flocks of
children circling in an aisle-cramming manner, but we end up with a
collection of TinTin stationary, a T-shirt, and a Blake and Mortimer
hardback (you know, when people write a comic strip in French, they use an
awful lot of words). We decide against the lifesize Snowy dogs, or any of
the many resin or plastic models of comic strip characters.
As it's lunch time, and we know that the food at the CBBD is good, we trot
across the way to the comic strip restaurant, where Carol has potage and
plat du jour (carrot soup and something like cottage pie), and I have cheese
croquettes. Then we follow up with pancakes - with sugar for Carol, and a
Mikado (vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce) for me.
Fortified, but carrying more than we'd perhaps like to, we decide to return
to the hotel lighten our load. Unloading everything we've bought, we spring
into the Metro, go two stops up tp the Central Station. We walk along the
street above the actual station, until we find the Gallerie Ravenstein. This
is a slightly odd place, which we enter only because there's a small shop
which sells Mentos not-mints (Carol is on an ultimately unsuccessful quest
to buy Mentos liquorice flavour mints) and the wrong sort of cigarettes.
Then we notice the gallery, or rather the gallerie. In Britain, we'd call
this an arcade, probably. It's obviously been impressive at some point, and
it'll be impressive again when the people working on it finish it, but at
the moment it's slightly disturbing, in the way that rows of empty shops
usually are. We walk up a straight row of shops, noting some concrete
plinths which appear to be connected to some past 'horse parade' - one still
has a hoof attached. Then there's a bit of a stopper - an enormous, circular
area, with a space which obviously used to be a fountain, and with steps
spiralling around the outside walls, taking walkers up to the next street.
Both the circular area and the passage area have wonderful ceilings of small
glass tiles. Workmen's barriers stop you going further up inside the
gallery.
From the Ravenstein we walk up past the lower reaches of the BoZar building,
climb the steep slope, and go into the Musuical Instruments Museum. We went
round this properly last time, but the shop was shut; this time we just do a
little shopping. Couple of CDs of traditional Belgian music, and a pair of
wooden jigsaws (one a Wentworth, hurrah!)
That done, we're out on the Place Royale. In a vague manner, we're looking
for the Pensionnat Heger, where whichever of the Brontes that were allowed
out of Howarth went as a teacher and either became involved with M. Heger,
or didn't, because Thal said in May she'd like to know what it looked like.
We know approximately where it should be from internet searches*, so we
scamper along to the Baron Horta steps, and walk down them. This also takes
us to the Cinema Museum. This has a locked door with a sign claiming it's
open, which is rather annoying, as we'd wanted to go there.
Foiled by the doors of the Cinema Museum, we go into the BoZar (this is the
user-friendly snappy name of the Musee de Beaux Arts). As part of the clutch
of Russian exhibitions (which is why there's the Tran-Siberia thing at the
Jubelpark) they have an exhibition of Russian Avant-Garde Art, which has
attracted Carol by the Rasputin like peasant on the adverts, so we buy
tickets, share an audio guide between us, and study the avant garde of
Russian art. Apparently, your actual avant-garde started sometime around the
turn of the century, couldn't quite decide if it was Cubist, Futurist,
Futuro-Cubist, Cubo-Futurist, or Stupid-Random-Shapist**. It wasn't until
Stalin noticed them that they realised they were either Socialist Realist,
or in Siberia (though one artist did get sent to a labour camp, was freed,
and thereafter painted peasnats without faces, which may or may not have
brought Stalin down. Not, obviously). As you'd expect, it's a bit of a mixed
bag of work, because there's a varying cast of artists, but, generally
speaking the earlier work is more realistic, even if the content is a little
fantastic. And, ever so slightly obsessed with that archetypical Russian
figure, the matador. Yes. And peasants, too. They're big on peasants. Then
they get caught up by the speed above all urban ethos of the Futurists,
which means they tend to drop the peasants rather. There's a whole room full
of rather awful abstracts, and a room full of buildings that would have been
interesting, and a room with recreations of bizarre costumes for
revolutionary theatres. And a strange sci-fi film which looks very like
Flash Gordon on vodka, and seems to be heavy on spacemen teaching alien
princesses Kirk-style human loving (okay, I didn't watch the whole thing,
and I accept I may have seen an unrepresentative 5 minutes. But what I saw
was all snogging and explosions). There's also a section of Soviet posters
and paintings, which are of course more familiar in style, with titles a bit
like 'Female Delegates at the Voronezh Congress' and 'Moscow Tram Conductors
Strive To Achieve Their Targets A Year Ahead Of Plan'. Overall, an
interesting combination of things we'd take home, thins we'd leave, and
things we'd paint over. In the shop afterwards Carol is so affected by the
poster for the exhibition that she buys a copy, and is a little nonplussed
to be asked if she wants the French or Dutch version.
The BoZar closes which forces us out into the dark. We decide we're going to
eat in the hotel room, and that we'll pick up some frites on the way.
Obviously, we find ourselves in the Grand Place. We have a quick look at
their manger, which is in a fairly large stable, and includes real sheep.
While we're there the light show starts again, and this time we get to see
the whole thing. Basically, they project a series of images onto the Hotel
de Ville, with a loudish sound track, representing most of the founding EU
countries. We get a cockerel, the Effiel Tower and a romantic (clothed)
couple for France, some carved heads and some ruins for Greece, a whole
gallery of art and David's for Italy, and a bust of Beethoven for Germany.
For Britain we have Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge, some guardsmen, and a
pair of giant platform shoes, accompanied by 'All You Need Is Love'. Yes.
Each nation also has a Santa and sleigh flying over them. There's also a
pink elephant and a pair of penguins. The end is rather magical, and, where
everything else has got happy laughter from the crowds, gets oohs and,
indeed ahhs. The Hotel de Ville has an ornate Gothic facade, full of little
pointy arched windows and pointy arches and such. In silence, starting from
the bottom left of the building, all these arches and balconies are 'drawn'
with a white light, so that we end with a sort of reversed etch-a-sketch
drawing of a building. Then they colour the whole building in red, blue and
yellow, and scribble Merry Christmas in numerous languages.
The light show ended, we leave the Grand Place. As we progress towards our
hotel, we realise a majorish problem: everyone else is going the same
direction, only more slowly, randomly, and deeply annoyingly. It hadn't
occured to us that other people might be looking at the numerous stalls as
well as us***. Despite this, we're able to purchase a large bag of a strange
conicla traditional jelly sweet, and, after queuing for hours or less, a
cone of hot frites each from the wagon in the Place Ste Catherine. We take
the long but empty of people way around to the hotel, avoiding the seething
mass of people on the Fish Market, scamper up to the room and spend the rest
of the evening eating frites, chocolate, sweets and beer while watching Mr
Brosnan saving the world in an unconvincing manner.
* Sadly, all these searches involve the description in Gaskell's 'Life of
Charlotte Bronte', which, being written in 1857, completely and utterly
fails to mention the construction of the Gallerie Ravenstein and the Gare
Centrale, which involved the removal of half of the Rue d'Isabelle and the
demolition of the Pensionat Heger. This may possibly explain our failure to
find the place.
** This may not be the real term for the discovery that you can get away
with painting three muddy reddish lines and a blue circle on a white canvas
and having people pay fistfuls of roubles for it.
*** This is slightly akin to the time that we only realised it was a Bank
Holiday when we got to Whitby. Which did explain the crowding on the train.
D 2@nospamthankyou.com R2D2
the 90s.
A two sided sword.
The Brussels you describe is the one I frequented when I had cause to go
there... Luckily you missed out the experience of a debit card stolen at
the point of cash withdrawal. A friend of mine almost missed new year, as
she was giving a statement to the one fingered typing police officer at
the time... It took so long we feared she'd been abducted at the ATM. We
didn't even know where she was at the time. Luckily she joined us for new
year in the bar that had coffins for tables and had perviously been an
undertakers... Is that still there? (Just off the Grand Place.)
So good though, to hear that it has not changed in any siginificant way.
Makes me want to visit again!
As for "feeding", I always found the beef had a strange taste, even in an
Indonesian Restaurant, where the spices may have outdone the meat
flavours. I'm not saying for one minute that I suspected they fed me
horse meat, but I do wonder what the Belgian cattle is fed! Still do to
this day!
D 2@nospamthankyou.com R2D2
female. It's history in the making. It's unspoilt, undeveloped,
unhindered in bringing the past to life, as time has stood stil, almost.
(You can still get chips on every corner...)
I find it amazing that other places in Europe bring home the history of
Europe more so than the UK. Brussels is one of those places. I have stood
on the cobble stones of the Grand-Place in Brussels (at the time of Jazz
Festival, in my case) and looked around, and imagined what a Nazi invasion
might have sounded like, what it might have been. The "then" is preserved.
And what an experience!
C&A was still there when I went there in the 90s. Chip and PIN was there
too. The Belgians were way ahead of us in the UK, and with far better and
far more secure PIN entry points.
And I could sit with my friend and ponder about life with a glass of
Hoogaarten in my hand.
That was the best thing, pondering life over a very cloudy beer.
I have a soft spot for Brussels, since. It's a great place to be. When I
can, I will go back. And that's not for C&A or the chocolate. It's for
Brussels as is.
Thank you Rik, for remnding me afer such a long time, Brussels is a good
weekend, at the very least.
de_zon...@lycos.com
R2D2 wrote:
> PS, I love the Grand-Place, always did; flat shoes necessary if you're
> female. It's history in the making. It's unspoilt, undeveloped,
> unhindered in bringing the past to life, as time has stood stil, almost.
> (You can still get chips on every corner...)
>
> I find it amazing that other places in Europe bring home the history of
> Europe more so than the UK. Brussels is one of those places. I have stood
> on the cobble stones of the Grand-Place in Brussels (at the time of Jazz
> Festival, in my case) and looked around, and imagined what a Nazi invasion
> might have sounded like, what it might have been. The "then" is preserved.
> And what an experience!
Sorry to butt in like this, I'm just passing by.
Anyway, You should try Brugge/Bruges and Gent/Ghent (amongst others) if
you like Old Brussels.
http://photos.bartvo.com/gallery/belgian
>
> C&A was still there when I went there in the 90s. Chip and PIN was there
> too. The Belgians were way ahead of us in the UK, and with far better and
> far more secure PIN entry points.
>
> And I could sit with my friend and ponder about life with a glass of
> Hoogaarten in my hand.
Hoegaarden, but close enough.
Hurricane7
R2D2 about pondering life with a Hoegaarden or a Leffe or any other Belgian
beer. As for the
Mentos, I can sympathize I have never seen the licorice but have tasted the
sour green apple, grapefruit and the cinnamon which I sadly can only get in
the US.
Patricia
[to email remove the knot]
"R2D2" <R D 2...@nospamthankyou.com> wrote in message >
Rik Shepherd
> Rik you have done it again...I do so love your travelogues and I agree
with
> R2D2 about pondering life with a Hoegaarden or a Leffe or any other
Belgian
> beer.
Thanks, Patricia. The Leffe Brune works best for me, I think.
> As for the
> Mentos, I can sympathize I have never seen the licorice but have tasted
the
> sour green apple, grapefruit and the cinnamon which I sadly can only get
in
> the US.
They make cimmamon Mentos ? And I wasn't informed ? So now I have to go
back to the US ?
Jenni
RikSh...@orangemonkeySCAMPER.fsnet.co.uk wrote on 12/26/05 2:09 PM:
Note to self: look for cinnamon Mentos @ store tomorrow. If I find them,
I'll gladly send them along to you and Patricia.
Oh, and BTW - do we get Mr. Monkey in Brussels photos?
--
Jenni :-)
"Bart, do you want to play John Wilkes Booth, or do you want to act like
a maniac?"
-- The Simpsons
Hurricane7
great.
Patricia
[to email remove the knot]
"Jenni" <Jenn...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:BFD5D756.8B94%Jenn...@hotmail.com...
Rik Shepherd
> Note to self: look for cinnamon Mentos @ store tomorrow. If I find them,
> I'll gladly send them along to you and Patricia.
That'd be brilliant, Jenni!
> Oh, and BTW - do we get Mr. Monkey in Brussels photos?
Even now, trained staff are selecting the best ones. Of course, they're
also writing captions for the Stockholm pictures :o)