Homesick in Brussels

While hiding from the rain in Amsterdam I made my plans to go somewhere else, somewhere a bit more grown-up than Amsterdam. Looking at my faithful Google Maps I felt I had the answer — Brussels! What could be more grown-up than Belgium and the home of lots of important European Union stuff? I booked a hostel room and a bus and started to look forward to Brussels.

It was only a short bus ride, just over three hours but what a difference! This is one of the things I’m learning about European travel; you really don’t have to travel far before everything’s very different.

I hadn’t quite prepared myself for the language situation. The official languages are French, German and Dutch and which language is the primary one depends where in Belgium you are. In Brussels French is the official primary language, so theoretically I’d know more of the language here than anywhere else I’d been yet.

There is something about the French language that for me feels more foreign than any other language. I don’t know what it is — so far on this trip I’ve heard Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Dutch and German — but there’s something about being bid “bon soir” that tells me I’m definitely Away. Not in a bad or alarming way, it’s just something about the French language.

What was alarming though was when we arrived at Gare du Nord the bus driver advised us very Gallicly (ie, if it did happen he wouldn’t care in the least) to “watch out for our luggage as there are muggings around here”. Of course, I took this to mean I would be mugged instantly so went to massive paranoia mode. That Japanese girl with the Hello Kitty backpack who couldn’t have weighed 9 stone? Obviously the bag contained many different weapons and she would mug me given half an opportunity.

Keeping one eye on her I scooped up my bag in double-quick time and sped into the safety of the station building. After yet more massive confusion with the ticket machines — honestly, why use a dial you’re supposed to twist to navigate vertical menu selection— I managed to get a metro ticket to take me to my hostel. I had a choice of 2 trains, one of which was bound for “Churchill” and, taking this to be an omen (Churchill wouldn’t let a British citizen be harmed, surely?), hopped on.

I didn’t feel unsafe, as such, but I did feel a bit “watched”, both on the metro and when I got off. I was staying in the (appropriately enough) Stalingrad area which isn’t the nicest of places. A few days after I’d booked I learned about the riots and whether it was because of that or plain old vandalism there were a lot of boarded up windows.

In many ways it was a shame, because my hostel was one of the nicer ones I’ve stayed in. I had a 4 person room with no allocated beds and as I was there first I got to pick — finally, a bottom bunk! It was all really quite new and fancy, and finished in a pleasingly sombre and gloomy style.

My room mates for this stop were a suspiciously young Spanish couple (I assumed they were eloping but why you’d elope to Brussels God knows) and a Mexican guy. They were all lovely, with their own little habits that made me feel a bit like I was in a terrible sitcom. The Mexican would keep using all the hot water for the shower in the morning, the Spanish lady would whisper “Alessandro! ALESSANDRO!” very loudly in the morning when her alarm went off. It felt like a really funny situation to be in.

Another positive about my hostel was that it was only a kilometer or so from La Grand Place. I hadn’t planned on going there when I did, I seemed to stumble upon it by chance and I’m glad I did, for it really is a grand place (thanks, I’m here all week). The guildhouses themselves are amazing too, it’s all so massive.

The atmosphere around La Grand Place and the surrounding streets was much different too. It felt like a nice place to be, with lots of chocolate shops and beer shops and loads of restaurants. I wandered around for a bit, not doing particularly much apart from stopping now and then to try some of the delicious chocolate.

I tried to find a nice park to walk around but I couldn’t seem to find one, it didn’t seem a particularly green place. Coffee has become a must for me and I found it very difficult to find somewhere to get any before 10 in the morning, everywhere just looked closed which surprised me, I’d had visions of nice cafes spilling on to the pavement where you could go all the time.

Credit where it’s due though, whenever I did find somewhere that was open you’d get a little chocolate or three with your coffee which I liked a lot. Other places take note! It can’t be expensive to do and makes such a difference.

I started feeling a bit homesick in Brussels. One of the “things to do” on TripAdvisor was an English bookshop (literally a Waterstones) which initially I scoffed at but after looking at some of the other offerings it didn’t sound half bad. They had a “taste of home” section with things like HP Sauce, Marmite and shortbread. I bought a Chocolate Orange and a bottle of Lucozade to remind me of home.

I’m not sure if it was an enduring sense of ennui from Amsterdam or just changing countries that brought it on. It’s always difficult initially when you change countries, you don’t know what signs indicate supermarkets for example. To my eye, the Hunkemoller sign (if you’re not aware, this is a lingerie shop) looks like it’s for a restaurant and keep nearly veering into one.

A word of warning too — don’t try going into supermarkets if you’re not sure you’re going to buy anything. Time and time again I’ve wandered in, idly thinking I might buy a box of cereal bars, find they don’t have any and then find out to use the exit you have to scan a receipt of your purchase or you can’t get out without going through the checkout lines. This constantly results in me buying things I don’t really want. Lidl, I’m looking at you this time.

The hostel also had cats in its communal area which is another good thing to do. I usually write these entries in the communal area late in the afternoon, before I’ve gone looking for food and after I’ve done my days activities and as I was writing my Amsterdam entry a friendly ginger cat jumped onto the seat opposite. Before I could take a photo he stalked over and plonked himself down on my lap and stayed there which cheered me up no end.

No-one really seemed interested in conversation. The communal area felt like a doctors waiting room, just very quiet. Everyone was talking in French in town so I found it really hard to mingle. I trekked out to Gare Midi to check where my outward connection was leaving and make sure I knew the way OK — this not being a place to get lost and have to check Google Maps on my phone — and felt even more unsafe there. Thank Christ I wouldn’t have to do it at night.

The museums all seemed really uninspiring, difficult to get to or mentioned in reviews that there wasn’t much English text. I was pleased to leave and will not be darkening the doorway of Brussels again, unless the Belgians decide to offer me a 5 star, all-expenses paid trip (and even then I’ll be engaging my own security services).

Written on November 19th, 2017 by David Seddon