Britain has caught a cold. Apparently the worst one in 18 years and all that snow threw traffic (on the roads and in the air) out of gear. So at Edinburgh airport, waiting for a flight to Brussels, I could do nothing but watch as the Departure Board kept on changing its mind every few minutes – thankfully my flight avoided being 'delayed' or 'cancelled' and I was on the flight almost in time (15-30 minutes late is what I have come to expect as standard here).
As we walked towards the aircraft, our minders kept on pointing 'there'. 'Where?' was the question that came to our mind - the plane was the smallest i've seen in a while (an Embraer 145, if you really want to know). Obviously, we all couldn't hide our are-you-sure-this'll-fly? looks and that worry was compounded when I could see no one on the plane apart from the pilot – where would the air-hostesses fit? I started picturing the pilot, in mid-flight, turning on the auto-pilot, and then wheeling the food / drinks trolley. But thankfully that was not the case. The pilot, however, did not make matters better for us when he ended his welcome message with 'We are here for your comfort but primarily your security.' The italics and the bold cannot reiterate the emphasis he placed on that word. I astutely never took off my seat belt.
At Brussels, the hotel I was staying in was run by an old lady straight out Great Expectations (I'm talking Miss Havisham and not Estella). When I checked in, she mentioned the long list of rules - 'Lock the door here, don't forget to switch off that light. Don't touch this button etc'. Then at the end of those extremely-painful fifteen minutes she asked me 'Do you have a girlfriend here?' Not knowing where this was heading, I violently nodded my head in the negative. She click-clicked and then said, '...because if you bring girlfriend to room, you pay extra'.
The room (where I did not take my 'girlfriend') seemed to be smaller than what it actually was – it was crammed with artefacts and knick-knacks – think B&W pictures, lace curtains, potted plants, old crockery, dolls, and grandfather clocks. Breakfast was on a large table where all the guests sat together and ate (straight out of an Agatha Christie plot) and Miss Havisham would have a CD playing Mozart or Strauss to complete the ambience. The second morning there, when I confessed that I was not too impressed with the overall architecture of Brussels, a French couple on the table delivered a long monologue on the differences between the Flemish and French ways of preserving architectural integrity of a city. You can imagine who enjoyable the breakfast was.
As with most European cities, Brussel's geographic and tourist nerve centre is a large square, Grand' Place (Grote Markt), which is quite stunning with its banners and gilded facades and heavily-ornamented buildings that look even more imposing by night. Most of the buildings on this square belonged to different guilds: tailors, butchers, bakers....and many of them are now museums that showcase (oh what a terrible word) the history of that particular guild. I, of course, headed straight for the brewer's museum which was a total rip-off. For 6 Euros all one got was a long documentary film on the history of Belgian Beers - of which there are over 400 hundred varieties – probably more than the number of towns and cities of this pint-sized country (bad pun). Anyways, the only saving grace of this tour was that we were given a 'free' glass of beer at the end of our extremely edifying 'tour'.
At the bar of this 'Brewer's Museum', I noticed a policeman who was guzzling down the pints despite seemingly being on duty. A few words about the men/women in uniform in Belgium - they (like in the UK) roam around in pairs and, unlike their counterparts in Her Majesty's Great Britain, carry extremely intimidating-looking weaponry. However, a uniform and a gun seemed so inappropriate for this particular policeman - he was one of those friendly, jovial, rotund types. On seeing me, he came over to my table, plonked himself, and started shooting – all sorts of questions, that is. 'Where are you from?' 'What do you do?' 'Is Delhi very hot?' 'I always wanted to visit India'. So now if any one of you ever fall foul of the law in Belgium let me know – I have connections there
Many buildings around the Grand' Place also had some literary association – Victor Hugo stayed in one of them, while Rimbaud was attacked by Verlaine in another, and in a third Karl Marx had penned bits ofThe Communist Manifesto (which now seems to be fast-becoming the Bible of 'capitalist' bankers of America).
I also visited the Fine Arts Museum – which has an impressive 'ancient art' collection (17-18th century) with a number of stunning works by Magritte, Brueghel, and Rubens. The most famous work here is Jacques-David's 'The Death of Marat'. The Museum also has a 'Modern Art' section spread over 8 underground levels. They start with the 19th century (Van Gogh, Gauguin, Seurat) and as one went lower and lower into the next level (literally), the art became more and more modern, and in my opinion, increasingly ridiculous (the metaphor of plumbing the depths of art did not escape me).
The other Museum I enjoyed was the 'Museum for Belgian Comics'. I didn't recognise most of the displays there – there were sections on each comic / creator. But of course, I knew Tintin. And Haddock. And Snowy. And Calculus...yes, I can go on....I enjoyed reading some of the history behind the boy detective (though I'm still angry with Spielberg for trying to make a movie out of Tintin). For those interested, the official Tintin Museum is coming up in June'09 (a reason to revisit!)
The mother of all landmarks in Brussels, of course, is that of the little boy peeing into a fountain – the Manneken Pis – He is regularly dressed up in different costumes – I saw him being clad in a very cute dentist's uniform. This was accompanied by a lot of fan fare and, naturally, beer drinking. What else do you do with over 400 varieties?
Like any other European city, Brussels has the usual shopping street etc. but it is also home to Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert which was built in the 1840s and is, apparently, one of Europe's first shopping malls (I've heard that for almost every mall I visit in continental Europe, so I don't believe it any more). From the middle of this gallery comes the Belgian version of food street Рa street packed (an understatement) with restaurants. This area, Ilot Sacr̩ is often called the 'stomach of Brussels' and its narrow cobbled alleys with their al fresco dining bars would attract the gastronome. But not me Рas the restaurants mostly specialised in meats and sea-food (the smell of which, I must admit, doesn't do much for my appetite). I more than made up with my consumption of frites (fries), waffles, and beer. I usually lose weight when I'm travelling, but this time I'm sure I added a few pounds (if not kilos).
From Brussels one can make a day-trip out of a visit to Bruges which is about an hour away by Train. Bruges, or if one goes by its Dutch name, Brugge, was made popular with last year's film 'In Bruges' (with Colin Farell). It is one of those towns where the words 'Industrial Revolution' and 'Automobile' never reached. Supposedly one of the best-preserved medieval towns in Europe (here we go again!), it is also called 'Venice of the North' for obvious reasons. Walking over one bridge after another, you actually feels as if you're in the 14th or 15th century (if you somehow manage to ignore the tacky souvenir/lace/chocolate shops and pretend the camera-toting tourists are invisible). The only blot on the city (tourists apart, that is) is the modern-looking Concert House which is as incongruous as the Parliament Building in Edinburgh.
As I walked from the train station towards the centre of town – I wondered where all the people were – the narrow winding alleys and streets (naturally cobbled) were all empty – no people, no cars. I had travelled back in time. One could hear the occasional clip-clop of a horse-driven carriage but as I approached town, I could see people using another mode of transportation – cycles. Bruges is a very car-unfriendly and, consequently, most people use bicycles to commute to wherever it is that they work (the neighbourhood souvenir shop?).
The town has 2 extremely colourful squares – the Markt and the Burg, both of which have very colourful and ornamented buildings. The larger of the 2 squares, Markt, also has the bell tower (one of the highest in Belgium!) that has a carillon with 47 bells. The tower itself is 88 metres high and had 366 steps - I'm becoming used to climbing narrow winding staircases of churches and belfries – however, the view is always worth it – it gives such a different perspective. At Bruges, it was cloudy most of time but the moment I reached the top of the belfry it cleared up – the shadows that the red and maroon-tiled roofs cast over each other and the lanes was something that could not be captured in photographs.
The Church of our Lady, has a brick spire (which was currently under renovation) which at 122 metres, makes the Church one of the world's highest brick towers (Oh God, another superlative!). However, the Church is better know for Michelangelo's beautiful sculpture of 'Madonna and Child' which is believed to be his only work of art that left Italy during his lifetime.
Having explored the town on foot, I decided to do the cheesy-tourist routine and took a boat ride in the canals. It was nice to look at the town from a different angle (now I'm writing like a guide-book!) even though it was freezing.
True to Colin Farell's belief, there is not much to see / do in Bruges apart from taking in its stunning beauty – this is best done from an outdoor cafe or restaurant from where you can see the world slowly amble by on its cobbled streets or canals.
Anyways, one day was what I spent at Bruges, and sadly then it was back to base for me. On the way back, at Brussels airport, I rubbed my eyes when I saw that more than 80% of the passengers lounging around were Indians - oh yes, I've reached Delhi airport. Sadly no – it was just that there were seven (yes seven!) American Airlines / Jet Airways flights that were transiting there (3 to India, 4 from India). I wondered how the airport coped with this sudden onslaught.
My flight, predictably, was late because it was snowing in Edinburgh and naturally the runway was clogged. Though it was nice to have escaped the snow – it was better still to return to an Edinburgh totally cloaked in snow.
