Brussels is Boring

Ok, there I said it. Brussels is boring.

I've said this before, and every time I say it I feel guilty, like I've got this dirty, little secret. I said it the first time I was in Brussels twenty years ago. Backpacking around Europe I remember standing in the Grand Place/Grote Markt thinking, "wow...this is amazing!" Classical music was playing and I had read in Let's Go that Victor Hugo had made a comment more or less saying that one cannot but be moved by standing in the Grande Place of Bruxelles/Brussels/Brussel. I was moved, but then, when I moved out of the great plaza, I was bored.

Walk back in, ... "wow!"

Walk out, bored.

ad nauseum

I remember people asking me, "what's Brussels like?" I fidgeted, shuffled my feet, looked at their feet, talked about the weather, anything but answered the question, closed my eyes, clicked my heels, "there's no place like home, there's no place like home." But, people wanted to know, "what's Brussels like?" When pressed, I would blurt out, "It's boring!" and then the guilt would set in...

Now, I want to jump on the rooftops, screaming, "Brussels is Boring!" Now, that is not entirely fair, but I am really stuck. I can't get past it.

I went to Brussels today, obviously, to pick up my Visa for India, and there it was...boring. From the station I had to go up towards the Royal Palace to catch the Tram 94 to Avenue Louise. Normally I walk around and up, but today, I kept going through the underground passage up into Galerie Ravenstein. Now, say that out loud, with a menacing accent--- Ravenstein. Sounds like something grand out of Harry Potter (going tonight) or Tolkein. At least, bats or belfries or something. Majestic.

Nope.

BOOORRRINGGGG!!!

Galerie Ravenstein is perhaps the most uninspired, inspired piece of architecture I have ever walked through. I was depressed by the time I got to the other end. I wanted to go home and listen to Morrissey, wear black, huddle up in a ball, rocking back and forth and cry.

Walking out towards the steps up to the park, that disturbing feeling of boredom was soaking me through. The steps leading up are through the Rue de Biblioteque/Bibliotheek with a statue of Baron Horta presiding. Horta, the name associated with Art Deco! There he is, guardian of Galerie Ravenstein. What a horrible fate.

So, there I was, waiting for the tram, bored out of my mind, all of ten minutes in Brussels, and a young woman comes up to me and asks, in Flemish, if this was the tram, richting Louizalaan? Now, for those of you not following Belgian politics...coming up to someone in the middle of Brussels and addressing them in Flemish is a statement. Of course, I was flattered. Finally, someone speaks to me in Flemish on the streets, albeit in Brussels. My friend who teaches in Beirut said I need to add more from "the man on the street" to my blogs. I told him, "the man on the street here ignores me..." until today. How to puff up my feathered breast, speak to me like a native, baby.

So, I answered that indeed it was. Doubly proud because Avenue Louise is the tony street in Brussels where all the AMERICANS go, so hey, Je suis arrivè! Oops, faux pas. Hier ben ik!

On the tram, feeling quite smug now, but still bored, I looked around. My god, were we going to a funeral today? In Ulysses, Bloom thinks to himself on the tram, how sour and dour everyone looks for such a short trip. As my Beirut-based friend says, "Roger that." You would think that this 10 minute tram ride was a transatlantic flight, sitting on wooden benches, with no heat. A funeral procession worthy of Eliot's waste land.

My stop comes, having passed the building where we had tried marriage counseling...strange...and I disembark.

And, so did she.

She crossed the street and went up towards where I was going. Now, I felt odd, but I had to go there too. Then, we get to the same building, smile awkwardly, she goes in one elevator, I the other. Up to the Indian Visa office, elevator opens, I get out, she gets out. OK, that was weird. Turns out, we are both picking up our visas to go to India.

So, after a very confused man behind the desk who thought we arrived together, a conversation in French, English, and Dutch, and if I am not mistaken Hindi, I leave with my visa and have met a fellow traveller.

So, we took the tram back together and talked about India, living in Italy (she had studied in Padua) and various other things. For her, the visa had been a bit more work, though she had been to India before, and I had said that it was much easier than going to the Questura in Italy. And, from that, she had said that "hoe gemakkelijker" it is in Belgium. How much easier...and I said, in English, "Don't get me started..." and later gave her my blog site.

Walking down through the Galerie Ravenstein (and a wave of boredom swept over me, not from the conversation, but that damn building) again on the way back to the station as she was catching a train to Leuven and I back to Antwerp, we talked (still in Dutch, as I kindly requested, and she granted that wish) and she had mentioned that America was not on her list to see. "Not even New York City??" I asked, in English, incredulously. Nope, not even a road trip out West??? Nope.

Times have changed. I remember the first time in Brussels when I told people I had come from Texas, everyone wanted to know about the horse that I rode to work (true story) and cowboys and Indians and, of course, Dallas, the TV show, (which is now getting a reprieve I saw). No longer, but hey, that is the way the world goes. Times change.

Just happen to be listening to REM (decided against Morrissey) right now (Fables of the Reconstruction) and the line just came up, "when you greet a stranger, look at his shoes..." Funny, I looked at everyone's shoes today... "home is a long way away...at the end of the day..." Today is full of serendipity.

I left my new traveler-in-arms at the train station. I wish her well and all of the other travelers out there a bon voyage, errr.... Ik bedoel, goeie reis...

OK, so Brussels wasn't boring today after all.