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| Outside the Royal Museum of History, Brussels |
Nauseated, exhausted, dizzy and bloated would be the four words we would use to describe ourselves as we rolled back onto the shuttle bus, heading to the Brussels airport.
A weekend of intense dining and drinking in one of Europe's most famous gastronomic capitals has worn us down into blubbering zombies phasing in and out of our self-induced sickly-sweet food coma.
Without much hesitation last month, we had grabbed a super cheap online flight and hooked ourselves up to stay with a local Belgian. To us, Belgium resonated with the sounds of 'Chocolate' and 'Beer' so other than a pathetic last minute attempt to run around the local park early on Friday morning our only option was to pack stretchy pants and vow to 'walk lots'.
Of course, feeling well prepared and optimistic with our flimsy plan to avoid any overindulgence we almost bounced to the airport in excitement.
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| Salted caramel chocolate blocks |
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| Brussels town hall, Grand Place |
Arriving around 9pm into Brussels after our short flight, the sun was still high in the sky and the weather humid and warm. We bused to the Brussels midi train station and perhaps in a state of horrid amazement spent close to 40minutes scouring in, outside of and around the station searching for somewhere to eat. Shops and restaurants, cafes and stores were closed.
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| Church of Saint Ann |
We both had a short pang of grumpy, hunger induced homesickness for Spain and realised how different our lives are, living in a country were your dinner only starts at 9pm. Eventually we found dinner at a Turkish kebab joint that would serve us and ate quickly as they closed up, mopping the floor around us before we wandered to find our local host's house.
On Saturday morning the weather was drizzly and cold. Without a map and a temperamental GPS we ventured out to explore the old city centre of Brussels.
We ventured out of our highly Muslim ghetto with a chocolate cream croissant in hand, and with the sense of direction similar to a blind mole above ground, we proceeded to get lost in a highly African orientated neighbourhood.
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| Such awesome corners and roads |
Nothing really felt 'Dutch'..... We passed old churches and dusty antique stores, closed butcheries and run down fruit shops all squished aside one another along the damp streets.
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| Houses along De L'mperatrice Keizerinlaan |
We got horrendously lost and stumbled through small tatty flea markets alongside the road before we reached a spectacular farmers market. Full of gorgeous fruits and vegetables, watermelon the size of small children and tables of gourmet olives. It was like finding a gem between the rocks.
Almost ready to call it a day with our feet hurting from pounding the pavement round in circles not really knowing where we were and suffering with a mild headache we finally arrived at the Grand Place! Finally we were in what looked like a old European quarter.
Buildings large, solid, heavy and made of brick were artfully decorated; black street lamps polished in gold like a small bunch of wilting poppies hung down over the cobbled roads and the buildings could have been mistaken for large gingerbread houses.
We celebrated our achievement of finding the Grand Place with a delicious, warm and soft strawberry chocolate waffle. Ahhhh..... Yum.
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| Waffles! Waffles! Waffles! |
After exploring the plaza and up and down several of the surrounding streets we stopped off at the local Delirium Cafe, with apparently the most on-tap beers in the world, to taste several of the local brews. With interesting names like choffee houblon and ruffe blonde we stayed long enough to embarrass ourselves with our poor pronunciation and giggle over the more inappropriately named lagers. Outside the day had changed remarkably and when we stepped out the sun shone so brightly. The glare drove us into nearby chocolatiers hoping from one to the other an gorging on the hazelnut pralines and salted caramel truffles.
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| A small selection of local beer |
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| Strawberry and Chocolate Waffles |
Each shop offering a small free selection of creamy delights to nibble on as you browsed. Perhaps the designer shops were targeting tourists with the beautiful wrapped packages of chocolates available for purchase but we were proudly told the average Belgian consumes over eight kilos of chocolate per year!
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| Some of the local delights |
They also eat a significant proportion of frites or 'chippies'! A speciality, the local potatoes are cut and twice fried to create a super crispy outer layer with a soft creamy inside. So of course we gave them a try too- with spicy mayo.
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| Eating frites at the Parc Leopold Plaza |
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| Breakfast of crepes! |
Nervously with already achy feet, we anticipated our walk home and purchased a local map looking for a more direct route which helpfully or maybe confusingly showed the street names in both French and Dutch. We walked via the Royal palace were we paused for an afternoon nap in the expansive gardens. We walked via the Palais de Justice and then down the Rue de la Regence. Returning to our host we cooked up a Spanish tortilla to share and later ventured to the Parc de Forest which was preparing for a street fair.
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| Eating another waffle outside the Royal Palace |
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| Guildhalls in the Grand Place |
Sunday morning was stunning, already warming up by 9am and hardly a cloud in the sky, we ventured to an area called Flagey on the tram.
Here a small eloquent farmers market was set up alongside a long fancy named lake (Etangs d'lxelles Vijvers van Elsene) which was swarmed with black lycra clad joggers and was buzzing with locals scouring the plaza.
The perimeter was decorated with gourmet food trucks offering glasses of French champagne and plates of oysters, temporary wine bars on the backs of trailers served soft cheeses and lightly sautéed white asparagus.
We chose a table on the periphery and for breakfast ate freshly cooked crêpes filled with fruit and accompanied by warm espresso.
After this, we quickly by-passed the assortment of produce, making a beeline for the inner sanction selling gorgeous fresh cherries!
With a wax paper bag full of cheap, sweet, juicy redness we strolled by the lake in the sunshine, munching our sweet fruit.
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| Looking back down Rue de la Regence |
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| Exploring the bicycle friendly outer city districts |
Throughout the morning, like woman of the night, we walked Brussels' streets. Stopping regularly to hydrate and never allowing our stomachs a chance to growl. At two in the afternoon our poor weary legs could take little more so we began to make our way home via the streets filled with live jazz music and residents sitting outside along the sun basked terraces. Clocking over fourteen kilometres we visited small lanes, large winding alleys and saw a big chunk of the city.
We quite enjoyed the neighbourhood around Porte de Namur alive with eateries, chocolate shops and hip young families. What surprised us most is how multicultural the city is, how confident and quirky it seems and how the city isn't out to impress.
The take-it-or-leave-it vibe promotes an unshowy, straight-forward but friendly city. Our trip home to Madrid was reasonably uneventful as we both sat quietly mulling our unintended but unsurprising, overindulgence in Belgium.
Tot siens,
John and Kara
