It took a few days but I am starting to
see the good side of Belgium. And it wasn't the weather—just the
opposite, it was warm and sunny when we came across the border,
through Antwerp and then cycled our way towards Mechelen and finally
trained into the capital Brussels.
The rubbish in the streets, the
graffiti everywhere, the oppressive drab and less than inspired
public architecture continued as did the rumble of the cars over
cobblestones and the national sport of sitting in traffic jams
blowing the horns on their expensive vehicles. We were feeling that
the Manneken Pis(the little kid pissing fountain reproduced in the
various scales like the souvenir key-rings of the Eiffel Tower) was
very appropriate for Brussels. And, in theory, my gloom should have
been made worse as the clouds and drizzle blanketed the town.
But no, it had the reverse effect
because it drove us to adopting our habitual travel tactics for cold
weather in a big unfriendly cities: head to the movies and the
galleries. The movies are always good because, for a little while,
you could be anywhere. We saw Ridley Scott's “Prometheus” the
day after its London premier—and four days ahead of the US release.
We were stunned that such a good director could turn out such a bad
overblown retread of the Alien series but it allowed us to forget
Belgium for a while. On the second day, we saw Wes Anderson's
Moonrise Kingdom, a superbly told tale of almost star crossed young
lovers. It gave us a real lift and we recommend it to anyone feeling
a bit depressed about humanity..
And using bikes from the Villo
(another JCDecreaux system like that of Paris and Brisbane) we found
the sprawling colony of national art galleries grouped around the
Royal Palace just before the weather closed in. Fighting Nancy's
inability to stand for long periods, we managed to see the Magritte
Museum one day and followed that up with a journey through Belgium
art since the 16th century though to now while it drizzled outside.
Also offsetting the gloom were two
other finds: the Belgium fascination for comics and the grand arcades
that drill through the blank facades with some regularity. The
arcades varied from the majestic glazed Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert
to the modern shopping malls of the overpriced international shopping
district around the Grote Markt. They may have been expensive but at
least people who served were pleasant and generally accommodating.
I shouldn't be too hard on Belgium. It
is a poor little rich kid that has been traumatised for most of its
existence by being the battleground of Europe and now where most of
the fights between the members of the European Union fight it out
diplomatically and bureaucratically rather than with bayonets and
hand-grenades. Local French and Dutch speaking communities are
deeply divided, long periods without formal national leadership
pockmark the government and it is a credit to the people that it
hasn't spilt over into violence. They seem to be fighting an
economic and political civil war of attrition that means that they
lag well behind in some of the more civilised greening away from
gross capitalism as we have seen elsewhere in Europe. With the
financial edge of the EU (Ireland, Greece and Portugal) crumbling,
the centre of Brussels is just as vulnerable to social unrest if the
slide continues
Postscript: Now hurtling out of Belgium
at 300kph on the Thylus train. The keyboard only jumps every now and
again so I can continue typing a bit. Bussels Midi railway station
was a another adventure. First we elected to walk the 2.4km from our
hotel through the angry traffic and ugly buildings. As we approached
the station, as it is with most stations, the area became rougher and
occupied by what the Belgians euphemistically call the “New
Europeans”--the African and Middle eastern immigrants. These New
Europeans now make up 25 % of the Brussels population and like all
immigrants occupy the meanest jobs and worst housing. Before
venturing into the station precinct, we stopped for a coffee at Arab
run cafe. It was clean, comfortable and had good service. We had one
of the best coffees of our stay—a thick arabian blend coffee topped
with chantilly whipped cream and some chocolate praline (that is the
style that they call cappuccino here)
The next bit was not as pleasant. The
covered pedestrian walkways outside the station itself and stank of
piss and in the darker corners shit-smeared napkins and tissues clung
to the wet pavement. Inside the station, the harassed attendant at
the Wcs dispensed change to the line of women waiting for the
toilets. It cost E.50c ($A 70c) to use them and users had to use a
coin operated gate to get in. It said something about the bizzaire
organisation of this country whose income per head is one of the
highest in the world.
