Sleeping off the stress associated with missing luggage works wonders. With that cat-nap behind me, thinking suddenly becomes easier, and Brussels suddenly looked more beautiful. Did I mention that my bag finally arrived on a separate plane, chauffeured to my hostel?
I am also now clean and scrubbed, thank god, but my room still smells like a sewer every couple of hours.
2Go4 Hostel Brussels is the place (strange name), on Boulevard Emile-Jacqmainlaan, and a sneaky 2 streets parallel from the shopping stretch.
Walk down a mile more and hit the Brussels’ central tourist catchment area (or trapment area), the Grand Place/ Grote Markt/ Grande Place, some World Heritage site which the Belgians simply acknowledge as ‘too many people’. The architecture is even cheerfully gothic. The people speak French, Dutch, Flemish and some other dialects that sound like American English shouted aloud under water.
Weirdness is worshipped. Where else in the world do you have a status of a pissing boy (the Mannaken Pis) as an icon?
The rage right now, is to be seen eating the rectangular waffles with cream (only tourists ask for extra sauce) and sit down in some chocolate cafe.
I can live happily with all of that.