Brussels

Brussels, capital of Belgium, also holds the seat of government for the European Union. Why they chose Brussels of all places is beyond me, but it might have to do with the fact that Belgium is the second most neutral country in Europe behind Switzerland. The state of Belgium always seemed unnecessary to me. It was a creation of the post-Napoleonic settlement between the Grand Coalition to check further French aggressions on its northern border. As such, half of the country speaks French and the other Dutch, and the Belgians themselves have no real culture to speak of. I had even found it humorous how in 2007 the country of Belgium practically operated without a government as the parliament could not be formed following a very fractured election. No government was formed until the king stepped in and told them to form a coalition after 9 months (!) of infighting. What I had hoped for was the complete dissolution of the state with the French and Dutch speaking parts going to their respective countries, Antwerp becoming a free city, and Brussels becoming the equivalent of a Federal District like America’s capital. This did not happen, however, and brought me much consternation.

Brussels was to be a short trip. I was only there for the late morning and early afternoon before I was to catch a train into Holland. During my layover, I had wanted to see the European Parliament, and the Belgian one for that matter, but my plans quickly disintegrated with the lack of information and maps provided me at the train station. I exited the train station and walked up a flight of stairs and low and behold I found a statue of King Albert. Who King Albert was or what his significance to the Belgian people’s story I have no idea, but I thought it was a good snapshot:


I wandered a little further into a neighborhood and found a square full of people in an open market. Open markets are really big in Europe, as they still hold onto the idea of making multiple stops to secure the day’s groceries. They will go to the cheese maker, the butcher, the vegetable vender, the fruit stand, the apothecary, the wheelwright, the boot slick, the tailor, the cobbler, and about a dozen other specialty shops to get their everyday conveniences. There is no real supermarket to speak of, well there are, but they are few and far between. As inconvenient as this all sounds, I feel it makes shopping a more personalized experience for the locals, and builds a sense of community that a town with one-stop shopping lacks. At the square, surely enough, was a waffle vendor, and I could not help myself. I bought a Belgian waffle, smothered in Nutella, and ate it right there in the square, a massive wave of satisfaction washing over me.

After I had finished my Belgian waffle brunch, I had wanted to get a move on to find all of the political institutions in which I sought, but the itis was quickly taking hold. A few streets over from the square, I spied a bowling alley. Turning to Mike, I quoted the infinite wisdom of Walter Sobchak, “Fuck it dude, let’s go bowling.”

The bowling alley was empty, after all it was like 11 AM on a Tuesday morning. After securing some shoes and a lane, Mike and I set to the task of lining ‘em up and knocking ‘em down. I even got a strike, and I can even prove it. Here:


After bowling, the time was almost near for my departure. As the train left the station, I couldn't help but feel a deep-seeded hatred of Belgium. To me, it really did seem like a country that had no business existing. It seemed completely artificial and served no real purpose. I pray for the day when this country is now more.