We Need To Talk About Belgium

Let’s talk about Belgium.

Brussels is a really beautiful city. It has a very old-world European flavour and a mix of cultures due to its borders with France, Germany, and the Netherlands. The people have been lovely, and I have really enjoyed hearing the mixture of languages. My French, long dormant, has been slightly reactivated during these three days, but I am embarrassed to admit that it really does suck eggs. (Or should I say ouefs?) While sitting on the train yesterday to Bruges, the young couple beside us had a running dialogue going for the entire one-hour and forty-minute trip in German. I think I picked up a few words and phrases. I was startled to find out that they hated JD Vance almost as much as Canadians do. Trust me. The language was exacting and very pointed. The word idiot seems to be universal.

For a small country, Belgium has given a lot to the world's pop culture and culinary scene. We took a food tour in the old part of downtown Brussels, and I walked away wondering how the entire country isn't in a diabetic coma. So much sugar. So much chocolate. So much beer. The foodie experience is definitely thriving here, but I definitely cried "Uncle" after the chocolate mousse. And...I really don't like beer, but when a country is this proud of its product, it is rude not to indulge. 

I was far more excited to visit all of the shrines to the Smurfs, Tintin, and Jacques Brel. I have loved the Smurfs ever since they made their way to North America when I was still a frustrating teenager. There is just something about those little blue trolls that makes me uncommonly happy. I still have some of the original rubber dudes somewhere in a box. They exude such positivity and joy. The world could be a bit more Smurf-like right now, in my humble opinion. The Belgians love their comics. Like the Smurfs, Tintin is everywhere. He adorns buildings, is big in toy stores, and is big on sweatshirts. How can you not love a country that bathes in beer, chocolate, and cartoons?

I will say that I am less enamoured by the transportation options in this country. Our first impressions were decidedly marred by the five and a half hour wait to get to passport control. According to everyone we spoke to, this mess has been going on all summer. You know there is a problem when the airport hires a bunch of young people to distribute water and Biscoff to planeloads of really pissed-off and exhausted travellers. Five and a half hours!!! That is not an exaggeration. People were passing out in the line. By the time we made it to the kiosk, we could hardly remember our own names. The agent asked us how long we were going to be in Belgium and where we were headed after. I couldn't get the city names out of my cotton-filled mouth. I apologized and told him we were really tired. He just looked at me with a forlorn look and told me he totally understood. He then launched into a bit of a bitch session about how they have been begging for help, but nobody listens. I wanted to commiserate, but honestly, he had a chair, so I wasn't all that sympathetic. We were also ripped off by our taxi from the airport. I think our driver saw our spent expressions and thought to himself, "I think I'll take the long way to their hotel." Finally, the in-country trains are anything but a joy. They are packed, kind of sticky, and uncomfortable. While I loved our day trip to Bruges and would do it again, I would spring for the 1st class tickets. 

I am typing this from the airport lounge as we await our flight out of here. (Passport control took all of 2 minutes on the way out. I think they just want to see our backsides.) Long day and night ahead as we head out. Keep you posted. If you aren't following The Husband on Facebook or Instagram, you are missing out on his photos. Trust me, they are way better than mine. 

Onward and upward. 

Murals on sides of buildings

Tintin