Naturally, the train was about 10 minutes late. No big deal, though. Especially considering my former travel woes. Ten minutes is like a walk in the park. When the train pulled to a stop at the voie (platform), everyone jammed on board. Except everyone was super confused because your ticket had a car and seat number. What was missing from this train? Car and seat numbers. So everyone kind of flailed around before choosing a seat that would have approximately been his/hers.
On the sign next to the train, it didn’t say the train station I needed was a stop. So when I got on, I was a bit nervous. The thing about French trains is that they generally don’t list the stops at all. If they do, they only list the major ones, so you may be able to get to your general area, but perhaps not your actual desired destination. Luckily, someone had put up some paper signs on the doors that said, indeed, Strasbourg—Luxembourg--Bruxelles were stops. Little did I know that they meant Luxembourg the country and not my train station, Bruxelles Luxembourg. The reason I didn’t get off in Luxembourg (as good a story as that would have NOT made) was because my ticket said what time my journey was to end. So I just kind of waited ‘til that time.
When the conductor came around, though, I made sure to ask if we would be stopping at Bruxelles Luxembourg. He assured me that we would be. Then I realized I didn’t know which stop it was, so when the next guy came around, I asked. He said it was the second. Which didn’t make sense since we were already at the 3rd stop by the time he came around. Oh well. I knew it couldn’t be any worse than my bus ride to Barça so I just leaned back and took some photos of the passing landscape.
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| God's country? |
So I got off and realized that it was rapsotively freezing in there. So I went to the salle d’atteinte (waiting room) hoping for some warmth. Pipe dream. It was marginally warmer, if only because the doors sometimes closed. But it was definitely obvious to me that this was not a good train station in which to spend oodles of time. Thank goodness Fiorella, her mom Sylvia (whom I fondly call Consuela), and Sylvia’s BF Manny showed up just then.
We trudged through the snow back to their hotel where we had a bit of a rest before heading back to the outside. We made our way to a Christmas market near the center of town. But since they’ve all been to Brussels loads, they took me on a little scenic tour first. We first went to “The Grand Place,” which, during the summer, is filled with flowers. Photos of it are impressive and drool-worthy. But, since it was the dead of winter, none of that. But there were Christmas trees, so that’s the same, right? It also had the City Town Hall.
We walked through and looked about a bit until Manny led the way to Brussels’s main claim to fame: Manneken-Pis. It’s a statue of a boy peeing. Naturally, its origins are unknown. One story is that the statue was built to commemorate a battle where the then infant Duke Godfrey III of Leuven urinated on the troops of the Berthouts, prompting them to lose the battle. No matter where he came from, he’s super popular, and they dress him up in all kinds of outfits.
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| Kids do the darnedest things. |
Luckily, we came upon the Moroccan tent. Each year, the UN chooses a country to have a special place at the market and this year was Morocco. Some country with reindeer did it last time they were there. Anyway, we went inside, and I think it was supposed to be like, “Look! You’re in Morocco!” But in a way that’s prolly super touristy. But it was nice. AND WARM. Which is the most important thing. They had this massive and massively delicious looking display of food, so I dropped some scrilla to get a pita (HOW I’VE MISSED IT!) filled with chicken. Sylvia got some mint tea.
When we came out of the tent, I stopped to take a video of what Fi kept insisting was the hipsterest carousel of all time. She may be right.
Don’t worry, guy! I wasn’t filming or anything.
We went to yet another Christmas market, with some of the smallest carousel seats (as in a little girl looked trapped in one) and walked around. We stopped into a dish store because apparently Sylvia loves those. Fi and I jammed to the music. Why? Because they were playing Willow Smith’s “Whip My Hair.” Fi walked me through the music video since I’d never seen it before. We wandered around for a bit longer, but it was starting to get dark, so we wended our way back to the hotel for a washing up before dinner. Don’t worry, though. On the way back, we saw another peeing statue.
We went to yet another Christmas market, with some of the smallest carousel seats (as in a little girl looked trapped in one) and walked around. We stopped into a dish store because apparently Sylvia loves those. Fi and I jammed to the music. Why? Because they were playing Willow Smith’s “Whip My Hair.” Fi walked me through the music video since I’d never seen it before. We wandered around for a bit longer, but it was starting to get dark, so we wended our way back to the hotel for a washing up before dinner. Don’t worry, though. On the way back, we saw another peeing statue.
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| Dogs do the darnedest things. |
Apparently there’s another one of a girl, called the Jeannenken-Pis, but, alas, we did not complete the trifecta.
Also, as we walked, we saw some façade at The Great Place. It had nothing on the Fête des Lumières, but it did have Santa doing a somersault, so that was impressive.
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| No Santa here! |
After getting to the hotel, we quickly turned back around to get to Manny’s aunt’s house. We went inside and went up the three flights to her apartment. Even though Tia (Maria, but whom everyone calls Tia) owns the whole building of full-floor apartments, hers in on the 3rd floor. Her ex-husband has Parkinson’s and she continues to take care of him and has him live on the first floor. Some girl from Mali lives on the second floor. I think she’s part of the family in some way? Anyway, when we walked in, I was introduced to two of Tia’s sons. Both of their names start with Ds, but I can’t remember what they are. (UPDATE: Fi’s informed me that their names are Desmond and Dennis.) Their wives names, however, are Mitzi and Snow. The Ds now live in Canada. Snow is from China. And Mitzi is from Australia. Tia is from Portugal. The whole Manny/Tia family is Chinese, but they collectively moved to Mozambique at some point. It was an international delight.
While we waited for dinner to be ready, Tia told us we could watch TV. They have channels in English! We came in during the last 30 seconds of Saved by the Bell, which was the biggest cocktease of all time. We searched for more English for a bit but then just settled into talking to each other. Such a letdown.
We had some Portuguese food. Much of which was fried. Then we had some tomato and cabbage soup? I’m honestly grabbing at straws here. At some point, I was brought into the conversation, and I kind of explained what Belley is like. Tia told us a story of how she used to know this man who was strange. And she said to him, “Why are you so odd?” And he told her he used to live in Antarctica or the North Pole. Underground, he would listen to hours of radio listening for codes or something. So then they told me,
“Jessica, it could be worse. You could be doing that.” And they’re right. But how sad is it that it goes from Belley to living underground? Sad but true.
We left quite late in the evening, but just in time to make the last metro back to the hotel.
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| More street lights. Red means stop! |
The next morning, Manny woke us up and told us to get out and do it. So Fi and I did. (Manny and Sylvia went in search of a Laundromat.) Fi and I went back to the Christmas markets from the day before so I could try a Belgian waffle. 1 activity I had meant to conquer: CHECK. We kept on moving, though, so we could go to this hipster-looking café for hot cocoa for me and coffee for Fi. It was totally hipster and totally satisfying. They had hot choc-o-lait on sticks, which is kind of all the rage here. (With good reason. It’s delicious.) Voilà.
Fi and I basically wandered around vintage stores and shopping. That’s kind of our thing. In the afternoon, when my feet were just about ice cubes, we decided to stop. I got some vin chaud. I had just taken a sip of it and said, “This is not good,” when some Belgian hooligans came by with their brand of tom foolery. As soon as I put my cup down, BOOM! A snowball fell straight into the cup and covered me in hot, spiced, red wine. Was this a relief since I had just said that I didn’t like it? No. Was it pretty standard for my luck? Yes. There was nothing to do but ask the girl behind the stand for some napkins. In any other world, when things like this happen and it’s obvious that everyone around sees it (including the salesclerk), another one is offered. In Europe, though, sucks to be you! Fi got a crêpe before we moved on. I was looking for some wool socks or a new hat to replace the one on my head. But no dice. I stopped to get some old-fashioned candies that I didn’t really enjoy. They were super gummy and not what I expected, but I kept them because why not?
Stumbled upon some permanent art installations.
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| Was that Japanese game show inspired by this? |
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| It's missing two "ho"s! |
Then we wandered around looking for some Belgian chocolate for me to bring back to Jen. We went into this place called Chocopolis. It was WAY too expensive. I mean, I got her some basic dark chocolate drops, but they were legitimately the least expensive thing there besides macarons. I think the lowest priced box of chocolates was like 35€. They were also playing Cee-Lo’s “Fuck You” in there. Unedited! Again, not speaking English lets you get away with playing whatever you want.
We ended up going to Leonidas to get a box of chocolates. Part of me cringed, because I could’ve gotten that on Larchmont at home, but oh well. From the source!
As we walked, I saw a man painting the window. Adorbs.
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| Live art. |
We then went back to the hotel because I was going to freeze. Then we went back and watched some Casper in French. Fi also offered me her copy of The Color Purple, which was very exciting for me since I had finished Frankenstein on the train to her. We also watched this BBC news story about this woman who had acquired an accent after having a stroke. It was really strange and quite easily bogus. And maybe a little bit racist?
Then we went back to Tia’s for some dinner. Before we ate, though, Fi and I started playing her Chinese solitaire game. It quickly became an obsession. We still haven’t mastered it, but perhaps you can?
More good food and good times. Snow is an amazing storyteller. She told us all about how she threw out her back. I will never forget it. Sorry. No video!
Again, we left just in time for the last train.
The next morning, we left for the train station around 7:20 to get there for my 7:53 train. Manny and Fi walked me there, and we got there with just a few minutes to spare. I went down the stairs to the platform. At 7:53, the train had’t shown up. Tick tock tick tock. 7:55. Supprimé. CANCELLED. Awesome. I ran upstairs to see if Fi and Manny were still there. No dice. I called and texted Fi hoping that I could just go back with them until the next train, but she wasn’t answering. Which makes sense since international charges are a mess.
So I got in line with all the others to see when the next train would be. At 1pm. Since it was snowing outside, I hunkered in for a nice long wait. Please know that I knew nothing about this wait would be nice. Anyway, I went to get some tea and sit in the only open thing (aka only area with heat) in the train station. I tried to make it last, but after a while, it was obvious I wasn’t going to be buying anymore and I felt bad. So I went to sit in the waiting room. I put on a second pair of socks, pulled on my gloves even tighter, and tied my hat under my chin. I couldn’t take it, though. So I went back to the “restaurant.”
I was about to go back inside when I realized that I might need to make a different ticket reservation. So I got into the line again. As soon as I got to the front of the line, guy closed the window and said the next woman would be there shortly. So I waited. And waited. And waited. LIAR! I went to the other line and he told me just to be at the platform early.
I went and got a sandwich before taking a seat. When a table freed up, I left my stool for it. Because I hate seats without backs. Does anyone like them? As I sat there, I wrote a short short of the non-fiction variety on the back of a newspaper after I did the Sudoky in it. Leave me alone for its overdramatism.
“December 24 Brussels”
The old man wanders back and forth across the large white tiled floor. Its squares marked by the dirt from roller board suitcases. His faded parka bespeaks of its former burnt orange glory. What would have been a glory in the white outside the train station. That white unblemished but for footsteps and the pinpricks of water droplets from window radiators.
On his head, a forest green knit hat that goes into his white bears and oval glasses. Back and forth he walks, sliding the flaky buttery crumbs of croissants and pain de noël left by passengers long since on their trains. He tells a joke to the poorly scheduled girl behind the counter with the red and white sleeping cap who offers tea with a smile and warm wishes. She laughs with a clap. He drifts back, his shoulders hunch and his jacket puckers open. Back to his corner. A table he had shared with an old woman before she left him there. “Bon appétit, monsieur,” he calls over and over from the corner.
Eventually it’s near enough to departure time that I figure I can go stand outside and just stare at the departures board. So I starts to standing and listening to music. Mistake. Mariah Carey’s “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” almost sets me to crying in the station. Why didn’t I go back home I ask myself. NO answers. Anyway, 15 minutes before the train’s to arrive, it says that it’s delayed 40 minutes. Awesome.
Eventually, it’s time to go downstairs. So I go to the voie. There are a lot of people on it but I’m not too mussed. When the train pulls up, though, and I see people making mad dashes, though, that’s when I get nervous.
Sometimes on trains (as I’ve mentioned/experienced here before), one car goes one place and the other car goes another. So I was trying to find the second class car going where I was going. So I passed up the first few even though everyone was just clamoring to get on. I finally found one that looked right and I started trying to get on. But then the conductor said there wasn’t anymore space!
The woman next to me started getting hysterical. She went to the train’s windows and started yelling at all the people inside to move for the rest of us. Move! Move!! I guess they didn’t. Then the woman started pointing to this girl next to her (presumably her daughter) saying that there were children who needed to get on the train. This train was legit lifeboats on the Titanic. (Thanks, Parker Brogdon, for that metaphor.) She pushed in front of me and said, “People need to get on this train.”
I responded, “Moi aussi.” (Me too.) When the conductor moved, though, she just pushed her way on by herself. That little girl was just a pawn! The conductor closed the door and walked away. Wait, though. I was still outside. Ack! So I stopped thinking I wasn’t gonna make it on and I just opened the door and got on. Thank god I was using Jen’s little backpack instead of my big bag because I fit like a bug in a rug.
A different conductor came back later and closed the door. Success! It was crazy full in there. Never have I ever been on so ridiculously a standing room only train. At the next stop, I got to move further inside so that I wasn’t standing against the door. Now I could see the sad state of affairs. People were even sitting in the bathroom—on the toilet, on the floor, leaning on the walls. The loud woman was still causing a scene because she needed to wee, but where were these people gonna go? No dice, fool.
At the next stop I got moved in a bit further so that I was standing in the aisle. Thank goodness I had my gross gummies with me because I was starving. Each stop we made took about 15 minutes because we were trying to pack as many people in as possible. Because of all this and because of some random stops that we made in the middle of nowhere for 30+ minutes at a time, the 5 hours train ride ended up actually taking 10 hours. So I had plenty of time to take photos. Here is what those 10 hours were like:
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| Actual train. |
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| This was later because there was enough space to sit down. See everyone standing in the background? |
I started creeping a mixed family (mother and 2 sons) that was sitting near me. I listened to Christmas music. I really wanted to be all cinematic and start a sing-a-long, but they’re European. And I already felt conspicuous enough when Jen and Katelin (who, oh yeah!, were together because Katelin was arriving in Strasbourg for the holiday on that day. Christmas Eve.) kept calling to see where I was like I would know. And I was all speaking in English. Also, Katelin and Jen had never met before Jen went to get her from the tram stop.
When we had a few stops left, the mom of the mixed family asked if I wanted to sit down while her boys got off at the stop for a bit. I accepted. Guess I wasn’t creeping too creepily after all. When they came back, I moved and asked some guys if a seat was full. They said, “It’s free.” IN ENGLISH! I was legit shocked and excited and hurried to get my bag and make it mine. They were Russian, though. Triste. As soon as I sat down, they pulled out their legit bag of beers and started throwin’ em back.
Random side notes: There was a dog (a black lab) on the train this WHOLE time. S/He was very well behaved and just laid under the seat the whole time. There was a baby on board (no sign) who was good until the end.
Eventually I got off the train. And I went to go wait for a taxi because the trams had stopped running at 6pm because of some strike. Anyway, I went out front to get a taxi but when I asked the only taxi there if he was accepting passengers, he said nah. Typical. So I waited out front for a while to see if any would show up. I kept waiting while the chunks of snow kept falling and nearly decapitating innocent passers-by. Jen asked if I was in a cab yet. Nope. So she called to make a reservation for me. They said I’d have to wait an hour. I needed to be in the same taxi area as everyone else. I thought I was. But then I went back inside and saw that there was an itty bitty little sign at the last minute that said instead of going straight, I needed to go right.
So I did. I waited about 45 minutes. There was this ragtag family of nearly homeless and fully crazy Frenchies who stole a cab. Then the group of 5 in front of me started getting in the cab. They started putting their bags in the trunk until the guy was like, I can only take 4 bags. They said, what if we put it inside the car? He said nah. Then he looked at me and said, “You. Let’s go.” As bad as I felt, I had to do it. So I did. I think I got to Jen’s just after midnight. And we had mac’n’cheese, eggplant parmesan, and a shot a whiskey.
The end is so close I can taste it-ly,
Jessica
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