Brussels: A City Break Diary (Day 1)

Salut Brussels!

The Eurostar “almost” makes the Continent seem like a hop, skip and a jump away from home. I say “almost” because for us Brummies a two hour train journey and two tube rides precedes our final triumphant checking in to St Pancras International. We settle in listening to the sounds of champagne corks popping and gourmet picnics being consumed by our fellow passengers – it’s a party atmosphere. 

Every tunnel we pass through, I insist on waving an imaginary French flag and singing Frères Jacques. Even when we’re only 5 minutes outside of London. Eventually, after picking up a few final passengers at Ebbsfleet, we are on our way, under the sea. 31 miles later we emerge blinking into the French sunlight. Like an excited small child, I insist on pointing out everything we pass to a bemused Mr Fletche. “Look, a French horse! And a French tree! Look, a French pigeon!” Mr Fletche eventually threatens me with French violence.

Gare du Midi is comfortingly familiar from our previous visit, when we fleetingly passed through on our way to Bruges. This time we are facing our first battle with the Brussels public transport system. Brussels public transport system almost wins when we can’t work out how to adjust the language options on the ticket machine.  A knight in shining armour shows us how to adjust using the click wheel. Mr Fletche feeds coins into the machine – leftovers from our last European trip – until the required amount for two single journeys has been paid.

It turns out that once you’ve figured out how to select your language, the ticket machines are easy-peasy. 

Finding our bearings

Our first Brussels tram experience is swift as we disembark two stations later at Anneessens. We get our bearings and stroll confidently down Anspach. Before turning round and strolling confidently in the right direction.  Just a couple of minutes later and we’re standing outside the Bedford Hotel.  There are lots of garbage bags around and it looks a little shabby.  We soon realise that we have entered through the “back door”. 

The hotel is not shabby at all. We are greeted effusively and immediately checked into our room on the fourth floor.  With not a moment to waste, we quickly unpack, check out our view (a wall and a parking garage) and decide where our first port of call will be. Obviously this will involve beer.  And as we’re in strolling distance of the little boy peeing in the fountain, that is where we head first.

It’s not difficult to know when we have reached our destination.  Hordes of crowds jostle for position with their camera phones and selfie sticks on a small corner of Rue de l’Etuve and Rue du Chene.  The object of attention?  Mannekin Pis – a 61cm tall bronze statue of a boy peeing into a fountain.  Today he is wearing a school uniform, one of his 800+ outfits. For the rest of our trip, Mannekin Pis will be as naked as the day he was born sculpted. This famous but very tiny attraction means that almost all of the souvenirs are adorned with a small boy with his willy in his hand. It makes a perfect corkscrew.

With one item ticked off the must-see list, it’s time for the next.  Beer. Poechenellekelder is on the “Bars to Visit” list.  It also appears to be on everyone else’s “Bars to Visit” list. It is packed. We troop back down the stairs, having only time for a cursory glance at the puppets and dolls hanging from the walls and ceiling.  We’ll come back on Monday we state confidently.

Readers, Poechenellekelder is closed on Mondays

Poechenellekelder’s loss is Taverne Mannekin Pis’ gain.  With only one table vacant in this tiny bar, we grab it and peruse the menu.  Yes, Brussels has menus for its beer, listing the type, the brewery, the cost and (most importantly) the strength.  I’ve done a little research before this trip, and I know I want a “fruity” beer.  Or a “blond” beer.  What I don’t want, but what I inadvertently ask for, is a “fruity blond”.  I have made a beer faux pas.  I commit to the fruity part and have my first Lindemans Framboise (a “fruity” raspberry number, definitely more redhead than blond…).  Mr Fletche partakes of a beer that neither of us can remember.

Tummy rumbles remind us that we’ve eaten nothing since our breakfast back in London. We decide to head towards Grand Place and find somewhere to eat. We fight our way past the crowds thronged around Mannekin Pis, and head down Rue de l’Etuve past numerous beer shops, chocolate shops, souvenir shops and waffle shops.  As we approach the main square, I realise that my original imaginings of dull, grey architecture could not be further from the truth. 

A First Glimpse of Grand-Place

Bathed in a warm glow of late afternoon sunshine, Grand-Place is truly stunning. Hôtel de Ville, Maison du Roi and the surrounding buildings make Grand-Place worthy of its constant high ranking on lists of the most beautiful squares in Europe.  The cameras come out but we can’t capture that first view that takes your breath away as sunlight glints on the golden façades.

I spot T’Kelderke nestled under the buildings on our right-hand side.  Recommended in our Brussels guidebook, we descend the steps into this underground restaurant. We’re in luck, and there are a couple of tables available. Within 10 minutes of us being seated there’s not a seat spare in the house. We have a good go at translating the menu before the waiter very kindly offers us one in English. Who knows what we may have ordered otherwise? 

I stick to traditional Flemish fare and have the carbonnade flamande with stoemp, Mr Fletche has waterzooi.  It’s surprisingly untouristy for a restaurant in such a prime spot, and the prices are pretty decent too.  We wash down our food with a Maes Pils, but decline dessert – why pay 7€ for a waffle in the city of 1€ waffle stores?  We walk off our food, drooling over the Easter displays in the designer chocolate shops of Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert.

An afternoon sugar rush

We head back towards Mannekin Pis, and queue up to select our waffle of choice from one of the many 1€ waffle stores

1€ will get you a waffle.  No whipped cream, no bananas, no strawberries, no Nutella.  Just a waffle.  Additional €s are required for the fully loaded waffle experience

Waffles are immediately declared the messiest food to eat. The two plastic forks provided are completely ineffective, and the cream and chocolate syrup create a paste that glue the waffle to the bottom of its cardboard container.

Eventually we have devoured our waffles, our sugar levels have increased ten-fold, and we think that we may need a short lie-down.  Luckily we’re only a short walk away from our hotel, so we return to recharge our batteries.  A short lie-down turns into a long lie-down but we can’t spend Saturday night in Brussels snoozing (as tempting as it is).  So quick freshen up and a change of clothes and we head out for a drink. Or two.

A 10 minute walk and we arrive at an intriguing little dimly lit alleyway which leads to an even more intriguing dimly lit little bar.  This is A La Bécasse.  We are greeted by a waiter wearing an apron which looks as if he is about to slaughter small animals in the back yard.  The neighbouring table have gone for the huge ceramic crockpot of beer. I stick to a reasonably sized blond; Mr Fletche has his first Chimay. In fact we’re both so struck by the Chimay that it’s Chimay’s all-round for the second drink  The food, the travelling and the Belgian beer is taking its toll, so we bid “merci, au revoir” to our traditionally-garbed friend and call it a nuit.