Bell bottoms, beer, and Barbara
Back-dating this to Sunday, June 2nd, 2019, even though it’s June 6th 2020 by the time I’m posting it
Our last day in Brussels, we check one of our various to-do lists to see what remains. ‘Go to that brewery that Ryan recommended’ and ‘Buy gifts’ are what’s left, besides the Museum of Musical Instruments that we might hit up if the timing works out.
We walk to the square to buy bread to go with the last of the cheese that we have left over from groceries (it was a national holiday Thursday and we weren’t sure how much would be open, so we bought liberally—also it’s vacation) and then take a car to Cantillon.
I really enjoy the brewery, revelling in the smell of sour malt, and how it reminds me of the thousands or hundreds of thousands of rooms this world over that must have this same smell. Who can’t get on board with good, honest beer?
Cantillon history, details, etc.
haha Look how optimistic I was once when I thought that I would actually follow through on that. Anyway, go check it out; Ryan won’t lead you astray. At least not in any sort of unwelcome way.
We leave Cantillon and wander down towards the old town—somewhere we can sit and eat our baguette and cheese. We find such a place, order a beer, and people-watch. It does not disappoint. People-watching always reminds me of Nana—that decorous woman who is always above and can withstand so much, yet revels in the little idiosyncrasies of people’s personalities. Often on my trips I imagine not only her, but also her commentary here with me.
After Matthias relents and heads into the shop across the way for some souvenirs, we head further into town and eventually back to a Delerium to plan our next move, which ends up being towards chocolates and the last of our souvenirs.
On the walk I convince Matthias to pop into the back of a little building that holds stained glass promises. It turns out to be a church and during Mass, so I figure this is some smarmy ironic joke that Nana is playing on me from afar and light a candle for her.
After polishing off the ice cream chocolates we’ve rewarded ourselves with for being such excellent people, we walk towards the T to use our final ticket home.
The T here is odd; it seems to mix a combination of requirements: the first time we take it, it is as Bostonians expect: paying to enter and leaving without having to pay out (unlike DC, or even Atlanta, where you tap your used ticket to exit); the second time, we have to tap our tickets as we exit as well, and Matthias has a brief concern as he’s recycled his ticket, but we make do. This last time, entering is free (?) and we narrowly catch a train, but we must pay upon exiting. Luckily we’re easily able to use the other passes I’ve bought to do so, but in short, it’s a lot to keep track of. Also, they have fancy leather handles.
We do manage to escape the T and head home in unfashionable fashion, grabbing a few things along the way and eventually settling in for a night of a home-cooked meal and packing (with a little bit of me watching Super Bowl LI highlights whilst Matthias naps after dinner).