Change of Plans

MMC :: in May 30, 2019 :: in Belgium :: Comments Off on Change of Plans

We wake up early to buckets of rain pouring onto the skylight. In Belgium there is a saying: sa drache; it’s bucketing. We manage to leave the house at a more reasonable hour, and poke our heads into yet more police activity in the little square where we are staying, the Place Jourdan. We’re told it’s on account of the European Commission summit.

We have a breakfast that is not frites and beer, and get frites for dessert to eat while walking to the car museum, which I have somehow convinced Matthias to visit. Fortuitously, it starts to sprinkle just as we approach the museum, and we emerge an hour and a half later to a rain-freshened world of dry, sunny skies.

We very uneventfully shop for groceries in a small natural grocer in the square, in anticipation of the public holiday Thursday, and as a result of an identified need for snacks in the house. (Those playing along from home will realise that the logistics of going to Switzerland for an overnight on the farm did not work out. Next time, most definitely.)

After lazily arguing where to go for dinner (Congolese? A recommended pub? Fondue?) we settle on what Yelp tells us is the best fondue in the city and head to Lyly’s fondue in the city centre, inadvertently passing through yet another protest zone on the way. My favourite part is when we walk up to what is very clearly a police barricade blocking our way to the T, they ask us for our passes, and I go to show them our passports before they kindly ask us to go around because we aren’t allowed through for some reason.

Lyly’s does not disappoint; we arrive within the hour of their closing (a trend…) and are greeted by a Vietnamese couple. Apparently it is the off season, and they only very recently started opening on Tuesdays at all (apparently the economics make sense, as they’re already in on Tuesday prepping for the week—and the cheese is the freshest). We get more cheese fondue than two humans could ever possibly eat and close out the place, being assured that there’s no rush. We enjoy the curious choices of music video television as we listen to the man teaching his wife French as they close up.

After Lyly’s, we walk towards a pub that Ryan’s recommended. It’s very bright inside, but the beers are as big as Matthias’s head. We proceed to take pictures that are ostensibly of each other but are really just trying to sneak the caricature-of-himself French waiter in the background.

My favourite part of this adventure is when Matthias goes to the bathroom and I try to order another round, saying that I’d like another of whatever Matthias has had and something else—I forget what, whatever I wanted. ‘No, you don’t,’ the waiter tells me and I laugh nervously. ‘We close in twelve minutes.’ I order small glasses instead of large ones. Who closes at 11:45?

We end up at a place called Madam Moustache, where it’s swing night, although the dance floor is a little lonely. We get beer out of a vending machine (verdict: probably to expensive for what it is (4,50 €, 12 oz.), although very novel, and the cost would even out in America considering tip, although I’d be pissed about tipping a machine because everyone knows machines don’t have labour rights and certainly don’t pay into payroll or social security taxes) and people-watch. Madame’s is worth it; it’s full of these novel things like those beer vending machines and smoking rooms, and quirky things like photo booths and potentially train cars…but I don’t look too closely out of fear that something will be carnival-themed and surprise me with a clown.

That last picture is some fun drama; the man on the left has been dancing with the woman in blue for some time. She’s clearly half his age, but ALSO clearly half the age on the man on the right, who we think is her husband. He is not at all amused about her dancing with this place’s local character, but he also doesn’t seem to be able to stop him. We watch this drama unfold for a solid twenty minutes and I wish my photo journal of it were less obvious…and better lit.

We end up polishing up on our twist, getting a lot of good practice in, and lamenting the fact that the DJ inexplicably doesn’t have any James Brown.