No French New York City, but We Finally Found Black People

MMC :: in May 31, 2019 :: in Belgium :: Comments Off on No French New York City, but We Finally Found Black People

Wednesday ends up a series of happy accidents. 

We awake not later than normal and walk to the square to get fries to go, as a snack to eat on our way to a more proper breakfast. I want a green smoothie and a salad or something (or rather my body seems to) so we stop by a trendy smoothie/bowl place for food. We sit outside and remark on the drastic temperature differences between the two extremes of ‘the sun is out’ and ‘there is a cloud and suddenly an arctic blast of wind.’

After breakfast we take the T in a combination of subway and tram down to Maison Horta, a Beaux-Arts house museum. There is an accordionist on the T, but we don’t take pictures lest we encourage him (or feel obliged to tip). 

When we arrive, the museum makes a big deal out of the privilege accorded to visitors—essentially that we should be grateful just to be able to step foot inside the house, so their no bags/cameras/phones policy is justified. Truthfully I like not feeling encumbered by all of our stuff, and we spend the last hour before the museum closes exploring the house. I like the greenhouse room best, tucked away at the top and crowded with plants (that look like they need a little more fertiliser). 

We leave the museum and head to a café on the corner because Matthias is sleepy lethargic and I intend to perk him up with some caffeine and perhaps a little food. The café is trendy—light and airy—and the two women who work here are quintessentially adorable. We pass some couches and a ‘Rest Here. It is OK.’ sign, and I think to sit down before noticing the two nursing mothers taking up most of the couch. 

Matthias wants to make a study of me in an effort to improve his photography skills. 

We leave the café as it’s closing, refreshed and resolved to make our way back into town in the most indecorous way possible: by riding electric scooters down the middle of the sidewalk. My top speed is 23 km/h and Matthias doesn’t think to check his, so naturally that makes me the winner.

Before we get to our destination, we are distracted. 

We check off the quintessential tourist box of taking pictures in front of the Mannekin Pis statue and head across the street to a pub for dinner, where we’ve read that they have an excellent cheese board (they do). We people-watch and eat Belgian cheese and bread for dinner. 

We aren’t sure where to head next, so wander in the general direction of Delerium and that whole scene, stopping in the Grand Place square along the way, where the evening light was lovely, as the sun was just setting around 21:30.

On the way to the Delerium area we pass a spot with more melanin than we’ve seen all trip and resolve to duck our heads back in after. We have a beer and people-watch, trying simultaneously to explain to a Dutch-speaking Belgian that six months probably isn’t enough for a cross-country American adventure and to hold our tongues from asking whether he voted VB in the election. 

Beers emptied, we walk back towards the aforementioned spot Benelux, where we spend the next four hours or so dancing, staying out past 2AM just to revel in the novelty of a place being open past 2AM. We also learn that Belgians/Europeans/whoever everyone is from cant at all dance to hip-hop, and Matthias feels like he’s in the Twilight Zone given the mid-90s vibe of the place. We make friends at the bar and talk with a kid from LA (shoutout to Justin) celebrating his 25th birthday about the hours here. He laughs, saying that he’s asked when places close and they simply respond, ‘Pfft, when we get tired we tell people to go home because we’re sleepy.’ Friday we might find out whether we can outlast the bartenders at a spot that was a recommendation from a gent who was absolutely cutting it up on the floor.