Chapter 1 - 'Don't Make Me Run, I'm All Full Of Chocolate', or, Brussels
sculpt|mannekin-pis - duquesnoy
paint|the death of marat - david
drink|chimay beer

The first leg of my spring break took me up to Brussels to visit a close friend of Helene's from her exchange last year in Utrecht, a great guy by the name of Guillaume, who took us in for a couple nights and became our own personal tour guide for the the three days we would spend there. That's what so great about the friends you make everywhere around the world, sometimes you lose touch and you never know how or where you'll meet next, but it's always great times when you do. A quick reiteration to my many friends scattered everythere, there is always an open invite to come and hit-up Calgary whenever you fancy it. Just say the word.

After getting aquainted, our first night was dedicated to sampling the many fine beers that Belgium is famous for. If you know anything about Belgium, you'll know they're particulary famous for three particularly glorious culinary accomplishments: they're home to the best beer, waffles, and chocolate in the world. Well, instead of going to the ridiculous bar that had 2006 beers on tap (and a menu like a phone book, to quote my buddy ed) we went to a smaller pub that had 'only' 200 beers on tap (here's a wee photo of the menu just so you get a real sense of what 200 beers means). The great fun of course, was for all three of us to order a pint of something different and then try each other's beer. I'd always been a fan of wine testing but this trumped it for sure, and I whilst doing so I had hazy recollections of the great beer testing day I had not so long ago at the Spirits of Oakride chez moi (eh Rico?). Only, of course, with a little more of an international feel. Also, I was fortunate enough to have Guillaume educating me on Belgium beer, the most famous being the illustrious 'trappistes' of which only 7 exist in the world, 6 of those being Belgian (yes I know the link is in french, but here's an old friend who never let me down in French translations in highschool). My favourite of the ones I tried was the Chimay bleue, and I could wax poetic on it's fruity aromas a la faux Muskoka barman, but I think it suffices to say it was one incredible beer.

Day 2 began with a wee wander, which took us to the breathtaking Grand Place, a place that Victor Hugo is quoted as calling one of the most beautiful places on earth (and as a current adopted Frenchmen now, I'm required to take everything said by Victor Hugo as holy sacrament). What was absolutely striking was how each building was a beautiful in it's own way, but different from the one next to it and showed some startlingly different architecture, and the in some spots these incredible buildings looking like they were literally leaning on one another, and if I were a little more of a paranoiac I might even suggest they were conspiring... Certainly gives the square an incredible, vibrant feel, an almost cartoon-like characteristic. I took a video circular sweep of the entire square, but unfortunately I've no bloody clue how to upload videos, so here're a few pics. The one of the building all by itself is L'Hotel de Ville (city hall).

After the square we satisfied two addictions... we satisfied Helene's unbelievable sweet tooth by getting some belgian chocalate. So expensive (we're talking a euro a pop) but so delicious... you can see how Mr. Bernard Callebaut got to be so damn good at what he does, all he had to do was grow up in Brussels! Next, we satisfied my sometimes insufferable fine art tooth (as some of you may attest from my previous mass e-mails on Italy) and went to the Musee des Beaux Arts, where I saw one of my favourite neo-classic works, David's The Death of Marat. If you ever wanted a case study on propaganda, this would make a great one. Marat, a member of the Paris Convention during the Revolution (when it's capitalized it means to a frenchmen that it's THE revolution, otherwise known in the rest of the world as the French revolution). A Jacobin and close friend of Robespierre, we was assisnated by a Royalist Charlotte Corday while soaking in the tub, which he often did for hours on end to treat a disfiguring skin disease from which he suffered. So the Revolutionary government commission David (also a member of the Convention) to paint a portrait glorifying Marat and the Revolutionary project. And here it is. You'll notice that the disfiguring skin disease has disappeared, and rather you now have a Christ-like figure, bathed in dark somber light. I found myself feeling the same emotion you do standing before a typical religious depiction of Christ's suffering (another form of propaganda, but let's not get started on that road). But truly an extraordinary work of art, so happy to have gotten to see it, especially as I didn't even realize it was in Brussels.

The other interesting art nestled in Brussels is Manneken-Pis, a little angelic statue/fountain of a young boy proudly peeing what can only be described as freely in the middle of Brussels. Easily findable (just look for the huge group of Asian tourists), the statue was cute, but was interesting to me for a couple of reasons. First, right next to the fountain a Chocolate shop, which wisely took advantage of it's location (see photo), I was more struck by the rampant rampant commercialization by all the shops close by, which a lot of tourists seemed more interested in than the fountain itself (like buying a deck of cards with the fountain dressed as a different european figure on each card). The other interesting thing was that most tourist had absolutely no interest in seeing it's sister statue: literally a girl squating to pee freely. Just looking at the two photos I think the comparison is stark, the girl is behind bars next to graffiti tags nestled in the back corner of a back alley (actually very close to the 2006 beer place), and the little boy is glorified out in the open with throngs of tourists and top-notch maitenance. Is it really that much more romantic and artistic to have a penis? In the peeing world, I suppose so. But I suppose only if you're a young boy. Somehow I don't think it would be as charming with a middle-aged man.

The final adventure of the trip came the next morning where, before an 11:45 train booked to Amsterdam, we squeezed in Brussel's famous Atomium. The building's story is the same as the Eiffel Tower's essentially... assembled for the World Fair when it was in Brussels, it was deemd to cool to destroy (or to profitable a tourist attraction to destroy, either or) and now sits proudly on the edge of town. It looks really like an atom, only blown up to gigantic silver proportions. The problem for us was that the train station was clear at the other end of town, and the Atomium didn't open until 10:30. It was once said that the Dandy approach to seeing the Louvre would be in full sprint, finishing in 7 minutes. Well imagine that approach applied to the Atomium, we flew from ball to ball in that thing, and even got the front desk to have us skip the line to take the elevator to the top (the looks we got...) Actually, in the end the coolest thing about it was seeing the siloulette's of repairman hanging off these giant silver balls 300 feet in the air with climbing gear. Anyways, we wound up running with our giant backpacks from the Atomium in full sprint and I'm pretty sure, judginge from the looks we got, that most tourists who witnessed the spectacle were sure the Atomium was going to explode in a mere instant. At least I'd showered that morning, my usual anti-shaving attitudes while traveling certainly would've given me a terrorist like air. We wound up making our train with 5 minutes to spare, with wich we used to buy a Belgian waffle (or 'gauffre') and scarf it back breathlessly in the train station.

Alright, next chapter is Utrecht... hmm, maybe I'm feeling inspired enough to start it now! A huge thank you goes out to Guillaume and his family for their hospitality and kindness while we were in their neck of the woods. Guillaume, you know you're more than welcome in Cowtown (that's Calgary in silly western slang) anytime.