On Tuesday, I headed off to jolly old... Belgium, for a bit of chocolate, waffles, and beer. What I love most about Europe is that all it takes to go anywhere I want is to walk into a train station and buy a ticket. It's not like China, where my method involved carefully copied Chinese characters and train numbers on a paper slipped through the glass. It's also not like China in that in order to get to another country, it's only thirty minutes.
The entire trip can probably be summed up in this sentence: "Ow, my whole body hurts."
Of course, that's (almost) entirely in a good way. We did so much walking and climbing and staring and eating. We ate waffles topped with enough whipped cream and strawberries to reach the top of the Eiffel Tower. We were mistaken for English. We stared at paintings of slightly vulgar faces and men with bowler hats (thank you, Museum Magritte). We were asked directions and (hopefully) didn't get them lost, but who knows. The directions were in French.
We molested Jesus. Now, that's not as bad as it sounds. It's like in China when everyone touches the gold knobs on doors for good luck. Well, in the Grand'Place, there is a Jesus incarnation on a wall and he's rubbed gold where everyone has touched him, from head to toe. We thought it only fitting to follow the tradition.
We saw the Manneken Pis, which, let me tell you, is not quite what you expect. You walk around a corner to find this tiny little statue and you think, "that's it?" It's very small. I would like to think it's a sort of euphemism about men and the way they view themselves - you know, how they like to talk themselves up? But in the end, that's all it is.
Brussels is over and done, and it was enjoyed aside from the remnants of pain. I shall be updating my "travel places" tab from now on to reflect places I want to go/have already been.
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