Brussels was not an attractive city.
Don’t get me wrong. The Grand Place and surrounding areas were historical, well preserved and filled with shops selling’s chocolate, lace, waffles, Tintin merchandise, and other things normal human beings don’t need.
The rest of Brussels however, had a certain barrenness to it. As much I as enjoy seeing Europe grapple awkwardly with modern architecture, in Brussels, there was a certain coldness in its urban layout. Wide streets, central parklands, well constructed buildings, but rather lacking in vibe. It wasn’t until we were munching on Middle Eastern food for dinner in Matongé that we could feel a slight buzz to the city, at the level where everyday life is lived.
But it matters not, because all I’ll ever remember from the first time I visited Brussels are the leaves of late autumn. Piles and piles into which we jumped, kicked, rolled, tossed in the air, until the park cleaners came after us, yelling angrily in French.
And then we giggled, and giggled, and giggled.
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