Brussels, home of the crappest railway stations in the world, and sprouts.

Brussels Midi station...it's dark, it's concrete, it has a maze of shops and no architectural value whatsoever. Of all stations, this is the one I most wanted to get out of...and yet, it's so badly designed that even trying to leave is difficult, and trying to leave in a particular direction almost impossible. The signs to whatever you want point (if you are lucky) in a vague direction, and then peter out. If you're lucky, and find your way through the confused foreigners, you might find a map on the wall. Even then it's not simple.

This was also my first encounter with Belgian toilets. I found the map, found a toilet...it was closed: there was an arrow pointing vaguely off to one side, but no real clue as to where the other toilet was. eventually I found one way at the other end of the station...and then like almost every toilet in Belgium, you have to pay. If the staff spent as much time keeping the toilets pristine as they do getting money out of people, I wouldn't mind so much.

Eventually I got out, and started walking to the hostel. It was a dirty, run down boulevard, that had obviously been important once. By this point I was thinking Brussels had as much charm as Salford. If you don't know Salford, it's well worth a visit: the locals are very friendly and it's very much unspoiled by tourists.

As I was walking along, there was some sort of impromptu celebration on the other side of the road: 4 or 5 carloads of young Asian kids (Moroccan?) stopped their cars, started beeping their horns, shouting, dancing, and generally holding up the traffic. The traffic generally wasn't pleased, but they didn't seem to care. I was tempted to take pictures, but then I didn't know what they were celebrating. If it was some sort of terrorist attack on London, say, then it might not have been appreciated. On the other hand, maybe someone had just blown up the station- that cheered me up.

By this time I was beginning to think that Belgium was quite different to what Lonely Planet told me! Maybe the train had gone to Beirut instead? It kind of got worse as I went close to the canal (I guess I should have guessed when it was called the Boulevard d'Abattoir that it might not be the best bit.)

Having got settled in, I went for a walk, and some food, in the early evening. The area I was in was part of a suburb called Molenbeek, I think. It was extremely, vibrantly Asian, filled with general shops, takeaways, and lots of clothes shops: from fabrics to asian tailors to sari sellers. Rusholme looks tame by comparison.

Leaving this vibrancy behind for now, I found myself back at the Canal de Charleroi, and crossed over...and at last found the historic Brussels I'd been expecting. I wandered randomly, enjoying the views, and eventually ate in a restaraunt with tables in this square, the Place St Catherine.

That's the church of St. Catherine. I ate in a place called Jacques, which specialised in seafood (I had Wing of Skate and fish soup: not bad, but quite French presentation.) It was run by an odd waiter who I ended up feeling a bit sorry for. He was continually almost running between the restaurant itself and the square, where everyone was sat, across the little road in between. When he got there, he was then trying to deal with about 10 tables, speaking about 4 languages seemingly fluently, and dealing with idiot Brits who didn't even seem to like fish. He gave me sparking water rather than non-sparkling, but it seemed churlish to complain when he was doing all that!

written by  martin_b on June 23, 2007 from Brussels, Belgium
from the travel blog: 10 days in Belgium
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