In which a glorious spring weekend in Brussels gets the nostalgia pumping.

Three months ago, the stars aligned over Bruxelles and I found myself on a plane to that fair city on somewhat short notice. On this one weekend in early May, my Hamburg-based theater group was scheduled to compete there at an international festival for theatrical swags, and one of my favorite musicians was playing a concert. A wonderful friend from my year in Belgium has been living in the capital for a while and kindly offered to let me stay, at which point fate had its way and I bought my plane tickets.

On that Friday fine I went to work as per usual, then headed to the nearby airport and caught a plane to Amsterdam and then another to Brussels. I had expected the heightened military/police at the airport following the attacks in March, but it was still a very surreal experience to go through the echoey halls, shops open but empty in the arrivals hall that was still off limits to anyone other than arriving passengers. The first point of contact with the outside world was on the park deck outside the building, where a makeshift arrivals gate had been set up and was guarded by heavily-armed, uniformed police and soldiers. My friend met me there on foot and together we headed to the train station while I tried not to stare at all the guns.

From there we made our way through the city to the venue where the theater festival was taking place and made it in time for the evening's performances. Being there with my friend from my Belgium days a decade (!) ago and a large number of friends from my current life in Hamburg was pretty hard for my brain to handle, and the language-hopping between French, English, and German depending on who wandered into the conversation proved to be both exhilarating and exhausting. After a several hours of this (and three great plays), my friend and I were ready to venture home and sleep. 

The next day was spent mostly outside exploring, slimed in sunscreen and exalting in summer. We visited some of my old haunts and refreshed many memories, particularly that of the city map in my mind, which had gotten extremely rusty.

A wedding party at l'hôtel de ville came out for a photo-op, looking like the royal family.

Rounded a corner downtown to find the main memorial to the victims of the attack at the airport in March -- a hard reality check on an otherwise very bright and bubbly morning. Most of the flowers were dried in their clear plastic sheaths and looked like they had weathered many sunny days.

We ended up at the theater festival again that evening for 3 more plays and fun with the Germans. 

Another chère amie joined us the following day for further adventures & merriment. Hooray!

Much of the weekend was spent in a park at the city center, where the Fête de l'Iris was in full swing with free music and all sorts of groups sharing what they did best, from wildly costumed performers to dance troupes to magnificent mustache contest winners serving up beer, bakers handing out rhubarb tarte just because, scientists of all realms performing very fun and kid-friendly experiments, and don't get me started on the 100+ food trucks catering to thousands of locals and tourists, all blissed out on sunshine. The only check on the atmosphere were the guards checking bags of all people entering and exiting the park, and the arms with arms patrolling the grounds.

This was one of my favorite moments -- he was gently teaching her how to spar ("et on se défend, on se défend!") and she was rocking out, a total badass in purple sparkly face paint.

Someone had plastered the city in brussels sprouts.

That evening ended with a wonderful concert and a final walk through the dark city before a few hours of sleep and an early plane back to Hamburg. It was, for lack of a better word, a rejuvenating time, and a joyful one, and I am so grateful to mes amies who took me in and shared their time and space with their petite américaine. An added plus was my theater group winning second place at the festival (their first of three prizes at festivals for their performance of INVASION! -- all well deserved).

Flying low along the Dutch coast, fields of tulips, prime for the plucking.

Then on into Germany, tulips traded for acres of eye-popping rapeseed, highlighter yellow along the banks of the Elbe.

And finally, landing in Hamburg, skyline view giving the ol' heart a welcome home squeeze.

Next up: Back to the Land of Enchantment, and beyond.

In which we bounce through Belgium.

 

A wee corner of my heart will always be striped black-gold-red (--not to be confused with a neighboring corner striped black-red-gold). I'd returned to this silly little country only once since my year spent there, being a short visit before starting my German existence in 2009. 'Twas, therefore, high time for another hello. After not having found any available camping places in Beautiful Bruges, we decided to shoot for Groovy Ghent instead. I'd visited this spired and pointy city once upon a whim over six years ago and didn't have to be asked twice about whether I wanted to go again.

After a cold and uneventful night in the field, I was excited to cross the border into this silly little country of my memories. The excitement only grew as the cow fields turned to, erm, traditional potato harvesting establishments, and the squat brick architecture started looking familiar.

 

We didn't have any time to toodle around Wallonia, which prohibited my feelings of nostalgia from getting too out of hand. Once we finally arrived at the popular recreation area we'd been aiming for, we snagged ourselves a campsite and cooked up a mighty fine meal on the ole GDR-era Gas Cooker before hitting the beach and the Stadt. After a rather unfortunate encounter with stinging nettle for which my feet have yet to forgive me, we wandered our way along the water into the city.

 

When the evening sun tiptoes along these streets and waterways, you notice.

I got a little bouncy when the downtown clocktower came into view. Its picture has been gracing my walls for years.

 

(Silly Belgians.)

 

Another old friend.

There came a point when nourishment was necessary, and where better to find such a thing than in a friterie? I chuckled to see the array of fry-able things on display again and my stomach immediately crossed its intestines in disapproval. Even after all these years, it was still upset with me about all those things I'd done to it so long ago.

It took a little coaxing before an exception could be made.

The fellow who had sold us our fried yummies came outside to do some co-mooching as the sky shifted through electric blues. He was of immigrant descent and asked us many questions about immersion in Germany, such as whether all German children now had to learn Turkish in school. Things he'd heard and wanted to know if there was any truth to them. It was an unexpected and interesting conversation, carried out in crinkled English, and the first of many on this trip in which I accepted the German identity that was assumed, what with traveling with Germans and all. Not that it made much of a difference, but it felt slightly badass all the same.

I was once discussing Ghent with someone who had recently been there and the first thing they said to me was, "So did the castle surprise you, too?" I don't know why I didn't expect to see a medieval castle in the heart of a medieval city, but the truth is that it totally snuck up on me. Twice. Sometimes you're just toodling along in life and you run into giant medieval fortresses. Could happen to anyone.

I am particularly fond of this photo because the shadow of the motorcycle looks like a snail.

The highlight of that evening for me was stumbling across a courtyard celebration of sorts. It was a festive affair with rockin' Balkan brass, joyful people to observe, and lots of beer. It was exactly the side of Belgium that I had decided to remember most fondly.

I'm sure there's a story behind this. I just haven't gotten around to googling it yet.

(The people walking toward the camera look so totally out-of-century.)

It was summertime and the happy hooligans were plentiful. And it was good.

I would have liked to have stayed longer and seen some friendly faces from days gone by, but the ocean was calling and there were still many kilometers to go before before the next sleep. So sleep we did, and away we went.