After a comfortable flight to Brussels, we took the train from the airport to Centraal Station one block from our hotel. The train was clean, the ride smooth and quiet. The stations are plain and dingy. Flat surfaces between stations, like retaining walls and equipment covers, are soaked in graffiti, leisurely drawn. Perhaps this is an effective outlet, as the city is less marred, but youthful exuberance is not stifled much.
After a 90 minute walking tour, we settled into a sidewalk cafe to sample some great Belgian beers (6). We agreed that few of the tourists are American. Word has not reached the states that Brussels is a party town. As is common in Europe, teens with adults drink without public scorn.
All the streets in this area are paved with stones, not asphalt or cement. The clatter of luggage rollers alerts one of approaching tourists. Ornate buildings are well maintained, given that most have seen more centuries than I have witnessed intelligent presidents. Respect for age is a virtue I am learning to admire, if not embrace.
Ok, the beer has gone to my head. Time for…how do you say “siesta” in French?