This is one essay in a six part series:
Postcard from Ypres, Bruges, and Brussels
Sleeping, Talking, and Walking Around: October 15, 2000
The wear and tear of travel and whatever else finally caught up to me. I resolved last night to set no alarm and finally swam to the surface around 10:40 AM this morning in anticipation of a business meeting. My colleague arrived shortly after one and lunch passed agreeably in the hotel restaurant. I think we both felt we accomplished what we had come for.
Between the sleeping, eating and talking, it was four-thirty before I was finally free to contemplate the possibilities of Brussels on a cold, foggy, and drizzly day. While this sort of weather pretty much kills your fun if you’re hanging around at the beach, I find that it does nothing to dampen the appeal of a great city. Indeed, I think it offers fine opportunities for photography, especially if you fancy black and white, which I do.
One of Europe’s oldest circuses is encamped in an empty lot across the square from my hotel, and it is there that I headed first. This is an “under the big top” type of circus featuring a large tent set front and center on the lot. Jammed all around, left, right, and behind, is the armada of caravans, trucks, trailers, and all the rest that the circus requires to house and transport its performers. Lined up outside were the expected assortment of children and adults waiting to enjoy the thrills and excitement that waited inside. I’m pleased to report that the pitiful and annoying cry of overwrought children translates well into French or Dutch, and I had little difficulty understanding the gist of either side of the ensuing child/parent interchanges.
Leaving the circus behind, I headed once again in the general direction of the famous Grand Place to seek my photographic fortune. As you would expect of a part of town that dates to the 16th century (and before if you predate the current buildings), the streets narrow up and weave this way and that. Closer to the Grand Place, the assorted shops, haberdasheries, chemists, booksellers, and porno palaces gave way to an endless parade of seafood restaurants, each with its sidewalk tables, shellfish displays, awnings, and barkers doing their very best to entice members of the passing mob to favor his establishment. I suspect that those in fear of crowds or close places would seriously hate the experience.
With a set up like that, you know I had a wonderful time looking and photographing until I finally settled on a place to eat. Having walked past perhaps 50 or 60 restaurants – they are literally one after the other on both sides of successive alleys – I made my selection based on a clear line of site from my intended table from which I intended to further my photographic interests. I’m not entirely sure what I ordered, but what arrived was a very serviceable paella which I downed happily whilst surreptitiously firing my camera which was mounted on a tripod beside me.
The Grand Place is the center of the old city and is surrounded four sides with wonderful old guild, government, and private buildings, most of which are now something else. At the time of my arrival, the day was ending and whatever hubbub and excitement one might normally find on a Sunday afternoon had long since departed.
Soon, the buildings were awash in light (that probably overstates the amount of light; more like drizzling in light I think), which sets the assembled tourists to snapping away. Imagine their disappointment when they develop their film, only to find that the automatic flash that so harshly lit their smiling mugs had the unpleasant side affect of plunging whatever lay behind them – like the building they were posing before – into total darkness. Smugly, I took my photos with camera firmly mounted atop a small tripod, counting the seconds for my properly time-exposed pictures. At least that’s what I told myself I was doing and that is what they would be.
. . . (continued)
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