Brussels
It has been an eternity since I have opined about the indelible mark that travelling leaves on one’s existence. Its not that I have not travelled in recent times, rather, recent times have had a scarcity of inspiration. I have always possessed the uncanny knack of finding inspiration in even the most ‘modest’ experiences; Not lately though. Did the ethereal cobblestone streets of Brussels captivate me enough to release me from the shackles of creative prison? Both you and I will only find out through the course of this article.
A quaint cafe in the heart of Brussels
Sweden-The place I like to call my home, beautiful in its own right, has times of winter bleakness which is capable of driving the most gleeful people to cranky fatigue. This has worked in my favour in many an occasion, forcing me to reach out to its European neighbours for relief in times of unheralded snow and persistent darkness. Last winter the cold drew me to the streets of Paris and the idyllic landscapes of Norway. This winter manifested the serendipity of Brussels. In a moment of Deja-vu, Brussels managed to persuade my fellow winter-fatigued buddy to embark on the voyage with me; Deja-vu because, around the same time last year, under a familiar impulse, The same compatriot would accompany me to Norway. And so, we found ourselves on a Ryan Air flight to Brussels. Noteworthy to mention that we form a peculiar travel duo. While my friend is extremely organised, always knows the route to a destination and has the day planned out, I am often aloof, have no idea where I am, completely lost when it comes to directions, and have an attention span of a ten year old.
To me, Brussels was a breath of fresh air. Ironically, it starkly contrasted the verdant and pristine flora of Sweden with the grandeur of human civilisation. Streets were flanked by enchanted works of architecture. Every building seemed to stand poignantly as a reminder of the times during which it was built in. Palaces and places of interest were decorated with garlands of lights that bore resemblance to a pearl necklace on a woman of wheatish skin tone. Astral ambience of the night coupled with the amorous architecture of mighty structures sent one back to medieval times. It was as though you could still visualise the people and the diction of life during times of old. A few brief moments after I lost myself in an inception like trance of medieval theatric imagination I would be bought back to modernity by the grunt of an Italian supercar, dare I say - ‘casually’ strolling slowly in traffic.
Lets put it this way, the people of Brussels get cars. Cabriolets and classic sedans wander the streets with graceful poise. Coincidentally we found ourselves in a Porsche auto-expo. Every generation of a Porsche ever built was on display in a royal extravagance of industrial beauty befittingly hosted by a mesmerising building of medieval elegance. Modernity in all of its beauty, the pinnacle of automotive engineering, symbolising the industrial revolution formed an alliance with a majestic building of colonial times; a breath taking view to behold. Personally, amidst Porsche royalty a 911 named ‘The Outlaw’ has my heart. A mention to the humble VW Beetle that greeted us at the entrance, its by far the best looking Beetle that I have seen and not to mention, by far the best picture of an inanimate object that I have taken. I believe it deserves a place in VW’s portfolio.
“The Outlaw”
VW Beetle
The ambience of Brussels was complemented beautifully by its people. Sprightly, warm, and charming - As a tourist I never felt out of place. Charlatans with European flare, musicians with imperfectly perfect vocals and lovers enchanted by promises of belonging; Brussels had it all. The smell of chocolate, fresh beer, and potato fries, formed a unique aroma that swept the streets forming a carpet of savoury scents. A plinth of pubs and lounge bars formed a vibrant nightlife riddled with the confident strides of hopeful tourists and locals. Adding to this was an appreciation for fashion, ‘the real fashion' that has authentic flare and is not plagued by the burden of flashy logos. A sight for sore eyes for someone coming from Scandinavia.
An anecdote that left an impression on my mind and advise that I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life transpired in a tattoo parlour that I had visited. I usually do not recommend any particular place in my posts because I want you as the reader to feel how I felt when I explored the world, which is more important to me than to suggest a place, set an expectation, and foil the experience for you. There are hundreds of blogs meant for just that - a.k.a. travel guides. I will make an exception though. Laura’s tattoo parlour in Brussels has hands down the best tattoo artists that I have ever met. I walked in and was fairly nervous. A person working there welcomed me in and asked me to take a seat, and relax. I showed them the design I had in mind, and I kid you not, everyone got involved in the process. My tattoo artist was calm and patient, he helped me make the right choice for the placement. As I was getting the tattoo, the owner of the shop was talking to her colleagues, giving them life advice as she was presumably older than the lot. She said and I quote , “Don’t wait to get older to be wiser. Don’t wait for a certain age to start something. Dont wait to fall in love, don't wait to open a business, don’t wait to go on that trip, don’t wait to call that long lost friend, and most importantly don’t wait to make a choice. There is no right time to do anything. There is just now. Time is always now. Yesterday and tomorrow are just words in English”.
“Laura’s tattoo factory”
I will let that sink in and not say anything after. As an epilogue to my trip to Brussels - When I started the article I was unsure if I was inspired enough to write it and posed a question to you as the reader “Did the ethereal cobblestone streets of Brussels captivate me enough to release me from the shackles of a creative prison?”, having read the article, I will leave it upto you to answer that question.
I am going on a bag-packing Norwegian road trip soon; no hotels, just me, my car, and the scenic mountains of Norway. See you in the next one!