We don't talk about Brussels, No No No!

Preface: To those who love the city of Brussels, I apologize for the following comments. The experience outlined below is from our perspective only and does not represent the views of everyday Americans and their relatives. It is based on a true story.

Train. We took the train to Brussels. And then, at the railway station I spent quite some time finding an ATM that would work while mom sat and mused about backless benches. I was heartened to find a Ukraine refugee station at the railroad across from the one functioning ATM I was using. It had a bunch of sweaters inside it, but they wouldn't be needed today. It was a hot one. Swiftly, we found a taxi and asked to be delivered to the Grand Place. That's an address that has a lot to live up to! Alas, our cab ride ended abruptly after the driver was caught in a traffic jam and he suggested we walk the rest of the way. The Grand Place (or Grote Markt in Dutch, Wikipedia says) is grand. Huge ornate buildings line each side of the square. They are really grand. However, we found the place to be a bit challenging. The cobbles in the square (and really all over Brussels) were loose and irregular (which you can't blame them for -- they're hundreds of years old). I found myself literally worrying about stepping on a crack and breaking my mother's back. Also, for some reason there was a lot of garbage and grime in Brussels. Not sure of the cause - economic? worker shortage? messy tourists? The entire experience made for a less than grand entry to Brussels.

Our next stop was the Brussels City Museum, which I enjoyed, especially its LGBT+ exhibit. Mom saw a bit but most of the museum required a trek up many stairs so she sat amongst some bins of schoolchildren's backpacks and lunches while I museumed. Then, we set off on our less than 1/2 mile walk to our lunch destination. Google Maps was again not the most reliable but we did manage. The walk was uphill and was going well until we ran into some construction. Google really wanted us to go through it and for a bit, I thought that was a possibility. A weird plywood bridge hugged the wall of the buildings, but as we trekked farther into it, the passage abruptly ended, thus ending our plywood sojourn. We snaked back, ignored Google and continued our upward climb. This detour caused us to be late for lunch so we were in a bit of a rush. Once near the park adjacent to our restaurant, we rounded the last corner, only to find four flights of stairs in our path. For those reading yesterday, you may recall that Mom and I canceled our Mont-Saint-Michel trek because of her right knee's aversion to uphill climbs and especially stairs. We'd already been uphilling in for quite some time, so the stairs, staring us down like playground bullies, were a problem. However, my ever determined mother climbed each one of them and at the top I sang the Rocky theme song as she celebrated. More walking and hotter weather happened after that, and then finally, the restaurant.

Hmm. Restaurant? We went to this place because of the excellent Trip Advisor ratings, but for our purposes, it was not a good fit. It was a buffet that really looked more like a potluck, with several cast iron pots filled with beans and vegetables and meats. Not really sure. And all the patrons were digging through the pots and then carrying the contents splayed on their plates down a series of stairs to the outdoor seating. In the end, we ate carrot cake muffins and I drank almost a liter of water in 10 minutes. Lunch was a bust, be we survived the Portugal Sweat Towel (TM)-worthy uphill hike. (See PST origin story HERE).

Our final stop on the Brussels disappointment tour was the musical instrument museum, the one excellent experience of the day. Well, there was one thing that happened. I'll tell you in a minute. First I want to point out that this museum has an apparatus that was designed by DaVinci (or so we were told by the museum guy tuning it and he should know). I can't recall the name of it, but there were the words viola and piano all mixed up and in Dutch or French. Basically, this instrument looked like a piano, but had a motion pedal similar to old sewing machines. That pedal allowed these leather bands (several dozen of them) to rub against strings. It sounded like a violin and looked like a piano - and also sort of like a weaving loom. Very cool. 

Okay, here's the thing that happened. We had been borrowing the museum's wheelchair to wheel Mom's knee (and the rest of her since she was attached and all) around the exhibits. Aside - this museum is one of several we've been to in Europe that has these heavy doors that you must use to enter the exhibit halls, and just to be extra, the musical instrument museum had two sets of doors for each room. Mom and I have become very adept at the dance of her opening the doors by holding on to the handle as I back up the wheelchair and then we SWISH through the door(s) before they can close on us. It should be an Olympic sport. Anyway, we also were taking advantage of their elevator, which in true European style had the following floors: -1, 0, 0+, 1, 2, 2+, and 4. In this particular instance we were headed to 0+, one of the floors our friendly helper told us to see when we arrived. Oh - this elevator is old so Mom and I were able to practice our Olympic door moves some more. I pushed the 0+ door open and was surprised to find a bench in the way of the door. Since we were already there and could see the exhibits we wanted to view, we just carried on with our tour. However, when it was time to leave, the bench was replaced against the elevator door. Hmm. Since 0+ is right above 0, where we were to exit, I asked an employee lurking on 0 to help us get Mom in the elevator. Much to our surprise we were told that the floor 0+ was broken (well not the floor, the elevator door that opens on 0+). "No it's not," we retorted. We'd just used it! They assured us it was, and so a debate began. No fewer than 5 gentlemen were discussing in Dutch (French?) how to get Mom to 0. It certainly was a puzzle until a woman who was watching this all happen (and was also an employee - no rogue instrument afficianatos here) just came up the stairs, opened the door, and wheeled Mom in. I don't know what these folks have against 0+, but I found it to be quite accommodating. Finally we were out.

By now. Brussels felt not so much like a friend. This feeling intensified when our Uber showed up on the opposite side of the street so we had to climb a big hill, cross a busy intersection, and walk down again to get in. Then it was time to sit in the train station. Then it was time to sit on the very hot train, watching our newly purchased chocolates threaten to melt (for those of you who are getting some of these delights, don't blame us for the damage - blame that hot pocket of a railroad car). In Lille, we walked a mile in the 83 degree heat, still worrying for our chocolate, until, finally, we were back at the apartment. Splayed. That's how we stayed for a solid hour. Actually, we are still semi-splayed now. And now that I've described our time in Brussels, we will not speak of it again. WE DON'T TALK ABOUT BRUSSELS - NO NO NO!!!

Okay, one more thing - Brussels is famous for a pissing child statue. Just wanted to put that here.