I’ve only really thought about Brussels as the much hated thorn in the side of the tabloid press. A perfect reason to visit the city for New Year.
First and foremost there’s Eurostar, the king of trains that teases commuters in south London every morning of the week. It’s bigger, better looking and faster than any British train. It’s got Euro plastered on the side and comes from Paris and Brussels straight into our capital city.
Brilliant. And it was too, a fantastic way to travel.
Brussels is small enough to have a proper little centre, in contrast to London which tends to be more of a sprawling mass. This makes drinking in the bars that overlook the Gothic architecture in the Grand Place a far more intimate affair. The restaurants too are huddled together, spilling out onto a few cobbled streets luring punters in for Moules Marinieres and lager. Probably my favourite meal ever (apart from Spaghetti Bolognese).
Everyone is dead friendly, and the drinking has a less rushed, more civilised vibe to it. Refreshing also to see that the local youths throwing fireworks around and running away from the Police were high on life, rather than liquor and solvents.
So Brussels, a great place to spend a weekend looking at stuff and getting drunk.
The journey home wasn’t so good, characterised by the overtired devil child opposite wired on Coke, and the woman behind keeping me awake talking too loudly in, ‘That accent’, about south Americans eating Guinea pigs.