Belgium Archives - Page 20 of 23

Belgium

Brussels: A City Without a Soul?

by Iva Skoch on Oct 16, 2007

I just spent a few days in Brussels. It’s been a long time since I visited the capital of Belgium, well before it became the EU-conglomerate that it is now. Back then, the only thing I remembered about Brussels is that I didn’t really remember anything. Not because I was intoxicated, mind you. The city just didn’t make a huge impression on me.

Still, I wanted to keep an open mind about Brussels. Although I went there for a journalism conference hosted by the EU, not for pleasure, I liked it. The old town is picturesque and diverse, both architecturally and culturally. I had a couple of good Belgian beers, overdosed on pralines and even had a decent falafal.

On the plane back I was thinking about Brussels. I liked it but it didn’t really make an impression on me. I didn’t love it. I didn’t even hate it. I think I figured it out. Brussels is a city you visit for its particularly good elements (chocolate, beer, buildings…) not for the city’s soul.

(Thanks to Melanie & John for the picture of Brussels.)

One for the Road: The Globetrotter’s LogBook Series

by Kelly Amabile on Oct 3, 2007

Here’s an interesting travel book series from Belgian publisher Morton, Diaz & Cook that I stumbled upon yesterday. There are currently five titles in The Globetrotter’s LogBook series, with a 6th promised to be on the way soon. These stylish souvenir books are meant to be used as journals for recording specific trip information — details on countries of the world, or notes about vaccination and flight records.

But what makes these books special is that they are all a mixture of content and creative space — facts and figures for the traveler are interspersed with blank space to allow for stamps, stickers or personal journey jottings.

The publisher’s most recent title marks a new direction for the series. It is the first one to focus on a particular region of the world — Produced in collaboration with the Flemish Tourist Office, Flander’s Six Divine Cities is a guidebook and traveler notebook dedicated to Antwerp, Bruges, Brussels, Ghent, Leuven and Mechelen. Peppered with maps and color photos, this latest book presents an “at a glance” perspective for 118 sites in the Flanders region. And one corner of each page is reserved for traveler scribbles – memories and moments can be captured and recorded with ease, creating an organically evolving guidebook experience.

It’s Official. Heathrow is Shabby and Slow.

by Grant Martin on Sep 3, 2007

Not only is Heathrow one of the world’s drabbest airports, it also has more flight delays than any other major airport in Europe. According to statistics from the Association of European Airlines, from April to June one flight in three left Heathrow at least than 15 minutes late, with many flights departing at least than half an hour late.

The most efficient airport was Brussels where the well-organised Belgians ensured only 15.5% of flights were delayed. Further east in Cyprus, the laid back crew at Lanarca airport had 27.6% of flights delayed, but with a massive 55 minutes average waiting time.

My own personal best (worst?) was a couple of hours waiting at Panama City’s domestic gateway, Marcos A. Gelabert Airport for a flight to the San Blas islands off Panama’s Caribbean coast. The official reason given was poor weather, but I’m still adamant the flight crew were waiting for the 2006 Champions League Final between Arsenal and Barcelona to finish. When extra time was required we were never going to leave on time.

News via the www.telegraph.co.uk and thanks to d’n’c on Flickr for the photo of my least favourite London bed and breakfast.

Also be sure and check the London destination guide.

Across Northern Europe: Two to a bed in Bruges

by Brook Silva-Braga on Aug 21, 2007

There are many ways to end up sleeping with someone in a hostel bed but this was a new one for me.

Bruges, Belgium is a little city of 117,000 with about five million tourists on every cobblestone street so I was happy to find shelter at a hostel in the north part of town. My friend and I claimed beds in dorm room 10 and headed out for a long day of beer reconnaissance. Our exploration was as thorough as 8% alcohol levels will reasonably allow. It had been a good nine hours of diligent effort when we made it back to room 10.

Room 10 was darkened and filled with sleeping bodies, including one in my bed. My guidebook — which had been on top of my bed to hold the place — was now on top of my bag which had also been moved to the door. Naturally, reception was closed.

But the hostel bar was open and I staggered over there and asked the bartender what to do. He walked with me back to room 10 and observed that there was in fact someone else in my bed.

We went back to the bar and squinted at a computer spreadsheet. A group of nine had been split between rooms 10 and 11 and it appeared one of the fellas from room 11 had gone into room 10 instead. Sure enough there was an empty bed in room 11 and the barman gave me a key to the room and went back to pouring bier.

It was a comfy bed on the bottom of the bunk with a blanket of ideal weight. I was asleep for five minutes or an hour or a year when Stacey came into the room. I have no idea if her name was Stacey but we need a name for her.

“You’re in my bed,” Stacey observed in close proximity to my slumbering head. “You’re in my bed!”

“Shut up!” a guy in an adjacent bunk offered.

“I need to sleep and he’s in my bed,” Stacey clarified with a distinct Queensland, Australia accent.

I explained what had happened to Stacey and suggested she talk to the bartender. The bar was closed, she noted calmly and not at all drunkenly or annoyedly. It had reached the hour where even annoyedly was a word.

“I’m sorry, but this is the bed they gave me and it’s the only place I have to sleep and I’m not getting up,” I said.

Stacey curled up on the floor and proceeded the squirm audibly. “If you want to share you can,” I offered chivalrously. “That’s the best I can offer.”

And with that Stacey climbed into bed with her back to my back and her feet to my face. Sleeping with someone in a dorm-size bed is an act of skill, sleeping with someone in a dorm-size bed without touching them is an act of will.

I don’t often remember my dreams but I remember one from this night which I feel compelled to share. In it, I was sitting up in the bed while Stacey slept and since I didn’t know who she was I looked her up on Facebook and read through her profile. It seemed an odd way of learning about someone you were sharing a bed with. I don’t recall if her name on Facebook was Stacey but there is no accounting for the subconscious.

In the morning, Stacey and I were in much better spirits – though no thanks to each other, if you know what I mean – and both agreed that it had been no ones fault and we both behaved admirably. At breakfast she gave me a knowing smile and though she wasn’t as cute as her Facebook picture had made her seem, I hoped she’d share an undercooked egg with me and tell me her name and a few personal details I could put in this section of the story.

But instead she sat next to an American girl who had just been to Amsterdam. Reception was open now and they gave back my 17 euros. The hostel’s slogan is “party hard, sleep easy” but in Bruges the partying was the easy part.

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Previously on Across Northern Europe:

Brook Silva-Braga is traveling northern Europe for the month of August and reuniting with some of the people he met on the yearlong trip which was the basis of his travel documentary, A Map for Saturday. You can follow his adventure in the series, Across Northern Europe.

Across Northern Europe: Authentic Belgian Beer

by Brook Silva-Braga on Aug 20, 2007

Belgium is home to the EU, many very fine restaurants, important art and beautiful architecture. But it is also a tiny country with a giant selection of excellent beer and if you like beer and live in New York (where Belgian beers are fairly scarce and cost close to $10 with tip) you can easily justify a trip to Belgium simply to drink beer.

If I’m being honest I’ll admit to having done that. If I’m being really honest, I’ll admit to having done it twice.

I don’t like to drink alone so I met a friend this weekend for a survey of lambics and trappists. I arrived in Brussels a day before him and decided to sample some tourist attractions. Having already visited the beer museum (and the EU headquarters, thank-you-very-much) I scampered to the Cantillon brewery. The guidebook gave the address of a street just off the map and when I arrived the sign was so small (and so not in English) that I nearly turned around.

When Paul Cantillon started making beer in Anderlecht more than a century ago there were heaps of traditional breweries in Brussels but today there is just the one. Cantillon is fighting the good fight in part by giving tours of its 19th century production behind the subtly marked door at Rue Gheude 56.

I graduated university and have been to several breweries and have a pamphlet here on the process but making beer is still quite a mystery to me. But what became clear on my Cantillon tour is that the beer makers of the world have sold out to new techniques and changing public desires, leaving Cantillon nearly alone in defending the ancient traditions. They do so with the stubbornness of someone selling a product they know almost no one wants but insist they should.

“A true lambic is never sweet,” the guide/brewer told us. “But the masses want sweet. And since there is no protection in Belgium for the traditional methods, you cannot tell by the label if you are drinking a true lambic or they simply call it a lambic because people know the name.”

One principle difference – I’m cheating from the pamphlet here – is the type of fermentation. Cantillon uses “spontaneous fermentation” meaning they simply pour the wort (the base liquid of mashed up grains) into a big, flat pan and it let it cool overnight. Instead of inoculating it with yeast cultures they let the special Belgian air do it naturally. This is apparently how all beer was made until Pasteur got creative in the 1860’s.

It’s at this point – if I’m being honest again – that my thoughts generally turn to the beer tasting and I fail to learn how to make beer. So soon after they poured small glasses of the Gueuze and Rose de Gambrinus. Gueuze is a mix of one, two and three year old lambic; Rose de Gambrinus is a fruit beer with fresh raspberries (not fake syrup!) in two year old lambic.

The Cantillon, as promised, is not a sweet beer. It’s a bit like eating Wheaties when you’ve grown up on Frosted Flakes. But the taste is complex and different and worth a try. I bought two bottles and had them ready when my friend arrived that night.

I explained to him the different types of fermentation and the use of the traditional methods. I told him how all the Chimay and Leffe and Kwak and La Couffe and Rochefford and Palm and Duvel we were about to drink wasn’t how the monks made it 500 years ago. This seemed to weigh much more heavily on me than him.

“I don’t know, I like the Belgian beers,” he said. “However they’re making it seems good to me.”

And with that we went out into Brussels and bought pitas for dinner and drank a giant Chimay Grand Reserve on the church steps of the Grand Place. The bottle was $4.50 at the grocery store outside town instead of $18 at the bar in New York.

I’m in Amsterdam now with another friend and the two bottles of authentic Cantillon beer are chilling in her refrigerator. I can report that they are heavy bottles which I’ve carried diligently through three cities and two countries in hopes of finding someone appreciative of their authenticity. My friend is German and favors Becks Green Lemon beer when Smirnoff Ice isn’t readily available. Wednesday I’m going to Denmark, and I’m afraid the Gueuze and Rose de Gambrinus will be joining me.

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Previously on Across Northern Europe: