Being retired means not having to work. Not having to work means doing pretty much what I damn well please. What I please often means traveling to see or do something I've never seen or done before. Sometimes, to taste something.
I love custard and seek it out wherever we go (click on each link to see what I am talking about): flan in Buenos Aires, tarts in San Francisco's Chinatown, crema catalana in Barcelona, crème aux oeufs in Paris, Boston's cream pie.
For a long time, however, I've longed for the ultimate in custard, the legendary pastel de nata of Portugal. As one writer observed, these custards are to Portugal what wine is to France. And of all the pasteis de nata, the greatest are from the Pasteis de Belem in Lisbon.
No longer able to resist the urge to gorge myself on these tasty little suckers, I decided it was time to go to Portugal. And so we are off, flying today to Madrid and then on tomorrow morning to Lisbon, where we'll spend eight days in an apartment in the Graça neighborhood.
If you think me silly for this, look at this photo and tell me that you do not want one. Open wide to take another bite.
I haven't posted any snaps because we're not there yet. Soon.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
To Seattle or Not?
I was born in Texas and have lived here ever since. After an incident last year, I panicked at the question, am I going to die in Texas, too?
I want to live in a real city, which Texas does not have. Terri and I love Chicago but don't have the courage to face the winters there. New York City is the greatest city on earth, but Manhattan is too expensive and who wants to live in Queens? We could emigrate to Western Europe but are too lazy to fill out the paperwork.
So our trip to Seattle was partly to answer the question, do we want to move there? As for most questions in life, the answer is complicated.
Seattle is a beautiful city. There are lots of apartments downtown and in nearby neighborhoods like Belltown and South Lake Union, and lots of residents means lots of shops and restaurants, even shopping malls, that are not dependent on customers in cars.
It rains in Seattle. It's generally not a heavy rain, just a drizzle, but it's enough to get you wet. We never broke out an umbrella, although we used the hoods on our coats a lot. If we lived in Seattle I would lose my tan and become very pale.
Every April in Texas we close up the windows and turn on the air conditioner, and it stays on until October. In Seattle, anything over 80° is considered a heat wave, even in August. Few residences have air conditioning.
There is no Whataburger in Washington State.
We are bored in Texas. Boredom is not always a bad thing.
Chicago has the Art Institute. New York has the Met and MOMA. Fort Worth has the Kimbell, the Amon Carter, and the Modern. Seattle has, well, not so much.
There is no income tax in Texas and the sales tax is 8.25%. There is no income tax in Washington and the sales tax in Seattle is 9.5%.
We moved to Fort Worth, in part, to be close to DFW airport. We can get there via TRE train and two shuttle buses for $3.50 per person, in about one hour. We have non-stop AA flights to London, Madrid, and Buenos Aires, and connecting flights to Europe from O'Hare (ORD) and JFK. Non-stop DFW to LHR (London Heathrow) is 4,750 miles, or 9 hours.
Seattle is not a AA hub but has non-stop flights to DFW, ORD, and JFK. The train from downtown to Seattle/Tacoma (SEA) airport takes about 30 minutes and costs $2.50 per person. Non-stop SEA to LHR is 4,801 miles, or 9.5 hours.
We were surprised at how few pick-up trucks we saw on the road in Seattle. Our Honda Civic would feel more at home there, but we would have to replace the windshield wiper blades more often.
For our long walks, Fort Worth has the Trinity Trails, forty miles along the Trinity River. Seattle's shoreline has a three-mile walk along Puget Sound and through Myrtle Edwards Park.
"Liberal" is not a curse word in Seattle.
Moving is not as easy as staying still. Easier is not always better.
Our lease in Fort Worth is not up until September, so there's plenty of time to ponder this.
Here's my Flickr snaps of Seattle.
I want to live in a real city, which Texas does not have. Terri and I love Chicago but don't have the courage to face the winters there. New York City is the greatest city on earth, but Manhattan is too expensive and who wants to live in Queens? We could emigrate to Western Europe but are too lazy to fill out the paperwork.
So our trip to Seattle was partly to answer the question, do we want to move there? As for most questions in life, the answer is complicated.
Seattle is a beautiful city. There are lots of apartments downtown and in nearby neighborhoods like Belltown and South Lake Union, and lots of residents means lots of shops and restaurants, even shopping malls, that are not dependent on customers in cars.
It rains in Seattle. It's generally not a heavy rain, just a drizzle, but it's enough to get you wet. We never broke out an umbrella, although we used the hoods on our coats a lot. If we lived in Seattle I would lose my tan and become very pale.
Every April in Texas we close up the windows and turn on the air conditioner, and it stays on until October. In Seattle, anything over 80° is considered a heat wave, even in August. Few residences have air conditioning.
There is no Whataburger in Washington State.
We are bored in Texas. Boredom is not always a bad thing.
Chicago has the Art Institute. New York has the Met and MOMA. Fort Worth has the Kimbell, the Amon Carter, and the Modern. Seattle has, well, not so much.
There is no income tax in Texas and the sales tax is 8.25%. There is no income tax in Washington and the sales tax in Seattle is 9.5%.
We moved to Fort Worth, in part, to be close to DFW airport. We can get there via TRE train and two shuttle buses for $3.50 per person, in about one hour. We have non-stop AA flights to London, Madrid, and Buenos Aires, and connecting flights to Europe from O'Hare (ORD) and JFK. Non-stop DFW to LHR (London Heathrow) is 4,750 miles, or 9 hours.
Seattle is not a AA hub but has non-stop flights to DFW, ORD, and JFK. The train from downtown to Seattle/Tacoma (SEA) airport takes about 30 minutes and costs $2.50 per person. Non-stop SEA to LHR is 4,801 miles, or 9.5 hours.
We were surprised at how few pick-up trucks we saw on the road in Seattle. Our Honda Civic would feel more at home there, but we would have to replace the windshield wiper blades more often.
For our long walks, Fort Worth has the Trinity Trails, forty miles along the Trinity River. Seattle's shoreline has a three-mile walk along Puget Sound and through Myrtle Edwards Park.
"Liberal" is not a curse word in Seattle.
Moving is not as easy as staying still. Easier is not always better.
Our lease in Fort Worth is not up until September, so there's plenty of time to ponder this.
Here's my Flickr snaps of Seattle.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Still in Seattle
Seattle is very hilly. The first trudge up Seneca from the train station to our hotel was challenging. The walk downhill back to the station will be very fast, I think.
Seattle has fewer people than Fort Worth and half as many as Dallas. Yet downtown Seattle is much more urban than anything in Texas.
Wherever we go, we see more and more homeless people. Is this because we are going to the same places the homeless go, or are there more homeless everywhere in the U.S.?
If you think there are a lot of Starbucks where you live, come to Seattle, where they're at least two on every block. High-rise office buildings have several, conveniently placed on intermediate floors. We've seen one McDonald's.
In the mid-1980s, there was a move to make the Kingsmen's "Louie Louie" the official Washington state song.
Unlike Texas, Seattle has topography.
Seattle is clean: little trash, no dog poop.
Public transportation here is extensive but expensive. There are many overlapping systems -- it's difficult and confusing to switch from bus to train to streetcar to monorail to ferry. There are no passes for visitors. Because of all this, we've decided to walk.
On a clear day there's a beautiful view of Mt. Rainier from the top of the Columbia Center, Seattle's tallest building.
I'm still snapping for Flickr.
Seattle has fewer people than Fort Worth and half as many as Dallas. Yet downtown Seattle is much more urban than anything in Texas.
Wherever we go, we see more and more homeless people. Is this because we are going to the same places the homeless go, or are there more homeless everywhere in the U.S.?
If you think there are a lot of Starbucks where you live, come to Seattle, where they're at least two on every block. High-rise office buildings have several, conveniently placed on intermediate floors. We've seen one McDonald's.
In the mid-1980s, there was a move to make the Kingsmen's "Louie Louie" the official Washington state song.
Unlike Texas, Seattle has topography.
Seattle is clean: little trash, no dog poop.
Public transportation here is extensive but expensive. There are many overlapping systems -- it's difficult and confusing to switch from bus to train to streetcar to monorail to ferry. There are no passes for visitors. Because of all this, we've decided to walk.
On a clear day there's a beautiful view of Mt. Rainier from the top of the Columbia Center, Seattle's tallest building.
I'm still snapping for Flickr.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Gone Seattle-ing
It's been a long time since I've been in Seattle, and Terri has never been, so here we are. The forecast is for cold and rain, and for tomorrow more cold and more rain, and for the day after, and for the day after that, and for every day while we're here.
It was raining at the airport when we landed and we could see the drizzle as we walked to the train station. Once we got onboard and headed north, to downtown, the rain stopped and we haven't seen another drop, not yet. At least for now, the weather is gorgeous: cool and partly cloudy, with brisk winds coming off Puget Sound.
We spent our first afternoon as we always spend our first afternoon in a new place, walking around the neighborhood. My first impressions are all good: we are in the middle of downtown, and within three or four blocks we've found a Belgian waffle shop, a gelateria, several Thai restaurants, three supermarkets, twelvety-seven coffee shops, and more fresh seafood than I could eat in a lifetime. People actually live here.
The train from SeaTac airport to downtown costs only $2.50, and it took us to within a block of our hotel. Buses and trains converge in the downtown area in a large underground tunnel, making it very easy to transfer from one line to another. A public transportation system that is logically designed and efficiently run -- it's enough to make an old Texan like me weep with joy.
For our first dinner we went to Mae Phim, a Thai restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. It's everything a great hole-in-the-wall restaurant should be: small and unpretentious, family owned, and good food.
We've had our coffee and breakfast, I've blogged and posted a few photos, and now it's time to get out on the streets and see what adventure awaits us.
Here's the Flickr snaps so far. Not many yet, but it's early in our trip.
It was raining at the airport when we landed and we could see the drizzle as we walked to the train station. Once we got onboard and headed north, to downtown, the rain stopped and we haven't seen another drop, not yet. At least for now, the weather is gorgeous: cool and partly cloudy, with brisk winds coming off Puget Sound.
We spent our first afternoon as we always spend our first afternoon in a new place, walking around the neighborhood. My first impressions are all good: we are in the middle of downtown, and within three or four blocks we've found a Belgian waffle shop, a gelateria, several Thai restaurants, three supermarkets, twelvety-seven coffee shops, and more fresh seafood than I could eat in a lifetime. People actually live here.
The train from SeaTac airport to downtown costs only $2.50, and it took us to within a block of our hotel. Buses and trains converge in the downtown area in a large underground tunnel, making it very easy to transfer from one line to another. A public transportation system that is logically designed and efficiently run -- it's enough to make an old Texan like me weep with joy.
For our first dinner we went to Mae Phim, a Thai restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. It's everything a great hole-in-the-wall restaurant should be: small and unpretentious, family owned, and good food.
We've had our coffee and breakfast, I've blogged and posted a few photos, and now it's time to get out on the streets and see what adventure awaits us.
Here's the Flickr snaps so far. Not many yet, but it's early in our trip.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Revisiting Baghdad by the Bay
Last weekend, Terri and I went to San Francisco for three nights, flying in on Friday and leaving Monday. I've been there many times, beginning in 1967, and Terri's been there, too, but it's been a long time for each of us and we've never been together.
We stayed at the Omni downtown, in the financial district. We did some of the usual touristy stuff: a walking tour of historical sites in downtown San Francisco, shopping in the market in the newly restored Ferry Building, strolling along the Embarcadero, gawking along Grant Avenue into Chinatown, Union Square, and lots of trudging up and down hills. In Portsmouth Square, I saw an interesting approach to meditation by a Falun Gong follower.
The highlights of this trip, however, were get-togethers with old friends.
On Saturday, we met up with Valerie, whom we both worked with at the Comptroller's office. She left in 1997 and moved around a lot afterwards, to Louisiana and Georgia and Michigan and more places than I can remember, before settling in San Francisco five years ago. We went to lunch at Francis Ford Coppola's Café Zoetrope on Kearny Street in North Beach, then Val led us on a walking tour of the nearby neighborhood. We visited her lovely apartment, which had the most incredible view on an incredibly beautiful day: Coit Tower on the left, the Bay Bridge in the center, and downtown with the Transamerica Tower on the right, all laid out before us through her living room windows. We also got to meet Ron, her boyfriend, and we heard the exciting news that he proposed to her last month. Congratulations to you both!
On Friday night, we went to dinner with Jim. Now, the last time I had seen Jim was October 1968, when we graduated from Army helicopter flight school. A few weeks later we were both headed to Viet Nam, he to one part, I to another, and afterwards we went about living our lives for the next four decades.
We're both older and grayer and heavier than we were back then, but it's amazing how much of a person, and a personality, stays the same. We talked a little about the old days, but mostly he and Terri and I described how we each ended up where we are now, in 2011. Good food, good wine, good company, what else could one ask for?
On Sunday, we took the ferry to Sausalito. Jim, who is from Northern California and now lives in Mill Valley, picked us up and gave us an all-day tour of Marin and Sonoma. We had a very tasty lunch at Grilly's, a restaurant that Jim owns and operates. We visited the houseboat dock where Jim used to live, which provided a perfect opportunity for Terri to take our picture. We made a few stops at Sonoma wineries then headed towards the Golden Gate Bridge to see the city at night.
Monday morning, our friends were back to work and the weather, which had been brilliantly clear, was back to its usual foggy drizzle. We braved the rain for a while and walked around downtown, but it was obviously time to go.
Here's all my Flickr snaps from the trip. Or you can sit back with popcorn and see the slideshow version.
P.S. I finally realized that long hair just does not look right on old, fat, balding guys, so I had a major haircut today.
We stayed at the Omni downtown, in the financial district. We did some of the usual touristy stuff: a walking tour of historical sites in downtown San Francisco, shopping in the market in the newly restored Ferry Building, strolling along the Embarcadero, gawking along Grant Avenue into Chinatown, Union Square, and lots of trudging up and down hills. In Portsmouth Square, I saw an interesting approach to meditation by a Falun Gong follower.
The highlights of this trip, however, were get-togethers with old friends.
On Saturday, we met up with Valerie, whom we both worked with at the Comptroller's office. She left in 1997 and moved around a lot afterwards, to Louisiana and Georgia and Michigan and more places than I can remember, before settling in San Francisco five years ago. We went to lunch at Francis Ford Coppola's Café Zoetrope on Kearny Street in North Beach, then Val led us on a walking tour of the nearby neighborhood. We visited her lovely apartment, which had the most incredible view on an incredibly beautiful day: Coit Tower on the left, the Bay Bridge in the center, and downtown with the Transamerica Tower on the right, all laid out before us through her living room windows. We also got to meet Ron, her boyfriend, and we heard the exciting news that he proposed to her last month. Congratulations to you both!
On Friday night, we went to dinner with Jim. Now, the last time I had seen Jim was October 1968, when we graduated from Army helicopter flight school. A few weeks later we were both headed to Viet Nam, he to one part, I to another, and afterwards we went about living our lives for the next four decades.
We're both older and grayer and heavier than we were back then, but it's amazing how much of a person, and a personality, stays the same. We talked a little about the old days, but mostly he and Terri and I described how we each ended up where we are now, in 2011. Good food, good wine, good company, what else could one ask for?
On Sunday, we took the ferry to Sausalito. Jim, who is from Northern California and now lives in Mill Valley, picked us up and gave us an all-day tour of Marin and Sonoma. We had a very tasty lunch at Grilly's, a restaurant that Jim owns and operates. We visited the houseboat dock where Jim used to live, which provided a perfect opportunity for Terri to take our picture. We made a few stops at Sonoma wineries then headed towards the Golden Gate Bridge to see the city at night.
Monday morning, our friends were back to work and the weather, which had been brilliantly clear, was back to its usual foggy drizzle. We braved the rain for a while and walked around downtown, but it was obviously time to go.
Here's all my Flickr snaps from the trip. Or you can sit back with popcorn and see the slideshow version.
P.S. I finally realized that long hair just does not look right on old, fat, balding guys, so I had a major haircut today.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Just say, "Oops!"
Terri and I have been frequent travelers since we got together in 1998. I quit counting several years ago at 30 trips, mostly international but with an occasional jaunt inside the U.S. We've gotten good at it: we can pack quickly and lightly, negotiate smoothly through security and customs, decipher transit schedules in several languages, and tell what's chicken and beef and what's organs or horse on foreign menus. But we have our moments, proving once again that being good at something doesn't mean not making mistakes -- we all make mistakes -- but how well and quickly you recover when something goes wrong.
Our first day in Brussels we walked from our hotel through the Grand Place, past the central train station, then to Place Royale, where we could catch a tram to the Horta Museum. Victor Horta was one of the founders of Art Nouveau, a favorite interest of ours, and his home, now a museum, was away from the center. We were eager to use our new transit passes to start getting around town.
Although it was cold I started sweating walking up the steep hill from the train station to Place Royale. When we got there I looked around and did not see any trams, only cars and tour buses. I looked at my map to make sure we were in the right place, then looked at another map, then a guidebook -- they all said there should be trams in this very place.
Not only did I not see any trams, I did not see any tracks where trams could run. Completely perplexed, we decided to walk back down to the train station and see if we could find a tourist information center. We asked someone on the street, but they did not understand the English word 'tram.' The info center was closed. We went across the street to the Le Meridien hotel and asked for help there. The young lady at the desk explained how to get to the tram stop, but her directions pointed us back to where we had already been. I was getting angry now, muttering about unhelpful Belgians and erroneous maps. We walked around the neighborhood, went down several streets that seemed to promise trams or tracks, but had no luck.
Finally we decided to walk back up that very steep hill to Place Royale. Perhaps we just didn't go far enough. Maybe the trams were around a corner. Up, up, up the hill, sweating and peeved, we got back to the square and the first thing we saw was a tram rumbling right through the center of the same plaza where we had been standing an hour before. We asked a Belgian standing next to us if there was a tram stop nearby, and he said, of course, right there at the corner, by the waffle truck.
The maps were all right. The directions we had been given were correct. The tracks were there, right in the middle of the street, where I had not seen them before. We laughed and bought a waffle to eat while we waited for the next tram.
When we got to the museum we went up the door labeled Horta Museum and tried to open it. It was locked. We double-checked the hours posted, looked in the guidebook. It was supposed to be open. Next to the door was a buzzer labeled 'museum' so we pressed it. Nothing. As we were standing there trying to unravel this latest dilemma, I glanced to my right and saw a very large placard not five feet away labeled ENTRANCE with an arrow pointing to the door next to the one we had been trying to open. Terri and I looked at each other and started laughing.
There's more besides. I lost our museum passes, Terri lost a glove, we couldn't get off the tram because I didn't know which button to push to open the door, and we had a silly disagreement over which building was the Hotel de Ville and which the Maison Royale. Every time we lucked or improvised our way out -- we got replacement passes contrary to the terms and conditions, a kind Belgian found and returned Terri's glove, we got off at the next stop, and we eventually agreed on the orientation of our different maps.
In other words, we had our share of Oops! moments but luck and adaptability saved us every time -- all that work for good karma paid off. And no matter what happened, there was usually a waffle cart nearby.
The whole set of Flickr snaps from Belgium is here.
Or if you'd like to sit back with a bowl of popcorn, here's a slideshow of our snaps from Belgium.
P.S. We're off and away for a three-day weekend beginning next Friday. Stand by.
Our first day in Brussels we walked from our hotel through the Grand Place, past the central train station, then to Place Royale, where we could catch a tram to the Horta Museum. Victor Horta was one of the founders of Art Nouveau, a favorite interest of ours, and his home, now a museum, was away from the center. We were eager to use our new transit passes to start getting around town.
Although it was cold I started sweating walking up the steep hill from the train station to Place Royale. When we got there I looked around and did not see any trams, only cars and tour buses. I looked at my map to make sure we were in the right place, then looked at another map, then a guidebook -- they all said there should be trams in this very place.
Not only did I not see any trams, I did not see any tracks where trams could run. Completely perplexed, we decided to walk back down to the train station and see if we could find a tourist information center. We asked someone on the street, but they did not understand the English word 'tram.' The info center was closed. We went across the street to the Le Meridien hotel and asked for help there. The young lady at the desk explained how to get to the tram stop, but her directions pointed us back to where we had already been. I was getting angry now, muttering about unhelpful Belgians and erroneous maps. We walked around the neighborhood, went down several streets that seemed to promise trams or tracks, but had no luck.
Finally we decided to walk back up that very steep hill to Place Royale. Perhaps we just didn't go far enough. Maybe the trams were around a corner. Up, up, up the hill, sweating and peeved, we got back to the square and the first thing we saw was a tram rumbling right through the center of the same plaza where we had been standing an hour before. We asked a Belgian standing next to us if there was a tram stop nearby, and he said, of course, right there at the corner, by the waffle truck.
The maps were all right. The directions we had been given were correct. The tracks were there, right in the middle of the street, where I had not seen them before. We laughed and bought a waffle to eat while we waited for the next tram.
When we got to the museum we went up the door labeled Horta Museum and tried to open it. It was locked. We double-checked the hours posted, looked in the guidebook. It was supposed to be open. Next to the door was a buzzer labeled 'museum' so we pressed it. Nothing. As we were standing there trying to unravel this latest dilemma, I glanced to my right and saw a very large placard not five feet away labeled ENTRANCE with an arrow pointing to the door next to the one we had been trying to open. Terri and I looked at each other and started laughing.
There's more besides. I lost our museum passes, Terri lost a glove, we couldn't get off the tram because I didn't know which button to push to open the door, and we had a silly disagreement over which building was the Hotel de Ville and which the Maison Royale. Every time we lucked or improvised our way out -- we got replacement passes contrary to the terms and conditions, a kind Belgian found and returned Terri's glove, we got off at the next stop, and we eventually agreed on the orientation of our different maps.
In other words, we had our share of Oops! moments but luck and adaptability saved us every time -- all that work for good karma paid off. And no matter what happened, there was usually a waffle cart nearby.
The whole set of Flickr snaps from Belgium is here.
Or if you'd like to sit back with a bowl of popcorn, here's a slideshow of our snaps from Belgium.
P.S. We're off and away for a three-day weekend beginning next Friday. Stand by.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
At last, Brussels
We're in Brussels now, where our advanced waffle research program requires that we continue testing at every available opportunity. To date, no waffle has failed the test; in fact, every waffle has passed with flying colors. These clever Belgians!
Brussels is many things, but it ain't quaint. Ghent and Bruges were charmingly and obviously Belgian, but Brussels is another big city, always in motion, trams and buses and metro and cars and lots of people. Sometimes it reminds me of Paris, sometimes Buenos Aires, sometimes Barcelona, but underlying it all is the common big city atmosphere of jostling, of always having to work one's way through crowds.
Here we've heard mostly French. Unlike our experiences earlier in the trip where I had no idea what language was being spoken, I now know I am hearing French. Since I do not speak or read more than ten words in French, I have no idea what is being said, but at least I know it is French.
The grandest part of Brussels is Grand Place, the central plaza of the city. The old city hall faces the old king's house, and the rest of the square is ringed by guild halls mostly rebuilt after a French bombardment in the late 17th century. It's physically smaller than I expected but it is nonetheless very grand and imposing. The Wiki link above and a Google search will give more information and images about Grand Place, but it cannot compare with standing there and taking it all in.
Last night's dinner was Italian, at a little restaurant run by a family from Portugal. Terri had pizza, I had spaghetti carbonara, we drank a bottle of Bardolino, and through it all we listened to the same salsa song over and over and over. I kid you not: they were playing a Latin American dance number when we walked in and ninety minutes later the same song was still playing as we walked out.
We've stayed busy, leaving our hotel in mid-morning and not making it back until dinner time: the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Ancient), the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Modern), a James Ensor exhibition at the ING Cultural Center, the Museum of Musical Instruments, the Beer Museum (free samples), the Atomium, the Basilique Nationale du Sacré-Coeur, all punctuated by tram/bus/subway rides, extemporaneous walks through new neighborhoods, visits to chocolate shops, and the occasional waffle.
We only went to the Museum of Musical Instruments because it was included in our museum pass and was on the way to someplace else, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. The museum is housed in a fabulous Art Nouveau building that was a department store 100 years ago, and their audioguide is the first that I really like: no talking! At selected spots in front of the exhibits, you hear music from the types of instruments you're looking at.
I could write more but I am tired. We've been freezing (daytime temps seldom above the mid-30s), I am full of waffles and beer, and today I am another year older. I'll write one more blog post about our Belgium trip after we get back to Texas.
The growing set of Flickr snaps is here.
Brussels is many things, but it ain't quaint. Ghent and Bruges were charmingly and obviously Belgian, but Brussels is another big city, always in motion, trams and buses and metro and cars and lots of people. Sometimes it reminds me of Paris, sometimes Buenos Aires, sometimes Barcelona, but underlying it all is the common big city atmosphere of jostling, of always having to work one's way through crowds.
Here we've heard mostly French. Unlike our experiences earlier in the trip where I had no idea what language was being spoken, I now know I am hearing French. Since I do not speak or read more than ten words in French, I have no idea what is being said, but at least I know it is French.
The grandest part of Brussels is Grand Place, the central plaza of the city. The old city hall faces the old king's house, and the rest of the square is ringed by guild halls mostly rebuilt after a French bombardment in the late 17th century. It's physically smaller than I expected but it is nonetheless very grand and imposing. The Wiki link above and a Google search will give more information and images about Grand Place, but it cannot compare with standing there and taking it all in.
Last night's dinner was Italian, at a little restaurant run by a family from Portugal. Terri had pizza, I had spaghetti carbonara, we drank a bottle of Bardolino, and through it all we listened to the same salsa song over and over and over. I kid you not: they were playing a Latin American dance number when we walked in and ninety minutes later the same song was still playing as we walked out.
We've stayed busy, leaving our hotel in mid-morning and not making it back until dinner time: the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Ancient), the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Modern), a James Ensor exhibition at the ING Cultural Center, the Museum of Musical Instruments, the Beer Museum (free samples), the Atomium, the Basilique Nationale du Sacré-Coeur, all punctuated by tram/bus/subway rides, extemporaneous walks through new neighborhoods, visits to chocolate shops, and the occasional waffle.
We only went to the Museum of Musical Instruments because it was included in our museum pass and was on the way to someplace else, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. The museum is housed in a fabulous Art Nouveau building that was a department store 100 years ago, and their audioguide is the first that I really like: no talking! At selected spots in front of the exhibits, you hear music from the types of instruments you're looking at.
I could write more but I am tired. We've been freezing (daytime temps seldom above the mid-30s), I am full of waffles and beer, and today I am another year older. I'll write one more blog post about our Belgium trip after we get back to Texas.
The growing set of Flickr snaps is here.
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