Un week-end à Bruxelles/Een weekend in Brussel/Ein Wochenende in Brüssel/A Weekend in Brussels

A wonderful weekend was spent in Brussels courtesy of our friend Eurostar. An easy toddle after work and a restful couple of hours with Daphne Du Maurier later, we descended the train in the rather hard to categorise city of Brussels. I was expecting something rather grander, considering its pan-European significance, and rather more organised, considering its Flemish location, although I now see it has much more French influence than Dutch. The public transport network is only just fit for purpose and shabby to boot, the centre of the city is one large (and seemingly permanent) construction site, careless ex-pats haunt every corner, and yet it’s not an unpleasant place at all. Every few streets you emerge out onto a landscaped square, parks surprise you amidst the terraces, the architecture is strikingly non-uniform, though harmonious. And for a spring weekender, is was just the right mix of laziness and stimulation for a worn-out London blogger who bit off more than she could chew with two weekends away in two weeks.


Although we approached our tourism with lazy carelessness, a walk into the centre, via the Cinquantenaire (an impressively grand park with an Arc flanked by several imposing museums), a gaze around the Grande Place and a squint at the diminutive manneken pis among the throngs of tourists were pleasant diversions. The manneken pis was thankfully dressed for some occasion, as I was quite curious to see how they dressed him (although unfortunately it did rather make his willy look like the barrel of a pistol, sticking out of his tunic). I thought he was rather quaint and charming. The Grand Place itself is something quite spectacular. The tall terraced guild houses offer material for many long moments of visual stimulation with their intricate facades. It is rather a shame the city isn’t a bit smaller and less significant, as the Grande Place would be a very pleasant spot for a coffee and a waffle, if it weren’t full of overpriced restaurants heaving with American tourists.

The second day’s walk was devoted to an Art Nouveau pilgrimage in the eastern suburb of Ixelles, which was charming. On some of the landscaped squares of Ixelles I found a bit of soul the city centre had lacked: some students, some art, some organic vegetarian restaurants (although I am neither a student, an artist or an organic vegetarian), some grimy, fashionable graffiti. But most especially, there were some brilliant Art Nouveau facades. There are several facades by Victor Horta, the father of Belgian Art Nouveau, and a museum dedicated to his work of stylised floral exuberance. One particularly stunning facade was on Rue Africaine (below). Most of the second floor facade was simply a large round window, opening out onto a curved balcony. The doors were open, rectangles intersecting the circle: true design for harmony and pleasure. A favourite of mine in its simplicity was another on the Rue du Lac near the Etangs d’Ixelles (right and far below). The inner stairwell is mirrored in the facade using tempered glass with floral designs and the front door is dominated by a large round window that extends beyond the rectangle of the door, unifying the practical and design elements.

As an interesting segway, Victor Horta, it seems, designed Brahms’ grave monument and I’m about to go off and sing some Brahms in choir rehearsal this evening. It was a good century.