I slept not quite 7 hours, waking before 8:00 with my alarm.

The penultimate episode of Game of Thrones had just aired about 6 hours ago, and I was not only excited to watch it but I also wasn’t willing to risk spoilers online. At home, I’d downloaded my personal VPN onto the work laptop I brought with me to make sure my IP address identified me as located in the U.S. so I would be able to access my HBO subscription. Priorities. I blacked out the curtains and watched from 8:15 to 9:45.

Breakfast goes until 10:00, but Erika had no problem with me sitting as long as I liked with my coffee after I ate, and she chatted with me while she cleaned. I asked her if there was anything in particular I should see in Brussels, or Bruxelles as it’s written locally, and she likes the Sablon neighborhood.

Back up in my room, I looked up self-guided walking tours but didn’t find any I liked as there were too many recommended sights. Given that the most-recommended one is a fountain statue of a little boy peeing, I had low expectations for Bruxelles and felt I would probably be happy with 5 or 6 hours there. I made my own loose tour using a few of the main sights and available geocaches as a guide. I also booked a beer tasting Airbnb Experience that starts at 17:30.

I put together an Instagram post about my Westvleteren experience, cleaned up and got dressed, and headed out around 13:00.

I barely caught the next bus to the train. They run every 10 minutes at the most, but despite being on a schedule that totally worked for me as far as how much time I wanted in Bruxelles, I was still feeling behind on the day and was glad to get on this one. The compulsion to do/see/go as much as possible while traveling is deeply challenging for me to overcome. I successfully rebel against it with how I spend my time, but I don’t feel good about it, yet.

I arrived at the train station with plenty of time to catch the 13:30, which was good because again the kiosk wouldn’t process my credit card payment and again I waited in line for an agent window, although this time my app purchase went through just as I was called up and I didn’t need the agent. I prefer a digital ticket and email confirmation of my purchase over a paper ticket and paper receipt.

It was 14:40 as I arrived at Bruxelles Central station, and I headed for nearby Parc du Bruxelles. A fountain! Always nice. I love me some water features. At the south end of the park is the Palais de Bruxelles, or Royal Palace. It’s big. It’s not particularly attractive. I took a couple photos and moved on.

Just a little further southwest was the recommended Sablon neighborhood. I wandered its streets for a while, looking for a place to eat lunch and finding that many places were closed on Mondays. I randomly encountered another elaborate skatepark, similar to the one I’d seen in Luxembourg, and across the street from that the Anneessenstoren, a section of the original wall that encircled the city in the 12th century. Cool. Europe is such a fascinating mix of the old and the new.

I had just about given up on finding a spot to eat, preferably in the sun, before I made it to the for-some-reason mandatory Mannekin Pis when, lo and behold, in front of me appeared Cafe Novo. Cheap food and beer and lots of outdoor seating. I had a Bel Pils, a Belgian blond, and pesto linguine and people-watched in the sun for an hour and 15 minutes. As with my beer and cheese and pickles in Gent, this moment fulfilled the very purpose of my trip.

As I paid, I asked my server where the classical music was coming from. It sounded like it was playing overhead through some city-sponsored program, so I was surprised when she didn’t know. That told me it was not a regular occurrence. As I crossed the street on my way to the little pissing boy, I found the source of the music. A man was sitting on a bench near his parked bike, which he’d rigged with a sound system. I wanted to ask him about it, but he only spoke French. I gestured to ask if I may take a photo (and video), and he enthusiastically jumped in front of his bike to be featured.

Just down one sloping block was the Mannekin Pis. I can’t imagine what the crowd looks like over the weekend as it was quite busy enough today. Such a small pissing boy! It’s really a rather unremarkable sight. Sigh.

There used to be a geocache at the site but of course it would go missing, so the current one is a multi, where you use facts from the site to plug into the coordinates of a second location and find the cache there. I counted the rungs on the gate surrounding the fountain but couldn’t find a sign telling me how many inches tall the pissing boy is, and I lacked both the time and the interest to look up that info or where the coordinates of the second cache might take me.

It was 17:00 when I arrived at Grand Place, which really is an impressive sight and a UNESCO World Heritage site, in fact. A large central square is surrounded on all sides by tall, wide, and incredibly opulent and ornate civic buildings. The 360˚ view was impossible to capture, but I gave it a go.

A short walk to the northwest is Place Saint-Géry, a small and lively neighborhood of bars and restaurants, including the steampunk-themed La Machine, where I was to do the beer tasting. I probably should have done an activity like this *before* I had Westvleteren 12, as I was looking to gain an appreciation of what is distinctive about Belgian beer and what makes it so renowned.

I had been communicating with a host named Sancar, so it threw me off a bit when his co-host named Christophe arrived, as well as the first thing he said being that I was the only attendee. He and Sancar thought they had canceled the slot, but I’d been able to book at the last minute.

This was problematic not only because a beer tasting would not be the same experience in the absence of a group dynamic, but the way they do the tasting is to order 5 or 6 full beers shared among the group, as opposed to each individual receiving an assortment of taster sizes. I didn’t want individual education and was not going to get my money’s worth of beer, but the event had officially started so canceling with Airbnb would be a thing. Christophe called and put me on the phone with Sancar, who couldn’t have been nicer about the situation and said he would take care of it with Airbnb. I also messaged support so they would have both sides.

Sancar said Christophe could recommend a place for me to get a beer on my own; actually, he had his own tasting he was going to at 19:00 and asked if I wanted to get a beer with him before he left. We went across the street to Halles de Saint-Géry, both a bar and a large exhibition hall. Around the far side of the building, he found us the last available table with one seat in the sun, which he gave to me.

We looked at the menu, going over his beer recommendations, and I landed on the Affligem tripel blond (I generally aim for lower ABV options). I gave him a €5 and he went in and ordered, bringing me back €1. Other than the Westy, beer in Belgium is rather inexpensive compared to what I’m used to at home.

We chatted about Belgium: the beer, the politics, the language. I told him I’d learned upon arriving in Brugge that generally, the northern half of Belgium (Flanders) speaks Dutch while the southern half speaks French and so I was surprised to come to Bruxelles, still in the Flanders region, and hear only French and no Dutch. He said Bruxelles used to be Dutch-speaking until Napoleon came. Oh.

He wrote down some recommendations for my evening and walked me over to Saint Catherine Church before riding away on his bike to his tasting event. In front of the church was a long rectangular pond around which people sat eating and drinking from nearby restaurants. It was a nice plaza and I was glad to see it.

I wanted to have dinner back in Brugge but first I wanted to take up Christophe’s recommendation for frites, Belgian fries. I’d had fries served with most of my meals in Belgium, and they seemed more or less like the French fries I’m familiar with. I wanted actual frites and visited Tabora, the friterie (real word) he recommended. It was in Quartier de L’Ilot Sacre, a busy shopping area that I wasn’t inclined to hang in for very long.

The frites options were easy enough — small, medium, and large — but I was overwhelmed by the sauces menu. I didn’t recognize very many of the French names and kept telling people in line behind me to go ahead. I eventually asked if the counter server could recommend something herby, and he offered garlic. Sure.

Yum.. the savory seasoned fries and garlic sauce were both super tasty, though they didn’t settle well in my stomach. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve had any meals in Belgium that didn’t upset my stomach. The food here is much richer and heavier than I’m used to.

It was chilly out with the sun disappearing behind buildings, and I’d gotten my fill of Bruxelles, but I had one more stop on my way to the train station. I wasn’t going to see the little pissing boy without seeing the little pissing girl. There were a few people gathered around Jennekin Pis, but far fewer than Mannekin Pis. Typical…

I did not see Zinneke Pis, the dog lifting his leg while he pees. Whyyy, Bruxelles…

I arrived back in Brugge at 21:00 and took the bus back into town, having decided on the train to eat dinner at Olive Tree if they weren’t full without a reservation. A sign on the door said they were closed for three days. I didn’t have a backup option but walked toward home and found a Thai place on the way. The restaurant smelled badly of body odor, but I was too tired to find somewhere else and I figured I would get used to it, which I did.

I got home at 22:45 and washed my hair in the tub with the handheld shower, my one dislike of Le Flaneur. It’s uncomfortable and awkward and something different about the water stream leaves my hair flat the morning after I wash it 🙅‍♀️

Though it was late and I was tired, I deleted photos and assembled an Instagram post of Bruxelles. I like to keep my posts in chronological order, and I wanted to share a birthday selfie tomorrow 😊

I slept at 1:30.