Walk to Grand Place

On Tuesday, I decided to walk to the Grande Place. I could do laundry, probably should do laundry. But the day is bright and blue and begs me to go outside. How can I say no?

Before, when I've gone to the Grande Place, I've taken the metro. But it's only two or three stops so I figure it can't be that far away. And even if it is, my legs demand the exercise. On my touristy map, I pick out a main through street that will take me all the way from almost my Place Jourdan to the Royal Gardens. Once there, I'll have to figure it out some more, but it's enough to start with and I'm off. 

I love the experiments in architecture and the people teeming about. I snap a few photos. One building is windows surrounded, not by brick or concrete, but by green plants. 

The building actually giving energy and oxygen off in exchange for carbon dioxide. A man passing me in my tourist moment, comments in French as he passes that the building is very exotic. "Oui" I agree. 

I pass another man on a bicycle who looks like Bono if Bono had become a european policy wonk instead of a rock star.  I pass a couple who are dressed alike. Jeans, white shirts and black cardigans tied around their shoulders. Either they don't notice what they've done or they don't care. I decide it's both. 

Brussels is also full of attractive men. Being near the EU and it's many buildings, of course I see several on my long walk. Many in suits looking very handsome and important. One guy has a suit that's just a bit shiny and his pressed shirt is just a bit tight across his chest. He's gorgeous. We lock eyes for a bit longer than is necessary. Neither of us smile. He passes. I've grown bold in Europe. 

Finally I reach the Royal Gardens. My route requires I pass directly through, but the fountains further down, and the air and the people and the activity of it all, beckon a diversion. 

When King Leopold I moved to uppertown, the Royal Gardens was created for the aristocracy to walk, stroll, meet, talk.  So it's designed with different sections and walking paths and statues and gazebos and a large fountain giving off a rainbow in it's spray. 

The warm sunshine has also called everyone else outside so the park is full of joggers, personal trainers and their clients, locals on a break, tourists, professionals eating lunch on a park bench, students sitting in a circle on the grass, nappers, and strollers. Like me. Today I am one who strolls. 

A couple of young lovers have brought a picnic and found a space under the shade of an oak tree. In between bites of fruit and cheese that share chaste but tender kisses. Kisses that threaten to turn unchaste any moment. 

Nearby, the benches that round the fountain are shaded by trellises of wisteria. And there is not a seat open. So many have come out with no other agenda than to observe the day. Maybe that's due to a statistic I heard recently. Last year Brussels only had 21 days of sunshine. No one wants to waste today. 

I circle the fountain and head back to where I started to rejoin my route. A tall silver fox with rakish looks gives me a long, what I hope is an approving look as he jogs past with his running buddies.  They cut off the main walking path and up a small trail that disappears into the trees. Although they are long gone within moments, I decide to follow. 

The rise gives way to a secluded green, dotted with sun worshipping nappers. In the quiet, in the shade and in the sun, strangers share a space and doze in light colored clothing which punctuates amid the tall dark green grass. The silence is only slightly disturbed by soft voices of a close combat lesson. An older, rounder, balder man is instructing a younger fitter guy, who looks like he could handle himself anyway, to defend a close attack. I realize that in another setting I would dismiss the older guy as harmless, maybe even boring. Watching him in action reminds me not to underestimate people. Especially people of age and beer belly. 

I rejoin my original route, cross streets at the lights, pass statues with cars parked at the base. Descend centuries old staircases used to join streets. Walk a few blocks left then continue west until I'm descending Rue du L'enfant Isabelle which drops me right outside the Place. I wander in and it's beautiful and breathtaking all over again. 

It's the middle of the day and so bright, my pictures aren't doing it justice. Although I don't know that yet. I love the flower garden in the middle of the square and groups of people just plopped down haphazardly on the cobblestones. My heart sinks a bit to spy a Starbucks operating out of one of these ancient buildings. But there's too much to enjoy to be bothered for long.  I spot a girl with a T-Shirt that says "Liberté Egalité Beyoncé". Everything seems right with the world. 

I wander the surrounding alleys and finally come to St. Nichols cafe, right outside St. Nichols church. Unlike many of the shops and restaurants designed to part tourists with their money, this cafe seems straight out of the 19th century. I sit at a table outside and order a drink. A busker nearby starts offering covers of a wide range of songs. He's played "Ain't No Sunshine" and Johnny Cash. He then moves in to Daft Punk and of course Radiohead. But he's really good and I think about leaving to follow the music and listen for awhile. But I can hear rather well from where I am and the drink is tasty and I sit for awhile longer.