Brussels was an odd choice for my girlfriend (now wife) and I as a destination for our first trip to Europe. Looking back on that trip now with fifteen years of experience and hindsight, it was filled with amazing and weird experiences that continues to make us smile. That trip, and in particular the first day, a Sunday in Brussels, fuelled my love for travel and has sent me on a number of life adventures in the years since then. Even with all of the adventures I have been on since that day, it remains my favourite story from my time on the road.

Up until arriving in Brussels, the trip was as one would expect. We left Halifax flying through Newark with no hiccups. The overnight flight was the first red-eye for both of us, and with dinner, we elected to enjoy a glass of wine to help us get a bit of sleep as we flew over the Atlantic. That decision, as we’d learn in a few hours, would make all the difference in how this trip would get started.

We disembarked in Brussels and headed to passport control. As we were nearing the lineup to have our documents inspected, my wife uttered words that stopped us both on the spot… “I can’t find my passport”. We were stuck – no turning back to the gate at which we arrived and no way through customs. We disclosed the missing passport to the border agent and that led to police being summoned and the two of us being escorted into a holding area in the police station in the airport. Not only was my wife’s passport sitting back on our plane, but so was about 200 euros from when she paid for those two glasses of wine on our flight. She let the police know our seat numbers and that she now remembered she had “temporarily” stashed the cash and her passport in the pouch in the seat in front of her….. and we waited, and waited, and waited.

Our first venturing off our continent, and here we were on a Sunday morning being questioned by police in Brussels. We figured her passport and the money were on their way back to Newark and we’d be in limbo until we could speak with someone from the Canadian embassy on Monday. Luckily, after about two hours, word made its way back to us that a cleaner had found the passport (and money!) and we’d be reunited. After what seemed like an eternity, my wife was reunited with her passport and we boarded a train for Brussels Central, massively jet lagged, but relieved. This remains to this day one of my favourite pictures – the first I ever took in Europe.

After a well earned rest at our hotel, we headed to the Grand Place that evening for dinner and a much needed drink. We sat down at a patio with an amazing view of one of Europe’s great squares and exhaled. This was more what we were thinking our travel experience would be.

I ordered a tasting flight of Belgian beers which would start a long-running habit of trying beers from every stop on my travels that continues unabated to this day.

Sitting in the Grand Place that night, enjoying the glow of the lights and the beers hitting my bloodstream, I felt myself falling in love with the idea and adventure of travel. The rest of the trip had its ups (seeing things for the first time with the woman I was and am still madly in love with, some amazing encounters in Amsterdam, the glory of the true Belgian frites with mayonnaise) and some downs (12 days of rain, my wife’s yet to be diagnosed Celiac through a diet of beer and waffles), and looking back on it, I wouldn’t want to change a single thing. We emerged stronger for it and I finally found the passion I had been searching for through my life.