August 6, 2006 is the date I first set foot in Brussels. I have written about the inauspicious start that trip had, but even after quite an arrival calamity, that one trip changed the way I view a lot of things in my life and set me on a course to explore and travel as much as possible. When I set foot again in Brussels last year, more than seventeen years had passed. A lot had changed, as is the case when seventeen years pass. But near as I can remember, the feeling of awe wasn’t one of them while standing in the middle of what I now have more authority to claim as the most beautiful public square in Europe. The Grand Place stopped me in my tracks in 2023 much as it did on my first night there so many years ago.
When I boarded a train in Brussels to make my way to Ghent for a day trip to explore the city, something felt off. Sometimes when I’m on a solo trip a touch of loneliness or homesickness creeps in and it usually dissolves pretty quickly. As I disembarked in Ghent and started walking toward the historic city centre I chalked up the feeling to the grey skies of the day and the threat of rain and put it out of my mind. It helped that after crossing a few interesting squares on the way, my first stop of my day of wandering here was in the beautiful Patershol neighbourhood.
While I liberally sampled many beers to kick off my European trip last year in Amsterdam, it was in Antwerp that the real beer tastings started. As a beer nerd, I had long wanted to do a deep dive sort of trip in Belgium to learn about and appreciate one of the best and richest beer culture countries. Antwerp was a literal and metaphorical gateway. Arriving there from Amsterdam on a Thursday afternoon there was only one thing on my mind… a visit to maybe the most unique beer bar I have experienced…. and visiting it wasn’t a guarantee.
Kulminator in the centre of Antwerp is a quirky place. I was met at an obscure door that doesn’t reveal what is inside by an older gentleman who asks what your purpose is. If he doesn’t like the look of you or you answer incorrectly, he’ll simply shut the door in your face. I arrived, and in my best French said I was from Canada and I wanted to (and this is *very* important) “taste” some exceptional beer. In this bar, you don’t drink beer, you “taste” it. The gentleman nodded and motioned for me to come inside and that started a beautiful, sensual beer tasting experience. I looked over a large binder of all of their cellared beers and made my selection. The gentleman’s wife poured me a gorgeous Rocherfort 8 from 2014. It tasted of chocolate, candied fruit, spice and everything nice. I was in heaven.
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.
Bluenose Traveler 