Not far enough south to guarantee good weather . . . and it's not THAT cheap .
Recommend to potential buyers:
yes
Full review
Coming, as I occasionally do, from London, I have to confess to having had in the past a somewhat prejudiced view of Brussels.
This view, based mostly on the eponymous vegetable and a few news report backdrops, was never going to be accurate. I’m grown-up enough to admit that in my heart of hearts I knew this to be the case, but did nothing to address the problem, even when I discovered that I was scheduled to visit the Belgian capital in the course of what I laughingly call my ‘work’.
I did no homework prior to visiting Brussels, other than to briefly scan a few reviews here on Ciao. Naturally, my eye was drawn to the writings of my good friend and compatriot Proxam, who knows a thing or two about beer and the places that sell it. He is quite glowing in his praise of the place…and its beers and bars of course, which was good enough for me. I printed off his review (well…the bar recommendations bit anyway) and headed off to Heathrow lickety-split!
The airport at which I landed (having flown with BA, curse their socks) was small, quiet and fuss-free; a definite contrast to Terminal 4 LHR, I can tell you! I felt immediately at home due to the airport code of BRU, which anyone can tell you makes up 50% of the name of a fine Scottish soft drink. (Despite the first line of this review, which might tend to mislead, I am pretty damned Scottish – and don’t you forget it…OK? Pal?)
So…out of the terminal and into a queue for taxis…then out of the queue for taxis and into the airport Sheraton, the entrance for which is just across the drop-off strip. Not that I had any intention of staying there, but I had a notion that a word with the doorman or the concierge might well score me a cab quicker that waiting while the entire population of Europe (including the new member states, before you ask) lined up in front of me to file into the 6 taxis that operate in the airport when it gets busy.
Pardon me while I exaggerate a lot.
So, into the back of Jacque’s Pew-Joe, and off to my hotel, via numerous tunnels and downtown sort of things.
The airport lies to the east of the city, and I was staying to the south of the centre of town. The trip took about 25 minutes, and cost €30, which I later found out was pretty cheap, as the hotel reckoned the cost would be closer to €37…and I beat the queue too! Hurrah for enterprise and Scottish ingenuity I say, and so does Jacque, or at least he did after I gave him a fat tip.
I mentioned that I was staying to the south of the centre (Sheraton Four Points at Avenue Louise for them as is interested in such things…more later maybe), but it was only after depositing my bags in my room and setting off on a voyage of discovery that I found out that the people who had booked the hotel had done me no favours, at least not in terms of the ‘work’ I was supposed to do while in town. Louise is a lovely spot, with many fine shops, bars, restaurants etc. but it sure is a bloody long way from the Expo Centre at Heisel.
I took a tram, that first day, which helpfully had Heisel on the front (#81 for the tram-spotters amongst you), changed once when the tram decided it had had enough and buggered off home and eventually got to the Expo Centre about 50 minutes after starting out. Now I know that in London or any major British city you’d reckon to be quite fortunate to make it to the next stop in 50 minutes, never mind all the way across town, but I was a bit taken aback. After all, the Brussels Sprout was invented by Belgians as the regular cabbage was considered too big to carry around. They like things little fer gawd’s sake. How could one journey across bijou little Brussels take so long?
Anyhoo…I found Expo, which is conveniently located in the shade of the wonderful Heisel Stadium, with the Atomium (that amazing depiction of the an atom that crops up in many shots of Brussels) looming large(ish), Brupark‘s entrance right on the doorstep (fancy! A whole park devoted to a soft drink – never let it be said I don’t milk a crap joke for all it’s worth) Artpark, and the Design Centre all clustered in a friendly fashion nearby. I met up with my colleague, decided all was well as far as work was concerned, and decided that as the day was a beautiful spring version of what days are, we would walk back into the city centre.
HA!
We did. We did walk back into the city centre. All the way. It took a while, and as my colleague isn’t a big drinker, we didn’t stop for a beer until we hit Grote Markt (or Grande Place, for the Francophone types among us): the big central square with all the posh buildings that you HAVE to see when in Brussels.
By the time we GOT to Grote Markt, we had passed through a lot of fairly unpromising residential streets, over a canal, passed many small and friendly-looking hostelries, wandered through a lovely but unremarkable park, wandered down a pedestrian street full of VERY nasty chainstores and fast-food outlets, rubbed shoulders with a squillion tourists and both the natives of Brussels in residence that day.
It is a credit to the waiter at the café in which we eventually took refuge that he had the second Leffe Blonde poured before I started to drink the first. Stout fellow!
Refreshed, we took stock of our surroundings.
The large and rather spectacular square, which is the tourist magnet to end all tourist magnets (not counting the Queen wearing a posh frock) is a must-see…and this from someone who eschews tourist sites wherever and whenever possible. The buildings are grand and ornate, the square itself is paved in granite cobbles laid out in intricate patterns. It’s a fantastic sight to see, and I imagine that when the biennial flower carpet thing goes on, it would be all the more amazing.
Shame about all the tourists really…they don’t half get in the way of taking a photograph!
Just off the Grote Markt, down a small and rather gloomy side street, is the famous Mannikin Pis. For the life of me I can’t work out the appeal, but it pulls in the crowds like Jordan offering to strip, with Robbie Williams holding her coat and Real Madrid’s starting line-up doing the backing vocals.
It’s very small, by the way. The whole statue I mean. Small. Bijou. Dinky. Little. Tres Belgique.
Eventually, the sense of wonder brought on by the Grote Markt fell away, to be replaced by my much more normal cynicism and desire for gritty urban scenes and loud music, so off we went, headed in the direction of the Palais de Justice, which we were using as a landmark to lead us back to Avenue Louise and our hotel.
Belgium in general is quite flat, but the Palais de Justice is atop a pretty substantial hill (“I expect it’s designed to make it easier to defend.” “OBJECTION” “Your Honour, I really must…”etc) However, if you approach from the direction we did; roughly from the north I reckon, there’s an elevator with astonishingly slow doors and a built-in accordion playing cliché of a busker to make the last few upwards metres a little easier. Stepping out of the glass elevator onto the metal deck, you’re greeted by a wonderful view of the city, taking in 180°, and including the Atomium. I have to say that at this point, I bloody nearly decked my colleague Matthew for making me walk that distance, as it was the sight of the Atomium’s huge spheres mere specks on the horizon that made me realise how sore my feet were.
So…only a few scant steps to the Metro stop at Louise, and about 2km from there to the hotel, which thankfully has a decent bar, well stocked with good things like Westmalle, Duvel and the absurdly named but fairly tasty Kwak (which comes in a glass that doesn’t stand up on its own, so needs a wooden…thing…to hold it).
OK, that’s the whingeing, and the ‘normal’ tourist stuff done with. Back to what travel is really about.
Food and Drink.
I’m going to restrict myself to the little area south of Louise Metro station, because A) It’s really quite pleasant. B) It has a wealth of eateries and nice little bars and C) it’s where I spent most evenings, being too knackered to venture much further after a hard day and a tedious Metro journey.
Sooooo, my little munchkins. Find yourself a map of the city, place yourself at the Louise Metro station and walk south with me along Avenue Louise. Now tell me honestly…can you work out why on earth all those people are sitting outside Haagen Daas eating and drinking, breathing in noxious traffic fumes and clustered together so closely they have to take turns eating their ice-cream? Beats me…they just do, every time the sun comes out.
Surrounded, as we now are, by a massive retail therapy zone, can I suggest you lock up your credit cards, before they get excited and MAKE you buy that fabby suit…those highly trendy shoes…that bloody HUGE kitchen. We are here not to shop, but to eat ourselves into a coma! Behave yourselves and have your recalcitrant wallets do the same if you will!
On the west side of the Avenue (that’s on your right…no, no, no, your RIGHT! We’re going SOUTH here!) there’s a small street seemingly full of restaurants. It seems so because it IS full of restaurants. Mostly Italian, with a French job thrown in for variety, and even a Belgian café in case you need moules frites right NOW! That’s either Jordanstraat or JeanStasstraat. I get mixed up. I’ve generally had a beer or six by the time I get here.
Let’s carry on up Louise. It becomes a rather fetching dual-carriageway, Park Lane sort of affair around here, with a tree-lined bit of greenery separating the north and southbound traffic…as befits an area where some of the most illustrious of designers show off their wares.
Not too far up here there’s my favourite breakfast halt. It’s a bakers, but with a large restaurant area to the rear, with a huge farmhouse table and several smaller tables, two – count them…TWO Gaggias for the production of very fine coffee, a great selection of croissants, brioches and similar, which get fetchingly served on a flat china board rather than a plate. Any minute now I’ll remember the name, but don’t worry if I fail. You can scarcely miss it, what with the constant trail of people wandering in and out clutching (on the outbound leg) baguettes and loaves ‘artisanal’. Anyway…if I can’t recall the exact name, you could always try Ilse’s which is close by, but not quite so fab. Still good though. AHA! Le Pain Quotidian. I just remembered.
Onwards, ever southwards.
Just as we get to the junction of Louise and Lesbroussartstraat (You’ll have noticed I’m sticking with the Flemish versions of the street names. This is done to annoy you) we come to two fine eateries right across the street from each other. These are: Rouge Tomate and Lucas. Both are popular, and it’s wise to book.
The menu in Rouge Tomate is pretty fishy, and pretty international. Main courses are around €13 - €20 and wine starts at around €20 for a bottle. They have a nice zen garden to the rear.
Lucas has a menu which leans towards the Italian, but not aggressively so. Pasta and veal, along with some fine Argentinian beef, great puddings, and some good inexpensive wines. A good meal will hit you for about €80 for two including a decent bottle of wine.
Now then. At the junction just past Lucas (Baljuvstraat) hang a right and….looky looky, trendy designer shops and art dealers and antiques and...and..oh RAFTS of things!
Stroll on down, and you’ll find The Bank. A bar which used to be…a BANK! How original…not. Still, despite being an Irish bar, it isn’t full of people watching sport, and nor is it too crowded, except on Saturday nights when they have live music. And they have good beer too, even Kreik on draught.
When you get to the church, turn left (Sorry, did I leave you in The Bank? Apologies. Glad you caught up) and you are in a wonderland of great little eateries. Take a stroll round and make your choice. My favourites were La Quincaillerie on Rue du Page, (which is Belgian/French cuisine. Mussels, steaks, fresh fish…and horse, should the fancy take you) and a Lebanese restaurant called Chatelaine du Liban on Place du Chatelaine. Excellent grilled meats, fantastic range of hot and cold appetisers. We washed down our brilliant meal with a bottles…OK…two bottles of Lebanese red wine at around €24 per bottle, and the whole bill for two of us was in the region of €95…for which we had stuffed ourselves stupid.
There are literally hundreds of fine restaurants in Brussels, and no doubt many more crap ones.
There are many hundreds of fine bars in Brussels, and again, doubtless, many more you’d only visit once on a bet.
I only sampled a few of each, and only had time for the briefest of explorations (hey…don’t forget I was ‘working’ every day!) but I found the standard to be very high, and while on the whole not cheap, at least not a rip-off either.
I mentioned the hotel: Sheraton Four Points on Rue Paul Spaak. The Four Points are Sheraton’s budget hotels, and some are less than great (I’m thinking of a nasty night in Revere, Massachusetts in particular) but this was fine. Good size modern rooms with very comfortable beds, good bathrooms, coffee machines in every bedroom, minibars, TVs with a good range of channels, pleasant staff, and a Swiss restaurant called La Vacherie in which I never ate, but which smelled good. It also has a life size cow in reception, painted with a variety of cartoons. Class! A word of warning though: breakfast, which is a buffet of hot and cold stuff, with the option of eggs done to order, was a cool €18.50. Much better to go to Le Pain Quotidian.
One week’s worth of evenings wasn’t enough time to really explore, but it was enough to ensure my undying affection for Brussels. It’s close, it’s fairly cheap, everyone speaks 3 languages and where the hell else will you find queues of people waiting to photograph a statue of a wee laddie widdling?
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