Brussels is a wonderful city. I like it because it looks so ordinary compared to others that I’ve been to coming in. Graffiti adorns as many walls as possible, and many buildings look severely worn out with the exception of about a handful. It’s like revisiting the 1940’s, down to signs for the train stations; this is awesome, because it’s like being in a Belgian film noir. When I stepped off the train, it was awesome too; Brussels’ population is 46% immigrant composed, so nearly everyone looked like they weren’t from here originally.
For many, it’s still a struggle to be here; prejudice is still relatively rampant here, with African-based teenagers finding it difficult to keep current with school or envision bright futures. Many have been ashamed to bring their families to Europe because of their lack of success. However, though the museum at the Atomium said all of this, one particular detail made it seem less polarized. A large majority of the public of Brussels said they would support a football team made up predominately of foreigners. It’s great, in my view, that soccer, a game, gives people the strongest opinions of acceptance of a country’s people.
Furthermore, the interactions I saw between races was one of mutual respect; the 21st century, though it is wrought with turmoil, is a time for social progress as well in many respects. What’s most important is that since it’s a very working class community here in Brussels, food stalls from various cuisines are always open late.
Before I came to the country, I knew that Belgium was the country of beers; thousands of beers come from here, with pretty much each town making their own (single or few). I thought it was particularly interesting how monks in monasteries make these beers; alcohol seems, to me, to be contrary to the holiness and piety. Regardless, it was a wonderful escape to go down to Rochefort in Wallonia to go visit some amazing caves and try the local trappist beer. It had a flavor I had never tasted before, and you could taste the uniqueness of the town in the beer.
Usually, I prefer the metropolis to the sleepy town, but this was different. There was absolutely no one in the tiny square by what seemed like the lone bus stop. I could just sit for a few minutes and relax. What made it great was that a wonderful shop with great food (fries and cheese!) was just a block down. Europe’s towns are very laid back but also manage to have thriving economies at the same time, which is why I was in love with Rochefort.
Finally, we ended up at the most anti-human location we could possibly be, the caves of Han (or, in French, Les Grottes de Han). I have one of the greatest amounts of respect for nature’s pure ability to create a masterpiece that it seems only the creativity of human minds could make with just water and time. These caves were massive galleries of art, comparable to rooms full of Picasso or Van Gogh. It was extremely cold, but the crevasses and pillars were warm and glowing.
Inherently, this post travels through respect and appreciation. I learned within a mere two days to respect something big, something small, and something nonhuman. We live our best understanding and putting effort into everything around us. Nothing deserves neglect.
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