To catch the bus to Málaga Friday morning, I had to leave the house quite early while it was still dark and most of the village was fast asleep. I was traveling pretty light, so I decided to take my usual shortcut down to the lower part of the village, where the bus stop is. However, this turned out to be not very wise because I had to navigate a particularly steep street, one that my brother commented years ago would best be summited with the use of crampons. But I regularly use this street now, so I never anticipated a problem. I would have been fine except that I was wearing a pair of leather-soled boots that are a bit slippery, and this was compounded by the fact that the grooves put into the cement incline to provide traction are worn smooth. And I was carrying a 25-pound suitcase. And there is no railing to hold on to. I took three steps and realized I could go no further without gravity toppling me head over heels. But I also could not turn around and pull myself back up to level ground. Like this I stood for a minute, trying to figure out WTF to do.
Understand death by falling down stairs and steep grades is not uncommon in these parts. So I sat down, stabilized the suitcase behind my back, and took off the boots. The only way down, without risking a broken neck, was in my stocking feet. Once I carefully carted the bag to level ground, I climbed back up to retrieve the boots, which I put back on only when I got the bottom. And then carried on to the bus stop, putting the mini-drama quickly behind me.
Hours later, I emerged from the gritty Gare Centraal (looks like it hasn't been power-washed in the 10+ years since I first walked through it) and literally walked across the street to our hotel. If you ever find yourself in Brussels and in need of a place to stay, we would recommend this base because the value for the € is incredible, and its location cannot be beat.
I immediately soaked my weary travel bones in the bath and waited for Big Jim's train to arrive from Amsterdam. Once we both were settled, we headed out to Au Bon Vieux Temps to see the owner, our friend Maria. (As an aside to the commenters on Beer Advocate, the staff speaks both Dutch and French; just don't expect the French to sound like French French because it's not. And give the waitress some slack---she is 82!) Since Big Jim and I met in ABVT, we are greeted most graciously every visit and Friday night were invited to join Maria at the round table in the corner, where she usually holds court with her coterie of interesting people.
At who knows what time, late-ish as Laurent wasn't due in from Paris until 11:30 or so, the Boys and Claude's wife Sara and her Portuguese brother and his girlfriend arrived, downed a bunch of Belgian beers faster than one probably should, and announced we should all go to a disco called the Guru Bar (although the way they pronounced it sounded nothing like Guru Bar).
(I can't believe Fritland has gone all upscale though. Compare here with 2+ years ago....)
Back at the disco, I truly cannot remember the last time Big Jim and I were out at such a place, perhaps because we live in a village at the crossroads of Nowheresville and Hicktown. Or maybe because normally I am put off by velvet ropes and $70 rounds of drinks AND having to pay for the privilege of peeing in a filthy bathroom. But somehow Friday night none of this mattered (except for the paying to pee in a gross bathroom), and we had a fun time until the masses left for parties elsewhere and Big Jim and I grabbed a cab, arriving back at the hotel at 4 am. After a cup of tea, we went off to dreamland, resting up for a day of being tourists in just a few hours.
hasta mañana,
mylifeinspain
3, 2, and 1 years ago: No entries, bad blogger!
