Leuven and Brussels


OK, the purpose of my trip to Belgium was to attend an interview at Leuven University for a job I didn't get. Leuven is in the west of Belgium and Flemish speaking. For those of you who are not connoisseurs of beer can design, it is also the place where Stella Artois is brewed. I was very much looking forward to travelling to Belgium. It is one of Britain's closest neighbours and yet amazingly we know nothing about it. The short plane journey from Stansted to Brussels only enhanced my sense of proximity and curiosity.


Once in Brussels I had to take a train straight to Lueven. The train stopped at several small towns in what seemed like the Belgian outback. Each station was a shrine to the God of Partially Completed Concrete Eyesores (whose name has momentarily slipped me). Bit grim really. Leuven station was no different. However, this only extenuated the wonder I experienced as I encountered Leuven for the first time.


As I emerged from the subterranean corridor of the train station, a marvellous square came into view. The opposing half of the square was bordered by hotels and continental café bars. It was as sweet as anything. At this stage most people would have hot footed it over to one of the outdoor bars, dropped their bags and spent the next five hours sipping on a 'demi' or two of Stella. The more inquisitive might have ventured down the incredibly long, narrow and inviting street that found its end at the square and divided the wall of café bars and hotels into left and right. I, being alone, sensible and completely knackered, booked into my hotel.

Leuven is a historic but not overly pompous town. It is peppered with old squares. One of the squares hosts the Council Hall, a stunningly articulated colossus of gothic architecture and a wonder to entertain. Although attractive, the town is not drowned by tourists. The people are quite lively. They speak mainly Dutch but some French too. This makes for interesting guessing games when entering a shop. Shopkeepers often look at you with what seems a suspicious eye, but I reckon its just them trying to guess what language you speak.



In the suburban parts, the architecture had a pleasing feel to it. The housing is terraced, slim, four to five stories high, with all number of boxes and verandas protruding from it. They use blue bin bags in Louvain, not wheely bins.

Time for cultural comment. I was once told a story about German people being very orderly. An example was given. When encountering an empty road with no sign of oncoming traffic, a German would refrain from crossing the road so long as the man remained red. In Leuven I encountered a similar situation. Picture this: me on one side of the road and two or three Belgians on the other; red man showing and no immediate threat of being run over by traffic in the light of attempted road-crossing. Of course, in England, when faced with a busy street, one commonly risks life, limb, job, family and home to get to the other side and save five seconds of time. Unsurprisingly I decided to cross the road despite the red man advising otherwise. Those on the other side were clearly agitated by this. They realised that I had reason to cross the road - there were no cars. They shuffled their feet and looked at each other worriedly. Were they to fall prey to temptation? In the end, their civilised selves held out, the man turned green, they crossed the road and the nightmare passed.




Other things. They love bikes in Belgium. I mean love bikes. When you walk out of the train station in Louvain, you will see this sea of bikes to your left!







Well having finished my interview, I moved on to Brussels. The centre of Brussels has elegance, but it is rather tired looking, dressed in age and pollution. The buildings are grand, but neither lavish nor particularly imposing.

The city bustles; the trams bully their way through the city streets, but the bustle does not quite reach the heights of London and other such cities.

An emerging Brussels was also manifest in the numerous cranes, the fifty-foot high metal skeletons and the extensive work going on around the train station. Remember one day this will become the heart of a new European Superstate!

Brussels may be on the verge of becoming a European edifice, but if you wander just a 'stone's throw' the wrong side of the magnificent Palace of Justice, you will find yourself in an urban slum. Next to the Palace, an outdoor lift takes you down a level, economically as well as physically. Its not long before you are walking past abandoned vehicles, boarded up buildings and 'local geezers' looking a bit tasty. I knew I'd strayed from the straight and narrow when two Portuguese missionaries accosted me in the name of God. I walked through a tunnel-cum-graffiti gallery, and saw two apparently conscious girls lying down in the middle of the road. It couldn't have been sunbathing, it wasn't theatre. If I'd been brave enough I might have asked them what they were doing. As I continued, I passed through a community of tower blocks inhabited by Arabs and Asians. In front of one block twenty guys of various ages, some Arabic, some white Europeans, were hanging around and supping from cans. I found it as interesting as hell, I would love to have stopped and talked, but I walked briskly past them trying to pass myself of as a disinterested Belgian. Incidentally, the aim of my excursion was to time the walk between my hostel in the north and the central station in the south. I could smell the station before I could see it. The overpowering stench of piss drew me to the little known fact that the gateway to Europe's capital city also doubles up, possibly only at night time, as Europe's largest open-air urinal.

Having found the station, I walked back along a different route. The centre of Brussels is traversed north to south by five big streets. I chose Boulevard Monsieur Lemonnier and its continuation Boulevard Anspach. The first thing I noticed was that there was an abundance of Maghreb and Arabic businesses. Saudi Airlines, phone shops advertising cheap rates to Arabic countries, Moroccan style café bars. It was late in the evening and there were countless groups of North African lads walking around or sitting at bars. I started wondering if I wasn't walking into some part of town that I shouldn't be. I had always imagined Brussels to be a largely white European city. As I kept my nerve and continued walking and passed more and more Arabic and African businesses, I slowly began to realise that this wasn't some kind of ghetto, but one of the main night-spots in Brussels. I continued for a 100m before reaching what announced itself in neon lights as China Town. China 'town' was essentially a block of Tai and Chinese restaurants, with a vibrant atmosphere. As I continued up towards my hostel, the street changed again, losing any sense of geographical identity, and becoming altogether more pornographic. It was around about here that I kept bumping into lampposts.

Here are a few more titbits about Brussels. Although keen to try out my French, I found the locals too customer orientated, too multilingual and too busy to want to conduct business in French. English English English. Whilst in Brussels, you may be unlucky enough to have the time to visit the Royal Palace (for free). It is without doubt a back-aching yawn round a gilt edged edifice with articulation taken to ridiculous proportions. A complete waste of money and all the justification you need to start a peasant revolution. A good place to stay if you are strapped for cash is the Vincent Van Gough youth hostel in the north of the city. Dirt cheap and a nice friendly atmosphere, and you can chill out in their bar during the evening. You can even read a poem that I wrote in the bar whiling away the evening hours, watching some German tourists play pool. It's unlikely to make sense to most, although perhaps it will make some sense to those who have visited, and even more to those who work there.

Belgium is often labelled as boring. Of course, for those whose interest in travelling goes no deeper than ticking the boxes in a tourist guide, one can see the sense in this argument. Belgium has little in the way of world famous, erection inducing monuments. However, for me there are two things that make Belgium a fascinating place. First the juxtaposition of Flemish, French, Arabic and African cultures. Second, the tiny size of Belgium and its cultural and geographical continuity with Holland, Germany and France challenges the British notion of the nation state as being powerful and national identity as meaning different and separate from others.




Date Article Put Online: May 2003

By Mike Williams

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