Adventures in France and Beyond: Toussaint Traveling Trilogy Part 1: Bustling ‘bout Brussels

Toussaint Traveling Trilogy
Part 1: Bustling ‘bout Brussels

BELGIUM OR BUST (slightly different than the BUSTS OF BELGIUM)

After a weekend with the adopted family (Josephs) I was back in Paris for a whopping 16 hours before it was time to leave again. This time it was off on my fall break, Toussaint (All Saints), with me myself and I. Now, before I sound super pathetic: other people were invited, but I think most were scared by my insane infatuation with going to Morocco on Ryanair. I don’t know why, but I do really want to go to the Maghreb while I’m in France. Poop on all of you who think it’ll be dangerous. It seems like a great idea to me.

After flirting with both the Italian and Spanish ideas with a few people, and flirting with them in the process, I decided to spend a week in Belgium exploring three different cities: Brussels, Antwerp, and Bruges. To really make it European I booked all of my travel by train, allowing me to really soak up that Euro-vibe and save money too. Major points here to the Europeans who have pretty cheap train travel, compared to the US where we don’t. After my final class at SciencesPo on Tuesday (doesn’t it figure that SciencesPo and Trinity didn’t line up their vacations), I metroed home as fast as possible to get a few things out of the dryer and to pack my bags. All went well in this department except that I couldn’t find my calendar… and without my calendar I’m lost. It also had all of my trains schedules and hotel confirmation numbers in it… anyway, in the end I gave up and accepted the naked feeling of life sans agenda (that means without my calendar for you non-Francophiles), and hurried off to Gare du Nord to get on my train to Brussels.

Arriving around 5:30 in Brussels, I took a taxi to my hotel and settled. Brussels is interesting in that it is truly bilingual between French and Flemish, but almost everyone speaks English as well. After settling into my hotel room at the Astrid Centre Hotel (I have an incredible fear of hostels, so I booked hotels instead) I went out and wandered around. I couldn’t have been happier that I was less than 5 minutes from the central market. In the evening light, the buildings were beautiful and I was amazed at how different these buildings were from those of Paris, or anywhere else I’d visited. After a dinner of carbonnade (basically glorified crockpot crap/beef stew, but not as good), and beer (Jupiler - later found out that it may have been nonalcoholic, so it hardly counts), I returned home to the hotel so that I could plan my next day on hijacked internet.

View from my hotel room. Just to the right of the picture is a window with a guy standing naked looking at me while I take this picture. I'm not even kidding

Brussels Town Hall at night (1401-1455)- The tower is 315 feet tall.

Having created a fairly detailed list (aka practically planned my day out by the minute) of things I wanted to accomplish, I set out pretty early (in the Parisian mindset) on my adventure. I started the day’s journey with a visit to the Cathedral of St. Michel, which is huge, to say the very least. It put any Parisian church building (except maybe Sacre Coeur) to shame, and I was totally awestruck (awestricken?). Everything was so bright and so clean and the building was so damned big. Of course much had been repaired and damaged parts replaced during a 1980s renovation, but still, it was absolutely amazing.

Cathedral interior

Just in front of the cathedral was an enormous scaffolding which was an open art expo to make people think about modernity in Brussels. Well, since it was free, I put on the required hard hat and climbed the stairs to the top, thanking God that modernity would afford me a good view of Medieval Brussels. About half way up I started reconsidering my ambition as I realized that the tower had a slight sway and since there were no solid floors - it was all open link flooring, which freaks me out. But ever the warrior, I trekked on. To say it was worth the climb is an understatement. As I wiped the sweat from my brow (see, I should have reconsidered a bit harder… I don’t like sweating), I turned to see the most amazing view of the city from what must be the only hill for miles. On one side of my view was a solid wall of cathedral and on the other was the skyline of a Brussels. Now, in New York or any American city this view would pretty much be square towers reflecting the sunlight with flat roofs - not exactly beautiful unless you’re wearing sunglasses. Here there was a nice mixture of everything imaginable. Modern, Medieval, Gothic, pitched, flat, good, mediocre, and even some downright bad. Together, however, it made a sight that I was very pleased to see.

After I’d spent a sufficient amount of time on the tower, I slowly walked back down, my legs having turned to jelly about a third of the way up the tower. Once on solid ground, and with my legs regaining their rigidity I then meandered to the central market to go to the tourist information bureau. In general I hate these places because I like to decide what I’m going to see, but since I only had so much time in the city, I broke down and went to see what they suggested, and to figure out how it fit into my day. Plus they also sell decent maps, which was something I was lacking.

Since I already knew a few of the things I wanted to do today, specifically wander around to find the Art Nouveau area of the city and the Victor Horta Museum, I asked about other things to do in that area, specifically about Marguerite Yourcenar, who was born in Brussels and who I knew had a “monument” in Brussels. Apparently not many people ask about her because my one question led to an intense internet search to figure out exactly what references her in Brussels. Well not getting much out of the Yourcenar questions and with a nice new map, I decided to just wander off to see what I could discover.

Since the lady at the tourist bureau told me I’d have to take a subway and a tram to get to the art nouveau area of the city and to the Horta museum, I walked it. In my now Franco-American mind (now there’s a combination for a big head and alcoholism if ever I heard one), the hour long walk was hardly a deterrent; after all, it was only 11. So I walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. And stopped for lunch. And walked some more. I passed the famous Mannekin Pis (Peeing Boy) which was little more than an oversized peeing Cabbage Patch kid, the next paint scheme for the Volkswagen, a Muslim neighborhood, the city courthouse, a Medieval city gate, and lots more. And in the end I found the Horta Museum closed until 2pm. Since I’d already been an hour and a half walking (I guess I didn’t take the direct route that was suggested, plus I also stopped for lunch), I figured, ‘Why stop now?’ and I kept walking in search of more great Art Nouveau.

Maison du Roi (King's House) 1504-1536

Guildhouses around the Grote Markt (yeah, it's spelled like that)

The Mannekin Pis (This pissing statue) 1618-9

The bug's next paintjob

Art Nouveau building

What is Art Nouveau, you ask, and why does Willie like it so much? Well Art Nouveau was a movement at the end of the 19^th century which broke away from tradition and did a lot of what we would now call art for art’s sake, with no meaning at all. It has led to some odd artwork, some beautiful furniture (Tiffany glass) and interior decoration, some interesting writing (The Picture of Dorian Gray), but it also manifested itself through some amazing buildings. Yeah, that’s a pretty basic, so I refer you to Wikipedia if you want a better explanation. I discovered the style in Paris through the work of Hector Guimard through his crazy metro stations and some really wacky buildings just around the corner from my house, and I’m doing a presentation on the style at SciencesPo in a week and a half. I guess my Rain Man tendencies kicked in and now I’m a bit infatuated. In time it will pass, I’m sure. On the way to the Horta museum (we’ll get to this Horta guy in a bit, so hold on) I passed by some Art Nouveau examples, but in the time killing adventure until the Horta museum opened at 2, I went on another hunt.

On my map were little round stylized A’s, which I figured out after my first hour of wandering meant Art Nouveau building here. Brussels is famous for its art nouveau architecture, and many people come to the city specifically to see it. Having figured this out, I started seeking out all the little red A’s. Two of the A’s turned out to be Les Hiboux and the Hotel Hannon, a 1902 building by Jules Brunfaut, both beautiful structures.

I don’t know much about Les Hiboux except that it’s French for “The Owls” and on the roof were two stone owls. The façade also had an owl-like outline, which I thought was pretty awesome. ADDITION: Built in 1895 to plans by Édouard Pelseneer.

The Hotel Hannon was a bit different, and had some very clear influences from Guimard in Paris. From the exterior it was a pretty structure, with the telltale Art Nouveau rounded lines and ironwork. While I was drooling from the outside, I noticed that the building now housed a photo gallery, which meant I could go inside. I rang the bell and was soon let into a beautiful oval hall with amazing frescoes all over. I was perfectly honest with the man that I really only came for the building, and he was very accommodating, pulling out a book about the house and its interior decoration. I paid my 1 Euro as though I wanted to see the photo exhibit and set off taking a billion pictures of the house’s interior. It was beautiful:

Fresco in smoking room

Fresco from second floor landing

Former Bathroom with tile that made reference to the fittings

After I had sufficiently photographed the Hotel Hannon I slowly made my way back to the Horta Museum. Victor Horta, the first architect of the Art Nouveau style lived in Brussels and designed many buildings in the city, well actually just outside the actual city. There, in the neighborhood of St. Gilles, Horta built his house and studio as two adjoining buildings. He eventually sold off the studio which was made into its own house, and now the two are once again united as a museum to the architect. Let me start by saying Horta is not my favorite architect. He gets a lot of credit, but I don’t think he was taking big enough risks. Yeah, at the time anything that wasn’t neoclassical was a big step, but he barely scratches the surface of the Art Nouveau wall and all of a sudden he’s like God. I went in with a shitty outlook, and although the museum was beautiful, with great furniture, it was run by Nazis who were constantly yelling at people for taking pictures and working to remove any ounce of enjoyment a visitor may have. It’s a house for Christ’s sake! It’s not the f-ing Mona Lisa! And even then, you can take pictures of Mona! (+1 for the Louvre.) Why you’re not allowed to take pictures of a house befuddles me, but whatever. Well, not one for being told no, I proceeded to sneak pictures, which went very well until I turned around to get a tongue-lashing in a variety of languages from one of the Nazi spy workers. I never even saw him when I was scoping out my location. Damn. Feeling sufficiently belittled, I had an even bigger urge to take pictures, plus I “needed” them for my Art Nouveau exposé at SciencesPo, right? I don’t think it’s a great idea to post my pictures online, so I’ll just say that they’re pretty good, I think. One funny thing that I noticed was that Victor Horta was apparently an intimate acquaintance of Thomas Crapper and his “venerable” device. I think the Venerable Crapper was probably the highlight of Horta experience. I actually laughed out loud, and no Nazi guide could yell at me because he wasn’t around. Score!

Horta Museum - His house on the left, his studio on the right

After (certainly not) getting a sufficient number of pictures, I left, walking toward the supposedly infamous Avenue Louise. One online tour guide went so far as to compare it to the Champs Elysées in Paris. Well, let me tell you what: WRONG. I bet it was once beautiful, but now it’s like any other middle class avenue in the world. I don’t mean to sound so snobby but I actually had my hopes up. In fact all it turned out to be was a huge boulevard with parking between the two streets and trees to shield the cars. BFD (Big F’ing Deal).

Now, I knew that Marguerite Yourcenar, the famous French author was born on this street and had a monument here from previous research. Who is this Yourcenar lady, you ask? Well, she was a pretty important woman who happened to live with her partner in Hartford for a number of years before moving to Northeast Harbor, Maine in 1950, living there until her death in the late 1980s. Mme Yourcenar was the first woman elected into the Academie française, the group of “immortals” (that’s what they’re called) who are in charge of preserving the French language, and in charge of adding new French words to the dictionary. In the mind of any middle to ancient aged French person, she was/is a big deal. When I asked about her at the tourist bureau, the lady knew who I was talking about, but not much more. I guess the fact that she pretty much lived as a French ex-pat in the US for 60 years makes a difference.

Well, as luck would have it, or as Mme Yourcenar’s spirit directed me, I ended up exactly in front of her monument and the site of her birth house as I walked onto the Avenue Louise. How’s that for freaky? As I looked at the building that “devoured” the birth house (her word, not mine), I couldn’t help but be unimpressed with a mediocre high rise. Come on Brussels, I’m sure the Yourcenar townhouse was very attractive (they were quite wealthy), and it was replaced with this monstrosity. The only thing worse than the high rise (well, there was a lot worse than that if you consider the broader scheme of things) was the Yourcenar monument. It is sort of like a maze you might put mice through for a science fair, except that it’s technicolored and has photos of Mme Yourcenar on it. It was sort of like a 3-D representaion of how I envision an Acid Trip.

Making the monument even worse were the choice of pictures. Now, Mme Yourcenar wasn’t exactly the belle of the ball, especially between the ages of 14 and 70. The closest person in modern popular culture would probably Coach Beiste on Glee (ouch, I just referenced Glee. I’ll admit I’ve seen two episodes, the Rocky Horror Picture Show one, and another one that somebody told me to watch because it was going to be great. Conclusion: they were both shit). Anyway, Madame Yourcenar had eyebrows that would make even Andy Rooney cower. Well, the guy who designed this labyrinth thing used a handful of pictures of her from that period, so it’s practically terrifying, even for me! In her old age she was like a cute granny Mme Yourcenar with her babushka scarf - nothing terrifying! Why all the pictures aren’t of this version baffles me.

Marguerite Yourcenar Glee's Coach Bieste

Huggable Old Mme Yourcenar

Yourcenar Monument - Avenue Louise

I was at the monument on a beautiful sunny day and the only things in the Yourcenar Mouse Maze with me were empty beer cans. Clearly it’s a popular tourist site. Judging from the graffiti on the panels I can tell that it’s not only the local Alcoholics Anonymous Chapter that uses the monument, but also the area artists.

Monument directly in front of the Yourcenar Birth House Site (the right side of the two-lot highrise)

Now, a bit less than enthralled after the Horta Museum and the Yourcenar Monument I marched back into the city. I found my way to the Museum of Beaux Arts, passing the "Passage Marguerite Yourcenar" along the way (really no more than the entrance path to a park. Although not huge in size, the Beaux Arts museum was very nice, and things were well displayed. They had lots of Dutch masters and some of the paintings really were beautiful, especially if your into paintings of dead animals and other food products. Connected to the Museum of Beaux Arts is the Magritte Museum, which I also visited. I don’t understand modern art, but I can sure as hell try to appreciated it. It was interesting, some of it was nice, but I’m definitely glad it’s not on my walls.

Peter Bruegel I - De Val van de Opstandige Engelen, 1562

Jacques-Louis David, Marat Assassiné 1793, 1886

Frans Snijders, Keukenstuk, early 17th Century

From there I walked over to the Old England Building, an awesome Art Nouveau structure, and now the home of the Museum of Musical Instruments. It was too late to enter, but I did look in the windows and take lots of pictures. Already I was a happier person. I also visited the church attached to the Royal Palace, which is open to the public. How great is that? Belgium still has a royal family, there is a church which is technically part of the Royal Complex, but it’s open to the real world and has no security whatsoever. Imagine how that would go over in America. If Obama so much as lets his mind wander down a street, a ten block area is closed off, and God forbid he should actually walk down the street because then the Secret Service would do a background check of everyone living within ten miles.

Sufficiently worn out, I started moseying to my hotel. On the way I passed by the Museum of Comics, which is located in a former department store designed by Victor Horta in 1906. Again, it’s not outlandish Art Nouveau - it’s subtle- but it’s attractive.