Last Day!

Sorry this has taken way too long to post, but life has been crazier than I could have ever imagined. Now that it is a good 7 or so months since the trip, I feel like I should bring it to a close. Granted, a Venice post is to come as well as a trip round up and posted pictures. But it will happen. I promise.



So where was I...ah, yes, I left David and Amsterdam for a quick day in Brussels after I realized I had missed all the good Art Nouveau architecture and could not leave Europe without making a pilgrimage to the Victor Horta house. I took an early train to Brussels and made my first attempt at trying to communicate with the locals. At first, I thought the confusion of finding my way to the bus was due to lack of signage or rude train station workers. However after the next series of events, I realized it is due to French language being...well...snotty and inherently rude.

I first ask a bus driver which bus will take me to the stop I want. Without answering verbally, he points in a direction that if followed would have led me up a wall to a beam on the ceiling. After kindly asking again if he was pointing to a bus in a different direction, he nodded and walked away. OK. I get on said bus and check with the driver if it goes to the stop I want, and abruptly he gives me the look of death and grunts, "Yes." OK. So I silently sit towards the back where an older woman is scolding a angsty teenager in French about his manners and his dress. He starts screaming at her, flips her off, and gets off the bus. Nice. She turns to me and starts asking me for what I think is my approval of her actions, but in French. When I kindly tell her that I do not speak French, she gives me the look of death, gets up in a huff, and moves to the front of the bus. OK. Finally my stop comes and I figure that instead of wandering to find the museum, I would call them for directions. The conversation goes something like this:

"Bonjour. Where exactly is your museum?"
"Well, I can't really explain it."
"Well, I'm at the intersection where your website told me to take the bus to. How do I walk from there?"
"I don't know."
"OK. Can you tell me what street your museum is on?"
"No. "
"You are the Victor Horta museum, yes?"
Sounding like she is pained by my very existence, "Yes we are! Just ask anyone around you on the street. They'll know." Click.

OK. So I stop a few passerbyers and ask, in the best/worst French I can conjure up, where the Victor Horta museum is. One of them says to me, "You clearly don't speak French. So no, I don't know where it is. Why would I know that?" OK. The next guy smiles and points me in a direction. I thank him and start walking towards an area that, well, doesn't look all that great. After some long blocks, I decide to turn around and walk into a bookstore to ask for directions. Again, in my best/worst French, I ask if they speak English, to which they say yes, and ask where the museum is. The point in the direction I had come from in the first place, told me the street name, and then looked at each other and laughed. "You really don't speak French, do you?" Um, no. Clearly, my French is horrendous...but honestly, I'm not even trying to speak all that much French. And you speak English. Help me out. I'm trying to be nice. That's all. I'm bringing your country money in tourism. I have a smile on my face. Problem? Conclusion: countries that aren't France who say that their first language is French should be avoided unless you want to be humilated and degraded. I mean, you aren't France. You aren't nearly as cool as France. Get over yourselves. Yes, that means you, too, Luxembourg! Anyway....just before getting to the museum, I see the guy who pointed me in the wrong direction sitting at a cafe. He nudges his friend and tells him, in English, that he pointed the stupid tourist in the wrong direction. They both laughed at me. If I had known where to find amnesty at the US Embassy, I would have pummeled the guy right there. But since he probably could have outrun me, I gave him a huge grin, waved, and moved on.

The museum, despite the journey to find it, is fabulous. Each nook, cranny, piece of furniture, and light fixture had the signature Horta style. The staircase is a photographic gem. It was really neat to see how every detail came together into a whole artistic composition. Two thumbs up. I bought a map of walking routes around the area to see Art Noveau facades and headed to see as much I could before having to get on the last train out to my hotel. The first stop was the Hotel Hannon, designed by Jules Brunfaut, known for its beautiful frescoed staircase by Paul Albert Boudouin. Gorgeous. Then I just wanted the streets for hours. There would be five or six art nouveau facades on a street amidst generic rowhouses. As amazing as I could have thought. Definitely worth the day trip.

Of course, I couldn't leave without seeing the famous square named the "Grand-Place." Anything that names itself "The Grand Place" has to to be worth checking out in my book, so, after more frustrating bus and walking attempts, I arrive in a hidden gem of an area which, very true to its name, was grand in every way. Pretty amazing, actually, to take it all in. Another two thumbs up approval. While I'm there, I indulge in a last Belgian waffle (oh, how I miss thee!) and stock up on some Belgian chocolate for the plane ride.

Finally, after a train, a bus, and a taxi, I arrive at my hotel near the Charleroi airport...thanks Ryanair for flying into the most random of places...and try to ruminate on my last three months in the European continent. Wow. Talk about an amazing trip. Well...full review to come later...but I am pretty overjoyed and pleased with how this all came out. Definitely would suggest this trip to anyone. Hey, they didn't call it the Grand Tour in centuries past for nothing, right?

Flew from Charleroi to Dublin, Dublin to Boston without a hitch. Well, I suppose when I told customs that I wasn't bringing in any dairy products, I "forgot" the wheel of cheese I had in my backpack. Hey...who wouldn't for good gouda.

Adios, Europa!