R is for Rue des Bouchers

“This song is catchy,” I said tapping my foot on the wooden floor of a Brussels café.

“It’s In de Rue des Bouchers,” my Belgian friend said as the accordion music poured from the speakers.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“The song or the street?”

“Either.”

“That’s going to change. Now!”

When living in a foreign country early on you learn that some things are difficult to translate from the host language and culture into your own language and culture. Cases in point: 1) The democratic Netherlands chose to become a monarchy; 2) A statue of a peeing boy became a Belgian national monument; and 3) The ever popular Eurovision Song Festival. On the flip side of the coin you also learn that somethings in this world are definitely universal, for example: 1) Delicious meals; 2) Good friends; 3) Great accordion music.

Not a fan of accordion music? Then you haven’t heard In de Rue des Bouchers by Belgian singer/songwriter Johan Verminnen. This song has an infectious beat, which is just like catching the flu in kindergarten: everyone gets it. You hear it, and you get it, whether you like it or not.

Feeling the need to introduce me to Belgian culture, my friend Astrid grabbed me by the hand and marched me across Brussels to the oldest part of the city. On the way she explained how back in the Middle Ages merchants of a certain business would all set up shop on the same street. To this day you can still see the Rue des Brasseurs/Brouwersstraat (Beer Brewers Street), the Rue des Eperonniers/Spoormakersstraat (Spur Makers’ Street) and Rue des Marchés aux Frommages/Kaasmarkt (Cheese Market Street). And of course the famous Rue des Bouchers/Beenhouwerstraat—the Street for the Butchers.

Astrid sang the first verse of the song in Flemish: Luckily she gave me a translation:

If you want to see Brussels live it up As ge Brussel wilt zeen leive

You don't have to spend a lot of money moede nie vuil geld oeitgeive

There's a place where you can go all out dô es ne côtei wô da g'a nie moe geneire

Where you can pass the evening goit er nen ôvend passeire

In the Rue des Bouchers (x4)         in de rue des Bouchers (4x)

“So the song, In de Rue des Bouchers, is about butchers?” I said as we crossed the Grand Place and entered an elegant shopping gallery.

“Oh, there aren’t any butchers there now,” Astrid said as we walked side by side along the flagstones. Passing through the Galeries Royales de St. Hubert we saw exquisite chocolate shops and expensive clothing stores. Then halfway through the Gallery we turned left and stopped at a narrow pedestrian street brimming with outdoor tables laden with colorful bushels of shrimp, crabs and lobsters on ice. 

“This is it!” Astrid said sweeping her arm toward the bustling street below.

“They should call it the Rue des Pȇcheurs,” I said looking at all the luscious seafood. Snuggled next to the displays of fish and shellfish were restaurant tables and chairs filled with happy people eating and drinking under the festive lights and heat lamps in the Rue des Bouchers.

Astrid sang another verse:

You can find anything there Ge kunt dô vanalles vinne

Russian mackerel and sardines Russe macreaux en sardinne

French fries and raw mussels         fritten en moules parquées

The Brussels people love to eat         slôge dei Brusseleirs in uile gilei

In the Rue des Bouchers (x4)         in de rue des Bouchers (4x)

The moment we stepped into the Rue des Bouchers, the voices of restaurant waiters lobbed at us.  

“Belles Mademoiselles! Vous vouler manger?”, “Pretty Lady one and two, eat here!” and “Please, I have table for yous!” Astrid and I exchanged laughs at their comments but the smells of cooked seafood, the bright colors and the cozy atmosphere of eating outside here was too much to pass up. We strolled the street until we found a good restaurant with a free table and an attentive waiter. Then we sat down beside each other so we two friends could eat and watch the world go by. The waiter was efficient and full of compliments for two women out on the town together. For entertainment we made him guess where we came from. He said Astrid came from Belgium (correct) and thought I came from Germany (no), then France (non), then Denmark (huh-uh), then Russia (niet). When he guessed “Modova” I put him out of his misery and revealed I was American. Needless to say, I blew his mind. 

“Vous ȇtes Americaine? Non! Pas vous!” Which just made Astrid and I laugh even harder. Then we ordered crépes Suzettes for dessert and more drinks in the Rue des Bouchers.

Astrid sang another verse:

Beer is poured and drunk there Dô we'd getapt en gezaupe

cafés are open until sunrise da blaift dô tot 's merges aupe

And when the door closes en as ze de dui todroeie

You can hear a rooster crow den es den ôn al on't kroeie

And this time I sang the refrain with her all four times:

In the Rue des Bouchers

In the Rue des Bouchers

In the Rue des Bouchers

In the Ruuuuue deeeees Bouchers

Astrid didn’t have to explain the song to me anymore since I was now living it. What a special night in the Butchers’ Street with: 1) A delicious meal; 2) A good friend; and 3) Great accordion music!

N is for Art Nouveau

“Wow,” I said stopping mid-stride on the sidewalk.

“What?” said my Belgian friend swinging a small shopping bag.

“Look at that shop window.”

“I’m looking.”

“See the architecture’s squiggly lines and curls along the windows.”

“That’s Art Nouveau. In Belgium, it's everywhere.”

“Wow!”

One of the pleasures of traveling is being able to do the things you’ve always longed to experience. Going to the summit of the Eiffel Tower: Check! Riding elephants in Nepal: Check! Seeing the Taj Mahal at morning, noon and night: Check, check and check! Despite the exotic nature of these traveling experiences, it is expected that when one is in those locales, one will do them. These are what I call travel’s “Popular Pleasures”. But in the realm of adventure there’s another category of pleasure that comes from discovering something you’ve never seen, heard, smelled, tasted, touched, thought of or dreamed up. Those are what I call the “What the—?! Thrills”.

For me Art Nouveau in Belgium was a “What the—?! Thrill”. Coming from the Midwestern region of the United States I’d never seen buildings designed with such large glass windows that looked like they had been drawn with a paintbrush and decorated with the exotic flowers of the rainforest. My American background explained why I didn’t know this architecture: Art Nouveau was an artistic and architectural movement popular in Europe from 1890-1914. As an example of how how widespread it was across that continent, it went by different names in different countries: It was called “Art Nouveau” in Belgium and France, “Jugendstil” in Germany, “Arts and Crafts” in the United Kingdom, “Modernisme” in Cataluna and “Drop-Dead Gorgeous” by me. 

Art Nouveau embraced organic lines and drew its inspiration from nature—hence the flowers, trees and foliage used to decorate its paintings, sculptures, ceramics, furniture and buildings. Which raises another element to Art Nouveau—it was a complete art movement that influenced all the decorative arts, as well as furniture design and home architecture. Yet Art Nouveau manifested itself differently in different countries. In Cataluna, the exteriors of the Art Nouveau homes are bland but on the inside they are elegant. Meanwhile in Belgium the Art Nouveau homes were designed to be exquisitely beautiful on the inside and the outside. They are the complete package and completely stunning. 

My Belgian friend, Astrid, had spent her whole life walking around Belgian streets filled with Art Nouveau architecture. She had visited her grandmother’s house which was full of Art Nouveau furniture, lamps and ceramic candy dishes and didn’t see the appeal. Instead Astrid liked modern things with straight lines. Nevertheless, when I asked her to show me more Art Nouveau in Belgium, she obliged because she was a good hostess.

Together we visited Antwerp’s Cogels-Osylei street to see the string of Art Nouveau private residences—one after another, after another—like so many pearls on a string. One house was decorated like a boat, another a sunflower. In Brussels we visited the Musical Instruments Museum in the former Old England shopping mall. We didn’t go to see the instruments but the design elements used to create such a structure of metal and glass. Astrid and I strolled countless Brussels streets with Art Nouveau homes restored to their colorful glory. Finally we arrived ensemble at the pièce de résistance: the private residence—now museum—of Victor Horta.

Victor Horta wasn’t just an architect, he was one of the finest architects of the Art Nouveau movement. He designed countless structures in Belgium, some of which were destroyed in the wars or torn down by later generations’ changing tastes. But some of his houses are still standing and beautifully so. And none more beautiful than his own house. Here you can see his designs—inside and out—how he made metal bend, twist and float. How he preferred light, neutral colors. How he decorated the dining room in subway tiles.   

“What a house,” I said in  quiet voice out of respect for Mr. Horta. Astrid shrugged.

“In Belgium, this style is everywhere.” She wasn’t dismissive but realistic. But I could tell this tour of the inside of an Art Nouveau house had had an effect on her. “I’ve lived in Belgium my whole life but this is the first time I’m seeing Horta’s house on the inside.”  

Standing at the top of the stairs I looked down at the symmetry, the lines, the beauty.

“Wow,” I said with awe. 

Astrid followed my gaze. “Wow!”

In that house I experienced another “What the—?! Thrill” and even though she was traveling in her own country, Astrid experienced a “What the—?! Thrill”, too.

Who says you have to travel far from home for a “What the—?! Thrill”. “What the—?! Thrills” are all around. All you have to do is look for them.

B is for Brussels

“Bonjour,” I said turning my gaze from the beautiful buildings to the waiter standing over me.

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” he replied sliding a menu before me.

 “Je prend un gateau chocolat.”

“Excellent.”

“Une bière.

“Excellent.”

“Et Jean-Claude Van Damme.”

Ah, Brussels! It’s not Amsterdam, in fact it isn’t even in the Netherlands but in Belgium, one of the Low Countries. Brussels brings to mind chocolate, beer and old buildings. It also makes me think of Brussels’ native son, Jean-Claude Van Damme—the “Muscles of Brussels”.

When you’re in Brussels you have to eat chocolate, drink beer, visit its treasure trove of 400 year-old buildings and see Jean-Claude Van Damme. Preferably all at the same time. And the spot to partake in these gastronomical, historical and pop culture pleasures is the Grand Place. Located in the heart of the city, this square dating back to the Middle Ages, is lined with buildings tipped in gold leaf and adorned with golden statues. Originally the houses lining this square were built as the headquarters for the guilds—such as the bread makers, beer makers, butchers, bakers and candlestick makers. Today these buildings house museums, banks, chocolate shops, restaurants and cafes, which makes this the-place-to-be for chocolate, beer, old buildings (and potential) Van Damme sightings.

While living in Brussels I made a habit of going to this square for this double-double whammy extravaganza. Sitting outside at a cafe with a view of these grand old buildings I would eat countless Neuhaus chocolates and drink 436 different types of Belgian beer. (I went there a lot.) And although I always had my eye out for  J-CVD, I never did see the Muscles of Brussels.

Which meant I had to find a new cafe game. I did of course and called it the “Language Lip Pucker”. 

Before I explain the rules, first some background: Brussels is the capital city of the country of Belgium which lies between The Netherlands, France and Germany. The northern half of Belgium speaks Flemish (a form of Dutch), the southern part speaks French and along the border with Germany, a small group speaks German. As the capital city of two major and very different language groups, Brussels became an officially bilingual city speaking both Flemish and French. This means that street signs, buildings and menus are all written in both Flemish and French. Even the Grand Place has two names: In Flemish it’s called De Grote Markt, while in French it’s called La Grand’ Place.

In addition, Brussels is also the the capital city of the European Union, which has its own government buildings and the European Parliament in Brussels. As the lingua franca of the western world, English is widely spoken in EU offices and throughout Brussels. This means that when you go for drinks at the Grand Place, the local cafe or bowling alley you can order in English. Pretty much. 

This all boils down to the fact that in Brussels you can speak in three different languages and most people will understand you—pretty much.

With so many languages spoken in a city the size of four football fields, the protocol is for the customer to speak first—in Flemish, French or English. And depending on which language the customer speaks in—Flemish, French or English—the waiter, worker or employee must respond in the same language.

Now to my “Language Lip Pucker” game, which is the prefect cafe game to play in Brussels. First, I go to a cafe and address the waiter in English, which according to protocol means he must respond in English. 

When he returns to take my order, I speak to him in French—this language switch-a-roo throws him for a loop because in his mind he had pegged me as a dumb American. But now! He sees I’m a dumb person speaking French! I got him! Then he switches to French to say: “Bon, excellent, oui,” then off he goes to the kitchen to complain of the bilingual person at table 8.

When he delivers my meal and/or drink, I continue in French. Which is all charming, ha-ha, formidable! But wait for it. When I’m finished and want the check, I call him over and ask for it in Flemish. At this point his face is directed at me and I get so see the lips of his mouth press together and push out in a big fish-lips pucker. He doesn’t want to kiss me. Au contraire! Instead this Belgian waiter is thinking and perhaps a bit confused by me because the fish-lip pucker is what all Belgians do when they are thinking or confused. 

What exactly is he thinking?: “This person speaks English and French but is even dumber in Flemish!”

But all of that is worth it to see the “Lip Pucker”, which only switching languages can cause. Don’t knock the game before you try it! Besides, there is no other city in Western Europe where you can play this cafe game. So the next time you’re in Brussels use your English, French and Flemish and have some language fun. It’s the next best thing to seeing Jean-Claude Van Damme on the Grand Place—pretty much. 

A is for Drinking Alone

“Look at those people sitting at outdoor cafés,” I said walking down the cobblestone street.

“Talking, reading, drinking wine, it looks like they’re having fun,” I said back to myself in a very one-sided conversation.

PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia