This morning we walked through the Marolles, one-time working-class neighbour turned ghetto chic quarter. As you wander the narrow streets, you come across a series of haphazardly placed murals, one of which bore an uncanny resemblence to my nan. At the heart of the Marolles lies Place au Jeu de Balle, home to Brussels's premier flea market. Surveying the expanse of toot, I felt like Howard Carter discovering Tutankhamun's tomb: "Wonderful things!"
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