Groningen: the Metropolis of the North

As our initial excitement at living in a foreign land has slowly ebbed away, to be replaced by the lethargic numbness that is apathy, this blog has lain dormant, waiting for such a time as our child-like joy at living the European Dream is renewed. Although this has not yet happened, I do feel slightly guilty for abandoning all our faithful blogwatchers, so here is a little update to fill you in on our latest adventures, and prepare you for our return to the UK in a mere two weeks time.

After many weeks of planning and preparation, Tintin and I took advantage of a long weekend to visit some other Eurogay© friends in Groningen, the Netherlands. After five hours, four trains and a mere 30 pages of Allen Carr’s EASYWAY to Stop Smoking Permanently, we arrived. Sadly, on our first night we left our camera in a Thai restaurant and were unable to retrieve it until the following evening, so photos of the town itself are somewhat thin on the ground. But take our word for it that Groningen is a pretty little city, with excellent shopping and a fabulous market selling fresh fruit, veg, meat, fish, cheese and flowers.

A warning: the visitor to Groningen must be careful on the roads, which are dominated by high-speed cyclists with basketfuls of cheese, baguettes and sunflowers. Another Dutch stereotype confirmed was cleanliness and efficiency, no more starkly apparent than during our cross-border train ride where barren wastelands and dilapidated high-rises gave way to neat gardens and pretty window-boxes. Groningen has numerous examples of lovely 1930s architecture, not least our hosts’ fabulous apartment, and some highly agreeable green and open spaces.

We also had the opportunity to brave the hustle and bustle of what is the Groningen gay scene, namely a monthly club night attended by at least 35 hardcore revellers. The distinct lack of atmosphere was, however, partially compensated for by the free ice-lollies, flumps, and the two extremely athletic pole dancers who made up for in flexibility what they lacked in pulchritude.

Due to the lack of interesting photos, to get a flavour of what Groningen has to offer you will have to make do with this rather uninspiring snap, taken from our hosts' amazing roof terrace:

Here is a photo of Tintin on the "train ride of doom":And here is a picture of me looking at a fish:

Restaurant Review, chez nous, Bruxelles

Having friends over in London, we can be reasonably sure that when 11pm comes, they will have a Cinderella-like moment of panic, and quickly leave before the last train/tube turns back into a pumpkin. Not so in Brussels, where the old-fashioned art of walking home is alive and well, meaning that there’s nothing to stop one’s soiree drifting on into the night.

And so it was last night, when we returned the favour of dinner for our new Kiwi friends. Determined not to be outdone by grilled aubergines and buttermilk, we cooked a tasty vegetable biryani. It was certainly a relief that it turned out ok, as it would have been a cruel blow to have spent the better part of Saturday traipsing round the African quarter for all the various ingredients, only then to end up cooking something disgusting. In fact, it’s doubly fortunate that the food was good, as we have enough leftovers to sustain us for at least three weeks. Here's today's portion:
We were also joined for dessert by some friends from work who were having their own rival curry upstairs – I must say that this was a very clever ploy on our part to make the only two sets of people we know here think we’re amazingly popular.

Anyway, the downside of such leisurely evenings as last night is the fact that you always have time for just one more drink. Here’s the damage: Needless to say, today is most certainly a day of rest.

Dancing in the street

If you doubt the coolness of Brussels, then know this: people here literally party in the streets:
This was Friday evening at Place Polaert, which just so happens to be five minutes from our house (and a lot flatter than my wonky picture suggests). As you can see, the youth of Brussels was out in force to mark the latest in the Aperos Urbains – a run of weekly street parties that take place here over the summer months.

Yann and I did some mingling here with my work friends before heading to the park for another open air party organised by some other EC interns. The latter was, I’m afraid to say, not so well attended, and we were eventually driven away by the evening’s live act, a group of Brazilian drummers who made up for in volume what they lacked in rhythm.

Not ones to let our evening be cut short, we headed to Hector Chicken, Brussels’ take on KFC. What better way to end an evening!

More Magritte Madness

Here, for lovers of the absurd, is a picture of me and Yann taken at the opening of the Magritte Museum a couple of weeks ago.

When the supply of visitors dries up...

Being in Brussels, we have discovered a novel way of measuring our popularity in terms of how long we could sustain a flow of visitors. We managed a little under four months, which is, I must say, better than we might have anticipated.

Now that things have slowed down, we’ve resorted to stealing other people’s guests, joining work friend + friend for drinks at the delightful Perroquet on Friday night and for brunch at Bla Bla this morning. Perroquet is a particular favourite, as it brings together proximity to our flat with a pretty art nouveau interior, a good beer selection and a menu of pittas as long as a giraffe’s neck. Bla Bla felt more like bleurgh bleurgh after staggering out, having spent two hours grazing on their tasty all-you-can-eat brunch buffet. I don’t plan on eating for at least two days.

I am also pleased to report that yesterday we attended our first Brussels dinner party, hosted by some of Yann’s friends from work. Their stylish loft, the meal of grilled aubergine with buttermilk sauce, and the cosmopolitan company (from Lithuania, Italy, New Zealand and Spain) made for an exceptionally bo-ho soiree, the likes of which I can only aspire to host. Naturally the evening finished rather later than it should have when the gin ran dry and we realised that we were the only people still there.

Restaurant review: Cantina Cubana, Brussels

Telling foreign acquaintances that you come from London invariably prompts a spontaneous tirade against the expensiveness of London’s restaurants. This is somewhat ironic, given that Brussels is ludicrously pricey when it comes to eating out (balanced, I suppose, by the fact that even someone of moderate means could happily afford to rent a small chateau in the Belgian capital).

Ignoring the price, the food also tends to be fairly hit and miss – although I think this is the understatement of all understatements when it comes to the place we visited on Saturday, the Cantina Cubana.


We stumbled on the place due to my foolish suggestion that we take the scenic route to our intended goal, the pretty good Kika Kitchen. The Cantina had some tasty looking dishes on offer, and so we decided to take the plunge.

Once seated at our table, the evening followed an arcane ritual, which I think that Magritte and his pals would have described as “radical deconstruction of the dining process”:

Drink menu comes – twenty minutes pass – drink order taken – twenty minutes pass – drinks arrive, incorrect drink sent back – five minutes pass – new drink arrives – twenty minutes pass – food menu arrives – twenty minutes pass – food order taken…

Suffice it to say, we were salivating like a pack of feral mongrels on heat when the food finally came, only to find that the long-awaited meal was really rather unpleasant. The so-called African potatoes – a slurry-like concoction of spud and some sort of oil – were particularly rank. My chicken had been baked for so long that it had become fully desiccated, such that one small morsel was capable of sapping all the saliva from your mouth. The best bit, I have to say, was the garnish – a slice of orange.

Being British, we of course ate without complaint, paid and left. That showed them.

Flights of the Surreal

Brussels, it has to be said, does a fantastic line in one-off weekend festivals and street parties. This weekend, which saw a visit from our friend la maîtresse, was the occasion for two such events: the Brussels Jazz Marathon, and a party to celebrate the opening of the Musee Magritte Museum.

Firstly, a bit of music at Sablon:

We listened to the Jazz for as long as can be expected of any normal person – for around three minutes – before heading off to the Magritte party, which included an impressive number of surreal street performance acts as well as free novelty bowler hats for all involved. Here’s a taster:
Ceci n’est pas une photo de la maîtresse et Yann:

The museum itself was worth the wait – pretty good collection, and well arranged. And, most importantly, with free entry for the day!

We Whent To Ghent

There comes a point in the life of every expat when the supply of local tourist activities is exhausted. Thus, last weekend we were forced to broaden our horizons with a trip to Ghent, accompanied by our visitors from Londres. The walk from the station excepted, the town is rather pretty, without the hordes of tourists that are the scourge of Bruges’ streets.

That said, Ghent didn’t offer that much new, given that Belgian city breaks can be reduced to the following formula:

FlemishCity = GroteMarkt + Churches + River

At least we can say that we’ve now been to Belgium’s four largest cities. In fact, we’ve been to Antwerp twice now, having popped back yesterday for a shopping trip (we'd foolishly visited on a Sunday the last time we went, only to find everything closed). We found that Antwerp’s clothes shops resemble nightclubs more than they do your average Gap – pounding bass and strobe lighting to match. The only downside is that the shop assistants will come and chat to you in Dutch. The solution we found, was to ignore them and rummage busily in the nearest pile of clothes

Pride

Last Saturday was Brussels Gay Pride, with a parade organised to pass through the streets of central Brussels, and several street entertainment events, stalls, and music to celebrate all things homo. Coupled with the arrival of a couple of our gay friends from London, and the advent of the Eurovision Song Contest, this was promising to be a very homosexual weekend indeed.

We watched the parade from several points in Brussels, and although it was reasonably small by London standards, there were gaggles and gaggles* of queers on the streets cheering it on, screaming, dancing and shouting. Amongst these was this chap, of whom we managed to take this cheeky photo while he wasn't looking. It appears we weren't the only ones to be taken aback!
Blogwatchers should consider themselves lucky that we weren't quick enough to get a photo of the man wearing a custom-made leather ensemble, proudly displaying his man-boobs to the people of Brussels. Some people have no shame! Slightly more demurely dressed were the usual selection of drag queens, dishing out lollipops and firing pink confetti out of huge cannons:

For the first time, the parade passed through the streets of Sablon, our neighbourhood, and participants led the charge with a giant rainbow flag, the symbol of gay equality (or just gayness, I'm not quite sure).

For such a small city, Brussels certainly has a thriving gay population. Personally, I blame the European Commission.

*This prompted a discussion as to what the collective noun for a group of gays would be. We opted for either a pride, or a hysteria, depending on their mood.

Gig review: Lily Allen

On the Friday night of my parents' visit, we all went down to the Ancienne Belgique to see Ms Lily Allen, live in concert, for one night only in Brussels.

The Ancienne Belgique is a fairly small venue, and based on their mailing list, Lily Allen is the only act to have played there that I have actually heard of. Anyway, I'm a pretty big fan of Lily's music, somewhat surprisingly my mother is too, so we thought it would be a great way to start their visit.

On arrival, me and Tintin made a beeline for the comfy cinema seats at the back, on the pretext that my parents probably wouldn't want to stand for the whole concert. Despite this, we had a great view of the stage and, in contrast to that horrible M*****a concert we went to last year, could actually see Lily.

The gig was great. Lily was actually a very good singer live, and had a great stage presence - she looked really comfortable and entertained the crowd. Highlights were F*** You, The Fear, Smile and the closing number, a cover of Britney Spears' Womanizer, which had everyone on their feet. She also had fabulous shoes!

Thanks to Papa Dean for the picture.

I almost forgot...

...to post this fabulous picture, of a statue wrapped in a giant scarf, from Iris Day. And why not!

And, while we're at it, here's a nice picture of me and my Mum:

La Fête de l'Iris

A visit from my parents last weekend, and Tintin insisted that this time I would have to plan the itinerary. Applying my trusty university essay-writing tactic of waiting until the night before their arrival and panicking, it appeared that this visit wasn't going to run as smoothly as the last. I needn't have worried, however, for the Gods of Brussels had come to my rescue, by organising the Fête de l'Iris to coincide with Maman et Papa's weekend in Brussels. The Fête spans two days and comprises various events, street parties, open days, music, dancing and other frivolity, and is a popular yearly occurrence celebrating all things Bruxellois.

We kicked off the festivities on Saturday by participating in an organised bike ride, from le parc de Woluwé through la Forêt de Soignes and back again. Bike hire was free, thus ensuring we spent a very enjoyable day out entirely at the expense of the Belgian taxpayer. We rounded off the evening at Finnish concept restaurant Soul, and a rather lovely firework display in the centre of Brussels.

Sunday saw the festivites begin in earnest. Highlights included a picnic at a 1.2km table erected from Gare du Midi to the Grand Place.

We continued our enjoyable day with a tour of the Musical Instuments Museum (magic headphones allow the visitor to hear the sound of the instruments simply by standing close to them) and passed this lovely lady on the way past:

Overall, the weekend was very enjoyable. It's difficult to imagine Boris (or, indeed, anything else) organising something quite the same in London.

Antwerp

Another weekend, another bank holiday, and again unencumbered by guests (we love you all really) we decided to take a trip to Antwerp, Belgium's fashion capital, for a spot of shopping.

Sadly, this being Belgium and it being a bank holiday, none of the shops were actually open to take advantage of the tourist trade. Despite this, we instantly got the impression that Antwerp on a good day is vibrant, bustling, and, indeed, "happening" (a cynic might say "unlike Brussels"), with plenty of bars and restaurants, fashion shops and cafes.

We took in the main sights of the Grote Markt, which was suitably impressive, and the canal, and were excited to watch the labour day parade marching through the streets - lots of oom-pah bands and slogans demanding more taxation for the rich.

True to form, we decided to round off the day with a trip to the zoo. A particular highlight was the lesser mouse deer, the (surprisingly busy) armadillo, and the strange creature pictured below, having a scratch. First blogwatcher to guess its identity correctly will win a small prize (kudos). Answers on a postcard please!

Bruges

The advent of a rare bank holiday weekend with no guests offered us an opportunity to see the sights of Belgium that we haven't managed to catch so far. And so, we decided, what better way to take advantage of this opportunity than to spend a day

Despite not having seen the film, we are now reasonably well-versed in the intricacies of its plotlines due to the ongoing commentary from various other British/American/Australian tourists that we encountered during the day.

Indeed, Bruges can lay claim to being one of the most "touristy" places we have ever visited. That aside, it's a very pretty medieval town, and a quick detour off the beaten track reveals some beautifuly untouched rouelles, and the meandering paths of the canals. This small selection of photos should give you an idea.

Highlight of the day was a trip up the narrow, winding and very very long staircases of the Belfort, the top of which offered some lovely views of the city.

Please form an orderly queue

The Brits, as everyone knows, are the unrivalled masters of queuing. This skill is, however, of no real use in other European countries, where queuing is still largely taboo: here jostling and bustling are seen as the only fair way to deal with situations where several people have set themselves the same goal.

Determined not to be victims of our politeness, we joined the scrum that was the queue for the Royal Greenhouses at Laeken last Sunday, and made some outstanding tactical manoeuvres to shave off crucial queuing minutes.

The Greenhouses – another flight of fancy for Leopold II – are impressive both from the point of view of their architecture and their flora. They’re only open for three weeks a year though, so we were pleased that a visit from maman et papa happened to coincide with the rather exclusive opening period.


We also paid a visit to the Van Buuren Museum – a private house bought in 1928 by banker David van Buuren which would become his personal shrine to Art Deco. His wife was so fond of their house that she stipulated that it become a museum after her death.