BELGIUM Travelogue

Manoj Gopinath

Belgium and Holland may not have the compelling history of their more powerful
neighbors Germany and France, but still they are interesting from a different
perspective Small is beautiful.

They are the Flanders and low lands ravaged by conquerors from the historic times, by
the Romans during Julius Caesars time and later by the Vikings from Scandinavia in their
quest for the important port of Rotterdam.

When one goes around Brussels, you will see remains of the walls Napoleon Bonaparte
built during his conquest of Europe. Hitler used Belgium and Holland as stepping-stones
to the English Channel and in preparation for his final assault on Britain.

They are beautiful lands, if the flower filled valleys and windmills one sees all around,
are anything to go by. Unfortunately February, where the winter is still at its peak, is not
the best time to enjoy the beauty of nature. Still the majestic pine trees and bleak lines
of barren trees hint of better times and they wait like a desolate lover for the coming of
spring. Here and there in the parks and meadows one can see a few tulip and lily bulbs
bravely pushing their leaves out, mocking the bitter cold.

People are the real treat you find in these beautiful places. They are friendly, helpful and
always ready to have a good time eating out in restaurants and pubs, which are
everywhere.

The houses look straight out of a fairy tale with sloping roofs, small hedges in and wines
climbing up the reddish brown walls. You will see hardly any people around and half
expect a fairy or pixie to peep out from one of those hedges bordering the neat row of
houses. It is not surprising that these lands are full of stories and the Grimm bothers
with their fairly tales setting in the Black Forests of Germany are a stones throw away.
The statue of Little mermaid sits on the rocky shores of Copenhagen not too far away
in eternal silence waiting for her sailor, a tribute to the haunting fairly tale and the
immense talent of Hans Christian Anderson.

Winter is probably the time people sit by the fireplace and spin yarns and imaginative
minds work creatively, the bitter cold outside limiting movements to the bare
necessities. Many a fairly tale, folklore would have emerged from those fireplaces, some
heard of, some unheard of and ephemeral like the winter mist.

A walk in the woods among the coniferous trees is a dreamy experience and if one
listens closely enough, one can feel the trees sigh in their deep slumber and the forest
like a bridesmaid with her white misty snowy veil entangled in her soft dark tresses,
dream on.

Those are the faraway lands where a cuckoos cry brings forth tales of wonder, joy,
sorrow of past deeds.

Brussels is the Capital city of Belgium with tall elegant buildings and it is the seat of the
European Union parliament. There is a central place with tall glass covered skyscrapers
and showcasing the latest architecture. Except for the central place, most of the city has
a classic look with a mixture of the 1900 and the historic castles and museum of the
Middle Ages. The traffic on the roads is a pleasant surprise, not one expects in a capital
city, rather the roads have a near deserted look and resembles Bangalore roads on a
Sunday afternoon with an ongoing India Pak one day cricket match.
Tin Tin character is what Belgians claim to be their ambassador to their world and the
shops have pictures, cutouts, statues of Tin Tin and Captain Haddock rather exorbitantly
priced and targeted at the eager tourist searching for a Belgian souvenir. Lacework of
Belgium and the tiny delicately crafted porcelain work are more prudent choices. Of
course not to forget the lily bulbs and tulip bulbs, unfortunately they do seem to like the
sultry hot Indian climate.

Eating out on the pavements, restaurants, drinking beer, watching football seem to be
favorite past times. I heard huge cheers coming out from a roadside shop and on closer
scrutiny found it was the Belgium equivalent of heaven i.e. a pub serving beer, having a
TV mounted at a vantage point at a height and showing a football match. There were
some 30 people in that place standing and cheering for a goal in a European football
match, France Vs Italy match for all you know.

The best way to go around is to get into one of the Belgium sightseeing buses, which
takes you around the city with some 16 stops at points of interest. You are provided
with earphones, which can be plugged into the seat in front and one can listen to a
commentary in one of four languages of choice (you can select English if your French or
Flemish is not all that great). The narrative will cover Belgian history from the tribal
chieftains of the 11th Century AD, to the medieval Kings and their lineage, and as one
comes across monuments it will dwell on the significance of the impressive museums
and palaces. Should one like to spend more time at particular location, one has the
freedom to get out at any stop, go for a stroll and take the next bus, which will come at
half-hour intervals.
On returning back to the house, the landlady promptly asked, Did you see the statue of
the small boy pissing? I said No, it appears that this is a famous landmark in Brussels
and a tourist attraction, but the statue is so small and located in a crowded place, it is
highly probable you may overlook it, particularly if your attention momentarily wanders
to the more live and fashionable attractions which are on parade.

Also for a peaceful county, which took the brunt of two wold wars, there are a few scars
in the minds of the older people, particularly memories of the Second World War. While
we were in front of Leuven railway station, I asked our Belgian friend, is it possible to
visit Koln, in Germany, as some of my friends were there for work. I was told, see this
line, this goes directly to Koln and you can reach in 2 hours. After a pause and a silence, I
was also told the railway line which runs to Koln has a terrible history. It was the very
same line used by the Nazis to transport all the Jews in Belgium to the concentration
camps in Germany. In those ill-fated journeys, the people were packed into the wagons,
suffocated and many never reached the destination, even the fates of those who
reached, well, let us leave it. The black marks of history remain and the older
generation is understandably wary of history repeating.

Let us get back to those dreamy castles, green meadows, lakes with swans, neat red tile
roofed house, well in short the Belgian countryside. The landlady, most kind soul, took
us on a weekend tour of the Belgian countryside. She deserves special mention because
her kindness and hospitality was something unparalleled, and every single wish of the
guests she could somehow remember in her busy schedule and say in the evening I
brought this Tulip flowers for so and so as she likes flowers and I brought these
chocolates and doll for so and sos daughter as he is going back to India tomorrow.
 - Castle

First we were taken to a Castle, which belonged to an Englishman in the 16th Century,
and presently it was a school. It had large grounds, play fields and woods surrounding
the castle. There was an ancient clock opposite to the castle and in all probability, it
must be as old as the castle, that is more than 400 years old and believe it or not the
clock was ticking along merrily and showing time as accurately as my modern marvel of
Quartz crystal clock.

Next on agenda was countryside club with a horse riding track and deep woods. It had
long tree lined avenues which seemed to stretch on forever as far as the eye could see,
woods with pine trees, a small pond in the woods, horses grazing in the meadows. It
was cold, very cold, a walk among those trees, but the air so refreshing and the
atmosphere so calm and peaceful that one could forget the cold and wish to walk on in
those endless paths.

Idyllic settings and as twilight fell on the Belgian countryside, a few memories remain.

By Manoj Gopinath
manoj_gopinath_2000@yahoo.com