Brussels

The sign says France and an arrow points that way, there could not be clearer sign that I am leaving the country. It is probably the tenth time I go under the Channel using the shuttle service but it’s the first time I do with a motorbike. I don’t remember seeing motorbikes the other times I took the shuttle and I distinctly don’t remember any common rooms, bars or even seats outsides the ones provided inside each traveller’s car.

Sadly I remembered well and I have to stand leaning onto the side of the coach all the way to France. Fortunately it’s not a long journey.

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Deep under the water

On the other side things are very straight forward, you get out of the terminal and you go straight all the way to Brussels.

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First Schengen crossing, first time stopping at the side of the road risking to be run over to take the same old picture.

I am going to Brussels to see Fabrizia, a very good friend of mine whom I have not seen in many years. She told me to be careful as Brussels is closed to motorised vehicles on Sundays but I forgot and promptly find myself at the outskirts of the city when the closure is still going. Thinking drinking alcohol might be a bit risky, given that I have a few miles still to cover before getting to Fabrizia’s place, I opt for a pause under the golden arches in the company of some french fries.

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When they lift the closure I get going, on my way to the Ixelles district.  I did not get to see half as much as I would have liked of Fabrizia. She works in the cabinet of Federica Mogherini, the High Representative of the European Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy and Vice-President of the European Commission and, as we are in the middle of a pretty tense negotiation over refugee quotas, she is literally burning the candle at both ends.

A nice dinner in the steak house down the road from the house is however a great start and a good opportunity to catch up on the last 20 years of not seeing each other.

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Maison du Roi

On Monday I meet her for lunch and after that she takes a little time out of her gruelling schedule to show me the inner sanctum of the Commission: the iconic, if not terribly architecturally exciting Berlaymont building.

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The corridors of power

To balance that I then take a walk in the town centre and rediscover the wonder I shared with Tarn on our third or fourth anniversary, not sure i remember which one it was. I remember though that it was much colder then, that’s February for you.

I remember her reading to me, as we were driving into town, a piece of the guide book that was describing how the concept of planning restriction was not present in Belgian cities. Not sure why but it stuck with me and I still find myself going around searching for idiosyncrasies and curious juxtapositions of styles in the built environment.

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Le plus petite….

The good thing is that they are not difficult to find and, in my humble opinion, they add to the overall charm of the place.

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‘in context

The Monday night meetings are as demanding as the Sunday night ones. For all the EU critics back home I have to say: these people really work hard for their money. The consequence is that I have to bail out Fabrizia from her cocking promise and provide for both of us the perfect “end of stressful day” meal. I found this spectacular cheese shop near the Grand Place and the dinner is three assorted cheese, biscuit and a bottle of Carine du Roy puisseguin saint-emilion 2013. Just a perfect compliment to our “making sense of the world” conversation.

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