CSI: Brussels

It would have been a crime had I stayed here and not done at least a little exploration outside of the capital, hence last week when my Bulgarian friend told me about the Gent Jazz Festival (it is beginning to feel like Belgium is the jazz capital of the world) with a line up including Buena Vista Social Club, the famous Cuban group, I decided that I would make the thirty minute train ride with him. A noticeable trait of Belgians, as vociferously expressed by my Bulgiarian colleague in the middle of the concert tent, with the aid of his homemade family brew, is that they tend to lack passion, a lack of real engagement with the performers at events like this, which I can verify seems to be true. They just don’t appear to be made that way. Instead they are more a conservative bunch on the whole. It was a marvellous performance nonetheless, and afterwards my drunken friend made valiant efforts to persuade punters to let us hitch hike back to Brussels (being midnight and no trains left to catch) or tell us ‘where the party is’. It turned out to be a fortunate thing that not a single person claimed to be going back to Brussels, as we were then forced to sample Gent nightlife until the first morning train. If you ever go out in Gent look for the bar where there is a large mural of Jesus inside. It must be in the guide books, but if it isn’t then too bad because I certainly do not remember the name. One thing to note is that if for some reason you have acquired a bicycle when you traversing Gent then wait until the city lights go out at 6AM to ride it unless you want a Belgian criminal record. So I am reliably informed anyway.
Although how strictly they enforce that rule I don’t know, but if the Brussels police are anything to go by then you might be forgiven for riding slightly roughshod over the law. At a house party last week panic struck as the local boys in blue pulled up outside. Most revellers were probably starting to envision the end of their burgeoning careers as they were forced to open the door in extreme nervous anticipation of Sergeant Plod’s reaction to what was going on in inside, but instead they were greeted with a polite comment along the lines of ‘Hi there, we know you’re just having a party, of course we used to do such things when we were younger [chuckles], but would you possible be so kind as to close the windows, please?’
I am not trying to entice any elements of the criminal fraternity to relocate to Brussels in light of this discovery of compassionate policing, but it is just one more tick on the ‘reasons to stay’ list which I am mentally compiling as I move ever closer to the end of my traineeship. At least there is no reason to stay in August, when it is a dead zone because most EU people are off recharging their batteries with their families, so I am still to decide what I will be doing in that period give the likelihood of dedicated employers check my applications whilst sipping Martinis in Capri. What will it be, back to Blighty and London, where you have a metro (understandably no-ones comprehends what a ‘tube’ is here) with no relaxing music while you wait, forced companionship with the armpits of odorous short-sleeve travellers with the 18.24 from Waterloo that they absolutely must get and damned be anyone that gets in his way? Or will I try and maintain this European adventure, somewhere, somehow? All will be revealed…to me in my dreams I hope.