BRUSSELS FOR

SPROUTS

Brussels is going soft in its old age. Once, this was the place to come and watch a good beheading, or a French artillery bombardment, and it was run by ‘The Council of Blood’. Not anymore. From the capital of conflict it’s become the hub of harmony. Nowadays everything’s calm, and trendies flock here to bury their heads in culture and strawberry beer. But is it any good for toddlers and grannies? One weekend, my wife and I took a sample of each, and set off to find out.

         Certainly, the journey can hardly have been less medieval. One minute we were at Waterloo Station, and the next we were whooshing under The Channel. Then – two espressos later – our Eurostar emitted a little hiss, and we were in Brussels.

         This was more like it. All around us, ancient streets dog-legged off into the distance. Brussels – straggly, pink-roofed, crow-stepped, and cheerfully scruffy – is one of the few cities in the world where one can still get about using a sixteenth-century map. Although it does have its grand buildings, the Bruxellois, it seems, take a dim view of grandeur. I was told that, for years, the worst thing you could ever call anyone was a ‘skieven architek’ or ‘filthy architect’.

         Naturally, there was plenty here to catch a toddler’s eye. During our rides around the city, Lucy spotted a highland piper, a bird vendor, a Chinese pagoda, a pair of black-and-white minstrels, and of course, ‘The Manneken Pis’. Only Brussels could make a national monument of a widdling waif. He seemed to sum up the national mood of cheeky understatement. Even the restaurants, many of them superbly ancient, seemed to play along with the joke with names like ‘L’idiot du Village’ and ‘Mort Subite’ (Sudden Death).

         Granny, too, found much that met with approval. The chocolate was dangerously delicious and occasionally surreal (try it with garlic at Planète Chocolat). But, also, the Bruxellois’ lack of pretension made them engaging hosts. Although the service was sometimes a little basic, it was always endearing. One waiter showed us pictures of his dog, and, at the flea market in Les Marolles, Granny was showered with little gifts. Jayne and I meanwhile came away with two African masks (€100), unsurprising items in a city where some 25% of the population was born abroad.

         But Granny’s real treat was the old jail, called the Amigo. Karl Marx had been imprisoned here, in 1848, together with his wife (who was horrified to find herself banged up with the local tarts). Since then, however – like Brussels itself – the place has undergone a certain redefinition. Now, there’s internet access in every room and monkfish on the menu. Even toddlers are treated like royalty, and can enjoy a five-star ‘Little Prince’s Lunch’. In fact, after a €15 million re-fit – in linen, taupe and tapestries – the old slammer’s become decidedly boutique. Shame it wasn’t like this for the Marxes, who might’ve seen the light and taken the world on a gentler course.

         But none of these little improvements alter the fact that Brussels is still a rollicking, Brueghelesque city, where often it’s fun just to wander. The Bruxellois do nothing by half, and yet nothing’s serious; they like street music, puppets, and middle-aged majorettes, and Tintin is the national hero; they do their laundry in communal places like ‘The Wash Club’, and, each year, everyone gets through a staggering 16lbs of chocolate. They also eat more frites than anyone else in the world, and – despite the brooding presence of the EU – the only thing they won’t do is pay VAT. This makes the chips even cheaper – or, as they’d say, ‘more democratic’.

         At the heart of this perpetual carnival is le Grand Place. This must be one of the greatest medieval spectacles anywhere, a sort of vertical party in stone. On the Town Hall alone there are over 294 statues, and elsewhere I spotted Indians, foxes, Moors, she-wolves, and Julius Caesar. It was all worthy of a collective squeal and a reassuringly pricey Galler ice-cream. Nowhere else can one feel closer to the super-rich of 1590 (who, it appears, were archers, coopers and boilers of tallow).

         Should one ever tire of les Bruxellois, there’s always the museums. There are over eighty of them, tackling everything from toys to trams. Several stand out. The Fine Arts Museum is positively writhing with Rubens, and the Museum of Musical Instruments (MIM) is mind-blowing even for the chronically tuneless (with the help of infrared headphones each exhibit bursts into life as you approach it). The toddler’s choice, however, was Mini-Europe, a sort of model village of the continent’s highlights. Lucy loved it. Big Ben chimes, Barcelona Docks burn, and – at the flick of a switch – Vesuvius has a miniature tantrum of smoke and lights.

         All this was hungry-making stuff, and here Brussels came into its own. Being rather unfussy about most things, the locals make up for it with food. This may not look much on the menu – stoemp (sausage), caricoles (winkles) and rabbit in cherry beer – but on the plate it’s superb. Over the years, places like Taverne du Passage have been so busy turning out feasts like this that they’re still dressed up for the Twenties. I half-expected Hergé to re-appear at any minute and bash out a few frames of Tintin. But it’s not all olde world. A good lunch in Brussels can also be chic (Amigo), vertiginous (on the roof of MIM) or even atomic (the Atomium).

         This last one was a fitting end to our jaunt. Built in 1958 and standing thirty storeys high, the Atomium represents an atom of Belgian iron magnified 165 billion times. The guidebooks are a bit sniffy about this, and dismiss it all as 2,400 tons of Belgian kitsch. Well, that’s unfair. We spent ages happily riding the tubes from sphere to sphere. It was like clambering around in Dan Dare’s plumbing. But, yes, I suppose it was all typically Belgian: witty, technically brilliant and very slightly nutty.

 

 

John Gimlette travelled as a guest of The Belgian Tourist Office (0800 9545 245; www.belgiumtheplaceto.be )

 

Eurostar (www.eurostar.com or 08705 186 186) operates up to 10 daily services from London Waterloo and Ashford International to Brussels with return fares from £59. All Eurostar tickets to Brussels are valid to/from any Belgian station at no extra cost.

 

The Hotel Amigo (+32 2547 4701; www.hotelamigo.com) costs from £142 a night (double, with breakfast). Allow £33 a head at the Bocconi Restaurant.

 

Lunch at Taverne du Passage(+32 2512 3731)costs around £23 a head.

 

Further reading: The Rough Guide to Brussels (£11.99)