Brussels Sundays


Scientists agree spending your Sundays in Brussels cures your hangover. It's proven by countless studies. Well actually by me and friends and countless Saturday nights on dance floors. Waking up to a sunny day where Lee Fields records and pancakes are flipped. Cigarette smoke and left over make up down the drain. The smell of coffee and cinnamon. Last night's dance moves make room for sitting down, laying around, starting the day slowly. That's exactly what's happening on Sundays around here. Slow moving. And when body and mind are back on earth, we grab our backpacks and head to the South market.

It's a place that occurs in many of my dreams. A colourful market underneath the train station, where thousands of languages are spoken and even more kinds of fruit, veg and spices are sold for cheap. This is where we forget about hangovers. Head aches and the feeling we are walking around on a market in Belgium disappear like ice cream in the sun. We are travelling. From sweet Moroccan mint tea to Italian cheese, French baguettes, banana trees and endless fields of fresh vegetables.

The next stop is not far, so tired dancing feet will have no problem carrying you there. The flea market on the Vossenplein is where we're heading. Whether you're looking for Whitney Houston records, golden bicycles or dresses grandma would be jealous of, you'll find it there. I bought all three of them and celebrated with a pistolet met vleesbrood (meat loaf bread roll mmm) in my favourite cafe in the whole wide world: La Clef d'Or. Not your average hipster cafe staffed by bearded beauties. No. This is the real thing. A soulful, chaotic bar overcrowded with old people, young people, dogs and birds. Everyone is welcome here. Food is as cheap as it gets. Home made Belgian stoemp and other dishes that will make you feel like you're at mama's place. The coffee would make baristas cry. The waiter yells 'see you tomorrow!' at every one who leaves, because most of the customers are dailies. After a long night, this is where I come home. This is where I revive, fuel up and jump on my golden bike direction home to go and play Whitney Houston records.

Sundays are the best.

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