Bruxelles – unimpressed.

We can now, with certainty, establish this as a travel blog. Obviously, it came about because of travels, but although I've been trying to keep up some writing, managing on average one blog per month (if even), my inspiration is to be found only on the road. Like some people must exhale, I must move. And if I'm not physically on the road being mused, then it is my memories of travelling that seems to be squeezing itself out, down my arms, out through my fingertips, on to the keyboard. I have some attempts of fiction in the working, but it all reeks of daddy issues or other similar abandonment issues and I have not detached myself enough from it to be able to freely write it into my short stories. Back to the drawing board, or couch, or whichever furniture you wanna do this on, Freud.

So, being here – Brussels. I received a phone call some time back in October from my dancer friend in Brussels that said she had an ominous feeling that she would be alone for New Years. Being the Provocatrice of Providence I decided right there and then that I would come up for New Years and in the worst case scenario we would be alone together. My dancer friend has been a frequent guest at Ella's Bed & Breakfast (or rather Ella's mattress on the floor & crazy salads) and with all her visits, an invitation always followed: come to Brussels any time. New Years is just as good a time as any.

Now, how do you visit a place where you've been, but not really been? In the past I've driven through this city, on several occasion, with the marvellous coach service that drives all around Europe, inexpensively, but never uneventfully, going between cities like Paris, Amsterdam, Copenhagen – I even went all the way up to Edinburgh once in these fine rides. Can't say I use them very much today, as my serenity has no monetary value and I choose my mode of transport accordingly.

The paradox is that although I haven't been that much present in Brussels, Brussels has been very present in my life. Goes with the Parisian territory. Brussels is only 261.29 kilometres, as the crow flies, north-east of Paris and and is considered the capital of Europe, in a political sense. And rightfully so. Belgian bureaucracy is so complex that the French bureaucracy looks like a walk in the park in comparison. Belgian chocolate is the best, although that has no impact on a chocoholic: I eat anything made out of cocoa beans, even if it has been through the intestines of civet monkey-cats... no, wait, that's coffee beans. And then you have the famous (infamous, disputable) Waffles and of course the fact that Belgians are the butt of many French jokes, as the Swedes are for the Norwegians and vice versa (the Baltic countries laugh about the Estonians, the Spaniards about the Portuguese and the Reykjavikians about the Hafnafjordians, the list is endless).

But now I'm here – I'm not impressed. Between the ceaseless spells of rain and being groped shamelessly on the public transport, I can't say I've found much here that inspires me. Even the well known landmark Manneken-Pis is so small I almost trudged passed it had it not been pointed out to me.“The Little Shit” is its unofficial name, and Brusselians have the constant need to imitate the statue on every street corner after dark. Parisians as well, for that matter.

But, this is the 1^st of January 2013 and I'm gonna count up the good stuff, just to set the tone for the year, as my New Years resolutions is to keep up the good work!

I get to hang out with my good friend. Priceless. In cool Flemish café where an onion soup and a green tea rings up to 5.20 €. A breath of fresh financial air for a Parisienne like me. Finished a job application as an assistant to the Australian Ambassador in Paris. We'll see what that yields. Been on some solid walkabouts from the city centre out beyond the Small Ring and back. Saw the sunset from the panoramic view of the city in front of the Palais de Justice. Cool graffiti. Went to the cinema and saw Tom Cruise's latest B-movie-ish movie. Highly entertained, in a bad taste way. And finally celebrated New Years Eve in a super cool, live in, workshop art space hosted by a part of the Brussels dancing community and got my tango-cherry popped by a very nice Belgian boy. Was also appointed the DJ for the night after I put Arabian Horse on by Gus Gus. Very flattered. I'm not a nationalist, but I do pimp out my country whenever possible. Danced into the wee hours at, what seemed to be, a college campus club before taking the Puke-Bus home. Did get the notion of not being so young any more, but that feeling left just as quickly as it came. Tomorrow I'll be heading home again (on a bus as a matter of fact) to my unemployed life, unwritten metaphysics paper and unfilled tax returns. It's a shame I don't have a cat any more, or this stereotypical image of a single, white female's life would have been perfect.