Wake up at 6.57am smelling smoked sausages! Am I dreaming?? Sniffing around I finally figure the aroma is trapped in Seba’s sleeping bag, a delicious trace of our last camping trip before we left home. Right now can’t help but feel grateful for my laundry laziness. Oh…if I could only eat a smell!
11am
After a ridiculous attempt to save a euro by walking for a mile to a bus stop within city limits, we arrive at the next hotel - this time a luxurious deal on a private room that includes free breakfast and wi-fi, with freshly renovated modern interiors to top it off - a priceless combination in the center of Brussels that feels like a steal for 59 euro. Our double beds are not bunk beds, a nice shower sits inside of a full bathroom (and not in the middle of the room), and we can circulate in the space comfortably. We both get excited at the sight of a small fridge filled up with Belgian ales, only to empty it out and jam full with backpackers’ survival food: more Belgian beer, water, goat cheese, pastrami, and a baguette. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Later, heading out to discover the city, we realize that it might be quite impossible to do just that with only 5 euros in our pocket. It starts to smell like trouble when we can‘t find a working ATM, or any ATM for that matter. Granted it’s Sunday and all the banks are closed, but it seems strange that none of the ones we pass have any money and our cards get rejected. Asking around we find out that drivers who deliver money to ATMs have been on strike for the past three weeks and to get lucky we’ll need to seek out one particular bank. I think it’s this moment that confirms to us we’ve indeed arrived, we’re really in Europe - and there’s something so incredibly comforting about it….
11am
After a ridiculous attempt to save a euro by walking for a mile to a bus stop within city limits, we arrive at the next hotel - this time a luxurious deal on a private room that includes free breakfast and wi-fi, with freshly renovated modern interiors to top it off - a priceless combination in the center of Brussels that feels like a steal for 59 euro. Our double beds are not bunk beds, a nice shower sits inside of a full bathroom (and not in the middle of the room), and we can circulate in the space comfortably. We both get excited at the sight of a small fridge filled up with Belgian ales, only to empty it out and jam full with backpackers’ survival food: more Belgian beer, water, goat cheese, pastrami, and a baguette. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Later, heading out to discover the city, we realize that it might be quite impossible to do just that with only 5 euros in our pocket. It starts to smell like trouble when we can‘t find a working ATM, or any ATM for that matter. Granted it’s Sunday and all the banks are closed, but it seems strange that none of the ones we pass have any money and our cards get rejected. Asking around we find out that drivers who deliver money to ATMs have been on strike for the past three weeks and to get lucky we’ll need to seek out one particular bank. I think it’s this moment that confirms to us we’ve indeed arrived, we’re really in Europe - and there’s something so incredibly comforting about it….
Manneken Pis....never on strike
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