20 years ago today - Day 113

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Monday, June 24th – Ghent to Brussels, 5577 km

I have adopted the lifestyle of thespians, sleeping in to 10 or 11 in the morning and partying at night, but it is time to move on to Brussels today. I am not up and packed until noon so it is fortunate that Brussels is only 50 km away. The goodbyes in the Bottin household are as casual as the housekeeping. JP and Thierry are out the door before I am. I leave the keys with Sebastien, who is content to lounge around the apartment all day.

The route N9 follows a fairly straight line through the town of Aalst and then on to Brussels. All goes smoothly. The weather is broken sun and cloud and there is only a light cross breeze. There is no remarkable scenery along the way. Eight kilometres from the centre of Brussels I am flagged down by an overweight, middle-aged fellow standing beside a white station wagon. He makes note of the Canadian flag sewn onto my bags as he asks if I speak English. Yes, I reply, and he asks if I am looking for a hostel. I am headed to the international youth hostel, I tell him. He says he suspects it is full but he has room in his home which he uses as a hostel. He leads me to a phone booth so I can call the IYH. They confirm that the hostel is full, and that this fellow, Joe Mauwz, has worked for them in the past.

Joe has eight beds in his home to help out young travelers - I happily to still qualify as 'young'. I meet his wife Mimi, who is as dour as Joe is enthusiastic. Her mood wavers between disinterest and hostility as she eyes me suspiciously, like I might try to steal her silverware. She doesn't like the idea of using her home as a hostel.

Joe shows me to my room, which has three beds in it. I am the only guest at the moment. I shower and change and Joe drives me downtown to begin a tour of the centre. He plots the tour out on a map, which I buy from him for 20 Belgian francs. On the way downtown, he points out many new development projects being built to accommodate expansion of the EU Parliament. The city has a modern look that is atypical of most historic cities. Apparently, many historic building have been demolished to make room for this modernization, a process now known as "Brusselization", according to Joe.

Still, as someone who has been working with the City of Toronto Planning Department for nine years, I am interested in modern architecture and Brussels' new developments feel more integrated than Toronto's. I follow Joe's map to the cathedral and the Grand Square at the city's centre. Brussels' most famous attraction is the Mannequin Pis, also known as the Peeing Boy. The statue is quite small, the size of a small child. It has a pipe up its ass the feeds the water flow out its cock. There is a similar-sized statue of a pissing girl a couple blocks away, squatting at the end of a passageway by a mall.

It is raining hard today. In spite of the orange rain cape Joe lent me, my shoes and hair are soaking wet. Joe arranged to meet me at the youth hostel after 5, and he gives me a ride back to his place, and then takes me to a local sports hall where we share a cheap meal in the cafeteria. He buys me a beer, which he doesn't need to do. He loves young people, having been a sports coach for a swim team for years. This seems to cause a lot of discord between him and his wife. He doesn't want to talk about it.

Back at his home, I read and then go to bed around 11. I am woken an hour or two later when he returns with two new guests to fill up the empty beds in my room. One is a young German man and the other is a Quebecois. They drop off their bags and go out for a drink. They return around 2:30 and undress quietly in the dark. I am a light sleeper and I wake to watch them undress. Their silhouettes show that that they are young and attractive but I roll over and go back to sleep.

I wake again around 5am. It is still dark. The German lad is soundly asleep by the sound of his breathing. The Quebecois is more restless and stirring in his bed. I clue in to the sound of him stoking himself off ever so quietly, sound that gets my blood pounding. I return the favour, making just enough noise to be heard if he is awake. He stops, I suppose to listen to me, and when I pause he starts again. This goes of for half an hour until I come, again making enough noise to make it clear what is happening. When I finish, he starts pounding his meat with much less concern about being heard, until he comes in a flourish of hot-sounding spasms. The German is still sound asleep, but my mind is racing. The Quebecois boy wanted me to hear him come, and now I can hardly wait until morning to see how he responds when I try to chat him up.


PHOTO 1: bike path near Aalst
PHOTO 2: Sacred Heart Cathedral
PHOTO 3: Manneken Pis
PHOTO 4: the Pissing Girl