“Where?”
“Brussels.”
“But why? The weather is the same as here in London. What about Nice or Madrid? Brussels is boring.”
This has been the common reaction when we have told our friends and family that we are looking for a second home in Brussels. I know it’s not the most obvious of destinations but I am convinced that for my family- my Chinese-British husband and two teenage boys who were born and raised here in London, a pied à terre in Brussels will be the most exciting adventure for us.
It will bring opportunities to immerse ourselves in the arts, theatre, music and of course, for a family of confirmed foodies, delve into the gastronomic extravaganza Brussels has to offer. Like for example mulling over which of the 20 sauces we will choose to go with our frites as we orderly queue for them.
But it’s about more than just expanding our horizons, the thrill of exploring a thriving city or brushing up our language skills. I grew up in Brussels from the age of 12 until I came to university in the UK. My family and I had fled the war in Lebanon in the 1980’s- we joined my father who was working there at the time. Brussels took us under her wing.
I went from being restricted to wandering the few streets around our home in Beirut in constant fear of the sounds of war and facing young boys wielding kalashnikovs asking to see my ID, demanding to know where I was going and why, to suddenly, having free reign to explore this large (compared to Beirut at least), cosmopolitan, edgy yet historical city. It was a treasure trove of delights for the teenage me.
I took the bus from our home in Auderghem to Ixelles and meandered around the shops, looking in the windows of patisseries, all the cakes, exquisitely and delicately decorated and displayed at their best to lure passers by like me. I let myself be guided by the tram lines and walked from Place Flagey through to Porte de Namur, admiring all the other migrant populations that chose Brussels for their home and set up food shops and restaurants there.
I especially loved the experience of wandering through the initially wide but progressively narrower Rue de Namur, like a red carpet that leads you to the splendour of the Place Royale. And of course gazing at The Old England, one of the most resplendent Art Nouveau buildings. A framed poster of its roof is up on the wall in my London home, with the steeple of the Église Notre-Dame des Victoires au Sablon behind and in the background, the Palais de Justice where I took my oath of citizenship in the 1990’s.
When we first arrived in Brussels we were enchanted by all its green spaces, the beauty of its parks. On summer evenings, as soon as we finished our early dinner at home, we piled into the car and my father drove us out to Tervuren, Lac Genval or the Bois de la Cambre to walk around in admiration, filling our lungs with the fresh air and gazing at the impossibly tall trees- and the fact that it was all so clean, no litter anywhere.
Sometimes we brought stale bread to feed the ducks, though I still remember how aggressive those geese would get, opening their beaks sticking their tongues out and hissing at us menacingly; my sister and I screamed, dropped the bag of bread and ran back to the safety of the car.
I am not at all stuck in the past. But I would readily admit that my dream for a second home in Brussels is in part motivated by nostalgia and chasing memories of my childhood. Except for a few bumps along the road, I was so happy there, I felt safe and free.
But I now want to make new memories with my own family. Show them how much Brussels has to offer. I want them to fall in love with it in the same way I did. And just like I grew up in Brussels, the thought of growing old there fills me with enthusiasm and excitement. It has changed so much since I last lived there, but then so have I.
