Tim in Bruxelles

If there were a capital city for comics then Brussells, Bruxelles, would have to be it. But I'll get to that shortly. Yesterday in Paris I caught the metro out to Montmarte and got lost wandering the streets there. Climbed those stairs above the carousel from Amelie and payed a euro to look through the binoculars at the Paris skyline. The Eiffel Tower is hidden from that vantage point, but you can discern a few landmarks - Notre Dame and the Pantheon... - amidst the sprawl. There was a permanent grey mist above Paris for the whole time that I was there though and the rain never really went away. Moulin Rouge is in the red-light district of Pigalle next to Montmarte. I had vague plans to see a show there last night, but didn't want to commit to the 100 euros yet. So last night I went back to Pigalle. There was a queue about a block long two hours before the 9 o'clock showtime - the dinner-and-a-show crowd I guess. So I sat in a swanky Montmarte bar, had a AU$15 pint of Guinness... and decided against Moulin Rouge anyway. So after running a gauntlet of stripclub spruikers and cocaine dealers I went back to St Michel, to a legendary Paris jazz club (the name escapes me) that's housed in a cellar. A small band was playing, headed by a singer who had the face of a late Charles Bukowski but the voice of an early Frank Sinatra. They were serious jazz musicians, working up a lather of sweat in even the slowest songs. During the break I think the singer must have had a few drinks or something, because he spent a large part of the second set biting his fingernails and staring at the back wall. The crowd was mostly middle-aged, mostly French, jazz-dance hobbyists and the like, but there was no shortage of beautiful young people. I befriended an eager young American law student and had a great night soaking up all of the energy in this tiny jazz club. I left after 1 and took an indirect route back to the hostel. Smoked my last cigarette on the Pont Des Arts above the Seine... and it was just me and a homeless guy who was yelping and maniacally slapping himself in the lips as if they were on fire (I'm going into meaningless details here because the internet access is free and unlimited at this hostel, and I've been reading Richard Brautigan). I had a rough night's sleep, because my roomie - Alfonso - was the worst snorer I've ever encountered... I left pretty early for Brussells this morning. I've heard Belgium described as the Canberra of Europe. At least from a bureaucratic point of view it is - being the headquarters of the European Union. But it's also got an ugly utilitarian kind of aesthetic to it. And the people are definitely not the glamourous types you see in Paris. So, Brussells is like the ugly cousin of Paris. The main town square is attractive though, and Mannekin Pis - the foot-high statue of a little boy urinating - is an amusing attraction that draws huge crowds. I've spent a large part of this afternoon sifting through the enormous comic shops in the centre of town. Belgium is very proud of its comics. It is afterall the birthplace of Tintin. And Tintin is everywhere - even this hostel has a cabinet full of Tintin figurines in the foyer. I gather that there's still a thriving community of comic creators. The stores had shelves full of independent comics by Belgian artists, some very unique creative stuff. I could have easily emptied my wallet there, but I've got a couple of days here to decide what I want to take home with me. I'm not sure what else I'm going to do with three nights in Brussells.