Arrivals and departures

On New Year’s day, Paola and I got up early to go for a walk. Neither of us enjoys staying up late to see in the New Year. So we did not mind this year’s restrictions on partying. Feeling suitably self-righteous we set off into Brussels by car at half past eight, travelling into the centre of the city almost by ourselves. With few other vehicles on the wide Avenue Louise, I found it difficult to respect the new speed limit of 30 kph, even though I fully approve of it. Along the Rue Royale it was just us and the 94 tram, each vehicle overtaking or undertaking the other along the cobbled chaussee, until we reached the Parc Royal where we stopped and let the tram glide past .

As we had anticipated there were not many people about. A few folk who had spent the night sleeping rough peered out speculatively from their mounds of blankets. The clicking heels of a solitary lady pedestrian reverberated across the street. Teams of red-coated municipal workers washed pavements, sweeping up the scarce debris from the night before. A platoon of paratroopers patrolling round the Parc Royal greeted us with “Bonjour” and “Bonne Annee”. I tend to avert my eyes from paratroopers, but today no-one felt threatened.

As we wound our way through familiar Brussels streets it seemed that the statues had become more numerous than the people. How elegant and modest Reine Elisabeth appeared as she looked up to the massive equestrian statue of her husband King Albert on the Mont des Arts. In a nearby circus Jacques Brel was more life-sized, as was the Mannekin Pis, naked in his grotto. Odd that the smallest guy in Brussels should also be its most famous emblem, but even he was alone, abandoned on the first day of the year.

It was, of course, an historic day for Europe. The United Kingdom had left the European Union. Brussels, synonymous with Europe in the British tabloid press, was finally forsaken by its most reluctant visitors.

For Paola and me it was also a day to remember. It was on this day forty years ago that we left Dublin and arrived in Brussels, along with our nine month old baby daughter. We recalled how we had to take two taxis from the airport, because of the pram and the cases. That cost us 900 BF per taxi, a fortune at the time, leaving us with almost no money for the rest of the month.

We couldn’t find any photos of New Year’s Day 1981, but here is a picture of us visiting Bruges a few months later.

How young we were ! Since then we have spent more than half our lives in other capital cities around the world, but we have always returned to Brussels. Yesterday – a day of departures and arrivals – was also the first time, and let’s hope the last, that we have had the famous Grand-Place all to ourselves.