The man working the desk at the Art Hotel Siru is not bothered in the least when I tell him I speak neither French nor Dutch. When I ask him about where to walk and to not walk at night, he points to a few places on the map he hands me, but he speaks so quickly and points so briefly I do not know exactly which streets to avoid and which are safe. "This area is not so good," he says, pointing to some small print. "Unless, of course, it makes you happy."
The elevator is barely large enough for one person, and I am amused that a sign, in English, specifies that no more than 4 people are allowed in the car. I know some small people, but I don't think even 2 of them would be comfortable in the ride to my room. In my 2-night stay I will never figure out exactly which floor the lobby is on and which button to push to get to that lobby, and in fact more than once I will ride the elevator down and get off on the wrong floor. The room at the Art Hotel Siru is an upgrade from the Windsor House Hotel in London--I feel as though I have moved from steerage to first class because I actually have space in which to move around. In fact, I can move around not only in the room itself, but also in the shower. Hell, I could take a bath if I was one to take baths! I do notice, however, that sounds from the street seem to be magnified as they rise up and through my window. There is a small desk on which to place assorted items, and some of these are shown in this photograph. (The wind did not come with the room--I had to buy that at a nearby grocery store.)
After I have scattered my clothing about the room and consulted my map, I ride the elevator down, get off first on the wrong floor, second in the basement, and third in the lobby. This is fun, I think. Finally outside, I cross a busy street and head in the direction where I think the Grand Place is. I then have a choice of 2 streets to continue on, and, because this is a good pattern, I head down what must be the wrong street and find myself walking by a variety of adult clubs and theaters. I realize this is what the man at the hotel was referring to as the area that "isn't so good." Retracing my steps, I head down what must be the correct streets, and after walking through assorted indoor shopping areas, one of which looks like this:
Soon enough, I arrive at the tourist-laden Grand Place, which looks like this.
I will return to this area several times during my stay, approaching Brussels the same way I do everyplace else I visit: get overly familiar with one place before venturing on to someplace else.
Ready for dinner, I scout out the various dining spots in the immediate area, finally settling on one only because I am tired of scouting. For dinner, I have this, a nice birthday dinner.
Next time: Mussels in Brussels, Pt. 2
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