Brussels: Grand-Place (Dévastation et Récupération)

(Continued from Brussels: Grand-Place (La Lumière Fantastique))

Featured Photo: “Hôtel de Ville Spire, Viewed from Pedestrian Bridge”  Brussels, Belgium—2024

At 7:58 AM on 22 March 2016, two bombs were detonated in the departure hall of the Brussels Airport. About an hour later, another bomb exploded on a train leaving a metro station in the city’s European Quarter. The bombings were the deadliest attacks on Belgium since World War II. Thirty-two people were killed and more than 300 injured.

I read about the tragedy with horror and sadness; it felt too close, too personal. I viewed images of the destruction at the Brussels Airport—the same airport I had passed through so many times before. One of the two airport bombs exploded near the departure desks for Brussels Airlines. I had checked in for flights at those desks.

The second airport bomb exploded next to a Starbucks. I had sipped lattes purchased from that Starbucks. The nearby escalators and elevators were damaged. I had ridden up and down those escalators and elevators.

The photos showed sharp splinters of glass dangling precariously from the metal frames of the exterior windows and doors. I had peered out at the sunlight shining through those large, bright windows. I had entered and exited through those sliding glass doors.

The airport was closed after the attacks, and it was hard to imagine how it could be repaired.

But two weeks later, on 3 April 2016, the airport reopened into temporary facilities that were only capable of handling 20% of its previous passenger capacity. Eventually, the airport returned to “normal”.

The bombings in 2016 took place nine years after my first arrival in Brussels. Then, eight years following the terrorist attacks, I finally had the opportunity to witness Brussels’ remarkable recovery for myself. I was headed back to Belgium for a beer pilgrimage, connecting with another retired friend from work and his son, an expat living in Prague.

The highlight of our tour, at least from a beer perspective, would be a visit to the Westmalle Abbey near Antwerp. The monks at Westmalle—one of only seven abbeys in the entire world that make authentic Trappist beer—have been brewing their three signature beers since 1836 and are credited with creating the first Belgian tripel.

My 2024 journey to Belgium started in a train station some 3,700 miles from Brussels. Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station, opened in 1933 boasting a vast waiting room for arrivals and departures. It is adorned with a beautiful Art Deco ceiling, light fixtures, and stained-glass windows…

…and a 1950 memorial featuring a bronze statue titled “The Angel of the Resurrection” depicting the Archangel Michael lifting a dead soldier’s body from the flames of war, to honor the Pennsylvania Railroad workers killed during World War II. (You may recall the statue’s cameo appearance in the 1985 movie Witness, starring Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis, when it made quite an impression on Lukas Haas, who played the young Amish boy traveling with his mother to Baltimore.)

I rode Amtrak’s Northeast Regional Rail in the opposite direction, northbound to Newark International Airport. Once past airport security, I pulled my Kindle from my briefcase along with the very same DK Eyewitness Travel book I’d used in 2007, then willingly paid way too much for a beer…

…to pass the time waiting to board the overnight nonstop United Airlines flight to Brussels. I caught a view of New York City’s glimmering skyline, jutting above the planes on the tarmac.

Landing in Brussels the next morning, I passed breezily through Border Control and Customs—I knew the routine by now—then pushed through the door to enter the main entry hall. As on my first trip, the space was brightly lit and alive with activity. Families and friends waited for their dear travelers. VIP drivers (who were still not waiting for me) dressed in caps, coats, and ties held up name signs. And hundreds of other passengers loaded with luggage, stared at the giant departure boards and marched confidently toward airline check-in desks to begin their own travel adventures.

Eight long years had passed since the bombings and because the restored airport still seemed so familiar, I didn’t think to capture a picture of the…well, the normalcy. I rode the escalator—all good as new—from the arrival hall down to Level –1 to catch the train that would carry me again to Gare Central. Some innovative graffiti decorated the exterior of the first coach I saw and this time I did take a photo, amused by the playful nature of the urban artwork.

As on so many prior visits to Brussels’ historic city center, I exited the Central Train Station…

…crossed over to the traffic circle, and passed under the pedestrian bridge, pausing under the stone archway to shelter briefly from the light rain that was falling. There again was my quiet street and I had to take a picture—today’s Featured Photo—with one corner of red brickwork from the Mary Magdalene Chapel visible to the left and the spire of the Hôtel de Ville rising up in the distance from the Grand-Place.

I walked down the gently sloping hill, past the pommes frites shops, sans les odeurs of hot oil and tangy mayonnaise, since they were not yet open…

…and on to the small square with the statue of Charles Buls and his dog.

I peeked in at the Galeries Royales de Saint-Hubert, where I saw more amusing artwork: several statues of people with their heads replaced by unexpected objects, like this question mark.

From there, it was just a short walk to my lodgings at the Hotel Agora…

… less posh than the Hotel Amigo where I’d stayed before and thus, more affordable. I had splurged on their best room, on the top floor, under wooden rafters dating to 1696…

…and offering a not-so-bad view of the Hôtel de Ville’s spire.

I had until the following afternoon before I would meet up with my travel companions and planned to spend my “alone time” at museums I’d not previously visited, along with a guided tour of the Hôtel de Ville’s ornate interior. I was ready to get started so I left my bags at the hotel and—17 years after my first visit to Brussels—ventured out once again to explore the area around the Grand-Place.

Not far from the hotel, I stumbled across some sights I’d not seen before: a small statue of a man drinking wine from a jug—the meaning unclear to me but hey, it’s Brussels…

…and another composition I might have expected in Amsterdam or Paris.

I also found a few familiar scenes, including the inexplicable statue of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the Place d’Espagne, this time viewed from behind, with the Hôtel de Ville’s spire beyond. A bird of a different feather now adorned the helmet of the shorter man, replacing the photo-bombing pigeon I’d seen 17 years ago.

And of course, when I finally wandered into the Grand-Place itself, I once again spent a long time soaking in all its beauty.

(To be continued…)