"When good Americans die, they go to Paris." - Oscar Wilde

Monday, May 23, 2011

What Happens in Brussels Stays in Brussels

Unless you own a public blog, of course, and then everything is up for grabs.

This weekend was Ashleigh's "birthday weekend" since we'll be gone by the time her real birthday occurs in June. She, Adrianne, Lien, and I made our last voyage of the semester and headed to Brussels. Though we booked our hostel rooms separately, the four of us ended up in a private four-person suite. The hostel was shitty and told us there was a 1 AM curfew, but we said fuck that and got a night key. Some film students from Amsterdam invited us to a party and we ate Thai food for dinner. Adrianne and Ashleigh were already drunk and Lien and split a bottle of wine. Afterwards, we went to the most highly-rated club in Brussels but the bouncer refused Adrianne and me entrance, saying we were too young. We were pissed because we had paid 22 euros for a taxi here. I cried in the next taxi because I didn't understand. Then we went to Delirium, a famous bar that has 2,000 beers on tap. We drank Stellas until 3 AM and left.

The next morning I felt like shit, but we dragged our asses to Brugge, an adorable nugget of happiness in Belgium. The town is like a fairytale, and we sat outside and café-hopped the entire day. We tried Belgian waffles piled high with fruit and chocolate. We took the evening train back to Brussels and made it to a bar where everyone was dancing on tables. This would have been cool, but the men were dancing on tables too. This is interdit in America. We ordered some beers and joined in the fun for a little while. The music started out alright but got shitty and we left after they played something from a Grease soundtrack.

At the next bar, we met some locals and danced to an American playlist we gave to the DJ. I rapped Kanye's "All Falls Down" and the bartender gave us a round of free shots for Ashleigh's "birthday." We stayed out until 3 AM.

We spent the next day eating Belgian fries (French fries were invented here, not France!) with mayo (questionable, but alright) and more waffles. They were much better in the tourist area by the Manneken Pis. These waffles were piled with bananas and nutella and were hot and gooey. Adrianne and Ashleigh split some strawberries dipped in Godiva chocolate and we sat and had tea in the Grand Place. Then we found a hookah bar and smoked for an hour and drank Moroccan tea. There's nothing to do on Sundays. Finally, we made it back to the train station and Ashleigh's host father brought us home.

I've been sick since I returned from Nice, and now I've lost my voice. It's aggravated after screaming in Belgian bars and smelling cigarette smoke all weekend (smoking is permitted indoors in Brussels). But it's all good. Now it's time to buckle down and study during my last two weeks. Oh, là là.

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