Day 37: Brussels

Thursday, September 19

I did so much today that i didn't have time to write anything. I was in the bathroom, thinking how nice it was that all of my bunkmates had cleared out and that i'd have the whole room to myself, so i would just sit at the desk and write my log instead of going down to the bar, when suddenly i realized it was nearly 1am.
    So hopefully i haven't forgotten to much. It was a really busy day!

---

This city is obsessed with piss.
    Before i went to sleep last night, i pulled up the Atlas Obscura to see if i could start charting a little bit of the course for the day. And while, actually, of the 41 items Brussels has on the list, most of them seemed really interesting, there were three separate peeing statues, plus a museum for the main peeing statue's clothing. He has over 2,000 outfits.
    Another thing i was very interested in from the Atlas is the Nova Cinema, a funky, independent, non-profit movie theater which shows obscure indie films. It's not always open, though, so the Atlas recommends checking the web site to see what the schedule looks like before planning your visit. I was pretty interested in this place, so i did that, and tonight there was actually live music instead of a movie. British post-punk band Blurt would be playing. Founded in 1979 by poet and saxophonist Ted Milton and his brother Jake, they have been writing, recording, and touring consistently for the last forty-five years. Jake left the band long ago, but Ted, now 81, has continued on with Steve Eagles, who joined the band in 1987, and a rotating cast of drummers. The current one, David Aylward, has been with them since 2008.
    I've never heard of Blurt, but late 70s post-punk/alt-jazz definitely seems like a thing i'd be interested in, and if these guys really are long-time legends, to be able to say i saw them at a small theater show for €10 would be pretty dang cool. The show was scheduled for 8. I planned to be there.
    With the sunlight coming into the room, i was able to identify that, yes, in fact, there is secure storage for belongings. It's just disguised as a dresser/desk; there are four cabinets under that flat workspace along the side of the room. The handles are a bit weird; when they're pushed flush against the cabinet door, you can twist them to lock or unlock the cabinet. Once it's in the preferred position, you can pull the handle out half an inch, and the locking mechanism no longer functions; at that point, you're able to slip a padlock into a hole in the middle, to keep the handle pulled out. It's an unusual system, but once you've figured it out, it feels intuitive. Like those bathroom door handles that you have to push in and twist to lock.
    I wanted to have my morning aminos, but i did not want to have to go back up to the room afterward. I'd heard the other two dudes get up and clear out before i'd gotten out of bed, so since i was alone in the room, i didn't feel too bad about doing something weird. I was looking around for a vessel to carry two tablespoons worth of powder downstairs, that i would then be able to leave there, ie, throw away.
    I scoured the whole room. The only answer i could come up with was a few squares of toilet paper.
    I was sitting on my bed, about to put the second scoop of the drink mix into the tissue, when one of the guys came back into the room.
    "Hey," he said.
    "Hey," i said, hunched over a pile of whitish powder, with the measuring implement still in my hand. There was ever so slight of a pause, then he turned around and went into the bathroom.
    That went well.
    It actually didn't turn out too bad. I was able to fold the paper up and stash it in my hand pretty easily, without any powder falling out.
    I did have to sit there and wait for him to come out of the bathroom, though, as a courtesy. One thing i kind of hate about this hostel room is, right by the light switches, there's a little slot. Someone in the room has to leave their key card in that slot in order to turn the electricity on. As soon as you pull your key card out, the power to the entire room cuts. I wasn't about to turn the lights off on this guy while he was in the bathroom.
    Got downstairs, mixed my aminos, plotted my course. The toilet paper actually worked out really well.
    But then i had to go back upstairs anyway, because i'd forgotten one of my recording devices.
    The other roommate was in there when i returned, sitting at the desk with his laptop open. I had to politely ask him to move, so i could get into my cabinet and grab my device. A little awkward, having him stand over me, watching, as i changed batteries and repacked the cabinet. Fortunately it was just about a minute.
    And i'm off!
    Just outside the hostel, i saw a guy pop a wheelie on a Bolt scooter.
    First stop, the Comic Strip Route. Belgium in general, but Brussels more specifically, is known as the home of the comic strip, and claims to have originated the art form. As such, comics and comic history are paramount to the area. Beginning in 1991, murals of famous Franco-Belgian comic characters began appearing in this part of the city, across walls many stories high. None of the original artists created these, but the styles are copied expertly. There are supposed to be about 50 of them in the area.
    I headed up to the street that Atlas Obscura gave coordinates for. On approach, i immediately saw one on the corner as i approached, featuring some animal characters i didn't know. I turned right, and saw another. As i continued down the street...that was it.
    I came to a strange intersection with many spokes, and pedestrian walkways at different levels. I can't accurately describe it, but Brussels has a lot of these intersections, which would absolutely not be intuitive to me if i were driving. The center was a bit of an open courtyard, with seating for multiple restaurants and many flowers in metal and concrete planters. Google Maps says the square...er, well, more of a trapezoid i guess, is called Place du Jardin aux Fleurs. Literally, Flower Garden Square. It's nice.
    There's a sandwich shop right there on one of the corners called Anastasia, which Maps said is "Top Rated" and also only one dollar sign. Rated 4.9 out of 5 from 72 reviews. Not a lot of reviews, but if 71 people told me a place was incredible and one person said it was just okay, i'd probably want to eat there. And since i had not eaten anything since arriving in Belgium, and it was 12:30, this seemed like the place.
    The line was out the door.
    I don't know why i felt so tempted by this place. That queue certainly seemed to justify the reviews. There were other restaurants around, but they all seemed pretty empty.
    This seems out of character, but i did join the line.
    It was almost entirely teenagers, i realized.
    After slowly shuffling through that line for 40 minutes, i kept repeating over and over in my head, why in the hell. Did i decide. To join a line of 40 hungry teenagers. At a sandwich shop. During lunchtime.
    The sandwich shop also seemed to be a bit of a convenience store. As i waded through the line, i snagged a bag of paprika-flavored Lays.
    I placed my order, and as the sandwich artist was handing me my baguette, he said, "Thank you for your patience."
    "Oh, no worries. Thank you!" He looked exhausted. There was a second sandwich artist, but even with two of them, they can only move so fast. A third employee was doing nothing but guarding the soda coolers. Bet there's a story there.
    The wait was totally worth it. I got a cordon bleu sandwich, and it was positively delectable, especially for the price. I kind of cannot believe this sandwich was only €4.50, i could easily see paying twice that for the same amount of food in Paris. High quality sandwich, incredible value.
    All of the teenagers had fully dispersed by the time i was sitting down to eat. There must be a high school nearby that was on its lunch hour. In the American Midwest, we're fond of saying, "We got here just in time!" when a line fills up behind us. This was the opposite of that.
    Moving on, i went back down that street, to see if there were additional murals the other direction, since about 48 pieces of art seemed to be missing. The street turned out to be less than a third of a mile long, from end to end. There were no additional murals. Plenty of graffiti, though.
    Looking over the Atlas Obscura article now, i think i see where i went wrong. The "Comic Strip Route" does not appear to actually be a single street, but a trail across that part of Brussels which celebrates the art. At the bottom of the article, it even mentions that there are places you can get a full map for €1.
    Whoops.
    I would end up seeing several other pieces as the day went on, including some characters i did recognize, like Tintin. Of course Tintin. There is so much Tintin around Brussels. This should come as a surprise to no one.
    But, in the moment, i was frustrated that my destination hadn't turned out. I needed to continue with my day.
    Next up, Zinneke Pis. This is the most recent of the three peeing statues, having been installed in 1998. This one is the Pis family's dog, a life size bronze canine forever lifting his leg on a traffic stanchion at a busy street corner. I gave him pets and ear scritches, just as thousands of other visitors have done in the past, based on the shiny parts. What a good boy.

    Within a few blocks, i came to a giant cathedral, which i did not expect. i hadn't been looking for it, but here it was, with its huge flying buttresses and all. I'm no longer in Paris, so i'm not going to confuse this one for Notre Dame, probably, at least. I took a few pictures, and moved on. This was Saint Catherine's Cathedral, another centuries-old gothic church. If i hadn't had so many other things on my plate already, i probably would have looked into what makes it special; but i've already been to many gothic churches, so i just let this one go.
    Close by is the Jeanne Dielman mural, depicting a frame from Chantal Akerman's 1975 film Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, which i had never heard of until it was recently named the greatest film of all time by the British Film Institute's once-per-decade Sight and Sound film survey, beating out the likes of Citizen Kane, Vertigo, and Bicycle Thieves, which have typically alternated for the top spot. This has, of course, been controversial; there's the predictable "because of woke!!!11" irritable film bros with their run-of-the-mill fragile masculinity, but there's also the more reasonable "it's not even Chantal Akerman's best film, how could it possibly be the best film by a female director, let alone the best film of all time?" criticisms, plus the "This film is a masterpiece and i will defend it to the god damn death" crowd. As usual, i think there's more nuance to it, and (for now) i'm gonna go with, "it might be because of corporate woke?" IE, all these critics and their publications decided it would be more profitable to make sure a female director won the top prize, because they think "woke" means "filling quotas" and not "judging the art based on its merits rather than deeply ingrained systemic prejudices." You know, the same way corporations misunderstood Affirmative Action, and set quotas for how many people of color and women they thought they needed to pass government inspections, instead of just hiring qualified individuals regardless of their heritage, for fuck's sake, you assholes, stop with the discrimination already.
    Or, it might be because the film really is that good. I think there is a whole conversation to be had about how the mystique of films like Citizen Kane and Bicycle Thieves has built up over the last eight decades that it's virtually impossible for a newer film to go up against them and get a fair evaluation. After all, who wants to be the critic that says "this thing is better than Citizen Kane?" Citizen Kane has been shorthand for "perfection" for so long that no one will look at it objectively anymore.
    What do i think, personally?
    I haven't seen the movie.
    I'll get there soon, hopefully.
    It's probably pretty good.
    (I actually still haven't watched Bicycle Thieves either, despite acquiring the blu-ray like 10 years ago)

    23 Quai du Commerce is less than a quarter mile from the mural, so i figured i might as well head over there and see the actual film location while i'm at it. It's a pretty nondescript building, for Belgium, and there's just a small plaque denoting that, yes, a film happened here.
    I stopped at a convenience store for a huge bottle of water and a little snack, grabbing a plain Mars bar, which. you can't get in the United States. I'd been gifted one by a friend in high school once, which she had brought back from England, and any time i'm able to find one, it gives me a little hit of nostalgia.
    Very near that, i found "Cement Truck." This is a thirty-foot-long, incredibly intricate, laser-cut metal sculpture of a cement truck, using the aesthetics of a gothic church. Seeing it in person, i really can't believe the level of detail this thing has. It's practically a cathedral in its own right.

    Atlas Obscura says it's "one in a series of works by Wim Delvoye that juxtapose heavy modern construction equipment with delicate gothic architectural forms," but does not say where you can find any of the others. The Atlas also goes on to say that "Delvoye is perhaps better known for his boundary-pushing works on excrement and the human digestive system," though, so i guess this one is a bit off type for him.
    The Black Tower is the last surviving remnant of Brussels's 13th century city fortifications. This round tower still has a few feet of the city walls attached to its sides as well. These fortifications were already obsolete by the 15th century, though, what with advances in technology and all, so the fact that this tower has stood for 800 years is pretty impressive. The presentation of the artifact is unique as well; rather than give it a museum, or designate a park around it, a hotel has been built around roughly two-thirds of the tower; it exists inside an envelope of a larger building. It is fully free-standing, though; you can walk all the way around it, get in between the tower and the modern hotel  which ensconces it. Which i did. The medieval walls are more apparent from the back side. Can't go into the tower, though.
    As i approached the tower, i found it was kitty-corner to another large gothic church with flying buttresses. Huh, they sure do like those things around here. I checked the map and this one is also called Saint Catherine's. That's weird, but some of these other European cities i've been in have multiple cathedrals with similar names. There are several things called Notre Dame, with additional suffixes, around Paris, after all.
    Oh. No. I've actually walked in a big loop. This is the same Saint Catherine's.
    If i was better at reading maps, i would have just walked behind the church and seen the Black Tower when i was here earlier.
    Okay. Here i had a choice to make. I only had a limited amount of time left before i had to get to the Nova for the Blurt show, and museums tend to take up a lot of time. There are still a number of other weird monuments i want to see. Is it worth it to soak up a huge chunk of the afternoon with the Belgian Centre for Comic Strip Art?
    It's a bit of a walk to get there from the Black Tower, and public transit would be the same amount of time. It's a lot further east than the other points of interest i was looking for, so i'd also need to walk back in this direction once i was done.
    Yes. Yeah this is absolutely worth it. Comics are a big part of who i was one to two decades ago, and even though that hyperfocus has been mostly left by the wayside, i still feel like i'm gonna get something out of this.
    It was super fucking cool and i'm really glad i went.
    While it does mostly focus on Franco-Belgian comics, and of course has vast swathes of content dedicated to Tintin and the Smurfs, it weaves a tale of the entire breadth of comic history worldwide. A huge section of the 2nd floor was under construction while i was there, so unfortunately, i did miss out on a bunch of content (same as what happened at the Roskilde Rock N Roll Museum, actually), i'm happy that the museum continues to grow and offer new exhibits to its patrons.
    I saw so much original art, both pencils and inks, for comics i'd never heard of, but are wildly popular in Europe. I saw collections of rare merchandise from iconic series. I stood next to many life-size, or larger, statues depicting characters like the Smurfs, Tintin and his crew, and Porco Rosso (!!!!!).

    The top floor of the museum is set up like a blueprint of a house or an office, with bedrooms, workspaces, kitchens, bathrooms, and so on, and sometimes there is actual furniture set in the spaces where it's marked on the plans. A drawing desk from a famous cartoonist is on display, i thought it was Herge's, due to the amount of Tintin ephemera in the room, but it was not. From the picture i took, the sign behind the desk says Klare Lijnen, but neither Wikipedia nor Google will tell me who that is/was.
    There's a full reproduction of all 60 installments of the Tintin 40th anniversary special, published in 1985-86. There's a display called "The Toilet Was Closed From the Inside," which i think is for a series called Kinky & Cosy, described as "The Belgian Simpsons." There were a number of wooden boards tethered to the wall with chains that had a series title written on them, with an illustration of one or more of the principal characters, and some vital statistics; if you picked the board up, a description of the series could be found on the back. Very useful for finding new series to read! There was also a wall with dozens of graphic novels, chained to the wall in the same manner, aimed at young adults, each using the comic medium to offer an in-depth explanation of a serious aspect of life. Full volumes were dedicated to subjects ranging from rugby, to adolescence, to anarchy, to the history of Palestine and Israel.
    While i was walking around the museum, my friend Liz, whom i usually call Auntie, and who is a travel agent, and is definitely reading this blog right now, texted me. We'd been talking for the past couple days about Amsterdam, which she loves, and has lots of suggestions for me to check out. "Since I know you're currently in Belgium..." she said, and then quickly recommended a place where she got the best waffle she's ever eaten, TradiNatura, and a bar that famously has over 2,000 different beers on tap, Delirium Café.
    I loved the Belgian Comic Museum. 10/10, would visit again.
    Next up, time to look for another peeing statue. I was on my way to Jeanneke Pis, the second most famous peeing baby in Brussels.
    On the way, i entered a busy restaurant district with lots of outdoor seating. I got caught looking at a "Belgian Specialties" board by a proactive waiter.
    "Table for one?"
    I fumbled for a second. "No, not right now...i might come back later."
    "Next time," he said.
    "Next time!" i agreed.
    Not two dozen steps later, completely by chance, i ran across the Delirium Café.
    It was a little early to eat, lunch hadn't been that long ago, i'd just turned that other waiter down. But since i was here...
    I walked past the first two or three entrances, confused as to where exactly the café was. Turns out it was all of it. This whole block is the Delirium Café. I finally picked a door and walked through it. It was the entrance right next to their huge sign identifying them as the Guinness World Record holder for Bar with the Most Beers On Tap, officially counted as 2,004 beers in the year 2004.
    There was a spiral staircase leading upstairs, a straight staircase into the basement, and doors going left and right. The basement was clearly marked as a beer cellar, with signage indicating that this is where the 2000 beers are. Arbitrarily, i went right, and was in a huge, busy bar area, people at tables everywhere, drinking beer. So many people at the bar, drinking beer. A board above the bar listing so, so many beers.
    I walked around for a moment, then went through a door leading further in the direction i was coming. Further away from the intersection where i'd first come to the Delirium Café.
    It was another bar.
    I went through the door after that. It was another bar.
    There was yet another bar before i reached the end of the building. This last bar was completely deserted, but had at least one closet off of it that had a table with two chairs, for drinking in the closet. This room curved off to the right, which is where the street would have been in any of the other rooms. Heading back there, there was a huge window with a view right down the street...and all of the outdoor seating for the Delirium.
    Between the seven (?) bars in a row on the ground level, plus there's at least that one in the basement, and when i went back and up the spiral staircase, found, you guessed it, another bar, this bar is like nine bars stapled together. Bar Voltron.
    It was at this upstairs bar, which also had outdoor rooftop seating, that i finally approached a bartender and asked.
    "Hey, do you serve food here? Or just beer?"
    "Just beer," he said.
    "Oh." I asked here, because, out of all the bars i'd just walked through, all the tables full of people drinking beer, the only one where i'd seen any food at all was one table in this upstairs bar. And it seemed to be a basket of some deep-fried appetizer. Maybe onion rings, i'm not sure.
    "Well," he continued, "If you go downstairs, there are some snacks. But no, like, meals."
    "Okay. Well, since i'm here, i guess i'll get a beer."
    "Wonderful! What would you like?"
    "Well," i admitted, "I don't really know much about beer. I don't usually drink much beer. But i hear all of you here know a lot about beer. What can you suggest for me, that is Belgian, isn't too bitter, maybe is a little sweet?"
    "Here, try the number 14," he said, grabbing a small glass and pouring half a shot of beer from a black tap with the number 14 scrawled on it in white.
    I slammed it back. "That was okay," i said.
    "Just okay?"
    "Yeah. Maybe...something a little less bitter?"
    "Sure, i think this might be the beer for you. Try number 11," he said, grabbing a clean glass and repeating the process.
    "Yeah, that's good. I'll have a pint of that," i said.
    "Duval 666," he declared. He then went on to give me a short history of the beer, off the top of his head. All i can really remember though is that it was brewed in honor of one of Belgium's football teams. Maybe to commemorate an important win? I can't remember.
    I had a seat at a table with a glass top and a deep display case underneath, featuring receipts, handwritten notes, and other memorabilia which must have a significance which escaped me.
    I enjoyed my beer.

    This still isn't the kind of thing i'd seek out, but i enjoyed it for what it was. It definitely didn't give me any of the involuntary squick reactions i've gotten from most beers that i've tried.
    I glanced at my watch, and realized that i needed to get moving again, if i was going to get any more sightseeing done before the jazz punk show. As i stood up, i realized that beer was a bit stronger than i'd expected, and also, i should probably eat something.
    I know i'm short on time, but i gotta get food in me before the show. That's not really gonna be optional.
    First, though, Jeanneke Pis. The map says she's 0.01 miles away.
    I walked back to the corner, and it looked like i needed to go up to the next corner, then turn right...
    No, now it looks like i'm getting further away?
    I've been having a lot of trouble with Google Maps lately. I don't just mean on the trip, i mean for the last year or two. It seems to be getting worse all the time. Can't figure out where i am, can't tell which direction i'm going...ugh.
    I walked back past the Delirium. No, this isn't right either?
    She's IN THE DELIRIUM'S DAMN COURTYARD???
    Yeah. That big window i'd looked out of in the last bar, spectating the outdoor seating area? She's right outside that window.
    Jeanneke Pis is a life-size statue of a baby girl, squatting over a rock, peeing. Unlike her dog, Zinneke Pis, Jeanneke is an actual, functional fountain, perpetually passing a stream of liquid while we watch. She's also a relatively new addition to the Pis family, having been constructed in 1985 and installed in '87.

    I am just now realizing that i forgot to pay her tribute; it's customer to toss coins in her pool as you greet her. The money goes to a cancer research charity.
    Dammit.
    Alright. Food. Since the Delirium Café, despite its name, does not serve any.
    I returned to the scene where that waiter had caught me checking out his specials, Le Coin de l'Ecailler.
    "Aha! Table for one?" the same waiter asked, seeing me approach.
    "I told you i would come back!" i said. He seated me, and brought me a drink menu. Then he came back with a pile of other menus; the regular print menu, and several much larger laminated cards with photos of all the dishes.
    "To drink?" he asked, handing me this mess of options.
    "Just water, for the moment," i said, intending to order something stronger with the meal.
    I poured over the options. A lot of it looked pretty good. The prices were much higher than i'd expected, though. Guess this is going to be my fancy Belgian meal. It makes sense to have it at this point in my trip; i just didn't know that's what i was sitting down to.
    I wished one of these menus would have shown the list of specials that i'd been looking at on the street, those were all much more reasonably priced. I guess i could have gotten up, gone over and snapped a pic of the board, and come back; or i could have asked the waiter about the specials on the board; but instead, i thought, nah. I'll just order one of the traditional Belgian house specials, for the experience of it.
    I chose the Waterzooi, a stew with chicken.
    This.
    Was incredibly disappointing.

    Like, i know the food at the Eiffel Tower is overpriced, but it's for the experience.
    I know that the food i buy at train stations is overpriced, for the convenience.
    And i try not to complain about how much things cost when i'm traveling, because it comes with the territory. I'm embarrassed by how much of my 2008 New Zealand log is just whinging about prices; like, dude, shut up and enjoy the experience.
    I know i've broken this rule once or twice before in this log. But here, i've gotta flagrantly disregard it. This meal was wildly overpriced and bland.
    Like, literally, the chicken had very little flavor. The vegetables didn't fare much better. The broth had color to it, like it contained ingredients, but it just wasn't enough to assist any of the substance in this stew.
    I very, very rarely touch the salt and pepper shakers on the table at restaurants, preferring to trust that the chef is serving exactly what they intended, but i had to do something about this. It did improve it somewhat, but still. This meal was just. So boring.
    They served it with French Fries, which were unsalted, and came with no sauce. No ketchup, no mayo, nothing. I tried dipping them in the broth from the soup, but even that somehow did not seem to add anything at all.
    Was starting to get nervous about the time. It was ten to eight and i hadn't seen the waiter in quite a while. I'd like to pay for this and be on my way. Fortunately, the theater was only a three minute walk from here. Still, if the show starts on time, i should be inside by now.
    I finally saw my waiter, and tried to flag him down, but he missed me entirely. A different waiter behind him, who i hadn't even recognized as a waiter, saw me though, and waved back.
    "Check?" i said.
    "Check!" he called back, from across the seating area.
    A third person came to my table, pulled out his phone, opened the calculator app, and manually typed in the price of the meal, plus the four euros for the bottle of water. Which. Jeez. I tried to hand him my credit card, and he frowned. "No cash?"
    "Oh. Yeah, i can do cash," i said. I should've expected that as soon as he pulled out a cell phone with a calculator app. I handed him a fifty, and he disappeared.
    Where's my change. I need my change. I need to g o o o o o o o o .
    I saw the man, on approach, with a handful of cash, and then he stopped at another table, and calculated their bill on his phone. Come on, man.
    He finally returned with my change, and i got up and booked it down the road.

I rounded a corner. I rounded another corner. And there it was.
    Including a massive mess of people out front, smoking.
    I sauntered up and stood behind two women on the furthest out edge.
    One of them said something to me in French. I did my desolée line, and then she said something in English that i didn't quite catch either.
    "Is this the line for the Nova?" i asked, forgetting the name of the band i was there to see.
    "There's no line," she said. "You can just walk in."
    "The show's starting at 8:30, so we're just waiting outside," said the other.
    "They'll tell us when it's time to go inside," the first one added.
    "Oh. Thanks!" i said. They waved as i proceeded past and through the cloud of nicotine.
    8:30. Okay. We are on punk rock time i guess. I'm well versed in punk rock time, i just never saw it in Los Angeles, so i didn't know how "on time" things would run here.
    The Nova Cinema's sign is eccentric, very much gives off the vibe i would expect from an establishment of this nature. It pops out at you in 3D, the lettering reminiscent of an extreme 1990s Nickelodeon bumper, surrounded by models of quirky characters. Inside, the place is more run down. The old concrete walls are cracked and crumbling in places, and old, exposed pipes run along the corners. It's charming, in that crust punk way.

    I passed an empty ticket window, walked through an open hall with a desk and a staircase going up to the left side, and a slim shelf across the right, which was covered in flyers for upcoming events. I swiped one for tonight's show and stuffed it in my inside pocket.
    After the ascending stairs, there was a descending staircase on the left, and then, across the remainder of the room, a folding table, where two people were selling tickets to the show. Again, they opened in French, both of them talking at once, but i guess i didn't reply quickly enough. The woman said, "Prefer English?"
    "English is better, yes. Can i get one ticket, please?"
    "Yes, ten euros, cash only." Good thing i had the change from the restaurant, it's all the cash i have left. I surrendered the bill. "The show is delayed a bit, should start about 8:30. It's closed right now, so you can't go in yet."
    Okay. I looked around. I wasn't quite sure where the stage/screen would be; i assumed via one of the staircases. Down seemed likely. I'd seen a few people moving along that staircase, but no action on the upwards one. The stairs up were not entirely blocked, but the positioning of that desk in front of them did not seem welcoming.
    Ticket in hand, i took up a position leaning against that shelf on the other wall, closer to the mouth of the upward staircase, and waited, playing games on my phone. As i waited, more people gathered against that wall. Waiting. Many of them had drinks in their hands, and i started to wonder where those were coming from. Eventually i realized that people were bringing them up from the basement. Okay, the bar must be down there, which, logically, means so is the stage.
    Logically, of course, based on the kind of shitty dive bars i spent my twenties carousing in, which are 4,000 miles away and built from an entirely different culture.
    At about 8:40, someone came to the crowd and announced something in French, and the rest of the wall leaners started moving, so i assumed it was time to go into the theater. They were moving toward the ticket desk, which seemed to affirm that the show was downstairs. I headed toward those stairs, only to be suddenly met by wave after wave after wave of people coming up the stairs, out of the basement.
    That's. That's weird, right? Why are they all coming out of the bar if the show's about to start? The assumption i made, as my brain tried to rationalize all the information i had in the moment, was that these people must have just been here to drink, didn't have tickets for the show, and were now being asked to leave.
    Yeah. Yeah that's reasonable. That makes total sense.
    I got stuck in the corner behind the ascending stairs, waiting for a break in the flow so i could get downstairs. After a few minutes, three people approached the stairs, and just pushed their way into the crowd to go down. I followed in their wake. I'm just too polite sometimes, if i'd done this in the first place, it would have been fine.
    I got down there, and, yes, there's the bar all right, which still has plenty of patrons. How the hell did all those people fit down here? Must have been so crowded. This is not a large room.
    And there is no stage. No screen. No other doors going anywhere except the two bathrooms.
    Alright. Must be upstairs then.
    I returned to the ground floor, where the throngs that had ascended from the basement were now standing in line at the ticket counter. Were all those people in the basement planning to attend the show, but waited until the last minute to get their tickets?
    No one was going up the stairs.
    Confused as hell, i just returned to my position leaning against the wall, playing my stupid phone game.
    And i stood there, for...i don't know, ten more minutes? Possibly even twenty?
    Finally, a voice cut through my mobile game haze, saying, "They're not even all seated yet! We'll just wait until they're all sitting!"
    I looked to my left.
    The very octogenarian jazz/punk icon that i'd been waiting to come toot his saxophone at me, was standing right next to me. Holding his saxophone.
    I hadn't even noticed.
    He was standing with four other guys, all with British accents. Two of them were probably the rest of the band.
    If i'd been more put together in the moment, i probably would have said something like, "Oh shit, it's you, i didn't even notice. Can i get a photo with you?"
    But i wasn't more put together. I looked around, and realized the crowd had thinned quite a bit, but none of them had passed by me toward the outside or either staircase.
    On the other side of the ticket counter, there was a curtain.
    The theater was through the curtain.
    Doh.
    This. Uh.
    Seems really obvious, in hindsight.
    The whole theater was packed, front to back. I'd had an opportunity, waiting there, before the crowds came up from the bar and in from smoking outside. I could have been one of the first people in the theater, and had my pick of the best seats. Now, i'm one of the last ones in, and almost every seat is taken.
    I found a string of four seats in like the third to last row, all the way to the right corner, and i sat in the one on the aisle. Good enough. Everyone else here is obviously fans anyway, it's just as well that i let them have the better spots.
    Three people came in, as a group, and moved past me to fill the rest of the row.
    This is actually incredible to me. This obscure post-punk band, touring 45 years and still playing small, nontraditional venues, like a run-down nonprofit indie cinema, and they can pack the house like this. Amazing.
    9:00, your man and mine, Ted Milton, climbed up on that stage, and approached the microphone.
    "I found out there wasn't going to be an opening act for this show, so i thought i'd go ahead and open for myself," he said. He then pulled out a book of poetry, and started reading from it.
    The first poem was something about the time his mother stuck her fingers inside of a scorpion?
    "Do any of you know who Kenny Rogers was?" he asked. He didn't wait for a response. "I know i'm old, up here talking about Kenny Rogers."
    He then told a story about how, in the early 90s, he was on a train, and a man sat down next to him, opened a magazine, and just stared at it, chuckling, for an inordinately long amount of time. He looked over, and saw that the man was giggling at a picture of himself. And the magazine had the caption, "Kenny Rogers." So he went to a different compartment, where his guitarist, Steve Eagle, was riding, and told him what he'd seen. And Steve came up and took a look, and said, "Oh yeah, that's Kenny Rogers, all right." And Ted said, "Who the fuck is Kenny Rogers?"
    He then read his third poem, called Kenny Rogers' Greatest Hit.
    After that, the band joined him on stage, and the music started.
    Like i said, i hadn't had a chance to look up their music online before the show, so i wasn't really sure what to expect. An 81-year-old with a saxophone? I really thought this was going to be much more jazz than rock. Like, i thought i was in for some weird Sun Ra interpolations, or something.
    Nah.
    These guys played a blistering, heavy set. It was definitely in line with the old punks. Like, regular punks, not even so much the post-punk. Maybe not the Ramones, but i could see them playing with Magazine, you know?

    I was very happy i'd chosen to do this. I mean, i would have been happy if it had been Sun Ra type jazz. I like Sun Ra. I like jazz. I don't listen to a lot of it, but i respect it. But i'm much happier with this.
    So i've gotta look up their recordings later.
    They were selling vinyl and CDs, but there's no way i can transport that kind of thing home, the way i'm traveling right now.
    They played for over an hour, no breaks, never sat down.
    81 years old.
    God damn.
    After the first couple songs, most people got up out of their seats and moved forward. I followed suit, and ended up standing closer to the middle of the theater.
    I thought about heading up and talking to the band after, but they were getting swarmed by their legion of fans. I let it go, and left.
    You know, for a band that's been touring since 1979, the audience sure skewed young. Like, all generations were represented there; plenty of people much older than me attended. They were the ones that stayed in their seats when others got up. But honestly? I would venture to say that half of the audience was in their 20s.
    It's a good feeling. The kids are finding the old punk rock, and enjoying it.
    Pass it along.
    The kids are alright.
    I was looking at a 45 minute walk back to the hostel. I looked at the route, and wondered if i could knock one last item off my list before bed.
    Oh hell yeah, it only adds 1 minute to my walk to detour over and see him.
    Manneken Pis.
    The original peeing baby statue.
    He's smaller than i imagined. Or maybe i just can't get as close as i thought, since he's supposed to be life size.
    This is the peeing baby fountain that started it all. If you've seen a peeing baby fountain in someone's yard before, it's modeled after Manneken Pis.

    No one's quite sure why this statue became so famous, or even when its legend began. While his sister, Jeanneke Pis, is from the 1980s, and his dog, Zinneke Pis, is from the 1990s, Manneken Pis is much, much older.
    This is not the original Manneken Pis, it is a replica. The original was stolen and damaged many times, and finally, was permanently lost. This replica was installed in 1619.
    So the replica is over 400 years old.
    The earliest known records of the original date back to 1388, but those records are not of its installation. No one knows its true origin.
    With a famous statue this old, of course other traditions have popped up around it. Several times per week, Manneken Pis is clothed in one of his many costumes. The first was given to him by French King Louis XV in 1747, as an apology after his soldiers stole the statue while in the city. Louis XV returned the statue with a French military officer's uniform, and declared him an official Knight of the Royal and Military Order of Saint-Louis.
    This started the trend.
    Nearby, there's a museum dedicated to the many outfits of Manneken Pis. His garderobe now contains over 2,000 unique outfits. The original 1747 French military uniform is preserved in a special display in the museum.
    Manneken Pis was naked when i saw him that night. I also didn't go to the museum; i probably would have skipped it anyway, but since it was after 10pm, it wouldn't have been open anyway.
    What was open, though, was the Manneken Pis bar, kitty-corner from the statue. They have a sign on the side of the building reading, "Boire. Manger. Pisser." Which is French for...exactly what you think it is. Drink. Eat. Piss.
    And you know what, i really had to, actually.
    I strode into the bar. "Where is the bathroom?" i asked the bartender.
    "It's for customers only," he said.
    "That's fine, can i use it quick before i order a drink?"
    "Sure, that way," he said.
    So i took a piss in the pissoir at the Manneken Pis bar.
    When i came out, both bartenders were absent. There were no customers inside, any they had were at the tables out on the sidewalk.
    Would i have had a drink? Of course. Did i need one? No, not really.
    So i left.
    I saw a guy pop a wheelie on his motorcycle.

I entered the hostel room, surprising one of my roommates.
    "Oh! Hey. I'm heading out. Going to the UK tonight," he said.
    "Oh, nice!" i said.
    "Yeah. I've been here for eight days, waiting for my visa to come through. It just did, so i'm leaving right away!" He went on to tell me that his last housing contract had ended, but since he was leaving the country so soon, he couldn't start a new one. So he's just been at this hostel, waiting for the visa. He's going to the UK to study, for a semester abroad.
    He offered me a bag of rice that he didn't want to take with, and all the change in his pockets, since the UK doesn't use the Euro. It was like 75 cents. I accepted, but in the morning, took the rice downstairs to the kitchen and dropped it on the "FREE PASTA" shelf.
    He was gone within like ten minutes of me entering the room. I looked at the bunk above me. All of that guy's stuff was gone too.
    Do i...do i have single occupancy tonight?!?
    I did. I so did.
    And it was glorious.
    I had grabbed my laptop, card reader, hard drive, etcetera, intending to go down to the bar to write my log and do some data management, when suddenly i realized...there's no need to do that. I can leave the lights on and clack away at my keyboard as loud as i want tonight. There's no one to stop me, or notice, or care.
    I set the laptop up on the desk, and plugged in a bunch of batteries to charge next to it overnight, instead of in the bed with me, for a change. I filled my water bottle, and kicked back to write out my log, preparing to put on some music...
    Maybe i'll just get my nightly bathroom routine done quick, so i don't have to worry about it later...
    Only to realize that it was nearly 1am.
    Oh fuck.
    I. I guess i'm just going to bed, then.
    Dang it.
    It would have been so nice.