More Donkeys In Marrakech

I’ve seen more donkeys in Marrakech than ever before anywhere. Though little taxis and Yamaha scooters abound–the latter of which terrify tourists with near misses–hordes of humble asses clearly remain an important part of city life here.

Six Hours in Brussels

If you ever have a layover in Brussels, you’re in luck. Jammed halfway between Paris and Amsterdam, the city is inured to its quick-stop status and makes a drop-by easy and satisfying for tourists. As the headquarters of the EU–in name, at least (isn’t the EU HQ wherever Angela Merkel is?)–the Belgians know how to move people in and out of the airport and train stations without too much fuss. And once you’re there, you can visit its most famous sites in under two hours.

This is just what I did on the 14th of March. After arriving to the airport, my husband and I took a 16-minute train to Brussels Centre, walked five minutes downhill to the astonishing Grand Place, and had a terrific breakfast at the Hotel Amigo just nearby. The breakfast included a waffle, which is one of the three Brussels food groups (along with chocolate and beer).

Hotel Amigo is one of those charming European Hotels that is absolutely up to American standards, and far beyond. (Lots of Euro charmers are a tad, er, surprising to American tastes, even now.) A Rocco Forte hotel, I remember two things from my stay there two years ago: A little Tintin figurine framed in the loo (Tintin is everywhere in Brussels) and a concierge who was a member of Cles d’Or and who knew all the hours of the various hotspots and helped me out last time when I’d misplaced a notebook. So I was happy to bring my husband for a delicious breakfast where there was great people watching–I’d swear Ian McKellan sat to our left. Coffee was only so-so–get the cappuccino. Outside was a gaggle of teens, some accompanied by parents. When we asked why, the hostess said that a Disney star was staying at the hotel and kids had been hanging around for days hoping to get a glimpse. I guess we missed her, too.

Once again, the very same fantastic concierge who’d been so helpful before knew the hours and rates we needed for options ranging from the chocolate museum to the Royal Museum of Fine Arts. I love chocolate, but I wanted to see the Bosches and Breughels again, so we opted for the latter. On the way we saw that strangely famous little statue–does the world love seeing a little penis that much?–known as the Mannekin Pis. He was dressed in yellow this time, with a wreath of red flowers. I declined to take a picture. A half-hour later, standing before La Chute d’Icare, the painting made so famous (to English majors, at least) by Mr. Auden, we could safely say we’d done Brussels’ greatest hits.

Mixups upon mixups, dropped threads–when traveling, I generally pick up a lot of threads, and I inevitably lose a few too. This one hurt more than most, but I’ll save that for another post.