the fifth edition: dated 23.09.25
The Weekly Blabbette
With half of the trip over, I was leaving the familiarity of an English-speaking country and going Dutch. Which, ordinarily, means everyone at the table pays for their meal, or something, but I was alone, hardly eating proper meals at proper restaurants, and it suited me well. I was headed into even further unknown territory, but it reminded me to count my blessings: not everyone gets to experience this, and certainly not so comfortably alone. People wonder how I travel alone, as if I untethered myself from the safety of other people in a dangerous bid to prove something. I go alone out of convenience, sure, but there is a true thrill in being comfortable like this. My anxiety means I can become overwhelmed, at times, but like a child the idea is I can self-soothe myself. Travelling solo means the world to me, and looking back on this trip to Europe only makes me incredible proud of myself.
This edition of The Weekly Blabbette covers my time in The Netherlands and Belgium and will very likely be the final edition. In large part I began working on this whatever-you-call-it as a creative way to write and express myself before I went to Europe for almost a month, and now, with no exciting thrill on the near horizon, I have other methods for expressing myself. I’m working on some fiction at the moment, and I feel incredibly hesitant to talk about it, because I worry I will jinx the progress. But, in between working on this exciting new venture, it was important to finish up what I began. Reflecting on Europe will never be boring, either.
I hope, if you have been reading The Weekly Blabbette, that you have enjoyed the chaos of it all. The first two editions were rather structured, but the structure fell away when I thought about what people would care the most for in hearing about Europe. If anything, they would want the unfiltered look at what I did, how it made me feel, and if I would do it all over again [I would]. My therapist would probably like to hear all about this too, but I keep forgetting to respond to his message because I’m unemployed and the idea of spending money scares me right now and also for once I feel okay not needing therapy. Come back and see if that all changes in a few weeks, but for now, I am so grateful I get to have the last two months, or just about, fresh in my memories. Not everyone gets to actually enjoy life so much.
When I was in Singapore waiting for my final flight home, I overheard someone say, “You’re a bit slow, you’re a bit tired” and without any further context, I knew I inherently understood it. Regardless of whether they were being insulting or not. I have been a bit slow, I have been a bit tired. More than a “bit”. But everything is, hopefully, looking up roses.
Keeley Talks [about things that quite literally occurred to him]
wherein I recount the ways in which I was a tourist in whichever part of Europe I found myself in.
Monday the 25th of August:
Unfortunately, it was another night of shaky sleep, and unfortunately so this night was worse than any of the others before while on this trip, excluding of course the non-existent sleep on the plane. The stress of the upcoming travel day, combined with the light pooling in from outside the window, kept me from getting a good night’s rest, and multiple times I checked my phone for the time, thinking I overslept and completely missed my train, without logic. It would be 2am when I check the time and the light would trick me into thinking it was somehow 2pm, even though that was absurd and beyond check-out time, but my brain wasn’t operating on logic. I was exhausted, stressed, and wanted nothing more than to simply ~sleep~.
Out of the hotel we set off at 5am in the morning, eager to be on with the busy travel day. Two trains—one departing Liverpool at 6:05am, the other departing St Pancras in London at 10:34am. Everything was going off without a hitch: the first train, I had no neighbour beside me, despite the seat being reserved TWICE during the journey. We arrived into London only two minutes later than the estimated arrival time, so I made my way from Euston over to St Pancras, scoffed down a delicious wrap with hummus on it, and lined up for processing for the international train (eee!) to Amsterdam. First stamp in the passport, baby! And then we all stood around for what felt like forever, squished up against each other, until the platform was announced—and of course everyone had to move to either platform 5 or 6, right next to one another, so a million people had to move towards about four escalators.
Baby’s first international train! From London to Amsterdam, about five hours, going through the underwater tunnel—which isn’t exciting at all, unfortunately, it’s just dark—and out through France, Belgium, and finally into The Netherlands. I can’t believe I got to see pieces of France and Belgium—what is this life I am living? Of course I will be in Belgium next week, but for now, I am on a train hurtling across the landscape of Europe. And no next-door-neighbour! This luck is so insane I started to panic thinking I somehow bought two tickets, although reasonably it made no sense. Someone was up there cursing a man to miss the train to soothe me—I’m going to assume it was Hera, she and I have an agreement. There truly is something insane about being on a train out of England all the way to Amsterdam, where I’ll be for the next five days before I head to Belgium.
This morning: I finished reading When The Museum is Closed by Emi Yagi, whose novel Diary of a Void I truly adore very very much. Her sophomore novel is equally compelling, considering how quickly I read it, and genuinely I will continue to keep an eye on Yagi for everything she publishes. Therefore, today: I started reading another Toni Morrison novel, God Help the Child, which is truly exciting because it’s been some time since I read my last Toni Morrison—although I paused reading Jazz because it depressed me so much, which is rather a pattern with anything of hers I read. Toni Morrison is such an exceptional author. But her work is layered, complex, and depressing.
At last! Amsterdam, hallo! Immediate impressions: getting out of the train station correctly confused me and perhaps I was simply overwhelmed to be somewhere new. Once I could navigate myself out to a main road and head in the direction I wanted, I could take in Amsterdam’s beauty—gorgeous buildings, views of the skyline unmarked by skyscrapers, a shit tonne of bridges and canals. It’s a gorgeous city. I cannot wait to explore more of it. After a short twenty-five minute walk to the hotel, which is across the road from the zoo and which I walked right past because I’m stupid, I headed inside to check in—and the idea of checking in for myself was thrilling! But the screen froze on me, which signalled the very end of my luck for the day. Thankfully, the concierge staff was lovely and I checked into my room: 209.
Truly one of my habits on the first day of stay somewhere, and an important early tradition, I searched out the closest supermarket to go search for breakfast food. Albert Heijn has certainly everything you could ever possibly need—I was astounded by the things I could purchase, and committed myself of making use of the mini fridge I have in this hotel room, as opposed to the non-existent one in London. I was like a kid in a candy store, overwhelmed by choice in the supermarket. I could have spent so much money! I was definitely hungry standing there, but settled on my purchases, getting things to eat for breakfast, something for dinner, and a Capri-Sun, which I’m definitely obsessed with at this point, I love Capri-Suns. I really shouldn’t fangirl over a supermarket, but I’m a simple boy sometimes.
I love food.
Tuesday the 26th of August:
My first official day in Amsterdam! The plan was all underway: I left the hotel half an hour before ARTIS opened, eager to see what Amsterdam’s zoo had in store for me. The zoo, mind you, is merely across the road from the hotel, but regardless I went for a wander, checking out the neighbourhood, and snuck a quick few photographs of the flamingos from outside of the gates. Soon, the zoo was open, and it was perhaps the quietest I’ve seen a zoo at opening time—which didn’t bother me in the slightest. I was thrilled to be experiencing yet another zoo for the first time, and almost immediately I fell in love. The first building I entered housed monkeys and sloths and porcupines and birds with moustaches and hoopoes, which I also fell in love with immediately. This building stayed my favourite part of the zoo for almost the entire day; I could have stayed there forever. Beside it, the reptile house was home to a gargantuan beast of a false gharial, he was very impressive, and as I continued to wander I saw elephants, and giraffes, and lions, and tarantulas, and all sorts, truly. There is quite the variety at ARTIS.
Lunch at the zoo consisted of a vegan burger, which was interesting to say the least but definitely not disgusting, chips, and a cherry lemonade, which was delicious but masquerading as lemonade because I tasted no drop of lemon or fizz. It is clear they make their lemonade differently in Amsterdam. After lunch, I continued on with my exploration of the zoo—it’s sizeably smaller than say Chester Zoo, given the urban location, but ARTIS has much to offer. The butterfly house was a certain contender for my favourite zoo-specific butterfly house—it was spacious, dynamic, and felt like an environment for the butterflies, not a display. A sea lion was repeatedly lifting its head out of the water to drink from a waterfall. The mandrills caused a ruckus. African penguins are so adorable, but why are we calling them jackass penguins all of the sudden? Seems like a fairly cruel name. And there seem to be a few rather unique pairings: the gorillas shared with meerkats, and a few ostriches shared with a white stork who looked eager to deliver someone’s baby.
The zoo seemed to be divided into sections: the yellow section, for example, was labelled the “middle garden” and it was here where I perhaps most fell in love with ARTIS. While wandering near some beautiful birds, including an impressive hornbill, I started to hear howling…and I knew I had to go see whatever beautiful creature was making that sound. My jaw was agape when I saw the grey wolves, stark white in colour, howling from inside their enclosure. This was a special moment—the wolves were gorgeous, and I came back to them a few times just to admire this beauty. They never did howl again. I saw vultures, ibex, mongoose—I love mongoose—red crowned cranes—I love red crowned cranes—and lo and behold, baby’s first raccoon. I almost thought I would leave without seeing the fabled trash panda, which inherently seems like a bizarre animal to have in a zoo, but I was glad to see him. Not so glad to miss the striped skunk though. But perhaps the crowning glory of this yellow section was getting to stare mesmerised at two beautiful jaguars. I truly adore big cats, and there was something profound about watching these two jaguars playfully toy with one another and snuggle up like lovers do. I have to assume they’re mates. It really was such a sight, and I really had quite a lovely time at ARTIS, even if I did almost stack it on a raised bit of a concrete because as usual I was focused on everything but the floor. [Keeley’s Blunder]
Once I finished with my time in the zoo, my day continued and was certainly far from over: next on the agenda was a building mere steps from the exit of ARTIS, the Groote Museum. I am certain the audio tour explained what “Groote” meant, but I have since forgotten. The audio tour for the museum was delivered by an actress with a pleasant voice, and there were three to choose from: I selected “why do I feel what I feel”, a tour centred on the senses and what it means to be a human being with complex emotions and paths. The tour was fascinating: it included a scent tunnel which just made me nauseous; a decaying fox which looked to see how the death of an animal benefits others; an orchid that flirted with me via a headphone and then insulted me by saying humans are weak and vulnerable, which isn’t wrong; and a video in which four people had cameras stuck down their throats and then performed an opera song so I could study what different vocal chords look like. This all culminated in a giant overwhelming black circle, which represented “absolute nothing” and the voiceover made me feel like “absolutely nothing” as the voice described how miserable we have made life by choosing to punish relaxation, rest, and being comfortable doing nothing. So I wandered back downstairs feeling devoid of life, but overall fascinated by the tour and all it offered. The discussion around what menopause means to women really made me quite grateful for not only the women in my life, but for the reprieve they get from being labelled “child-bearing” in the modern day and because of menopause.
Before I left the premises, I had one last building to visit: Micropia, a museum dedicated entirely to microbes. I will admit I was the least excited by this museum out of my entire day, but it quickly became far more entertaining to me. The employee handed me a little pad that I could collect stamps on, and I found myself often more thrilled by the possibility of getting the pad stamped than by reading about microbes. The information was interesting, and I got to stare down bacteria and microorganisms and the like, but really the notion of having a complete set of the thirty stamps was my absolute highlight. Did get to see some mouldy food though.
The last destination for the first day of my time in Amsterdam was Hortus Botanicus, the botanical garden merely down the road from my hotel. This gorgeous botanical garden may be small in comparison to others, but I found it gorgeous all the same. I know little about plants, but I find they are captured beautifully in photographs and are gorgeous to simply admire while you wander amongst the greenery. Hortus Botanicas had a wide array of dahlias, some beautiful sunflowers, a caterpillar nursery, and a series of indoor greenhouses, two of which were themed around particular biomes—a tropical room, and a desert room. In the tropical room you could walk above the lush, sweltering green to admire from up high, and in the desert room I hit a woman with the automatic door because she stood too near it as it swung open automatically. It was beautiful botanical garden, and a lovely conclusion to my schedule.
Wednesday the 27th of August:
The day started with a wander back towards the train station where I first arrived here in Amsterdam, and I quickly navigated to the free ferry (!!). Who doesn’t love a free ferry? The journey was rather brief—the ferry crosses the river and you enter from one side and get off the other, like the lifts that can open on either side. It runs like clockwork—no one idles to lower a gate manually or hook rope around metal, the gate lowers automatically and everyone races off without a word. And you’re safely across the river without having to figure out where the closest bridge is, despite how frequent a bridge is in Amsterdam. There is something gorgeous about looking out across the river without the disturbance of a bridge.
First museum of the day: Eye Filmmuseum, or more simply the film museum as I have been dictating to everyone who asks what I’m getting up to. The sole purpose of taking the ferry, this museum’s distinct architecture makes it a standout across the river, and making my way inside, it felt like it would be a standout of the day too—and today promised so much! Immediately I found these pods where you could just…watch movies?? Granted, a vast majority of the films available weren’t English, but I did get to get comfy and watch Liza Minnelli sing “Maybe This Time” for a second there. There was also a quiz section, but it very quickly became about Dutch cinema which I know almost zero about. Maybe I should watch some Dutch cinema. There was also a room called Film Catcher in which you selected a certain prompt, like a colour, object, or living thing, and clips related to said prompt played on screen all around you. It was so cool, and made you appreciate how different a certain thing could be interpreted in film, or look over the course of cinema history. Eye did not have a massive gallery, but it was interesting and impressive and absolutely worth a visit.
After a quick sandwich lunch, I weaved through the streets of Amsterdam and found the Sex Museum, a highly-anticipated part of this leg of the trip, even as someone who doesn’t himself participate in sex. This is certainly the raunchiest museum I have ever been in—I saw many a carved or crafted penis, vagina, boob, and butt, across the many floors of this well-constructed museum. Giant statues of dicks, an animatronic man who flashes his willy, a replica street dedicated to the Red Light District, many photographs of people having sex with one another, and many, many historical depictions of how horny mankind is. The Sex Museum is not for any prudes—you witness countess pornographic drawings, images, paintings, and sculptures, all for the lovely price of 10€. But it really isn’t just nudity for nudity’s sake: there’s a history to the human relationship with our bodies and with sex, and the museum delivers on telling the story and from different perspectives. I never knew China was once so sexually-open as to gift booklets of sex positions to a married couple, but my non-knowledge of that comes from just how rigid China now seems. I also appreciated that they dedicated a corner to Marilyn Monroe, an absolute sex symbol and a goddess.
The line may have been long, but waiting to go inside the Tony’s Super Store was worth it—although I wasn’t going to wait to make my very own concoction, no thank you, that line was double the entrance one. I had waited long enough, but after such a wait I knew I had to get something, and thankfully there was a flavour I had never had of theirs waiting for me—white chocolate, or wit, as the Dutch packaging proclaims. With my bar of wit chocolate, I strolled out of the store excited to dig in later on. Apparently some people find Tony’s to be repulsive, but that just means there’s more for me.
Oude Kerk is apparently Amsterdam’s oldest building, and the name apparently just means Old Church, which is fucking hysterical. Imagine if Australia had a landmark in the city and we called it Old Church. I’m by no means dissing Oude Kerk—it is an insanely gorgeous building with a rich history, and I was mesmerised by all I could see inside it. The church has been redeveloped for tourism, including an audio tour using my favourite little green device again, love that thing. It’s so easy—you just tap the device onto the listening point and a voice starts talking, guiding you around the church and the many stories it holds. Like the room with red glass, which is supposed to represent the statues now missing from said room. Or the ginormous mural of coat of arms, although I now forget exactly who the people were that it represents, but it’s of course something church-related. I’m surprised I didn’t catch alight by merely walking inside a religious holy centre. I was so intrigued by the door a quarter of the way up the wall, with seemingly no way to access it—it was once the iron chapel, a room meant to be kept secret to hold the important documents of the city. It once housed the birth certificate of the city and the “safe” within the room required five keys and serious navigation to reach. It was also impenetrable from fire.
I didn’t find the fish, but I found NEMO, a science museum inside a gorgeous greenish-blue building with a rooftop garden and restaurant. The view from the roof is marvellous and allows you to really take in Amsterdam, but once inside, I saw NEMO for how incredibly cool and interesting it is. This is the sort of science museum I wish I had when I was growing up, but I can still appreciate it now even as an adult. Sure, it was PACKED this afternoon and I felt wrong for waiting around when kids should be the ones benefiting the most from everything that was interactive, and almost everything was interactive, but overall I was captivated by how varied the science was, and how important many of the topics of discussion were too. The fourth floor, as indicated by the employee at the front desk, was the most advanced in comparison to the other floors. It dealt with conversations on sex, the body, the brain, ageing, free will, and whether I am getting enough sleep. It really was fascinating as hell. There was a video of the faces people make while they orgasm. There were penises on display, and a little girl said, “Look at that big fat willy” and I cackled. NEMO helped me feel like a kid again, but also like an adult whose brain could still be stimulated by science. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Thursday the 28th of August:
I set out in the morning rearing for a good day, and decided to catch a tram down to Vondelpark before my visit to the museum. Keeley’s Blunder: I waited for the tram, then boarded when it arrived, but I was immediately startled by a gate at the door and being told “that’s not an entrance”. How am I supposed to know?? I panicked, having originally thought “of course I understand how trams work, there won’t be an issue.” But now all that ran through my head was how I had completely gone against how these trams work, here in Amsterdam. I couldn’t wait to get off the tram. I was uncomfortable and awkward and just kept waiting for someone to come scream at me and hurl me off the tram just for boarding it wrong. I even got off two stops early because I couldn’t stand the discomfort of having screwed up.
Vondelpark is a sizeable plot of parklands I wandered through while I escaped the torment of fucking up and waiting for 10am so I could go into the Rijksmuseum. Vondelpark has everything from oversized trash cans with pizza box-shaped insertion holes, sprawling spaces for dogs to run around and hump each other, cute little bridges, rose gardens, and statues of unidentifiable ogres wearing superhero costumes?? I don’t even know. It’s a quaint place. It seems like a major highway for cyclists who have their own dedicated road within the park, and crossing it is a deadly endeavour. There are cafes here and there dotting Vondelpark, and an awful lot of willows, which pleased me quite a bit. I got some good cardio in wandering around, and in the end, did indeed spend about an hour there.
Time for the Rijksmuseum, a ginormous building where I first returned to being a fuck up because I forgot for a second they check your tickets twice at places like these—first, to make sure you have a ticket, and second, to make sure it’s valid for your entry. Once I was inside I found it perhaps the most confusing museum to navigate, at least from the entrance. There’s no obvious path forward—I just moved around until I found signs of a gallery and then I was off, looking at guns, knives, cannons, lighthouses, glassware, fashion, and locks. The assortment of objects in the Special Collections area of the museum proved to be quite fascinating. There was even a bottle in the shape of a whale made out of leather, which seems like the insane sort of thing I really ought to own myself. The Rijksmuseum naturally includes a history of Dutch art, and Dutch movement around the world, highlighting the Dutch colonies, because like the English, they liked to colonise. The museum stretched over four floors, from 0-3, and was a bit like an M shape—you had to come down from level 3 on one side to get to the other, and you had to come up from level one on one side to get to the other.
Some highlights of the Rijksmuseum include: a giant dollhouse in which you walked up a small flight of stairs to be able to peer inside of—it was fully furnished too. A gorgeous old-fashioned library where you must be silent as a mouse for people still researched down below. A model replica of the housing neighbourhood for asylum seekers, made painstakingly by an asylum seeker while he awaited to find out if his stay in the country was approved. A “wombtomb” which was like a hairy furry clitoris that doubled as an actual space you could climb inside. An Yves Saint Laurent Mondrian dress. A series of engravings of the many times Zeus/Jupiter changed his form, often into animals, in order to have sex with women. And the temporary exhibition by Fiona Tan, which I didn’t grab a guidebook for so I wandered around blind having no idea what the intention behind the artwork was, but I couldn’t care less because I could make my own assessments entirely without knowing.
After a delicious chicken hot dog called a “Chubbydog” and time wasted idling drinking a banana milk and listening to a saxophonist play “Total Eclipse of the Heart” and the start of “Killing Me Softly” before taking a phone call, among other songs, it was time for the true absolute highlight of the day: The Van Gogh Museum. With the permanent gallery and the temporary exhibition, and an audio guide Samsung in my hand, I embarked on a journey through Vincent Van Gogh’s life, destined to become emotional and sniffly by the end of it. Seeing so much of his art and artistry not only in front of my eyes, but knowledgeably adored by everyone who came to the museum, was such a thrill for someone who so values art and the artistic imagination to be creative. Van Gogh was not beloved before his death—he was often struggling to paint anyone but himself, when he desperately wanted to be a portrait artist, and his mental health was undiagnosed and misunderstood. He was the absolute definition of an artistic genius, producing an extensive body of work that was lifted to recognition after his suicide, in particular thanks to the work of his brother’s wife Jo and their son Vincent, of course named after his uncle. I have to be so grateful for everything his family has afforded us as fans of Van Gogh’s work. There is something so incredible about getting to see so much of his talent and influence underneath one roof, showcased through an excellent audio tour which included translations of his letters and my favourite quote, “I couldn’t care less what colours are in reality.”
Seeing Van Gogh’s art in person is something I will take with me as I move forward as an artist myself. While our art forms vary, the recognition of seeing his art displayed so proudly and lovingly really does warm the spirit. His sunflowers brighten the room, his irises remind you of finding the joys in the darkest periods of your life, and his self-portraits acknowledge that being able to stare yourself comfortably in the face and spend time with yourself will only make you stronger. One could suggest Van Gogh has become a tourist hotspot, drawing people in for his celebrity, but his artwork is genuinely miraculous to gaze upon and it should touch everyone who visits the museum. His art, his story, his legacy. Vincent Van Gogh was spectacular.
Friday the 29th of August:
My first excursion out of Amsterdam! I travelled, what, twenty minutes to Zaanse Schans, a proper old windmill village that turns out has the construction of a historical village back home or like an amusement park. [It was painstakingly created at first by pulling everything apart, moving the pieces, and rebuilding on location, until they realised they could move things intact, but nevertheless I think I was tricked subconsciously into at first believing all of these buildings and windmills had been there for years and years and the tourist destination built around that, but no.] Zaanse Schans feels like stepping back into the past. There are windmills that still spin, dotted along the waterfront, and a vibe unlike being in the heart of the Amsterdam city. It’s like being on low-lying farmland, with sheep, goats, swans, and ducks. Because it is! The area is in fact beneath sea level. But how cool is it to see what would have been the past—all those windmills for individual purposes, spice, paint, oil, flour, etc. The ambience is there even before you step inside any of the buildings.
A handful of the museums were free to enter—others charged something absurd like €7.50, and you know I wasn’t that interested in an oil windmill to pay that amount of money to go inside. The cheese museum, or that’s what I’m calling it because I can’t read Dutch, had a quick tour of the process of making cheese, from the milking to the maturing, and then the highlight: cheese tasting. I sampled a variety, because I could and no one was stopping me, although I didn’t go overboard. There was herbs and garlic cheese, old vintage aged cheese, goats cheese, chilli cheese, coconut cheese, and even young sheep’s cheese, just to name a few. You could sample basically every cheese available to purchase in the store, and it was an extensive array of different types and flavours. I love cheese. It was naturally heaven. Zaanse Schans is also home to an array of different stores, including one with a back room dedicated to all things Miffy, as well as like every dream tourist purchase related to Amsterdam you could ever ask for. It was in the gift shop for the Wooden Shoe Museum, after watching a demonstration of a man actually making a clog right in front of my very eyes, where I picked up a small collectable size pair of clogs painted to look like the hide of dairy cows. I am so thrilled with this purchase. I love them.
There was a pancake restaurant at Zaanse Schans and I knew the only possible thing I wanted for lunch was a pancake, although that meant avoiding anything too sweet and unhealthy. The options were varied and sometimes certifiably insane—bacon and cheese on a pancake seemed weird, but it didn’t compare to PINEAPPLE AND CHEESE. I settled on “apple and cinnamon sugar”, although I’d contemplated the month’s special, strawberries and whipped cream. To be fair, none of the truly savoury options were sitting right with me on a pancake, and I’m so happy with my choice. This was not what it could have been—bits of apple dumped on top of a pancake. The symmetry and design of this pancake was gorgeous and it hardly seemed right that I would be the one to eat it—but gosh I enjoyed it very much, especially with whatever syrup they had on the table. [Again, I don’t know Dutch] I was kinda sad the restaurant only had me for a customer, but it was only around 11am and people did come in as I was leaving, so maybe they would attract more attention as the day went on. They definitely deserved it.
The Zaanse Museum represented the history of the region and its many contributions to industries as a supplier of rice, cocoa, oil, wood, paper, etc. It isn’t always the most interesting thing to me to learn that a region did what many other regions did and made do by harvesting things and living off the very land they were on, but at least I could see a better picture of the region. The nice man at the front desk also complimented my hat before I went in and picked up my very favourite device in Amsterdam, that little green audio tour player. I’m obsessed with them. Australia needs them so bad. The true highlight of this museum however was the chocolate and biscuit factory tour through the door and over the little bridge, where you could see real proper machinery Verkade used to make their chocolate and biscuits in the past. There were also little games to play which made this section of the museum more interactive and frankly more entertaining. One mini-game required you to pack tins of biscuits as fast as you could, trying to avoid losing too many biscuits at the end of the conveyor belt. Another, similarly, required you to fill a box of variety chocolates, making sure to place them into the correctly-shaped spaces in the tray. It was all very I Love Lucy.
The Wereldmuseum has only more recently taken up that mantle—it used to be called other things, but now settled comfortably on this name for they believe it best represents their vision for what the museum offers. The Wereldmuseum is committed to recognising that items within their collection have been stolen, pilfered, or unfairly traded for in the past and therefore acknowledges that these items may be returned to their origin countries in the future. This priority sits well with me—there will always be someone in my ear commenting that a museum oftentimes represents the stolen goods a country is bragging about, but I see the value in museums and feel especially grateful if they acknowledge the past in this light. What the Wereldmuseum seems to be doing as a means to rectify the colonialism of the past is noble and feels more and more valuable in today’s society.
The Wereldmuseum has several exhibits over three floors, but strangely enough my favourite was an exhibit on martial arts. Granted, I have no interest in doing a martial art, but seeing the different cultures’ variation of martial arts and how they in turn were different from each other was really fascinating, plus it was at times a fairly interactive exhibit with a boxing bag you could punch and various things you could attempt along the way. Heaven forbid I forget the terminology of something I’ll never do earnestly! In a different part of the museum, there was a “privilege pyramid”, an interactive wall where you could arrange what granted a person more privilege—naturally, sexy was already at the point of the pyramid as most privilege-worthy, but someone had placed queer right down the bottom in the corner and I’m chaotic so of course I moved it further up, as well as moving trans-woman and black because fuck what actually exists in the world, being diverse should be more important than being blond. What is this, Nazi Germany? The Netherlands aren’t occupied anymore!
Saturday the 30th of August:
After once more braving the trams, I made my way to Bloemenmarkt, a flower market on the bank of the canal. I was certainly there early, and it was a Saturday morning, but I think maybe I expected more flowers—the market seemed to predominately sell bulbs and seed packets and Amsterdam-related souvenirs, capitalising on both gardeners and tourists alike. Fresh, alive flowers seemed to be more of a rarity, which was only a minor disappointment—I wasn’t going to let flowers ruin my morning, although not seeing rows and rows of tulips is maybe the only real let down of being here in Amsterdam. Oh well. We keep on moving.
Instead of lulling about any longer waiting for FOAM, the photography museum, to open, I decided instead to reverse my day a little and headed to the Stedelijk Museum beforehand. A museum of contemporary and modern art, Stedelijk means “municipal” I guess, which is disappointing because I expected something more interesting considering. The art gallery is situated within a building that looks like a giant bathtub, and I was truly invested in the art inside of it. The gallery is separated largely into three sections: the first floor houses the 1850-1950 collection, whereas the second floor houses the 1950-1980 and 1980s-now collections. Once more I was armed with my favourite weapon, the handheld audio tour speaker, and I moved through the space, but not before pondering what my name would look like in art instead of letters and watching a musical performance piece in the darkness that seemed to involve Queen Victoria??
The art within the Stedelijk Museum captivated me—each individual period collection was organised into rooms by theme, such as feminism, climate change discussions, political uprisings, and Amsterdam School vs Formalism. There was a video entitled “Semiotics of the Kitchen” which stopped me for a good while as I attempted to understand what was going on: a woman was in her kitchen holding various utensils and using them in the air, as if demonstrating how they work without making anything. At one point she started making the shapes of letters of the alphabet with her body. I was strangely engrossed. Her name was Martha Rosler and I wonder what she’s up to now [she’s 82]. One artist had converted overalls into gender-specific clothing, adding pubes and genitals—the cloth penis was basic, but captivating. There was a Yayoi Kusama piece which involved a boat filled so completely with white sock-like objects, and then just a pair of women’s shoes like Where’s Wally. I stumbled on a random portrait of Akasha [from Queen of the Damned] I was not expecting. And seeing an iconic classic Mondrian was definitely something special.
Yes, I went off wandering just to see a specific street which has trees growing a certain way: Lomanstraat. This was a suggestion from someone, and a last minute one at that: I would see if I could squeeze it in, and when I realised it wasn’t too far from Stedelijk I knew I could make it absolutely work. The walk itself was quite peaceful and needed—I got to see a different part of Amsterdam and enjoy a different architecture style altogether. Lomanstraat in question was beautiful. Perhaps, yes, not exactly a major landmark, and not worth it if I wasn’t in the area, but the beauty of looking down a street shaded in the green of trees angular towards one another like a tunnel did something to my brain. Soothed it for a second there, I don’t know. I thought fuck walking all the way back though, and I went and waited for another tram, although to be completely honest both times I attempted to tap on it was not working for me so I sorta just jumped on and off this tram without registering my City Card, which granted me free public transport in the city anyway, but maybe it didn’t count that area…whatever, I’m not the first person to not pay for public transport. And I won’t be the last. I felt weird for three seconds after I hopped off, then it was not my problem.
The FOAM Photography Museum had yes been on the plan for today, but I was wandering back from the tram stop I got off and I thought, maybe there is a better idea under the surface? After I quickly stopped for one of the waffles I’d been eyeing off in the window of many a store, which was delicious, and said goodbye to the man who had served me who seemed like he either hated his job or thought I was a fucking idiot, I walked back to the hotel to pick up my backpack and went over the road, back to ARTIS. Thanks to the City Card and me having paid for my zoo ticket before realising the City Card was even an option, I could go back to the zoo free of charge, and it was absolutely worth it for like the just under two hours I went for. Not only did an ostrich walk right up to the fence, but I saw at last the one important animal missing from my visit the other day, the striped skunk. [I’m convinced the anteater doesn’t even exist]. Seeing the skunk made everything completely worth it! And there was a second raccoon too! They were eating their food, which technically was an afternoon snack, or a late lunch really. I am just so happy I saw a skunk.
But now it is time to say goodbye to Amsterdam, and the Netherlands entirely. I have spent my final day here, and thoroughly enjoyed all of my time in The Netherlands. I will miss: Albert Heijn (the supermarket); staying across the road from the zoo ARTIS; and the sheer number of museums everywhere you turn here in Amsterdam. I will not miss: the sheer number of cyclists who could potentially murder you; the amount of smokers on the street and all the litter they cause with their toxic cigarettes on the ground; and that one instance where a man thought I spoke Dutch somehow and started talking to me only in Dutch and I just had to awkwardly nod and hope and pray it never happened again. Although god who knows it might just happen soon but in French.
Dag, Netherlands.
Keeley Talks [about things that quite literally occurred to him]
wherein I recount the ways in which I was a tourist in whichever part of Europe I found myself in.
Sunday the 31st of August:
Another opening, another show—train edition of course! Time to venture from Amsterdam to Brussels, and in order to do so, we’ll be taking two separate trains. The first until Schiphol Airport, and then transfer to the Eurocity Direct until my final destination (of the whole trip in Europe too!) …Brussels, Belgium! The first train was really nothing special—I was on it for about fifteen minutes, lingering near the doors until it was time to switch. The second train, however, was where everything started to become more interesting, or annoying, depending how you look at it. Compared to other trains I have been on for traversing long distances with luggage, this train had hardly enough room for luggage, so I awkwardly stumbled for a seat and found a spot in a four-seater where thankfully I could set down my luggage in front of me. I was all nerves, trying to cool off and breathe because there had been truly no real issues, I merely felt like I was in the way. But, in time, there would be space for me to put away my suitcase and just enjoy the rest of the trip in peace. Or so I thought…
When we arrived at Antwerp station, several people began to board the train, and then suddenly WHACK! one of the train managers/security started banging on the outside of the train window, shouting at them in what I presume was either Dutch or French, and they backed on out of the train confused and conflicted, a tad amused at the spectacle the man was making. He then went over the PA to make an aggressive, angered speech in a language other than English and I made eye contact with the girl sitting diagonal from me and we giggled at how insane it sounded. I have no idea if she understood, but to me it was sharp, harsh gibberish and certainly eased me a little, to know I wasn’t the fuck-up for once.
Welcome to Brussels! I had arrived, hopped off the train, and unfortunately my first impression was “oh so Brussels is dirty”. It wasn’t the most hygienic of entrances, but it also was unmarred by anyone caring if I had a passport or not. They really do not care so long as you came from another country in the EU—maybe I was expecting at least SOMEONE to check, even briefly. Just to say, “yeah you’re allowed through.” I think a part of me had got it twisted that the whole of the world would be absolutely terrified you might be trying to smuggle in a bomb or something. But yes, I had made it to Brussels, and it was definitely pinch-me to believe I was in Belgium of all places. Tick that one off the list. Third European country officially visited…I don’t know if I could count France if I never got off the train. Speaking of trains, I navigated down to the Metro because I realised I could check-in early to the hotel, so away we went, off to get settled in proper to Brussels.
Once I said my first “bonjour” and got my room key, I took the lift to the 25th floor for my room and was immediately impressed. Turns out I was upgraded free of charge simply because I was staying for longer than I suppose other guests did, and there it was, my hotel room with a separate room for the massive bed, a fold-out couch already made up as a bed, a spacious bathroom, a mini refrigerator, a table with four chairs, and probably the most exciting thing of all, a Smart TV!!! No more watching things exclusively on my phone in hotel rooms! I was truly stoked, and the room upgrade felt spacious and rewarding, with a fantastic view looking out onto a part of the city with old-fashioned buildings. I couldn’t even care that I have to go all the way up to the 25th floor—this is a celebration of all I have been able to experience over the course of this trip so far, and how I can be excited about the future even if going home means I have to figure out what I’m doing with it. I’m just grateful. Here’s to an excellent five days with this hotel room as home base.
Once I’d settled into the hotel room and got myself sorted, I wandered into the streets to experience a little bit of what Brussels had to offer. Chocolate shops, tonnes of chocolate shops, waffle houses and gorgeous buildings. A beer museum. A lot of statues of anthropomorphic fries. Rainbow crossings and cartoons painted as murals, including one of national treasure Tintin. A building called “Drug Opera” that seemed like a restaurant?? After a time I realised I completely forgot my intention should have been to look for something to eat as a late lunch, so I found a place that serves fries that wasn’t too busy—because a lot of them were incredibly busy—and ordered myself a Big serving with ketchup and aioli…now why is Australia basically the only country that calls it tomato sauce? Just stupid. Tomato sauce has no real ring to it like ketchup does. Anyway, the fries were absolutely delicious, as were the sauces for dipping, and I was truly already in love with being here. Even if I felt hesitant about speaking only in English, like I was being scrutinised for not picking up some French (or Dutch).
My final task for the day was proving to be a strangely difficult one to accomplish—I needed to go to a supermarket to get some things for the week, but it seemed like any in close distance to my hotel were closed or somewhat sketchy. After a failed attempt to locate one near a clocktower at a train station, I tried again in the opposite direction and at last! An open supermarket! I cheered, it was truly thrilling, and I wandered through the store looking for the things I needed—something for breakfast, apples, a little treat, something to drink. I know I ought to stop treating myself, but at least I keep getting fruit to attempt to balance it out. Really I need more vegetables, but I don’t have much of a chance to prepare them in hotels and I’m largely avoiding restaurants to save on money. I’ll eat a lot more vegetables when I’m home. I better. Anyway, I said bonjour to the cashier and he started talking in French so not doing that again! It’s all so complicated. You say it because you want to be polite to French-speakers, but then they assume you’re fluent and you’re like no sorry I’m an Australian peasant. But it’s hardly a thing to complain about.
Monday the 1st of September:
Fuck this morning. Fuck my brain. Fuck delayed trains. Truly a complicated mess of a morning kickstarted by my inability to understand trains in Belgium and just trust the small part of my brain saying it must be that. I trust instead hard visible truths, and the side of the train said “Brussels Airport” so I figured sure that’s not my train, but then why wasn’t it leaving?? I quickly realised as the train pulled away that I am dumb and should’ve jumped on that train, but oh well, we’ll figure out another plan, I thought. Everything went downhill from there. Trains were delayed, then completely deleted. I ended up at Brussels-Zuid-or-Midi (it’s both but idk) and waited there for over an hour, but at last I was off towards one station, which I then changed from and got to the absolute middle-of-nowhere Cambron-Casteau, a mere fifteen minutes from Pairi Daiza…
It was completely surreal walking into Pairi Daiza. This is a zoo I have thought about for a while, dreaming in my mind of visiting it—it was truly the only deciding factor on coming to Brussels, and I absolutely felt a wave of joy walking in. A “this is my moment” feeling. Map in hand, I began my journey around the world. I knew, given the absolute massive scale of the zoo, I had to have a game plan with Pairi Daiza. Where else better to go than the freezing cold, the Land of the Cold if you will, where animals that could hardly survive in Australia live. Of course I had to weave my way towards this, and along the way I giddily gasped seeing a secretary bird, but soon saw wolves, raccoons, musk ox (!!), polar bears, and WALRUSES! My heart exploded seeing a walrus swimming around. They are so absolutely ginormous. The underwater cave in which you can view them is so phenomenal in construction, and it wasn’t until later in the day I realised it lead onto the penguins cave, which in itself was excellently constructed. The theming of this zoo is impeccable. Nothing is just tacked together. It’s so purposeful in design.
Moving from the Land of the Cold, I entered the Land of Ganesha, and was almost immediately taken aback by a temple with a gorgeous view of Pairi Daiza. Quickly, you take in the sheer size of the zoo and the landmarks of it—other zoos don’t quite have temples and lighthouses and complete mountains in them. The Land of Ganesha, themed around the Indian subcontinent, featured elephants, black jaguars, porcupines, and an elusive white tiger I only ever saw the back half of. Like a little island jotting off the coast, the Island of the Rising Sun was themed around Japanese animals like an absent raccoon dog, red crowned cranes, Japanese macaques, a siamang that kept shitting overhead, and a Siberian Flying Squirrel for some reason?? (I’m getting word that despite the name, they do live in Japan too.) The little area was themed gorgeously and felt like Japan in the sense of coming from someone who has never been to Japan. Like the closest I’ve gotten. I also had pasta in a big cup for lunch, which was delicious and which I ate in a large ship which had been turned into part restaurant, part reptile house.
Australia is represented in the Austral Cape, equipped with didgeridoo music and budgies and kangaroos in with Tasmanian devils for some reason. It was nice to be in familiar territory, but the Austral Cape certainly felt like a quick beginner’s course on Australian animals and then I was right back to it into the Middle Kingdom, a sprawling Asian-themed region featuring animals such as the golden snub-nosed monkey, red panda, giant panda, unseen binturong, and the golden takin (!!). I am so in love with the takin, a beautiful creature I have never before seen in person, but I am so grateful to be able to check that off the list, and to have stood there smiling. The Middle Kingdom theming is incredible and really reminds you just how well-executed Pairi Daiza is. Those giant greenhouses house the mythical, unseen sloth, although frankly every zoo in Europe I’ve been to has had sloths so I can’t complain too much about not seeing one today. I also saw more flamingos, egrets, various other bird species, and somehow completely missed the sun bear?? [Update: the sun bear is not there anymore]. Before moving onto another section of the zoo, I ducked into the Aquarium building and was genuinely flabbergasted—the theming from the jump makes you feel like you’re inside a submarine, one dedicated to the research of marine life, instead of just a building. The sea turtle looked a little unexcited to be there, but otherwise I saw everything from rays to axolotls to sharks to a million and one species of fish.
Initially I had passed briefly through the section of the zoo known as Cambron L’Abbaye to get to the Land of the Cold, but now I gave myself a proper look around and explored perhaps the most exciting, thrilling restaurant of all my life. But it wasn’t so much the restaurant that appealed to me—surrounding the sitting area were the enclosures for everything from white-faced saki to meerkats, toucans to cloud rats, cockatoos to armadillo. The sheer expanse of the animal inhabitants made the actual eatery part of the restaurant small and minute. Onward I went, flabbergasted, looking at owls and vultures and AN ANTEATER, until I moved to the Last Frontier, where I stood in awe of a moose lounging on the water’s edge, saw American black bears splashing through the water, fell for the seals swimming up to the glass, and saw my very first puma, another big cat to the list. I could not see a beaver, which disappointed me, but I will try again no doubt about it. We will see a beaver dammit. [We did not see a beaver.]
The final region left to be completed was the Land of Origins, themed around African animals, like the gorgeous giraffes, zebras, and rhinoceros. I saw my first shoebill, gasping in between photographs, and happily watched as a hyena lifted its head out of the grass to take a peek at the world. The gorillas lived in these supermassive volcano-like mountains, fake of course, and a hippopotamus was doing laps of the pool. I will never not be so impressed to see a hippo, their fantastic size, their beautiful smile. I can sometimes feel like the African section of a zoo is samey, you see so many iterations of it across every zoo you go to, but this was definitely special like the rest of Pairi Daiza. I cannot believe the opportunity I had to see this zoo in person at last. But I am incredibly grateful I get to do it all over again before I leave Europe at the end of the week. Next time I come to Belgium I better be staying in one of these rooms at the resort.
Tuesday the 2nd of September:
First on the agenda for a day in the city of Brussels was the chocolate museum Choco-Story, which promised to be an education on the history of chocolate and the process in which it has been made over the generations. It was actually proving to be quite interesting—seeing how cocoa or cacao or whatever it is was once used vs of course how it now symbolises the chocolate-obsessed world we live in. That chocolate was originally a “spicy” drink that white people colonised to suit the taste of Europeans, and then the industry only boomed in the process. Chocolate’s connection to the ancient gods. How people once drank hot chocolate in the morning and cold chocolate at night. That it once was the symbol for wanting to take a woman to bed, an insane aphrodisiac meant to signify that a man wanted to woo a woman by drinking some chocolate with her. And that truly is the power of chocolate. It makes me horny, you are right. Horny for more chocolate.
Unfortunately a museum that size should never allow as many people inside at one time, but it started to become more manageable as people changed pace through the museum—I imagine if you came after opening it would be a little less cramped to begin with. People just irritate me and they stand in the way or they don’t watch where they’re going, and often enough I wanted to scan my audio tour player on the next listening point on the wall but people were standing around it gazing unnecessarily. I think I just hate people though honestly so that was probably why I kept getting annoyed anytime someone stood in my way or took too long to move. As I said, over the course of the museum it became less frustrating, and really didn’t ruin my experience entirely. I didn’t wait around for the demonstration because I didn’t care enough, oh well, but I did love the museum and the heavily-themed gift shop was nice, although I got my Belgian chocolate from a store down the road, in an alley almost entirely made of chocolate shops. They are so so many, frankly it is difficult to decide who to buy from.
After eating some lunch, I made my way down to the Sewer Museum which, initially, seemed like a cruel joke—nothing much was in English above ground, or frankly below it either. I entrusted in the audio guide to keep me sane and give me information on what I was looking at, which frequently was diagrams of how sewers work and the various pieces of construction and the very importance of sewers to this day. Never quite imagined I would be in a museum dedicated to sewers until I started planning this trip, but here we are, hitting our head on the roof of a reconstructed sewer tunnel, listening to a nervous man have an existential crisis about whether he knows why a manhole is round. After getting all the information on what makes a sewer and why the sewerage system exists today the way it is, I stood in front of a glass door, staring down a staircase.
Into the abyss we go. At first, I thought, okay, I can smell the disgusting, distinct odour of the sewer already, but the audio guide was quick to remind me this was only the river Senne first, much more pleasant than the actual sewer system. The river Senne was covered over when the city’s infrastructure for the sewers was being constructed, because the river was clearly disgusting with sewerage already anyway and they needed to do something about actually planning out a capital city for Belgium. Once we turned the corner, we were in the actual sewer, and goodness it stunk. The putrid smell hits your nose immediately and you scrunch up your face but push on, because it’s actually pretty interesting being in a sewer in Brussels, Belgium. There isn’t too much to see down there—no rats today—but you can at least glimpse what a sewer looks like, smells like, and then move right along with your day. Definitely one of the more unique museums of this trip, which only makes it more worthwhile. You gotta do weird shit and hope you don’t smell like shit.
Brussels’ Comic Art Museum boasts of being the world’s first museum for comic book art and frankly, it is an impressive collection of exhibits worthy of that title. Inside a gorgeous Art Nouveau building, you go through a history of Belgian comic strips and artwork, learning about all the different artists who have paved the way for the comic books of today, including of course the creator of the beloved Tintin, Hergé. It was fascinating to see how different an art style can be even from different artists within the same country, although not surprising. Maybe I was more surprised over how widespread and adored comic art in Belgium is. There is so much talent pouring out of this country even still and it makes me feel blessed to be even engaging in this part of it. I found out about a comic strip called Kinky and Cosy which just sounds like a hoot and a half, plus saw a series of covers for the queer side of Belgian comic art, including one called Max en Sven which I would love to read if I ever found it translated into English. Yeah good luck to me honestly.
After wrapping up in the museum by looking through an artist’s gorgeous work, understanding the process of how to make and publish a comic, and seeing a section from the comic version of The End of the Fucking World which made me very happy, I ducked into the gift shop to buy myself a Tintin book in English, wandered off and found some delicious “Mama Mia” pizza for dinner, and headed back to my hotel room to shower off whatever sewer stench might have clung to my body before watching an episode of Survivor: All Stars because at last I could begin rewatching it!
Wednesday the 3rd of September:
Making my way by metro to the Heysel station, I stood in awe of the sheer size of Atomium, a supersized iron atom looming over the surroundings, which once saw the World Exposition in 1958. Atomium, much like the Eiffel Tower, was once a temporary thing to attract visitors and promote atomic power, but also similarly, it saw such a welcome positive uproar it remains to this very day, albeit as a celebration not only of its creation but of the future of technology and science. And lasers! Immediately as you go inside the first floor building you skyrocket up an incredible elevator—the elevator takes you from ground-level to the highest of the spheres in Atomium, but you hardly feel like you are taking much time at all. It was the fastest elevator in Europe at the time of construction and opening in 1958, and it makes the bolt upwards smooth. From above, you can glance out at the Belgian skyline, looking all around to see the sights of Brussels, and for a city I’ve only known for a couple of days, I truly enjoyed getting this perspective. Brussels is a diverse, interesting city with a wealth of history and the view from the ultimate sphere in Atomium is spellbinding. I also never felt anxious about being so high up while in the panorama viewing sphere. But the tour of Atomium does not end there.
The remainder of the tour is part museum in dedication to the design and construction of Atomium and the World Expo in ‘58, part laser and light show. Learning about how ginormous the World Expo was even in the 1950s was fascinating, and made me wonder what it would have been like to be back in the past, back in Brussels in 1958, wandering the meticulous grounds. Apparently the World Expo still occurs?? I never hear it make much of a fuss though, which is unfortunate, but I suppose we are living in the future they once were so excited for. We’re also living in the past too but whatever. Atomium was once pitched to be a giant lightning rod of a tower instead, and I am so grateful they decided to go with something so visually striking and interesting, as insane as a giant atom is. Most of the other accessible spheres housed various light, laser, and colour shows, which probably would dazzle young children but today just wasn’t the day for any of those to be visiting while I was there. It was an interesting way to at least do something with the various empty spheres, but not the most compelling.
After housing down a delicious turkey and cheese panini and dodging the slightly rainy weather, I headed towards Mini-Europe, a theme park of “making small things out of big things”. Every iconic landmark in the European Union (and the countries that left in Brexit), made in miniature, sized down for you to walk right beside without craning your neck. Mini-Europe takes you around the continent of Europe, beginning in Denmark and ending in Greece—there isn’t necessarily a rhyme or reason as to where the tour takes you, but countries near to one another seem to be grouped together. Portugal and Spain beside one another, England near Scotland, Belgium beside and within The Netherlands. There is a semblance of connectivity, but the excellent inclusion of a guide booklet gives all the relevant information you need to know about the countries, the landmarks, and details about history, language, culture, and iconography.
Mini-Europe truly has everything! Every country in the European Union, I assume, is represented, right down to Malta, which of course holds a special place in my heart—Malta’s miniature landmark is Mnajdra, the ancient ruins I will surely one day visit when I can get my ass to Malta. Seeing everything not only in miniature but in incredible detail is something truly thrilling, and yes the architecture and geography and history nerd came out in me as I crossed all the borders to see the entirety of the EU in under two hours. I posed in front (well, behind) of the Eiffel Tower and jokingly implied I had somehow jetted to Paris after being inside a giant atom. I saw familiar icons from this very trip—the Royal Cresent, Dover Castle, Big Ben, and the City Hall for Brussels, which looks equally as incredibly impressive scaled down to fit on the lawn. Mt Vesuvius is here! And Mt Vesuvius is shaking the ground under my feet and blowing smoke in my face! I watched some tiny men on horses joust, watched sirens attempt to lure Odysseus to his death, tried desperately to find the TARDIS on the model of Westminster Palace, and got a plethora of travel inspiration for the next time I journey to Europe. Which will definitely happen, but sometime in the future when I have a job, a stable income, and more savings to drain!
Brussels’ Design Museum might not have been large, but it was fascinating regardless. The exhibit on skateboarding was at least somewhat curious, even if I care very little for skateboarding—it’s cool to know surfers were the ones who crafted the very concept of skateboarding as a way to practice their tricks on land. The permanent collection dedicated to plastic in its many forms had some pretty interesting furniture that made me think of what it would be like to construct a Big Brother house predominantly out of recycled plastic. I didn’t end up spending much time in the Design Museum, but not because I was bored. It’s simply a small museum, and I’m grateful I got entry through the Brussels Card. I enjoyed my time there, but I cleared through it relatively quickly and then knew it was my time to leave the area and head back to my hotel.
I knew it would be impossible to be in Belgium and not have a single waffle—so with some spare time in my afternoon, I wandered off in search of a delicious waffle, and found a scrumptious morsel to taste. I housed down a chocolate chip waffle, savouring every single bite. Absolutely delicious, and proved why we call them Belgian waffles. They really aren’t better anywhere else but here. [waffle was from Galet.] Later on, I left the hotel room once again to get dinner, treated myself to a delicious Five Guys burger, fell in love with these “bookmark pringles” as I’m calling them, and disappointingly couldn’t take a bath because the plug wouldn’t…plug. But oh well, that’s fine, a nice shower and a wash of the hair was in order, before it started to rain…
Thursday the 4th of September:
Back, back, back again to Pairi Daiza, and this time I didn’t completely miss the first train…but I missed the second because the transfer time is three minutes and we were three minutes behind schedule. So I really had fantastic luck when it came to getting to the zoo on both occasions, and for that, I sentence Belgium’s public transport to the electric chair. Begone with you! Fix your messy, messy mayhem. Just kidding, it’s not all terrible. Though at this point I certainly missed 50c fares, even if the trains do be interesting in Queensland. Anyway, I made it to the Cambron-Casteau train station, which, again, sick name for a train station, and it was strangely quieter today than on Monday. Which would later prove to be one thing: it was a much quieter day at the zoo, and that suited me perfectly.
Coming to Pairi Daiza for a second day was absolutely the right decision, and especially with a gap in between. Immediately I was awash with the excitement of being there again, thrilled to experience everything all over again. But it was important to me to not only diversify my plan for the day, but prioritise the sections of the zoo I perhaps gave less time to on the Monday. So my immediate plan of action was to dart towards The Land of Origins, but not before visiting an area of the zoo I had seemingly overlooked. Beyond the greenhouse which was supposed to contain a sloth, among the beautiful birds, I wandered into a walkthrough area with bats, and I don’t like bats, so I didn’t stay there for very long at all. But the true highlight of this spot was the koi building, which was hardly a building because it had no roof, but also had a tank with GHARIALS in it. Gharials! I love them, and I loved seeing them today. Absolutely loved. I was making ground on what I had missed on Monday, but there would be more to come on that. It was proven essential very quickly why I had given myself two days to properly explore every nook and cranny of Pairi Daiza.
In the Land of Origins, a hippo frightened a young child, or I assume the hippo did, because hippos need to be taken seriously as actual threats that could kill you if they wanted to. Later, a hippo floated ominously up against the glass wall in its pool, which gave me some truly iconic images. For lunch, I had a salad with tuna which sat on top of two peach halves, which seemed like an absurd combination but actually surprisingly tasted delicious. I don’t understand if this is a Belgian custom I don’t know about, or if people all around Europe are mentally unhinged like this, but I myself am strange and unusual so I enjoyed my lunch in the Oasis restaurant, surrounded by a jungle of creatures, including the armadillo I will never see. I don’t think I am meant to see an armadillo. They are my white whale.
It was truly so peaceful wandering around the zoo without crowds of people. Sure, they were the infrequent hordes, but I got to wander through the aquarium building almost entirely uninterrupted and didn’t have to feel awkwardly pushed along or trying to squeeze between the gaps of slow people. I also got to comfortably listen to “Kill for Love” by Lady Gaga without her gorgeous voice being drowned out by a plethora of loud non-English sounds and noises. Success. Outside, I saw a handful of seals in the lake surrounding the lighthouse, although it beats me what species they were because, say it with me, there was no sign indicating what species they were! Much like those horses, which I assume are just horses but I would love to know what * type* of horse. Speaking of signage though, apparently Pairi Daiza has bison I could neither see nor knew about previously, which is fun, because I adore bison. But yeah I never saw them. And there is absolutely no signage to indicate the raccoons share their home with a SKUNK, which I was incredibly thrilled about because I love skunks. What a joy. Seeing another skunk.
While I was in the Last Frontier region of the zoo, I stopped atop the viewing area for the Eurasian brown bears and fell deeply in love. These majestic bears now have my heart. The eight of them truly captivated me, even without doing a whole lot of anything. I think there’s something about how relaxed and unfazed they looked. None of them really seemed to give a fuck what was going on around then, and the snoozer or merely relaxed, in an enclosure to envy. I think it’s the obvious decision for me to choose to stay in either the Tiger residence or the cold, Walrus-or-Penguin one, but after today the Brown Bear-and-Wolves lodgings seemed to grow more and more tempting. I could see myself sitting by the window, watching a brown bear sit all the same on the other side of the glass, unbothered and perched on a log. Mind you, I saw not a single wolf there, and I do love wolves. Unfortunately, I never did see a beaver neither. They simply do not exist! Lazy, you should be building a dam, why are you not building a damn dam?
After everything, after experiencing the zoo all over again, I decided it was time to make my way back towards the exist and say my goodbyes to Pairi Daiza. Hell, I’d seen two white tigers, my day was more than satisfying. There is something strange about seeing a white tiger—I sort of instinctively acknowledge that they’re meant to be a rarity, but zoos treasured them in the past for this quality which could draw in attention. Nevertheless, it was fascinating to see a white tiger. I thought I would stop briefly into the bird aviary near the entrance before I left to go look at souvenirs, but the bird aviary had other plans for me. One bird was idling near the entrance, and I thought okay surely it will just dance away when I saunter in, but the bird stood its ground. With every move I made, it followed like a mirror image, and I felt oddly disturbed by this bird’s taunting. When a couple entered into the aviary behind me, the man swung his water bottle around as if to gauge for the bird’s reaction and the bird lunged for the bottle, clearly disturbed itself. I backed my way out of there. I don’t care enough to disturb birds. Y’all are crazy. I love you, but you’re crazy. I darted towards the gift shops, tried aimlessly at first to find something I liked, then found a walrus magnet with the name of the zoo beneath it, and, satisfied, wandered off back to the train station so elated I could burst like Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Friday the 5th of September
I wrote no notes for the last complete day I spent in Brussels, because on the whole I hardly did much of anything to warrant notes. I explored the city one last time, taking in different landmarks I had yet to take in, including a beautiful church, the Cathedrale Saints-Michel-et-Gudule, which was the background for a photoshoot for a woman in a black dress. She looked miniscule in front of the absolutely massive church.
I ate food, bought Turtle Diary by Russell Hoban, ate more food, and had a relaxing time packing my suitcase before I left the next day. Just kidding, the packing was not very fun or relaxing, but it wasn’t stressful because I had the whole afternoon to do it. What we did learn though is that because I had no one to hype me up, I caved into the exhaustion of constantly walking around and flopped onto the fold-out bed in the hotel room and watched multiple episodes of Sex and the City, Pokémon Concierge, Survivor: All Stars, and an episode of Fit for TV: The Reality of Biggest Loser, as well as The Perfect Man, a movie about Hilary Duff catfishing her mum.
It was safe to say I was exhausted and ready to go home, because that was my final day, and by midday the next day I was leaving Belgium completely and heading back to London to catch my flight…at 10pm at night. I don’t know what I was thinking. Except that I had to leave the hotel before check-out, and didn’t want to be panicking getting to the airport. But there would be none of that.
Saturday the 6th and Sunday the 7th of August:
I will never forget this incredible trip. I left the country for the very first time, I experienced cultures and countries I have never experienced before, and I was in Europe. These are the reasons I am alive, when so often I think about how much more thrilling it would be to be dead. Not everyone can afford to go to Europe for almost a month. I spent a lot of money to achieve it.
While I killed time before going to Heathrow Airport, I caught up with a friend I haven’t seen in a while, and it was excellent to catch up with him, but also just to see a familiar face in person again. My time in Europe is marked by a lot of time being alone, and some loneliness, but I wouldn’t reverse time to have company the whole time. I have the vacation I have DREAMED of, and to make sure I didn’t leave the continent completely crazy, I saw someone familiar in an afternoon.
Getting home sucked, because when you’re traveling for an entire day you lose every bit of your sanity. I think the next time I have a flight even four hours long I will think it completely a breeze compared to the thirteen-hour-flight from London to Singapore.
It’s been real incredible reflecting on Europe. Until next time.
- Keeley.
Go Forth...
I love to recommend things. As someone who consumes a lot of media, lots of art, I am always brimming with something to recommend, something for someone else to ingest...even if their opinion on the thing, the art, the media differs from mine. It is always important to remember that tastes vary, and one person's snide disapproval of something you adore does not diminish the fact you love something. So, go forth and ingest something from me to you. Sounds like I'm regurgitating into your mouth.
Films: Oh, Hi!; The Long Walk; and Imitation of Life.
Books: Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Music: "That's Funny" by Renee Rapp; "Here All Night" by Demi Lovato
Television: Big Brother Australia circa 2001; season five of Only Murders in the Building; and Pokémon Concierge