Brussels #2of3

There are very interesting outdoor marketplaces near downtown Brussels. It looks like they sell real “fleas” in one large square, while another, a few blocks away, is an antique market with more expensive items. Yet another square, Place du Petit Sablon, built 1890, is an attractive tree-lined park with a fountain, behind wrought iron gates. It is surrounded by 48 neo-gothic columns, each surmounted by a bronze statue of the Medieval guilds of 16th century Brussels — tile and thatch roofers, chair makers, gold beaters, dried cod dealers, etc.

In one store Emmy found an 18 carat gold bracelet with pearls. She returned to the jewelry store the next year and lucky for me, it was closed. Hey, she bought a beautiful bracelet last year, but could she be so lucky two years in a row?

We visited with a distant cousin of Emmy’s. Their home had a basement; kitchen and living room on the next floor; bedrooms and bath above; a den at the top. Stephie works for the “Common Market,” receives a bonus for working in a country other than her home. The cake mix she fixed was from Germany. Belgium didn’t have the flavor of cake she wanted.

One time when we got to Brussels the RV needed a tune-up, and we received directions to a Chrysler dealer near Avenue Louise. It was rather easy to find, but it would have been a help if we had known how they designed this street. A wide road was built around downtown in the space where the city wall used to be. At most intersections, people who want to go straight, have an underpass, those who want to turn, stay to the right. This is fine for those who know where they are going, but doesn’t do much good when we don’t know where we are, where we are going, and can’t speed-read Brussels street signs displayed in two non-English languages, French and Flemish.

We travel with the idea that, “If we don’t care where we are, we aren’t lost.” But right then we cared, and were trying to find the garage, and we did. When we returned to get the camper, we found the engine ran so badly we could hardly drive it to the campsite. Wonder what on earth they did, or didn’t do.

Next morning the mechanic drove it for 20 to 30 minutes, and pronounced the transmission needed work. We told him to adjust the carburetor so we could drive it, and we would take it someplace else. And we did, to a mechanic in Paris.