… I caught the first morning flight from Heathrow to start my new life in Brussels. I knew where I was headed – I had visited the offices twice already – but the sense of excitement and adventure was palpable. It was a Monday; they had more sense than to call me in on my official starting day, Friday the 1st.
I don’t actually remember much more about that week. I was lodged in a flea-pit hotel just off the Avenue Louise, by Place Stephanie. I didn’t spend any more time there than I had to, but I don’t recall going out either. I spent a couple of afternoons traipsing around the neighbouring streets looking for the orange and white ‘à louer’ signs, without success. Then I found an ad for a furnished apartment in Avenue Albert, shook hands on it on the Thursday evening, and on Friday headed back to the UK for the weekend.
All in all, not an auspicious start, although the simple sense of ‘differentness’ was enough to keep me on a very mild high. It’s a feeling that I still get from time to time – curious, that. It doesn’t happen around the busy areas, or the sights; it happens around the suburbs and the side-streets.
I’ve been here half my life (nearly), I’ve left my home country far, far behind, and yet from time to time Belgium still inspires a sense of wonderment. Hope it stays that way.
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