Concluding our Belgium series for half term, Jess Baldwin and her comic-obsessed son swap the guidebook for the gaps between the sights, finding mischief, murals and a wonky woodland den at Sofitel Brussels Europe…
“Blis…ter…ing… bar…na…cles,” my son George bittily mouths, phonetically tackling one of Captain Haddock’s more colourful curses. Unfortunately, this moment of phonetic brilliance coincides with him devouring a complimentary croissant; the spectacular pastry-fuelled explosion which ensues, briefly threatening the serenity of the zen-like Eurostar Premier Lounge.
Having conquered the salty slur, he stares up from beneath a blanket of buttery flakes, awaiting an explanation. But it’s 6am and I’m not yet compos mentis enough to translate Haddock’s theatrical ramblings – especially to a child wearing more calories than I’ve managed to consume today. Unfazed, he flicks another page, diving back into the action – and the remnants of his croissant.
But while George thirstily scans the comic for more nail-biting battles and death-defying defeats, I’m not ready for the whooshes and kerpows just yet. Instead, my eyes retreat to the gutter – or, as some poetically call it, ‘the magic space’.
You see, for all their thumping and kerplunking, comics are never complete. Vital parts remain unwritten in those inkless gaps between the pow-packed panels. The unassuming slivers of white may look like little more than a bleachy void, but these synapse-igniting pauses force you to join the dots. It’s these brief moments of nothingness which transform someone else’s sketches into a story – your story.
Holidays follow a similar formula. But big hitters such as Paris and New York have an uncanny habit of writing your whole story for you – regurgitated guidebooks cramming your weekend with must-see sights and cliche bucket-list experiences. Yet often the most memorable moments lie in the quiet space between the action: the wrong turn, the chance meeting, the hour with nowhere to be.
Brussels felt different. Its political column inches may be Trumpian in scale, yet when it comes to the travel pages, the Belgian capital is curiously absent. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. Just a couple of hours on Eurostar, this famously green capital is a doddle to reach, wonderfully walkable and packed with dazzling Art Nouveau architecture – and that’s before the locals ply you with free chocolate at every given opportunity.
The silver lining of this oversight is that we arrived with just one pow-filled panel written for us; strolling the UNESCO-listed Grand Place – one of the most beautiful squares in the world. Yet just moments from its Gothic guildhalls (the gilding of which is also of Trumpian proportions) we find ourselves dwarfed by ten-foot-tall knights and mammoth medieval maidens – just some of the 1,400 participants taking place in the evening’s Ommegang pageant. That evening they would be parading through the moonlit streets with bedecked horses and fellow giants in a bid to recreate the arrival of Emperor Charles V and his son Philip II in Brussels in 1549. One ‘wrong’ turn into our weekend and we’d already tumbled into a medieval procession.
From here, we swerve the camera-clutching crowds hunting out the iconic Manneken Pis, instead venturing aimlessly into chocolate-scented backstreets – not that there’s anything wrong with queuing to gawp at bronze statues of pre-pubescent children pissing in the street. Beauty is in the eye, and all that.
Familiar faces greet us at our next turn; supersized Tintin, Haddock and Snowy, immortalised on the side of a cloud-scraping building as part of Brussels’ 80-strong Comic Strip Trail – the city’s playful answer to ridding the capital of billboards, one wall at a time. The Street Art Trail adds another 150 or so murals into the city’s architecture- international artists turning bricks and mortar into brilliant canvases. Together, they make the city feel like an enormous open-air gallery.
And as I write this, the city’s technicolour flower carpet is blooming across Grand Place once again, filling the ancient square with 700,000 Belgian flowers – more colour, creativity and art loose on the capital’s streets. True to form, diplomacy is threaded through this pollen-filled spectacle, this year it’s celebrating 160 years of friendship with Japan.
And the magic doesn’t stop when you leave the ancient turrets and towers behind. These artworks creep into even the most corporate corners of this curious city – even the European Quarter, where glass, steel and concrete reign supreme and EU flags patriotically flicking this way and that in the breeze as bureaucrats hurry between institutions. Yet behind the political bravado is lush, lived-in neighbourhood, held together by a backbone of elegant parks, dotted with art-filled squares and peppered with top-notch museums.
Watching over Place Jourdan, where locals flock day and night for its atmospheric pavement cafes and famous chips, is Sofitel Brussels Europe. From outside, its smart, glassy façade looks suitably business-like. Yet inside a super-sized Manneken Pis greets guests, unapologetically urinating over the lobby from on high. This Japanese-inspired take on the mischievous icon by local artist Patrick Gerola is yet another artistic celebration of the country’s ties with the Land of the Rising Sun.
Beyond it, a botanical mural climbs through the artsy atrium, a respectful nod to the city’s street-art obsession. Infamously uncomfortable in stuffy 5* establishments, the unexpected sight instantly puts George at ease and he soon found himself playing ball in reception with one of the waiters. For all of its French polish and chain credentials, Sofitel has an admirable knack of tapping into the culture of the cities it calls home, giving guests a real sense of place.
Follow the mural’s twisting trunks and lacquered leaves skyward and you’ll find the hotel’s hidden rooftop bar, its panoramic views providing the a front row seat to the city. On our first night, our sundowner was hijacked by hundreds of neon-clad roller-skaters thundering through Place Jourdan, disco classics blaring as a giant mobile disco swept into town, engulfed the square and rolled into the night – not a briefcase in sight.
The view was just as impressive from our airy corner suite. Overlooking both Place Jourdan and Parc Leopold, it was spacious enough for George to claim the lounge as his makeshift bedroom and well placed enough to not miss a thing. Still buzzing from the roller disco, he steadfastly refused to draw the curtains in case he missed the next spectacle – instead sleeping with one eye open… in his complimentary Little Prince branded slippers. I only the other hand happily closed both eyes – it would be rude not too, having received a silk eye mask on my pillow at turndown.
George’s curtain vigil aside, the suite became more than somewhere to simply sleep. It became our own magic space: a quiet place between the city’s panels, where we could pause before heading back into the action.
On our last day, we were bound for Bois de la Cambre, the city’s soft-edged gateway to the UNESCO-listed Sonian Forest. Our walk took us through bohemian Ixelles – its streets draped in Art Nouveau facades, its waterways ushering us to Cambre Abbey. Tiptoeing through its manicured gardens we felt the need to quickly consult Google – so elaborate and yet totally empty – were they definitely for public consumption? Apparently so.
Finally we reached Bois de la Cambre’s glittering lake, where loved up Brusselaars row aimlessly around sweet Robinson Island before toasting the good life at the island’s famous restaurant, Chalet Robinson – reached by boat. With a chilled champagne in reach I urged George to join me in the queue but was too late… George had already spotted a particularly spectacular fallen tree in the woods nearby – the perfect backbone for a good old-fashioned den, I’m told.
Three hours, two waffles, 8,798 sticks (and no champagne) later, our leafy lair was complete.
No guidebook would recommend spending an entire afternoon building a wonky den. But sat on a moss-covered stool, with twigs in places no lady should have twigs, munching on our Neuhaus turndown chocolates, we’d found what so many tourists miss; our very own magic space.
Rooms at Sofitel Brussels Europe start from €210. For more information visit www.sofitel.accor.com. Eurostar runs regular services between London and Brussels. Upgrade to Premier for priority check-in, lounge access, spacious seats and a three-course meal onboard www.eurostar.com.
For more information about Brussels, including different Comic Strip Trails based on well-known characters, please visit the city’s tourism website at www.visit.brussels.
