"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year. Stole many a man's soul and faith." — Mick Jagger, 1968 "Your license and registration, please?" was what the traffic cop requested on a misty April night in 2008, after I made an illegal left turn from the parking lot of the International House of Pancakes onto New Hampshire Avenue in Maryland. "Certainly, sir," I politely replied while handing over the desired credentials. Within a few moments of running the ID and plates through the squad car's computer system, Takoma Park's finest smacked me with a hefty fine. Despite the ticket greatly diminishing my savings account, I unknowingly hit the jackpot by impressing a certain blonde female nervously perched in the passenger seat of my '88 Acura Legend. You see, the day of the traffic violation was also me and Sarah's second date after meeting two weeks prior. Ask my girl from the north country today, and that night will forever be remembered as the first mark of the traveling twosome's path. Initially assuming I would be resistant or rude toward the cop, Sarah was gently devoured by what she describes as a "delightful demeanor" during an arresting situation.
However, being polite to a traffic cop wasn't my original strategy in winning over Sarah. After learning that she had never been to an IHOP, I was hoping to impress the Corn Belt native with an introduction to the popular restaurant chain's scrumptious cream topped Belgian waffle. Not only was she impressed, but "our" IHOP, as we later christened it, became a common consumption corner in the blossoming months of our relationship — only with each visit, I was extra cautious not to make that illegal left turn on the way out. Fast forward five years on, and our affection for waffles remain fervent. But after a recent journey to a western most European country otherwise known as the birthplace of the waffle, where, in addition to learning a handful of valuable lessons such as bigger isn't always better and nightmares can be magnificent, Sarah and I discovered that if it looks like a waffle, smells like a waffle, and even tastes like a waffle — it ain't a waffle, unless you're eating it in Belgium . . .
"Remember Belgium and
the Brussels Museum?
Where we piled on the front
steps like stray cavaliers.
Our code of living
meant little to others.
The few francs we saved bought
some cheap souvenirs."
— Elton John, 1981
FINDING THE PERFECT BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR that special someone is never an easy task. And even with today's bombardment of gift cards considerably reducing shopping stress, giving what many perceive as a mere 'piece of plastic' can be a copout. However, since Sarah and I agree that there's no gift like a dream destination, finding the ideal present has never posed a problem. With that said, this past August 6, my girl from the north country bestowed this birthday boy with a dreamy double adventure to Holland and Belgium — with the latter being the focal point of the first of this special two-part episode.
For the record, Belgium is the second country that I've traveled to after France. About ten years back, accompanied by close friends; Brittany, Wendy, and Eleanor, the former and I took a brief train ride through the countryside of Belgium, in pursuit of Amsterdam. With that said, upon arriving in Belgium for a second time — already aware of its illustrious landscape — I knew nothing more regarding the country. So, if you're feeling a bit clueless like I was, no need to worry — here's a brief Belgium break down . . . OFFICIALLY THE KINGDOM OF BELGIUM, THE unofficial capital of the European Union and home to NATO has a population of 11 million and is 1,000 square miles smaller than Maryland, my birth state. On the other hand, Bulgaria, where I've been living for the past four years, has a four million populous less than Belgium and is 30,000 square miles larger in area and located about 1,000 miles northwest of the Sunflower Capital of the World.
With a culture that strongly identifies with Roman Catholicism and a political climate often described as complex, Belgium shares a border with Germany, Luxembourg, France, and the Netherlands. It's also fascinatingly split into two main languages: a 59% Flemish Dutch-speaking community, and a French-speaking population comprising of 41%, with various dialects spoken amongst each group. But despite the clear linguistic divisions, Sarah and I found both the Dutch and French-speaking communities to be exceedingly inviting. Speaking of inviting, next to a large population of Turkish and Moroccan minorities, Belgium has a vast number of Black-born Belgians from various parts Africa. Although there has yet to be an official census count for the Black-Belgian populous, from my keen color spotting observation, I'm banking on at least 25%.
In the addition to the remarkable diversity, I never felt a presence of segregation or xenophobia amongst the people of Belgium. In fact, it was quite common to come across an African or Muslim citizen proudly wearing traditional garb, as well as countless interracial couples embracing in public. And I'm not just referring to the typical Black man with a White woman scenario, as there were an equal number of the rare reversal and many racially diverse groups of teenagers hanging out.
On that note, you've probably already guessed that my celebrity status was purely null and void in Belgium. And, while there was a deep sense of relief not being stared at for once, I found it oddly unusual getting no attention at all. However, midway through my Belgium exploration, it suddenly dawned on me that being catapulted back to average joe status kept me incognito, as I went back for seconds, thirds, and even fourth helpings of waffles and many more great Belgian cuisines of which I'll soon reveal. . .
"A chocolate city is no dream
It's my piece of the rock,
And I dig you, CC."
— George Clinton, 1975
CHOCOLATE HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY BEST friend. When I'm sad, it makes me happy. When I'm down, it brings me up. Never the chocolate snob, I'll eat anything from white, brown, or dark to Hershey, Cadbury, or Ghirardelli. I'm even content devouring one of them bland bunnies during Easter. Since a wide range of chocolates are still lacking in the Sunflower Capital of the World, being receptive to all brands can come in handy. For example, Nutella, an Italian spread widely known throughout Europe, makes toasted wheat taste wondrous, while Milka, a German brand signature to Bulgaria, keeps a steady smile on my face.
With that said, I was pretty stoked upon learning that I'd be spending my birthday in Belgium, a country equally known for its chocolate as it is for its waffles. This certain confectionery popularity was quite apparent after taking a short but stiff flight on Hungary's budget booster known as Wizz Air to the sensational City of Brussels, the capital of Belgium, where Sarah and I were gaily greeted by countless numbers of waffle wagons and chocolate chains, including Godiva, the lord of all chocolates, originally founded in Belgium in 1926.
After tossing back a trinket full of truffles, Sarah and I headed for our cozy accommodation, a B and B style hostel located in Brussels' city center, run by a friendly and funny dude named Edward who helped navigate us around town and even shared many interesting facts about his country, including a run down of Belgian natives such as Sarah's girl Stella Artois and my main man Jacques Brel, the late great French-language songwriter who was recently bestowed with a metro station and a must-see museum. However, the most eyeopening piece of Belgian history Edward relayed was in regard to The Smurfs, whom I initially assumed were as American as apple pie.
Created, written and drawn by a Brussels native simply known as Peyo, The Smurfs have been an original Belgian sensation ever since they first arrived in the pages of the French magazine Spirou in 1958. However, around 1981, The Smurfs secured a permanent place in the history of U.S. pop culture, after Hanna Barbera produced a hugely successful Saturday morning cartoon. Since then, the little blue creatures with white hats, who appeal to both children and adults alike, have expanded into films, action figures, Ice Capades, video games, and even theme parks.
Another interesting fact we discovered about an additional popular pint-sized person from Belgium happened upon arriving at Manneken Pis ("Little Man Pee" in Dutch), a bronze statue that depicts a naked boy urinating into a fountain. Initially, Sarah and I assumed that the iconic landmark would be grand in scale — like Michelangelo's David, for example — but to our utter shock, Manneken Pis stood a mere two feet tall, emitting a laugh worthy sight. On the other hand, after witnessing the enormous and eager crowd, which Sarah and I barely made it through, in order to get a closer glimpse of the tiny trophy, we both agreed that bigger isn't always better.
Speaking of big — and I mean real big — was Atomium, a Logan's Run like structure built for Belgium's 1958's World Fair and recently named CNN's most Bizarre European buildings. While waiting in the ticket line, Sarah and I got acquainted with an American woman, who was a dead ringer for ABBA's Agnetha. After the tour, I did a little CD shopping at Fnac, one of the last great music and movie buying chains standing, where I had a terrific time chatting with a fellow funk loving Italian dude named Elia. Soon after, Sarah and I explored the massive Cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudula and The Grand Place, and later visited a cool interactive comic book exhibition that featured noted Belgian writers and artists, such as the great Herges' The Adventures of Tintin.
"Now girl just tell me straight,
For goodness sake.
Do fries go with that shake?"
— George Clinton, 1986
STANDING RIGHT ALONG SIDE POPULAR myths like 'bats are blind' and 'chewing gum stays in your stomach for seven years' is french fries are from France. Yes, believe it or not boys and girls, the world's most well-known side dish originated in Belgium, not its famous neighbor — or even America — as many believe. And even though the exact whereabouts in Belgium is unclear, I'm putting my euro on the gorgeous Ghent, where Sarah and I gobbled down some of the most gratifying french. . . uh. . . I mean, Belgium fries that would make Ronald McDonald smacksomebody's mama!
However, flavorfulfries weren't the only thing that made Ghent gorgeous. For starters, seeing some of the city's most treasured icons and artifacts, such as the ravishing riverside, Old Post Office, Saint-Nicholas Church, The Belfry, Saint Bavo, and an art museum showcasing a super Serbian painter, and the country's native son Jan van Eyk's gargantuan Ghent Alter Piece, a 15th century polyptych panel painting, were stunning. To top it all off, the Brave and Fearless Castle Hunters effortlessly located the grand castle Gravensteen, one of Belgium's most world renown destinations, which had recently been featured in the wondrous White Queen television series.
"Come with me.
I'll take you where the taste of life is green.
And everyday holds wonders to be seen.
Come with me.
Leave yesterday behind
And take a giant step outside your mind."
— Gerry Goffin and Carole King, 1966
ADOPTING ITS NAME from a legend about a giant named Antigoon, Antwerp, the next Belgian city explored, was liken to an outdoor sauna where plenty of perspiring people poked their feet into fountains for a momentary relief from the heat. Well, perhaps it was the torrid temperatures that went to our heads, because Antwerp will forever be known as the city where the Brave and Fearless Castle Hunters failed to locate a castle on their own.
It all happened while wandering around Antwerp's fabulously flagged City Hall, which stands on the western side of the Great Market Square. As I busied myself taking photographs, Sarah happened upon a friendly female stranger, who was quite impressed at our castle hunting resume and gleefully pointed the way to the monumental Het Steen, a one time abandoned fortress, prison and then museum, which was ultimately demolished for municipal purposes and later rebuilt. Het Steen is one of the few remaining structures from the 10th century. After perusing in and around Het Steen, just before dawn, Sarah and I stopped by the futuristic designed Museum ann de Stroom, located along the river Scheldt and dedicated to power, life, death, and Antwerp's rich past, as one of top international ports. Now tired and famished from our awesome Antwerp inspection, Sarah and I ended the day with a burger for me and a beer for her at the yummy and lively Burgerij.
"Chantilly lace and a pretty face.
And a pony tail hanging down.
That wiggle in the walk.
And giggle in the talk.
Makes the world go 'round."
— Jiles Perry "The Big Bopper" Richardson, 1958
THE BEST waffles in Belgium was, no doubt, located in the Flemish community known as Bruges, a beautiful canal-based city sometimes called the Venice of the North. In fact, the waffles were so amazingly awesome, I could have sworn seeing Sarah secretly purchase a few extra squares, then stash them inside her purse to munch on for later. "But why wouldn't she just tell me?" I asked myself. "Was she going keep them all too herself?" No! What was I thinking? The waffles were good, but Sarah would never stoop to that level. Okay, perhaps the sugar from the waffles had gone to my head.
Anyway, besides the wonderful waffles and silly suspicions, Bruges was also the city where we, unfortunately, endured the most rain. But bad weather didn't stop the Traveling Twosome from exploring Bruges' breathtaking tourists attractions, such as a beautiful boat ride through the city's captivating canals that surrounded the medieval architecture of Rozenhoedkaai, The Bonne-Chiere Windmill, Church of Our Lady Tower, The Belfry of Bruges Bell Tower, The Princely Beguinage Ten Wijngaerde, and a view of Michelangelo's magnificent marbled Madonna.
The aforementioned destinations were quite memorable, but it was four elderly ladies who surprisingly left the greatest impression on me and Sarah in Bruges. It all happened during our last hour in the famous Flemish city. After exploring a lace school called Kantcentrum, Sarah and I stumbled upon four of the most delightful elderly women skillfully twisting and braiding lace. Now, this might sound boring to most, but to truly understand how awesome this was, one must first know the history of lace and its significance to Belgium culture.
You see, like waffles and fries, Belgium — particularly Bruges — is considered the birthplace of all things lace, including the widely celebrated Chantilly Lace, which was originally produced in the nearby Belgium city known as Geraardbergen. With this in mind, immediately after the show, Sarah purchased a few sheets of the women's original Chantilly, while shyly requesting them to be autographed. Surprised and amused, the four artisans happily agreed.
"If you meet me,
Have some courtesy.
Have some sympathy,
And some taste.
Use all your well-learned politesse,
Or I'll lay your soul to waste."
— Mick Jagger, 1968
TWO MONTHS PRIOR to me coming into the world on August 6, 1971, Belgium born director Jean Brismee's theatrical debut of his sole film La Plus Longue Nuit du Diablepremiered throughout European cinemas. A few leaps beyond Hammer's usual steamy overtones, Devil's Nightmare — which it is often interpreted — tells the story of one of Satan's homies tormenting seven tourists stranded in an east European castle. Often panned for its aggressive eroticism, it is equally praised by hardcore horror fans for its eerie mise-en-scene — one that simply astonished this 12 year old, who'd secretly stayed up way past his bedtime, when the film finally premiered in the U.S. on Washington, DC's Channel 20 midnight Creature Feature in 1983.
However, it wasn't just the film's creepy atmosphere that did the trick for this kid. I'd already seen dozens of horrors films of like nature — perhaps even more impressive than Devil's Nightmare. But, this time there was one particular element in Brismee's film that stood out from the rest and ultimately changed my life. It was the script's splendid location at the fictionally named 'von Rhoneberg Castle', a 13th century Neo-Gothic chateau located in a small Belgian town called Antoing. Looking back, it's rather hard to believe that a castle in a horror movie prompted a favorite pastime, which eventually became a vital subplot of the Blog-O-Daria series.
Seven years before finally arriving at Antoing Castle, had anyone told me that I'd one day explore the castle that got me into Castle Hunting, I would have probably checked their temperature. You see, although I've been quite fortunate to have visited many of my dream castle destinations, I'd always thought Antoing would be the one castle that I'd never get to see in the flesh. . . uh, I mean. . . stone. First off, it seemed way off the beaten path's beaten path. Secondly, due to the obscure nature of Devil's Nightmare, not much information is found on the Internet regarding the filming location, save for being shot somewhere in Belgium.
On the other hand, when Sarah announced that Belgium would be a part of my birthday exploration, I knew it was the one and only chance to locate Antoing, so I got desperate. Real desperate. Like Sherlock Holmes on crack, I checked every cranny and nook on the Net hoping to find it. After getting nowhere, I came up with the idea to pause a still of the castle from the DVD, and carefully analyze the frame against various images of chateaus in Belgium, which has a countless number. The process was painstaking, but after finally locating a match, it all paid off in the end. However, I would soon discover that securing a proper address for Antoing was the easiest part. Finding it in person ended up being the toughest Castle Hunt of all time. . . ON THE WAY TO ANTOING, OUR FINAL CITY explored in the Blissful Belgium, Sarah and I took a pit stop in Tournai, the oldest city and key player in the country's cultural history, where we got a quick glimpse of the Belfry and Cathedral of Notre Dame, two most worthy UNESCO World Heritage sites. After a short train ride, we arrived in Antoing and immediately began the difficult hunt for castle Antoing.
To find it, we'd relied heavily on a key element that aided in my Internet search; a tall distinct minaret-like crown situated on top of the castle. Because Antoing was only 12 square miles, it was easy to spot the iconic minaret from a tiny bridge that led into the seemingly deserted town. However, because the roads were quite curvy, there were many wild goose chases trying to connect the correct one to the castle. Finally — and eerily similar to the opening scene in Devil's Nightmare when the seven tourists are in search of von Rhoneberg — an old man seemingly came out of nowhere, prompting Sarah to ask for help. He didn't speak English, but grunted the word "chateau," which means castle in most French speaking countries, then pointed us into the right direction.
In Devil's Nightmare, if you wanted to get inside Antoing Castle, all you needed to be was a stranded tourist. In real life, it's not that simple. You see, the chateau, which is now a private residence of the Prince of Ligne, only allows guests by ways of a rare Sunday tour at the odd hour of 4 pm. Since Sarah and I arrived a couple hours early — quite famished from the hardest hunt ever — after signing up for the tour, we hit up La Madonna, a yummy pizzeria restaurant located a block from the castle.
When the tour group — which creepily consisted of seven people, including a cool dude named Mark from Poland and our knowledgeable and friendly French speaking guide — finally gathered and entered the castle grounds, I got an immediate strange aura making me feel like I was destined to be there. Moreover, after an excellent exploration of both the interior and exterior of the chateau, at the end of tour as the guide ushered everyone from the grounds, I stayed firmly planted in front of the castle in what seemed like a demonic daze.
I couldn't force myself to leave. Call me crazy, spooky, or whatever you like — but it was as if some thing had placed an evil spell over me. Like it wanted to keep me there — just like in Devil's Nightmare! Eventually the persistent calls from the guide snapped me out of whatever temporary spell I was under and I rejoined Sarah and the rest of the group outside. But, regardless of the spooky feelings or predestined signs, all that really matters is that I had finally explored the castle of all castles; the mothership; the one that got me into castle hunting. And you know what, at the end of the day it's all kind of funny when you think about it; my dream, or in this case, my magnificent nightmare had come true, simply because a certain blonde female liked a guy with good manners around police officers.
"Sunday Morning.
Sun shining on your eyes.
Sleepy face
Smiling into mine."
— Margo Guryan, 1968
SARAH STARTS SUNDAYS OFF SWELL IN Sofia by serving us a savory brunch. So, on the following Sunday after my Birthday exploration, my girl from the north country prepared a variety of side dishes that included scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, vegetarian sausage, and chopped potatoes from Samokov, with a surprise main dish that alternates between pancakes, French toast, or homemade waffles. Since the best thing I can cook is a bowl of cereal, I tend to stay out of Sarah's way and do what I do best; choose a classic film for us to watch for the special occasion.
After the meal was ready and I'd selected Houseboat, a 1958 romantic comedy starring legendary actors Cary Grant and Sophia Loren, we kicked back and began another Sunday brunch. Like always, the trimmings were tasty, but I noticed a significant difference in the main dish. Visually, it was indeed a waffle sitting on my plate. I sniffed it, and it certainly smelled like a waffle. I took a bite out of it, and it tasted just like a waffle. But this time, it was a million times better than usual — no disrespect to Sarah, who's cooking is second only to my mom's. Puzzled and perplexed, I quipped the impossible. "Honey, this taste just like a real Belgian waffle!" Sarah smiled devilishly and stayed silent. "How? No waffle tastes like a Belgian waffle, unless it's from Belgium!" I declared, while taking a second bite out of the mysterious main dish drowned in maple syrup and Bulgarian butter. If what I said is true, then how could this be possible? There was only one answer. Remember when we stopped off in Bruges, the city with the best waffles, and I mentioned that I could have sworn seeing Sarah stashing a few squares into her purse? Well, the sugar didn't go to my head that day. I was absolutely correct. Sarah smuggled some waffles back to Sofia.
Be seeing you. O
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