FROM SHANGHAI TO LONDON BY TRAIN: Belgium: Brussels

I had only twelve hours in Brussels as I had arrived at 6am and was due to get the Eurostar into London that evening at the same time. I locked up my bag and walked into the vague direction of the city centre, stopping at a bakery for fresh pastries. I found myself in an area of small streets with nothing but private art galleries for rich people. I also stopped in a pleasant looking café to try an authentic Belgium waffle which was indeed very nice and surprisingly stodgy but the service was nonexistent. I had to approach the waiter to order and pay and he seemed pissed-off that I didn’t tip him.
After another thirty minutes of aimless walking, I came across a nice view of the city and noticed a huge silver modern-art type structure in the distance which was instantly familiar. I decided to make it my day’s goal to walk there. So I set off which only a small compass to guide me which one of the Tokyo Comedy store members had given me at my leaving part. The weather was on the cusp of being sunny so while I’m sure everything could have looked more beautiful than it did, it wasn’t as nice as I had expected.
I saw signs for the European parliament and followed them to find large dramatic modern steel buildings, covered in logos and lined with many flags. I wandered into the absurdly tiny and dull visitor’s centre only to find myself wandering back out minutes later. I wandered past some older building, with that characteristic sandy colour. I’m sure I would have been much more excited about them had I known the significance of them. I kept walking, using the compass as the vaguest of guides and found myself wandering out of the city centre. Surely I hadn’t already walked through the entire city centre? It seemed I had. I could spot the modern art metal thing anymore and finally decided to look it up at an internet café, most of which are strangely hidden in metro stations. I found it as a part of an international convention website, an Expo, and was surprised to see that it was a lengthy metro ride away, well outside of the tiny city centre.
I got a metro, and sure enough there it was on the station guide above the seats, marking as the “Atonium”. I got off in what looked like the middle of nowhere and passed a cinema and a few vague buildings to get the giant metal structure. It certainly looked impressive, both from afar and up-close. It was surprisingly busy, filled with people wanting to pass through the giant metal atom centre points to get to the top. I was happy just to take a few pictures. After all, this was probably the last thing worth seeing before I’d be home. Wow. Home. I had been holding out for some kind of dramatic welcome party, Waterloo station lined with people celebrating, ticker tape falling from the sky, champagne bottles bursting and general joy and elation. I had emailed friends, asking vaguely if they’d like to meet me in London as I arrived but the plans came to nothing as I realised I wanted everything or nothing. I found myself being drawn home by the thought of a familiar bed, familiar food, friends and a life more complex than just the three priorities of next place to sleep, next meal and next train ticket.
I dwindled through the main shopping strip and added yet another country onto my list of “countries I’ve eaten McDonalds in”. I found myself in the central business district, surely the most boring part of any city, but in Brussels it didn’t seem so different from the rest. I took each new corner, each new road hoping that I’d finally see something to get worked up about but had to resign myself to the fact that Brussels was a big disappointment.
I thought about my family back home and suddenly realised that I hadn’t got them any gifts. Well, here I was in Brussels, so Belgium chocolates all around. But as far as I searched up and down the streets, I couldn’t find a chocolate shop. This was the first capital city I’d been in where you’d struggle to see how the country’s stereotypes had come about. In the end, I popped into a small supermarket and bought boxed chocolates there, which were absurdly cheap but would have to make do.
I returned to the station well in time for the train, collected by bad from the electric locker and passed through passport control. It felt strange having to show my passport just to board a train. This was it. My last journey. I found my seat and sat down next to a middle aged woman who had been speaking posh London English on her phone. There was something for an aircraft feel to the Eurostar carriages. I half expected to be shown where the emergency exits were. I took a magazine from the netting in front of the woman’s seat and flicked through it.
“Ah! Isn’t that typical!” I said, “a train that runs between France and England and all the magazines are in French.”
She seemed to hesitate just slightly before answering, “well, they are my magazines.” The embarrassment rose inside of me and I apologised. She was fine about it, and it served to break the ice as we proceeded to chat about the English, the French and all the business she had been doing. I remarked that this was my last train from Shanghai and was pleased to get a big reaction from her. At least I’d be arriving in London with someone who appreciated the enormity of this journey.
I was looking forward to the novelty of the tunnel and coming out to England, what with having heard about the building of the tunnel throughout my childhood. But how exciting can a tunnel be? Not very much at all as I came to realised within seconds of entering the tunnel. The lack of visual stimulation outside stirred up feelings inside about my life waiting for me in England. Would things work out with Maki in a new place? Would I feel euphoric on arrival and how long could I make that feeling last? Would my plan to teach in a high school work out? Would it be fun? What would happen with Aki? Would I ever see her again? Would I ever see Japan again? And the train sped out of the tunnel and into the English countryside at sun-set. England looked much more pretty than I had remembered. Much less functional and more old-fashioned than Japan, with its little houses between hills and animals grazing.