EuroFog

little bit was sobbing, kneeling,  supplicant on the floor beside her open suitcase, wailing into late afternoon Brussels. "What is it?" "I can't find my shirrrrrt..." falling into her personal psychotic blur of exhaustion. sleep was supplanted by excitement and movies on seatbacks 35k feet over the atlantic. sweet relief was all the girls wanted from the grote markt in the city center, despite my efforts at caffeine infusion via coca cola --sold, by the way, in 8.5 ounce bottles with real sugar, the way god intended man to consume coke. they ate the chocolate at neuhaus and the pommes frittes from the place de la chapelle, but they were only there in body. Brussels seems relaxed, self-assured, well-dressed. Tourists abound only in the aforementioned Grand-Place (you gotta use the Dutch and the French), but otherwise the city is going about the business of Europe, both micro where we bought champu' at the botanique and macro at the european parliament. Ya know how you always hear that high level diplomatic activity is taking place in Brussels? An afternoon here and you know that's a symbiotic relationship. It feels like a place where nations could agree, over a traditionally served cafe in a small white cup with the spoon carefully placed on the saucer just so. And maybe a waffle with some good chocolate drizzled over the powdered sugar. I am NOT making this up. Lian and Maya and I all crashed hard about 6 pm, and if I could bottle the look from Lian's face when I told her she could finally sleep, no further world diplomacy would be necessary. All would know peace. Pics soon, more from the Left Bank-- CF