Getting the Hell out of Brussels

We woke up optimistic, and got on the 6:50 train to Brussels. We were told in Amsterdam that there were no reservations to Paris avaliable, but trains ran out of Brussels every half hour. You cannot reserve for another location from another station, so we decided to head to Brussels and surely we would be able to get on one of those trains. The train ride was pleasent and we were all in good moods.

Apparently, Cathy's guardian angel had been right to hustle them off the train before they went there at night with no reservations or any idea of how to get anywhere.

We were a little concerned when we passed the Brussels Red Light district on the train. We were even more concerned when the train stopped about five seconds later. We got off the train and for the first time since we have been in Europe, we were nervous at a train station.


This feeling of nervousness was not helped by the guy we saw getting mugged as we turned the corner in the station. We bolted towards the ticket counter. I think we just glaced at each other and all knew that the mini tour was cancelled and that we were going to Paris NOW.

Except that we were not. The reservation counter said that one must make Paris reservations weeks in advance, and they only had one seat avaliable hours from then. After a four second conference, we decided to let Paris go for now, and that we were going on the next train that we could get out of Brussels. We hoped to get to a place that we had planned on going, but it was so freaky at that station I do not really think we cared were it was, as long as it was not there.

Luckily, there was a train to Zurich about a hour and a half from then. We decided to have lunch at the nearest restaraunt that had an inside eating area, and that we would slowly linger over lunch so we did not have to go to the platform until absolutly necessary. It was interesting people watching. The women carried their purses like their life depended on them, and most people walked pretty briskly. We also admired the Watch for Pickpocket signs that plastered the station.

Cathy got a table and watched the luggage while the guys got food. A strange man approached her and kept talking to her in some foreign language. She was less than polite to him, but he was scaring her.

Lunch went pretty well, and we got to the platform without being harassed. We were relieved to be on the train at last. Brussels was not for us.