I went to Brussels in May 2019 – over on the Eurostar from London, plunging myself into a world where I became dumb. The initiation to this world was Gare de Midi, the main railway station where most of the signs were visual and made no sense to me at all. (If the station had been in England, I reckon I would have been just as clueless!)
In the evenings – I look for something familiar, something that reminds me of the usual, the local, the known– and that turned out to be “La Parenthese” a bar in Etterbeek. This is NOT to be confused with the restaurant of the same name in Ixelles!
Now my “local” when I am in Sheffield is the Kelham Island Tavern – a pub with such a pedigree (it has won UK pub of the year – from the Campaign for Real Ale, twice!) that it had become a tourist attraction in its own right. But what makes the KIT special to me, is a sense of belonging, the comradeship, the laughs, the challenging of views, the coming together at times of need; as well as the wonderful beer.
Being in a large, foreign city, I wondered if I could replicate that in another place, in such a short space of time, in another language. It would be a challenge.
From the outside La Parenthese looks a little like a boulangerie turned into a bar. Inside – it had everything I wanted. Posters from the past. The line-up of unfamiliar bottles with contents as alluring as in those old chemists of childhood with huge purple demijohns of, “God knows what” in the window.
I entered un-noticed, but some heads turned as I tried to order my drink. I got through the ordeal with some halting French and gestures to the beer tap and the size of glass. I was asked by another customer (in equally halting English) where I was from and when I gave my answer, for once the next question was not about Brexit (unlike Ireland where that is on top for almost everyone there.)
Eventually I sat down at my own table – and was not bothered much apart from people nodding a greeting as they were passing either to go to the toilette or out back for a smoke.
Of course, my turn came for the loo as well– and it was then that I then stumbled across the unanswered question about La Parenthese. Not so much that they had a small library in the toilet area – many pubs have second-hand books available for sale or just to take, but the fact that most of these books were in English. It was like someone was trying to tempt me back into my former lifestyle.
At just before 11pm I asked for what was going to be my last drink of the night. And I received a “non, finit” from the barman. I started to walk away dejectedly and I was pulled around by another customer who started arguing vigorously that it was unfair – it was not quite closing time and I should be allowed to order. Others piped up to agree – and reluctantly a glass was filled. A triumph for the parliament against the PM.
A few days later I paid a second visit, this time to be welcomed by the barman who had tried not to serve me on my previous visit. He was contrite, trying to explain in halting English that he was tired and thought I would “stay on.” He was now a customer – it was a night off, but it seems he spent most of his evenings in La Parenthese a true local. Others remembered me and there was a lot of hand shaking and kissed cheeks, even a drink bought (which happened a lot on my travels!) I soon settled in my place – and at the end of the night I made sure that I ordered early so not to embarrass the bar staff of the evening. This evening, there was a large group of younger people at a couple of tables playing cards and chatting in Flemish, (most in the bar spoke only French.) It felt good to be in such a multi-cultural space, something I was used to in the Kelham Island Tavern, having sat with and chatted to travellers from Italy, musicians from New England and business people from Spain.
This time though – I was the visitor and I was enjoying the warm welcome. Just being able to sit and have the occasional sip of beer, listening to multiple conversations I didn’t understand. Without language do we all become closer? If I knew what was being talked about would it change my opinion of the people around me? I was reminded of enjoying a song sung in Spanish which I had on my i-player, so much so that I sought out a translation and discovered it was an ode to bullfighting!
On my third and final visit, I was introduced to Tomas – who said he was Scottish but had the thickest Dutch accent I have ever heard. He was fluent in English though. He gave my listening skills a good workout as he told me about his travels across the med and the places that he would recommend on my journey (Sicilly, The Greek Islands, Turkey) and those to avoid (Malta, most of North Africa, Albania.) He also said his dream after retiring would be to get a boat and continually sail around the Greek Islands – though he would look for ones with few people, as he didn’t get on with people at all. A fellow introverted traveller! He broke off from talking to me on occasion to get into some loud arguments with some of the other patrons, but always returned with a smile on his face. “You see I am much better being on my own.”
He left early and I just stayed on to enjoy the ambience and nodded and exchanged a few words of French to some of the other regulars who seemed to have got used to my presence. I knew it would soon be time to leave for the last time and I decided to ask if it would be okay to take some photographs. The barman who first refused me was only too happy to have his taken and the current bar-person did not wish to be left out. There was almost a guard of honour as I walked out of the door with much hand shaking and cheek kissing and even a hug or two.
I made my way outside and was aware of another future being denied. Stay on in Brussels, make my home here. Have La Parenthese as my local and get involved in arguments with a Dutchman who thinks he is Scottish. I walked on into the night.
