Bordeaux and Palmiers

Because I’m back in the States for Christmas and the most interesting place I’ve been so far is Target, here’s a little story about a trip I took to Antwerp two summers ago.

When I backpacked across Europe with two of my friends one summer, I kept a travel blog, titling each entry with lyrics of a song that somehow involved the city we were visiting: I love Paris when it sizzles… Flower of Scotland… In Dublin’s fair city…. Until I got to Antwerp. I didn’t know any songs with Antwerp in the lyrics. I also didn’t know exactly what we were doing in Antwerp… and neither did anyone else in our hostel. The night before we left, as we all sat over pints of Den Hekensketel beer, we met two Rockabilly band members from LA, a reformed candy kid from Scarborough, a displaced Australian engineer, and three chem majors from the Bay Area, all of whom agreed with us that they had absolutely no idea why they were in Antwerp.

The hostel was run by a Belgian couple. They played a strange mix of Celtic, Hispanic, and Jewish music all day, and had decorated the entire hostel with chandeliers made from tree roots, witches like Provencal santons hanging from the ceiling, and statues of gods and goddesses. The woman loved animals, and when I got up, as I do, at the crack of dawn, she told me about the birds who came to the garden and what their names were as she set out dry oats for them. The man cooked for the entire hostel the first night we got there. It was nice to see everyone sitting around the big table, eating together and talking. People tend to show up at this hostel and stay for a lot longer than they thought. I could see how that would happen. Belgium is a gem that somehow got overlooked by the Western Europe fiends. It’s a middle ground: not south enough to be included on a trip to Spain, France and Italy, not far enough north to be seen with Scandinavia. It hides from the mainstream, but it’s underrated with its gilded architecture, squares with beautiful fountains and bars with Belgian beer on tap for less than you would pay for a Coke in France. Belgium is home to three cities I have seen and loved: Brussels, Bruges, and Antwerp. Antwerp is the perfect mix of the first two: industrial Brussels and touristy Brugge, so perfect that you feel like you’re in a snowglobe.

Antwerp is like New York: alive, overwhelmingly Jewish—the Hasidim run the booming diamond industry here—and easy to navigate. Amsterdam had been a nightmare… nothing like the city that was originally named for it with its grid-patterned streets. We took a walk on the raised boardwalk overlooking the river, and it reminded me of Carl Schurz Park, a small strip that overlooks the East River. The Antwerpians have the same attitude as the New Yorkers. “Always refer to Antwerp as ‘the city’ (’t stad) because to Antwerpians, it’s obvious that their city is the centre of the world.” “Always talk very loudly, and have an opinion on everything. In Antwerp, this is considered normal. In the rest of Belgium, it is considered very annoying.”

A city after my own heart. I feel like this displaced New Yorker could transplant to Antwerp… if only I could master Flemish.

The Hostel:

Den Heskenketel Hostel

Pelgrimsstraat 22