More of Brussels

It's taken a while. Finally, here are more highlights from our time in Brussels. My last post signed off with us wandering the picturesque Grand Place. Just off the plaza is a narrow, winding laneway called Rue des Bouchers. It literally translates as the "street of butchers". Since medieval times this cobblestone street has been home to food traders.

The butchers of history have long since been replaced by several blocks of quaint cafes and restaurants. Seafood seemed to be the most popular cuisine on offer. Many displayed their wares in grand presentations of fresh fish and shellfish on ice at their entrance. We stopped for a lunch of steaming mussels and fresh fish.


Rue des Bouchers ends at another of Brussel's spectacular sights. Galeries St-Hubert is an elegant arcade extending for two blocks. Its passageways are capped by a stunning, vaulted glass atrium. Along its length reside many of the city's most exclusive boutiques and several vendors touting the finest Belgium chocolates.


We eventually made our way towards the Upper Town. This district is home to the Royal Palace and several delightly shaded parks. We wandered through Parc de Bruxelles with its grand fountain and on to Parc du Cinquantenaire where a ceremonial arch commands the skyline. We flopped on the grass, soaking up the sunshine for several sleepy hours.


On Sunday we made our way the city's outer suburbs to see the Atomium. This unusual building is probably the most reasonable symbol of Brussels. Its consists of nine giant steel spheres, linked by slender tubes. The entire structure rises more than 100 metres above the city. The design is based on the crystalline structure of an iron atom magnified more than 165 billion times.

The Atomium was built 50 years ago for the 1958 World Fair. We spent more than hour exploring its interior. Many of the tubes house escalators that carry visitors higher and higher between each sphere. Sadly, the day we were there was rather warm and the metal interior had become uncomfortably hot and stuffy.


We finished our weekend in Brussels with a coffee in the Grand Place, then returned to our hotel for a final cocktail on its roof-top terrace. All too soon it was time to board the Eurostar and head for home. One more weekend gone, another European city uncovered.

A miracle

My Dad visited the liver specialist on Tuesday. The family had steeled itself to hear to the worst having already been told Dad's cancer was inoperable. Imagine our surprise to learn that his cancer is a rare, slow growing type that's easy to remove in a short two-hour operation. My Dad's been scheduled for surgery next Wednesday and should be home by the weekend. His liver will regenerate within two weeks, leaving him with nothing more than a simple scar to show for his experience. This unexpected turn of events is nothing short of a miracle.

Brussels

In years past, Garry and I have briefly driven through Brussels enroute to other nations. Last weekend we finally got to see the city up close. I surprised Garry with a couple of Eurostar tickets at Kings Cross station on Friday night. He's not an easy man to fool. However, following months of marticulous planning, I'd successfully convinced him we were headed North. Our final destination was a mystery until the moment he was presented with his passport and escorted to neighbouring St Pancreas Station.

Brussels is a relatively easy destination to reach. The new Eurostar link puts it within two hours of London. This meant we could kick back and enjoy dinner on the train, yet arrive rested at our hotel shortly after 11.30pm. I booked us into Be Manos, a funky boutique hotel close to the station. Web reviews rave about it. We weren't disappointed. Our room was huge. The service was friendly. The public places were fashionably smart and genuinely comfortable.


Saturday was set aside for a walking tour of the city's most popular sights. Our first stop was Manneken Pis, a tiny black statue of a small boy peeing from a high ledge into a corner pond. The site was easy to find. As we turned the corner of quiet side street, we were greeted a large noisy crowd. The scene was made all the more surreal by the almost dismissive size of the statue in question.

The first statue on this site was erected in 1619. Since 1698 it been traditional for the statue to be dressed in a miniture outfit. Over the centuries visiting heads of state have donated tiny national costume for the lad to wear. On Saturday he was wearing some sort of sailor suit. I'm not sure which nation this represents. No doubt my description will spark a diplomatic incident. Stay tuned.


Our next stop was The Grand Place, the traditional heart of Brussels. Its a cobblestone square surrounded by incredibly ornate Flemish Renaissance buildings. Most prominant is the City Hall, also known as Hotel de Ville. Built in 1459, this building can only be rightly called a truly stunning architecture masterpiece. Its entire facade is adorned by 137 statues and intricately carved window frames, capped by a 96 metre wedding-cake spire. On Saturday the entire spectacle was complimented by a colourful flower market in the plaza's centre, surrounded by bustling cafes.


I'll share more details about our time in Brussels tomorrow.

Celebrating friendship

Friends and family came together for surprise birthday lunch in honour of our friend Martin (that's him with his mum above). His partner Jonny arranged a private room at a local Soho restaurant where more than 20 guests enjoyed an afternoon of fun and laughter. Afterwards, eight of us went on to a local cocktail lounge to continue celebrating until the final tube train was ready to departure.


An unexpected highlight of the evening was a hilariously camp pianist who appeared next to our group, playing a medley of high-energy contemporary songs including Abba's Dancing Queen and Cindy Lauper's Time after Time.

Summer scaffolding

You may recall earlier posts about our leaking roof. The landlord has finally acted. A five-story scaffold was recently installed across the front of the house, giving repairmen safe access to our roof. Yesterday morning we had two men appear mid-morning without warning on our roof. It's always a shock to witness two pairs of boots wander past the bedroom window at eye height. We're five floors above the street.

Scaffolding is a surprisingly common site in the neighbourhood. Properties are constantly being repaired or renovated. I've come to realise this is yet another sign of living in a nation alive with history. In Sydney scaffolding is rarely seen beyond a traditional building site. Most homes simply aren't old enough to require major repair.

In London local Council's establish Conservation areas to protect the character of certain neighbourhood. These preservation orders force owner to repair older structure rather than alter or demolish them. Our street forms the boundary of one such convervation area - one of 36 in Camden Borough. Other well-known conservation areas include the historic villages of Hampstead and Highgate, the formal Georgian grid of Bloomsbury and Nash's stuccoed terraces fronting Regent's Park. Our street and those surrounding join the list thanks to a series of attractive nineteenth century red-brick housing estates.

Over the years I've watched fascinated as multi-storey residential buildings become encased in scaffolding for months on end. New sites appear every week. We currently have at least four in our street. Sometimes the entire site is also covered by an enormous temporary roof. This protects the building from the sodden local weather while its original roof is stripped and replaced.

A parting gift

We couldn't believe our eyes! On Friday tenants in the ground floor garden flat moved out. It was clear they'd departed. We came home to a carload of broken furniture and assorted litter piled in the front yard. The audacity of our former neighbours was breath-taking. Last weekend the same people had walked past Garry and I on more than one occasion as we collected rubbish and removed abandoned household effects from the very same yard.

The local council doesn't collect irregular rubbish without imposing a collection charge. As a result, former tenants constantly dump all manner of household effects in the yard and simply vanish. The abandoned items then sit uncollected for months. The landlord never removes them. In frustration we eventually call the Council and pay for collection or take the offending items to the local depot ourselves.

Needless to say I've made yet another rubbish run to the Council depot today. The yard has once again been restored to its former glory. Long may it last!

Summer fox

The fox first spotted in our neighbour's yard two weeks ago has become a permenant resident. We've sighted it stretched out in the sun on several occasions since. On Friday evening as Garry and I walked to the corner store our furry friend even ran across the road a mere ten metres in front of us. It was quite a sight to see a fox in full stride. I was equally mesmerised by the way it slipped effortlessly over a low brick wall and disappeared through a gap in a nearby hedge.

Entertaining the Antipodeans

My best mate Brendan arrives in London later this month. He's basing himself in our spare room for four weeks while making brief excursions in Europe. In anticipation of visit I've been planning all sorts of adventures. We already have a long weekend booked in Berlin, a dinner party organised with friends and tickets to the Farnbourough Airshow. Garry and I have also talked about taking a day-trip to Brighton and at least one visit to a West End theatre.

Brendan isn't the only friend in town. We have another couple of friends in London for 24 hours later this month. Jon and his partner are off for a cruise on the Queen Mary. We'll be out for dinner and a mutual update on all that's happened since we last saw each other two years ago.

Unbelievably, yet another mate, Ian, relocated to London last month (that him above). We caught up with him for a lazy outdoor lunch in Soho that continued well into the evening. Garry and I enjoyed another outdoor meal on Saturday. It's wonderful to be outdoors again. Summer is finally here. It also great to have a few familar faces to share good weather with.

A clean sweep

Our landlord neglects our property. Despite numerous calls to the managing agent, the grounds are poorly maintained. In more than two years I've seen the front lawn mown twice and the gardens weeded only once. The path to our door is never swept and litter never cleared. Over time the mature trees shading our entrance have become an eye-gouging jungle.

Today, Garry and I took matters into our own hands and spent the day taming our shameful front yard. We collected piles of litter, threw out rusting junk, lopped tree branches, ripped up tangled vines, swept paths and weeded gardens. We also arranged for the Council to collect an old fridge someone abandoned in the garden. Then, in a moment of madness, we dashed to the local hardware store in search of a few new plants.

Luck was on our side. We found large daisy bushes on sale for £1.99 and attractive wooden garden borders for less than £10. Another hour of work in the garden completed the day's transformation. The end result is spectacular. The neighbours are thrilled. One even knocked on our door with a bottle of wine to express their gratitude. After eight dirty hours, we finally have a home we're proud of.

Recovery

My Dad came home from hospital this week. His recovery is going remarkably well. He's suffered limited pain and has had no post-operative complications. This is encouraging news as bowel surgery does run a higher risk of infection. Dad is progressively eating a wider variety of food without incident and moving about the house with increasing ease. A six-inch abdominal scar will soon be the only lasting reminder of his surgery.

Urban Foxes: Part II

The most astonishing thing happened today. This morning I looked out of our window and saw not one, but two, foxes frolicking in our neighbour's backyard. Barely a week ago I wrote a post about urban foxes in London, noting that Garry had seen them in the same yard. I'd never seen one in 2.5 years until now.

I told Garry this evening about my fox sighting. As I spoke, I glanced out of the window. Incredibly, as if on cue, a fox trotted from the shadows and sat in the middle of the neighbour's lawn. That's him in the photo above. We watched, mesmerized, for minutes as our furry (and slightly mangy) friend gave himself a jolly good scratch and wandered out of view. Garry says he's only seen them at night, never in broad daylight. A magic moment for both of us.

Dash across the channel

I went to Belgium today - for six hours. I flew to Antwerp for a business meeting mid-morning and returned in time for dinner. This is my second time in Belgium in the last 18 years. My first visit was equally brief. I caught a bus from Rotterdam to London in 1990 that briefly stopped for a coffee break in the outskirts of Brussels. I can report that today's weather in Belgium was wet and grey, while London was enjoying a bright, sunny afternoon.

My brief Channel hop was effortless thanks to the incredible convenience of London City Airport. This commuter airport is located in the Docklands area of East London. The same area is also home to the city's infamous Millennium Dome, the Thames Barrier and the 2012 Olympic Stadium.

I love London City Airport. I've flown out of it several times over the last six years including several flights to Berlin, Munich and Madrid. The range of cities within its reach is limited only by the type of aircraft able to safely land on its 1080 metre runway. At last count 11 airlines operated from the airport connecting 33 European cities to the very heart of London.

British Airways has even announced plans for two daily trans-Atlantic flights to New York starting early next year. These extended range flights will be operated using a specially configured Airbus 318, seating 32 people. Eastbound aircraft will fly non-stop to London while westbound flight will make a brief fuel stop in Shannon, Ireland.

The airport is incredibly easy to reach. A 30-minute tube ride from Swiss Cottage literally deposits me at its doorstep. Short queues and a quick security transit make it easy to be in the air less than 45-minutes later. With convenience like that it no wonder the airport saw a record 2.9 million passengers pass through its doors last year. In April this year was its single busiest month, processing 298,835 passengers.

By comparison, it takes more than two hours from an aircraft at Heathrow to home. The journey also requires a lengthy cab ride through stop-start traffic, or three train transfers and several cumbersome stairways. I know which transfer I'd prefer!

No more free lunch

Today's paper full of economic gloom. One story claimed that the era of cheap and plentiful food was over. It quoted a UN report declaring most agricultural commodity prices in the next decade would exceed the average of the previous decade by up to 50%. World food price have increased an average of 83% in the last three years.

A second headline reported that a typical basket of food in the UK has increased by 6% since January. Fresh fruit and vegetables are up almost 16%, with cauliflower up 44% and basmati rice up 33%. I was fascinated by the observation that the price of mouthwash had fallen by 10.2%

A third story predicts that UK house prices would fall by 20% over two years, following a record 2.5% fall in housing prices this month. A fall of this magnitude would throw one in six mortgage borrowers into negative equity. The price of housing in London has never failed to astonish me.

Meanwhile, the front page declared that the era of cheap airfares is over. Virgin Atlantic and British Airways announced increases in their fuel surcharges today. BA said that long-haul flights would attract a fuel surcharge of £218 for a return trip from next week. With oil prices at US$135 a barrel, surcharge increases were expected. However, this is the second increase in its surcharge in a month. At least one more increase is to come, possibly two.

Airfares have been extraordinarily cheap for years. I first flew to Europe in May 1990 with Royal Jordanian Airlines. At the time my return flight from Sydney cost A$1,860 (£885), a price considered incredibly good value. Fast forward exactly eighteen years. Tonight Air New Zealand is offering flights from London to Tauranga for £783. Incredibly, a trip requiring three separate flights, is more than £100 cheaper despite decades of inflation. It just doesn't make sense.

Post surgery

Dad has finished his operation. He spent less time in surgery than expected which was good to hear. The tumour in his lower colon has been successfully removed and the remaining sections re-joined without incident. Dad was thrilled to learn that a colostomy bag would not be required. I'm glad he had some good news to lift his spirits.

Unfortunately, rather than simply being inflamed by Crohn's Disease, the small intestine was found to be cancerous. The diseased section has been removed but secondary colon cancer was found in his liver. Test results from biopsies taken during surgery will be available in about ten days. We'll then have a clearer sense of what happens next.

In sickness and in health

I picked up a rather unpleasant dose of Giardia while in India last month. I suspected something was amiss shortly after I returned to London. A cluster of symptoms while in the USA left no doubt. I've contracted Giardia in India before, and several times in China, so I knew exactly what the problem was.

Giardia is a water-borne protozoan parasite that colonises and reproduces in the small intestine (that's it photo at the top of this post). It's symptoms are unmistakable. Bloating, flatulence and stomach cramps are the most common indicators, along with unbelievably foul smelling stools. I've also found that the bloating can induce vomiting at night as your stomach is progressively squeezed by expanding gases.

Over the years I've come to learn that such aliments are part and parcel of business travel. Diarrhoea and food poisoning tend to be the most common afflictions. I've experienced food poisoning in China more times than I care to recall. Surprisingly, booking myself into five-star hotels rarely reduced the risk. I've also endured bouts of food poisoning in New York and Paris. On each occasion I knew exactly which dish made me ill.

Thanks to a friendly doctor in San Francisco, a script of Metronidalzole has my Giardia on the wane. I'm also US$404 poorer. Unfortunately, such a simple cure isn't an option for my father. Tomorrow he goes into surgery to remove a malignant tumour from his lower colon, along with a section of his small intestine inflamed by chronic Crohn's Disease. He'll be in the theatre for four hours and remain in hospital for ten days of recovery. I wish him a comfortable and speedy return to full health.

Since his diagnosis last month I've discovered many friends and colleagues whose family members have also been diagnosed with colon cancer. It seems that this disease is far more prevalent than I've been aware. I am reminded of a period several years ago when three colleagues were diagnosed with breast cancer in the period of a year. A family friend also received a similar diagnosis last year. Once again, this cancer was far more common that I'd realised. My occasional bout of Giardia or Gout pales into insignificance.

Urban foxes

Several weeks ago while walking at dawn I encountered a red fox in the driveway of a house in Swiss Cottage. I'm not sure who was more surprised - me or the fox. This was last animal I expected to see in the heart of London. However, given that I spotted it on property bordering Primrose Hill, I imagine it lives in the surrounding parkland. Garry says he's also seen foxes in our neighbour's yard.

Urban foxes are apparently increasingly common. As scavengers they've adapted well to city life. National Geographic reports that up to 10,000 live in London, or 16 for every square mile of the city. Incredibly one such animal was recently found sleeping in the Houses of Parliament, while others have raided the gardens of Buckingham Palace. It seems my local friend has plenty of companions.

(PS: The photo in this post isn't mine. It was taken by an English couple called Lindy and David who've been sailing around the world. It seems that despite their global adventures urban foxes fascinate them as much as myself).

Crazy Horse Memorial

Carving monuments out of South Dakota's mountains isn't just the preserve of Mount Rushmore. 17 miles down the road from the four immortalised presidents lies Crazy Horse Memorial. This sculpture of an American Indian Chief on horseback dwarfs Mount Rushmore. When complete it will be five times larger, carved completely in three dimensions.

The sculpture was commissioned by Lakota Indian Chief, Henry Standing Bear, to remind white men that the native American also have great heroes. Sculptor Korezak Ziolkowski accepted the Indian's invitation to carve their mountain in 1947. Work on the sculpture began two years in 1949. Incredibly, the entire endeavour is being funded by private enterprise.


To date the 26.5 metre face of Crazy Horse is the only recognisable feature on the mountain. Large painted lines further down the hillside create a rough impression of the sculpture's final dimensions. Currently, work is focused on blocking out the giant horse's head. This feature will take up an astonishing 66 metres of granite. A white plaster model at the nearby visitor's centre gives you a sense of the finished sculpture.


I rode an open-air truck out to the mountain's base where the sculpture's scale is far more apparent. From our vantage point we could see a film crew from NBC's Today Show at work in front of the granite face. Their presence underneath Crazy Horse's nose gave us the best possible sense of the sculpture's overwhelming size.


Later that afternoon as I drove past a helicopter tour centre I decided to throw caution to the wind and book myself a flight. As I was the only passenger I was given a cockpit seat along side the pilot. For the next thirty minutes we hovered around the Crazy Horse work site, past Mount Rushmore and over the most incredible series of granite pinnacles populating the Black Hills of South Dakota.


At one point the pilot pointed out the winding Needles Highway. This narrow road makes its way through the more dramatic pinnacles, passing through single lane tunnels and along precarious rock shelves. He drew my attention to several highway landmarks including the stunning blue waters of Sylvan Lake and a tiny lookout called the Eye of the Needle. This last sight is created by the highway narrowing to little more than a carpark surrounded by a dramatic rock amphitheatre.


Despite the aerial tour, nothing could have prepared me for the astonishing beauty of the Needles Highway at ground level. Sylvan Lake was breath-taking. It was so majestic and so perfect, I thought I'd wandered on to a Hollywood sound stage. Sadly, the photos I took barely do the scene justice. The Eye of the Needle was equally breath-taking. Once again my photos fail to capture the awe-inspiring scene I encountered.


In fact, along the entire length of the highway, I found myself constantly stopping to admire the view and soak up the sunshine. At one lookout a group of friendly Chipmunks came right up to my outstretched hands. I really was a world away from the noise and bustle of cold, wet London.

Mount Rushmore

As a child Mount Rushmore was one of the most iconic images of America. There was something rather grand, yet undeniably kitsch, about a nation carving the faces of four historic presidents on the side of a mountain. Four hundred men and women toiled for 14 years to sculpt 18 metre profiles of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt.

The first three men were obvious choices such a memorial. However, I could never understand why Roosevelt was chosen until last weekend. A plague at the memorial reveals that the four Presidents were chosen by the sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, to commemorate the founding, growth, preservation and economic development of the United States. Each historic phase is represented by Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt respectively.


Roosevelt presided over America's ascendancy as a global economic power. His presidency resulted in the construction of the Panama Canal and the introduction of trust-busting legislation. He was also the first president to travel overseas during his term in office. I also learnt that President Coolidge, who signed the act authorising Mount Rushmore's construction, insisted that Washington be portrayed along side two Republicans and one Democrat. Both Roosevelt and Coolidge were Republicans.


Access to the memorial is via Highway 244 which gently winds its way through the Black Hills of South Dakota. As the famous hillside finally comes into view the first thing that strikes you is the size of the memorial. It's rather small. Published images of Mount Rushmore typically crop out the surrounding countryside. When seen in situ the granite Presidents aren't nearly as overwhelming you'd expect.

The site itself is centred around a grand viewing terrace that dramatically delivers the mountain's iconic view. Nearby a short track, known as the Presidential Trail, takes you up to the mountain's base, offering views directly underneath the giant sculpture. At this distance, the profiles are genuinely impressive. It's clear that each man's eye really is a deep 4 metre cavern.


The trail then descends into a valley where the Sculptor's Studio is located. It was here that Gutzon Borglum directed the memorial's construction. Inside is a plaster cast used to calculate measurements for carving the mountain's final form. As I stood looking at the mountain, it was difficult not to admire the skill and determination of a nation hell-bent on celebrating the glory of its republic.


Later the same day I drove on down Highway 244, stopping to marvel at George Washington's profile. The scene is surreal. Through the crevice in the hillside, a ghostly white face suddenly appears. I was reminded of The Phantom, a comic book crimefighter from the 1930s. Perhaps not the image Congress had in mind when spending US$989,992 to build the memorial? Only in America.

Devil's Tower

Steven Spielberg secured his first Oscar nomination for Best Director in 1977 following the release of his science fiction film, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. The film received seven Oscar nominations in total and went on to win two. It was Spielberg's second box office blockbuster, grossing an impressive US$435 million in two separate releases.

The film portrays the UFO obsession of Roy Neary, a character played by Richard Dreyfuss. Roy is drawn to Devil's Tower, a remarkable land formation in Wyoming, by a premonition he cannot explain. The unusual granite butte adds an air of mystic to the film and forms the backdrop for its climatic finish. In the closing scenes an alien ship lands at Devil's Tower and establishes contact with the human race.


Last weekend I stood at the foot of Devil's Tower myself. I could hardly believe I was seeing it with my own eyes. Without a doubt the tower is as dramatic in real life as it is in Spielberg's movie. Technically, Devil's Tower is geological formation known as an igneous intrusion. It's effectively an ancient volcanic bulge that formed 65 million years ago. Once buried deep underground, erosion has progressively exposed its form. Today it rises 386 metres above the surrounding area.


I spent several hours at the tower last Saturday enjoying gloriously warm, sunny weather. The base of the tower is an alternating cascade of fallen rocks and sweet smelling pine forest. A paved track provides a wonderfully refreshing trek around its base. As I walked, the smell of pine and and dappled sunlight playing through the trees did much to restore my soul. It was easy to understand why Devil's Tower became the USA's first national monument in 1906.


The tower also draws a steady stream of climbers. I spotted dozens and dozens of people scaling its heights. A local rancher, William Rogers, is the first recorded person to climb Devil's Tower. He reached the summit on July 4, 1893 after erecting a ladder of wooden pegs driven into the rock face. While remnants of the ladder are still visible, today's climbers make the ascent using ropes.


While the climbers were fascinating to watch, I was more captivated by prairie dogs that lived on a nearby open field. In the shadow of the mountain these energetic creatures were hard at work grazing on spring grass. I watched them for ages, laughing each time they scurried for cover whenever a car drove by.