summer in sketches, part one

Part one of my summer sketchbook:
Brussels, Kathmandu and Dhulikhel.

the beer

You cannot visit Belgium without experiencing the wonder of this country's marvellous beers. I am by no means an expert, but I do know when something tastes good, and oh goodness... You have beers in every shade— white beers, blonde beers, brune beers, dark beers. Chimay, Orval, Duvel, Papegaai. Cherry beers and the syrupy-sweet framboise— which was the only beer I was not fond of.



Any of Belgium's delicious beers is best served with conversation, laughter and budding friendships.

belly belgique

My belly has an odd, GPS-esque ability when it comes to finding food. One of the first things I wanted to do in Brussels was devour a paper cone of frites— more commonly and mistakenly known as the "French fry". What most people don't realise, is that the ubiquitous "French fry" is actually Belgian. Nowhere on earth will you find a fry that can compare to the frite. Top it with a dollop of eggy mayonnaise (please don't kill it with ketchup) and heaven feels more accessible. Ignore the calories, forget about cholesterol— life is worth living to the fullest. These humble, double-fried potatoes hold special place in my memory, so I was delighted to find myself in front of a frite stand within less than twenty minutes of walking through town. They were exactly how I remembered them— crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, eggy mayo.

After walking around for a bit, taking in the sights and digesting, I decided to seek out another childhood favourite: the gaufre. Surely you have heard of the Belgian waffle? Here's where the waffle as we know it in America becomes portable. Walk up to any stand and order up a sweet, buttery, doughy waffle, and you'll have a great little treat in your hands. The toppings of whipped cream, Nutella and strawberries are mostly for tourists— try it plain, with just the butter and sugar first, to get a real taste of the gaufre's goodness. I remember cold, dark winter days, wandering through the city streets with my mother, peeling off our gloves to avoid getting them sticky as we snacked on gaufres, little trails of steam rising from the golden dough.



Lucky me, I got to meet up with fellow Moleskine Exchange artist Anna Denise, who I previously had the pleasure of meeting back in San Francisco once upon a time. It's always a wonderful experience to meet up with someone in real life, who you've known for several years online and have built a friendship with. We've been exchanging art for about four or five years now, and I find her love of life and dedication to her artwork a source of inspiration.

Anna Denise, knowing how much I love to eat, decided to take me to a most delicious restaurant, famous for its traditional Belgian cuisine. Viva M'Boma is a cosy little place with a menu that's not for the faint of heart— sweetbreads, calf liver, kidneys, horse steak and a raw meat patty mysteriously called the "Americain" are pretty much all you'll find. Not being a big fan of organ meat, I decided to go with the stoemp— a potato and vegetable mash, that was served with two massive sausages and thick ribbons of bacon. It was absolutely divine— and very, very filling. I tried Anna Denise's calf liver and onions, which I must admit, was quite tasty and not so organy.



On Friday night I had a most delicious cuisse de lapin— a rabbit leg in a sauce that I want to say had some mustard in it, from a wonderful little restaurant in some tiny square. I really wish I had written the name down of this lovely little place, it was oh so good and the service was super friendly.

Viva M’Boma / Rue de Flandre 17, 1000 Bruxelles / 02/512 15 93

delightful details

ecrive-moi une lettre

I miss the letter. I miss crinkled paper with handwritten words scrawled in ink. I miss curves and points that twist with the emotions of the hand that holds the pen. I miss stamps; each a little work of art. I have decided to write letters again, which will hopefully bring surprise and a bit of joy to their recipients.



Brussels has some lovely letter slots.

la grand-place

Often hailed as the most beautiful square in Europe, La Grande-Place is 68 by 110 metres of utter gorgeousness. I have yet to visit all the squares in Europe, but I must say, this is a very special place. Figures frozen in stone stand on almost every building's façade, golden accents shine brightly in contrast with the grey of the stone and the sky— which is so frequently grey in Belgium. The magnificent Town Hall and its surrounding guild houses mostly date from the early 17th century and offer a glimpse into the city's cultural life at the time.

I remember walking the square with my grandad.
I wore a red shirt, he was in plaid.

remembering

I spent the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth and part of the fourteenth years of my life living in Belgium, and Thursday was the first time I had set foot on its cobblestoned streets in eighteen years. A teachers' training workshop was responsible for bringing me back to this old home. Once the train from the airport started rolling through town, colours and shapes and sky pulled some feeling from deep inside me, that I cannot quite describe. I was an awkward, knobby-kneed girl again, I was timid and curious— I was being carried back into adolescence, back into an old self. 

Memories of my first dip pen, of hopeless crushes on boys, of Claire and Nina, of learning to shave my legs— all blended with the landscape rushing past the window of my train. That odd pain of being between a child and a teenager, ached a little somewhere within me. I had loved living in Belgium.

in stone

bonjour, bruxelles!