Brussels, Belgium

The meeting point was Sam's Cafe, an ode to my own middle name. I searched the sea of bodies passing me by and soon found the one I was seeking. I embraced my cousin, the first familar face I had seen in over a month. We caught up on the latest family news and made our way back to his apartment, albeit with a short layover at a local tavern.

Brussels turned out to be much bigger than I had anticipated. The home of not only the European Union's Parliament, but also the headquarters of NATO, the city is by many accounts the capital of Western Europe. And yet pocketed within its blossoming urban reconstruction, its history still breathes, not having been sacrificed to the gods of capitalism. The heart of the city is no doubt Grand Place. The spectacular neo-gothic Town Hall sits in the center of the scene, flanked by the old bread sellers' house. Polish soccer fans crowded in the middle of the square, randomly bursting out into chants whenever they spotted another group of expatriates. But no, it was not an invasion, but rather the preparation to the evening's soccer match with Belgium.

An alley down from Grand Place lies what has become one of Brussels most famed inhabitants. They tell the story of a wealthy man who lost his son. He was missing for days, until one day as the man was scouring the streets, he stumbled upon his son relieving himself in the corner. The man ordered a statue to be built on that very spot, chiseled in the image of his son when he was first found. All that splashing water reminded us of our parched throats, so we stepped into the Pub du Manneken Pis.

One of the most welcome parts of staying in a city where you know someone is being able to actually relax in a place that feels like home instead of hostel common rooms and shared bunks. In the evening we relaxed and blew the froth of a few with my cousin's Belgian friend. The evening veered off onto an unexpected tangent when one of us uncovered a construction worker's hardhat hiding underneath a pile of clothes. Perhaps this image can be used for blackmail someday, but at the moment, it functions solely as a reminder of the good time that is possible when Belgian beer is allowed to mix company with friends and novelty hats.

The next day we continued the tour of the city's attractions, first heading to the famed Atomium. Built for the 1958 World's Fair, the structure represents what an iron crystal would look like were it magnified 165 billion times. It is unlike anything you have seen before, like a science fair exhibit with an unlimited budget. Around the area, wagons with Belgian fries and an entire salad bar of dipping sauces vie for your attention, and you can only resist for so long.

Not very far from Brussels is one of the most famous battlefields in European history. The site where the oft caricatured short general from France met his demise: the lush green acres of Waterloo. The vast majority of the land is now used for farming, but in the center, commemorating where the Prince of Orange himself was wounded during battle, a giant pyramid of grass looms over the countryside.
And atop that hillock stands a lion, frozen in iron, unleashing an eternal roar to thunder over the battlefield. Wars and battles are fought across the globe, but over that particular ground, the very air holds a palpable reverence.

My final night in Brussels took me to the largest building constructed in Europe in the 19th century: the Belgian Palais du Justice. Built on the site where criminals and revolutionaries alike were hanged in the Middle Ages, it has become one of the landmarks of European architecture. It overlooks a view of Brussels from its high foundation, and trams negotiate the jungle of tracks splayed out before it. Brussels is a very hard city to categorize. It is a perfect blend of modernity and heritage. Cobblestone streets encircle the stock exchange. A Maybach dealership stands abreast of a gothic cathedral. These seeming contradictions are meant to charm, and they do not fail their design. I looked around to let the city lights and sounds bathe my senses one last time, and turned to head back to the apartment. My trip since landing in Rome had taken me from south to north, without exception. However, even though I did not know it yet, I was to return to Brussels very shortly, and add an impromptu visit to the Loire Valley to my itinerary. But for the moment, I said goodbye to Belgium and donned my backpack in search of Anne Frank and Van Gogh. Amsterdam was next.