Fezzik In Paris

Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named "de Gaulle"

The weekend before last’s trip to Brussels (yes, I am behind) for their version of the marché de noël featured a significant amount of wandering, the consumption of copious quantities of hardly-healthy food that still somehow was tailored to each of our dietary needs (read: the Purrito tackled the sausages while I consumed an unholy number of waffles), and surprisingly little beer (as it turns out, the Foulard champagne dôme proved to be more inviting than the Leffe beer hut).

While we had both had our doubts regarding how wise heading to Brussels would be, said worries were never revisited once underway as both the French and Belgian police and military apparatuses were clearly projecting force; from the moment we stepped on the Thalys (now featuring sizable Police nationale patrols on the journey there, and Belgian police on the way back), we were never more than a few minutes away from seeing either a police or a Belgian military patrol, which is noteworthy given that I distinctly remember wondering aloud as to what a Belgian cop looked like during our inaugural trip in May of 2015.

While I think our sole purchase from the market, aside from the food and the wine, was limited to a large tea mug with a pair of cuddling owls, we had quite the time wandering through the market and around Brussels. This despite the frenzied calculations, projections, and hypothetical plans that came with discovering that the bed and breakfast we were staying in was being sold for an entirely reasonable (if still ever so slightly out of reach) amount.


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