For me the charm of Europe has a lot to do with the preservation of it’s history. Where else can you drive over a 300 years old bridge,  walk down cobblestone street paved with rocks collected and set by the workers of centuries past or lodge in a building older than the country of your birth? It is very hard not to walk down the streets of Europe and miss the bits and pieces of the cultural legacy left by generations past.

I have always had an affinity towards old buildings. Back home in New York City my favorite neighborhoods in which to walk are not the contemporary well lit ones such as Time Square, but the ones were the facades haven’t been altered in favor of a more modern look.  So I love walking down some of the forgotten streets of lower Manhattan that still maintain their old world charm.

By selecting non-contemporary hotels in which to lodge during this vacation, I had hoped to capture a little bit of Europe’s old world charm for myself. As a result, I have tried to put away a bit of my hotel snobbery to look pass what the hotel doesn’t have and focus in on why I selected the hotel in the first place.

Both of my hotels in Barcelona and Paris were exactly what I believed I wanted –lodging in a historically significant building, in walking distance to major tourist sites and clean. However, my rooms were not just a little small-they were so tiny that finding the space to open up my suitcase was a challenge.

My expectations for Belgium were a little different. I had read on the hotel’s website that although the facade and structure of the building  had been persevered the interior of the hotel had been renovated in the style of Art Deco. In other words, old world meets the early part of the 20th century so-to-speak. My stay here would be interesting.

————————————–

  Hamdi the hotel clerk at my Paris hotel advised me to leave the hotel for the Paris Nord an hour before my train. He had said his goodbyes to me the night before since Mondays were his day off.

Tambi’s replacement was a blond woman around 40ish.  At around 11:30 AM I informed her I was ready to check out and handed her the key to room number 15. In return she handed me a 5 x 7 piece of paper– my bill.

“Do you need my credit card?” I asked as I looked the bill over. I noticed that the hand written notebook that I first saw on Thursday night with the guests information was once again open on the desk. I hope they don’t keep credit card information in that book also, I thought.

“Yes, of course,” she said. I placed my American Express card on the desk. She picked up the card, walked over to a computer I had not noticed before, picked up a card reader and slided my card through.  They actually did use technology here!

We drove to the train station in silence. On the driver’s part I suspected that was due to his limited ability to speak English. For me, the  I felt a bit downcast watching the streets of Paris go by–there was so much more to see and now I was leaving. I had to come back.

 The Brussels’ MIDI station was large and bustling. I tried very hard not to appear to be a tourist as I made my way to the taxi stand. If you believe you belonged then everyone else will, a good friend told me many years ago. When you traveling alone it is better to belong than to become a target. So I began my march of confidence through the train station stopping a few times to pretend I was making a phone call, so that I could snap a picture or two.

“It isn’t possible to get to your hotel by car,” my driver explained after we had been driving around for 10 minutes. “Tomorrow is a national holiday and they close the streets in the city center for the people in the summer. The streets belong to them.”

“Can I walk to my hotel?” I asked as the car turned onto another major street that was blocked.

“Your hotel is right there,”he said pointing. “Just where that red Coca Cola sign is.” I could walk it, but it wasn’t close at all. To add insult to injury the sky was threatening rain. Ok, if I have to walk I will walk, I thought.

“I will try to get closer,” my driver insisted before I could exit the car. So we were off, traveling up and down the side streets of Brussels trying to avoid the barricades placed at entrances of major streets so that the people of the city could freely walk during the summer months. How could I be angry about that? 

Almost 20€ later we arrived at a street the driver felt was close enough for me to walk from.

“Walk straight down there and make the first right,” he said as he pulled my suitcase from the boot. “Your hotel is on a small street.” I paid the drive, put my knapsack on my back, and headed down the street suitcase in tow.

 My hotel wasn’t at the first right, but the second. I walked past it twice because despite reading the signs with the name of the hotel clearly written my hotel did not look like a hotel. It looked like a restaurant. On my second pass the hotel manager came out and escorted me inside. I explained to him that I thought the entrance was the restaurant part of the hotel and that I was simply looking for the right door to enter. He explained to me that it was both.

  “We don’t have a lift,” the hotel manager said as he tapped away on his computer. I looked down at my bag. I successfully pack a lot lighter than I had for previous trips, but I did not want to carry that bag up even one flight of stairs. Just my luck, I thought.  The manager continued to explain that even though they had completely renovated the interior of the hotel there wasn’t any room to add a lift. Unlike the governments of other European countries, the protection of historical buildings in Belgium is rather recent. “This building is protected,” he said almost apologetically. There was no need for that, I thought. I was quite happy that it was.

  “Because you will be with us a long time we moved you to our other building where there is a lift. Free of charge.” I liked the words “lift” and “free of charge” in that sentence, but where on earth could this “other building” be?

I asked.

“It is just down the street,” he replied. He escorted me to a white six-story building accented by black balconies. The outside was adorable. He showed me how to use the keyless entry and told me what floor I would be on. “I will leave you here. Come back if there is anything else.” He hurried back down the street to the hotel returning to  his unattended desk.

When I entered the apartment I was floored not only by how aesthetically  pleasing and large it was, but I had a whole apartment to myself! My luck had definitely taken a turn for the better.