Day 17: The Tintin Trip, Treacle Trap & Tofu Temptation

Aug 2
2 min read

Woke up to monsoon season apparently relocated to Brussels.

Packed bags with all the grace of a soggy ferret and inhaled a protein bar like a woman with secrets.

Still missing my beloved protein bowl like it’s an ex who treated me right.

Said a misty - eyed goodbye to our Airbnb (mainly the plug sockets and the slightly confused mirror), then off we Ubered to the station.

Bags chucked in a locker like we were hiding a body - which, in fairness, we sort of were.

MINE.

A slow moving, bloated, shell of a woman, carrying around 4 days's worth of unprocessed life choices.

Honestly, at that point, I was one blocked bowel away from being airlifted out of Belgium for emergency evacuation.

My boyfriend had no idea he was travelling with a human suitcase full of lentils and regrets.

We then jumped on a train to Louvain-la-Neuve - aka: TinTinLand.

SURPRISE! Boyfriend was grinning like a kid in a sweet shop (pre-Mounjaro me, basically).

He got to nerd out over TinTin and Snowy while I quietly considered if Captain Haddock was low-key a baddy.

Lunch? Oh just a protein bar and a beetroot rice cake.

Appetite?

Missing, presumed dead.

Honestly, I feel like Mounjaro’s locked my inner goblin in a cupboard.

Museum done, back to Brussels - where we discovered Wolf, a bougie street food market with 17 places trying to tempt me into sin.

Mr inhaled a pizza the size of a satellite dish.

I flirted with a tofu poke bowl, ate half, sucked on a ginger chew like a Victorian child with rickets, and called it dinner.

Pre-Mounjaro?

I’d have annihilated that pizza.

Hetty the Hoover would’ve had nothing on me. I’d have finished his slice before he blinked.

Then came the Neuhaus chocolate shop, where I allegedly bought a haul of Smurf-shaped chocolates, and another shop was left empty by me buying all colours and flavours of marzipan, and nougat “for gifts.”

(But also… who doesn’t need a marzipan mushroom in their life??)

I, of course, added to my Fridge Magnet Empire - with a classy “Brussels” and a tacky but necessary Manneken Pis. No regrets.

Then came the tragic puddle incident:

Walking to the Eurostar like a composed lady… when suddenly - SPLAT!

Right leg disappears into what can only be described as Brussels Swamp Water.

Up to my knee.

Shoe? Mud bath.

Sock? Funeral.

Mystery liquid? Unsolved.

Locals? Unbothered.

After doing 20k steps without incident, I somehow chose the one rogue sinkhole to baptise myself.

Cute.

Eurostar to London.

Tube to London Bridge.

Train home.

And finally… back to my babies (cats), my fortress of pillows, and a toilet I trust.

Reflections:

Brussels… darling. Clean yourself. You’ve got potential, but you made me feel like someone was about to nick my socks.

The touristy bits: fab.

The rest: eek.com.

Bruges? OH Bruges. She’s the Audrey Hepburn of cities 1 classy, immaculate, and secretly judging everyone.

Would I return to Brussels?

Only if the chocolate comes with an emotional support pigeon!!

With Love,

JABatha Christie

Woke up to monsoon season apparently relocated to Brussels.

Packed bags with all the grace of a soggy ferret and inhaled a protein bar like a woman with secrets.

Still missing my beloved protein bowl like it’s an ex who treated me right.

Said a misty - eyed goodbye to our Airbnb (mainly the plug sockets and the slightly confused mirror), then off we Ubered to the station.

Bags chucked in a locker like we were hiding a body - which, in fairness, we sort of were.

MINE.

A slow moving, bloated, shell of a woman, carrying around 4 days's worth of unprocessed life choices.

Honestly, at that point, I was one blocked bowel away from being airlifted out of Belgium for emergency evacuation.

My boyfriend had no idea he was travelling with a human suitcase full of lentils and regrets.

We then jumped on a train to Louvain-la-Neuve - aka: TinTinLand.

SURPRISE! Boyfriend was grinning like a kid in a sweet shop (pre-Mounjaro me, basically).

He got to nerd out over TinTin and Snowy while I quietly considered if Captain Haddock was low-key a baddy.

Lunch? Oh just a protein bar and a beetroot rice cake.

Appetite?

Missing, presumed dead.

Honestly, I feel like Mounjaro’s locked my inner goblin in a cupboard.

Museum done, back to Brussels - where we discovered Wolf, a bougie street food market with 17 places trying to tempt me into sin.

Mr inhaled a pizza the size of a satellite dish.

I flirted with a tofu poke bowl, ate half, sucked on a ginger chew like a Victorian child with rickets, and called it dinner.

Pre-Mounjaro?

I’d have annihilated that pizza.

Hetty the Hoover would’ve had nothing on me. I’d have finished his slice before he blinked.

Then came the Neuhaus chocolate shop, where I allegedly bought a haul of Smurf-shaped chocolates, and another shop was left empty by me buying all colours and flavours of marzipan, and nougat “for gifts.”

(But also… who doesn’t need a marzipan mushroom in their life??)

I, of course, added to my Fridge Magnet Empire - with a classy “Brussels” and a tacky but necessary Manneken Pis. No regrets.

Then came the tragic puddle incident:

Walking to the Eurostar like a composed lady… when suddenly - SPLAT!

Right leg disappears into what can only be described as Brussels Swamp Water.

Up to my knee.

Shoe? Mud bath.

Sock? Funeral.

Mystery liquid? Unsolved.

Locals? Unbothered.

After doing 20k steps without incident, I somehow chose the one rogue sinkhole to baptise myself.

Cute.

Eurostar to London.

Tube to London Bridge.

Train home.

And finally… back to my babies (cats), my fortress of pillows, and a toilet I trust.

Reflections:

Brussels… darling. Clean yourself. You’ve got potential, but you made me feel like someone was about to nick my socks.

The touristy bits: fab.

The rest: eek.com.

Bruges? OH Bruges. She’s the Audrey Hepburn of cities 1 classy, immaculate, and secretly judging everyone.

Would I return to Brussels?

Only if the chocolate comes with an emotional support pigeon!!

With Love,

JABatha Christie

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