Last Stop: Brussels, Where Chocolate and Construction Collide
Our final day of the Spring Trip was in Brussels, Belgium. As we pulled into the city, it became immediately clear why Backroads had no interest in trying to navigate this place. Brussels is a big city, and based on the sheer volume of construction smack in the middle of the streets, I’d say the city planners are in their “under renovation” era. At least half of our time on the bus was spent inching around a four-mile stretch that felt more like a game of urban Tetris than transportation.
Graffiti was everywhere—some of it artistic, some of it just angry scribbles—and the vibe was not exactly the quaint, postcard-perfect villages we’d been soaking in for the past ten days. Instead, it was like the city had been tagged by someone who ran out of patience and paint.
We were dropped off at one of the train stations, and Chad and I decided it’d be easier to walk the mile to our hotel. And it probably would have been—had we not missed a crucial turn and ended up walking four extra blocks just to get around the construction maze. Silver lining? My heart rate went up just in time for my two-hour chocolate tasting. Cardio by way of poor navigation.
By the time we reached our hotel, I started to see the city’s charm poke through the scaffolding. The hotel itself was lovely—spacious (for a city), clean, and comfortable, with a bed that looked like it could forgive you for a thousand wrong turns. We dropped our bags, changed shoes, and headed back out for one last afternoon of Belgian exploration.
The chocolate tour began in the Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert—a historic, glass-roofed shopping arcade from 1847 that screams “Don’t touch anything unless you have a credit card limit over $5,000.” I got immediately distracted by a scarf store, Roseline d’Oreye, which had every color I’ve ever told myself looks good on me.
I popped in “just to look,” and walked out with a scarf and a chatty new friend—Roseline herself, the artist behind the designs. I can already tell this will not be the last scarf I buy from her because, of course, I can’t stop thinking about them. Scarves are the gateway drug of textile shopping.
We were joined on the chocolate tour by our friends Randy and Alisa, plus another couple—coffee farmers from the Big Island of Hawaii. I mean, of course you don’t take a chocolate tour in Brussels and not run into people who actually grow one of your other vices.
Our guide was a young, sweet guy—half Belgian, half Slovenian, full of feelings about the French. He’s a college student who moonlights as a chocolate sherpa, and while he had the charm of a sitcom side character, he definitely had an ax to grind with the French side of Belgium. He warned us (and our wide-eyed Hawaiian friends) that in Paris, baristas spit in your coffee if you speak poor French. I tried to gently reassure them that I had just been to Paris, drank plenty of coffee, and never once detected any extra “froth.”
The tour took us to five different chocolate shops—each with a backstory more romantic than the last. We also got a walking history lesson that included the Grand Place, Brussels’ central square, which Victor Hugo once called “the most beautiful square in the world.” And considering he basically rescued Notre-Dame from obscurity, I trust the man’s taste in real estate.
One of the highlights was Mary’s Chocolates, founded by Mary Delluc in 1919—a woman so far ahead of her time, she basically invented luxury snacking. This was not your airport Snickers situation. This was “Should I sell my shoes for more truffles?” energy. The Galeries Royales location was so beautiful, I forgot my feet were mad at me.
By the third stop, I was floating on a cloud of cocoa. Chad, on the other hand, was crashing. Apparently, one cannot live on pralines alone. Luckily, our guide had pointed out a local mussels spot—Mussel Mongers, so we made a beeline over there once the tour ended.
As we sat down, a woman at the next table leaned over and said, “Go Tigers!” She’d spotted Chad’s Clemson hat. Turns out she was a fellow alum, traveling with her family. Because of course—even across the world, Clemson finds you.
Our waiter brought over two giant steaming bowls of mussels and fries and told us they were all-you-can-eat. That’s not a dare—it’s a dream. Chad finally looked content again, now fortified with protein and a Belgian beer.
Our final sightseeing stop was the famous Manneken Pis—a small bronze statue of a naked boy peeing into a fountain. (Art!) Apparently, they now dress him up in themed costumes, and on our visit, he was wearing a full military uniform. Including matching shoes. I don’t know why that tickled me so much, but it did. The commitment to detail was inspiring.
We wanted to keep walking, to keep soaking it all in, but we hit the wall. One too many cobblestones, too many chocolates, too few hours of sleep. We walked back to our hotel and collapsed like the seasoned travelers we are.
Brussels may not have started off like a postcard, but by the end of the day, it had won me over. Charm just takes a little longer to find when it’s hidden under scaffolding.
