NORMAL LIFE: Business In Brussels

Brussels, the capital of Belgium, is also known as the capital of Europe. Don’t ask me why or how, but I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that NATO and the European Commission are headquartered there. Ask people about the history of Belgium the world over and you might be greeted with a deathly silence. Little is known about Belgium’s history and, having read a brief version of the history, I’m stunned.

In the middle ages, business people rebelled against the privileged bourgeois class while, from 1384 to 1477, Burgundy controlled the region until the Hapsburgs (god, they got around, those Hapburgs did) gained control, spurring growth in the capital area by building the 28km-long Willebroek Canal. In 1555, Charles V of the Hapsburgs abdicated the throne, granting power to Phillip II of Spain (who was married to Mary I of England, the elder sister of Elizabeth I and daughter of Henry VIII).

Religious, cultural and class differences at the time, not helped by the distant rule of Phillip II, bought about violent protests. Spain managed to hang onto power until the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht by which the Spanish Netherlands, including Belgium, were handed over to the Austrian Hapsburgs. Not long after the French revolution, France marched into town and claimed the now Austrian Netherlands as their own.

In 1815, Napoleon happened upon Waterloo, the site of the infamous Battle of the same name, not far from Brussels. The result: the creation of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, incorporating modern day Belgium & Luxembourg (BeNeLux). In 1831, King Leopold became the first ruler of an independent Belgium.

Though neutral, internal divisions between the Flemish speaking and the French speaking peoples emerged. Meanwhile, Belgium’s empire saw the acquisition of African nations more than 70 times the size of Belgium itself.

During World War II, Germany violated Belgium’s neutral status and occupied the country. Siding with France, Germany bombed and occupied Belgium from 1940 to 1944. Nowadays, Belgium is a major centre for international relations and, to this date, struggles with its identity, which is somewhat understandable given the far-from-stable past. Language, too, is still a heated topic.

You probably stopped reading a while back, but why am I going on and on and on about Belgium/Brussels? Basically, I had a business trip there over the last couple of days, attending a Congress. Due to some kind of misunderstanding (see here), my boss had suggested that I represent our department to customers visiting our stand.

And so it was that I reluctantly boarded a flight to Brussels on Monday afternoon. The fortunate thing was that two colleagues from other departments were on the same flight so we checked in together. During the flight, I wowed them with my knowledge of Finnish grammar; while my grammar was good, my ability to actually speak converse was less impressive.

Anyhow, the flight went very quickly and, when we arrived, I dropped my colleagues off at their hotel and took the taxi onward to my hotel. I stayed at the Marriot Hotel just off Anspach Boulevard, apparently not so far from Grand Place; everything I had read about Brussels indicated that Grand Place, dating from the 12st Century, was the Number 1 place to visit. I keenly checked into my Executive Suite, costing the firm a whopping €290/night.

The mini bar was included as was internet access and, as I sat on the bed and removed my shoes from my hot feet, I thought to myself: well, that’s the least that could be free! I quickly showered, got dressed in casual jeans and shirt and headed back to my colleague’s hotel on foot. Halfway along Adolphe Max Boulevard, I could see a crowd of people gathering ahead. As I neared, a throng of women let out a sudden scream, but it wasn’t a scream-for-help kind of scream, but the kind of scream a fan let’s out suddenly when spotting a celebrity. And that’s just what it was; I caught sight of Hugh Grant doing his bit along the red carpet as he entered the cinema where his latest movie, Music & Lyrics, starring Drew Barrymore was being premiered.

When I finally reached my colleague’s hotel, we settled down for a pre-meeting of the Congress that would take place over the next four days. I had stand duty on Tuesday and Wednesday and any free time would be spent speaking to customers and trying to understand their challenges while getting to know our own colleagues, based throughout Europe, better. The evening went by very quickly, the later hours spent drinking the remaining white wine accompanying the meeting.

The fifteen minute walk back to my hotel allowed me to take in Brussels by night. I headed down Adolphe Max Boulevard once again and was surprised how, darkness having arrived, the same street had actually transformed into a neon sign haven of sex shops featuring, apparently, all the latest DVDs and live shows. Having a vivid imagination of my own, I have never had to resort to such 'alternative entertainment'. I was glad to find myself in bed by midnight, well and truly knackered.

When I woke up the next morning, I headed to the Congress by taxi. My taxi driver, clearly not from Belgium, told me he was Iranian which was kind of topical given that Iran had seized 15 naval personnel just a week before (see here). I asked him about his views on Iran. In a succinct, convincing manner and with near-perfect English, he basically gave a speech during which he claimed that:

• the West doesn’t want to understanding the East


• How life in Belgium was much more materialistic than in Iran; and


• How Iranians had more respect for life.

But to provide a contrast he, for some reason, revealed that Iran does not tolerate homosexuality. Had I been too obvious, or was he speaking from his own personal experience? I explained to him how, on a similar note, deaf children in England were actually incarcerated during the Victorian era which just goes to show how much we have ‘evolved’ since then. He didn’t get the hint, nor did I even try to indicate that perhaps Iran needed to modernise somewhat.

We arrived at my colleague's hotel and, in Finnish, I told her what the taxi driver had said. She looked into my eyes and, looking back at her, I sensed that she somehow knew what the taxi driver had detected. The taxi rallied through backstreets, quickly making its way out of the city centre towards the Brussels Congress & Exhibition Area.

The day went very quickly and, before I realized, it was 6.30pm, time for a free bottle of sparkling wine signifying a successful first day at the stand. Like a herd of sheep, we ambled from the exhibition area toward the metro station. Shuttling back into town, we planned an evening dinner, which resulted in us arriving at a very prestigious restaurant with hand-painted walls and ceilings. It took nearly four hours to be served a starter and a main course and then I happened upon a thought: are they expecting to be paid for this service or should I charge them for my time?

I slept restlessly that night, having forgotten my travel alarm clock. I woke up with a start at 7.45am, dashing to the shower and then to the breakfast before checking out hastily and hailing a cab to the Congress Centre, stopping en-route to pick up another colleague from the other hotel. The morning felt long, with tired feet setting in quite early on. When my shift ended just after lunchtime, I headed straight to the airport, not wanting to spend any more time at the exhibition than I had to.

Outside the Congress Centre, I flagged down a cab for the airport; the drive was black and, with French audibly being his native language, I asked where was from. At first, I thought he said Ghana, but he shook his head. The second time around, I though he said Uganda. Wrong again, he indicated with a more rapid movement of his head from side to side. My brain was trying to recall all of the African nations and suddenly I realised: Rwanda. Oui, he said, oui! He was very easy to get on with - I told him about my stay in Brussels, he told me about his move to Belgium when he was very young and how he enjoyed being a taxi driver.

When I arrived at the airport, I was unsurprised by the adding of €10 to my fare for the pleasure of paying by credit card; corrupt bastards, I remember thinking to myself. I was relieved to find just myself and one other in the check-in queue.

There was more than three hours until my flight, but I didn't care; I whiled away some time with a bit of shopping, admiring some of the airport terminal's imposing art and writing this blog entry using the firm's laptop.

Before I knew it, I was in my seat on the plane and, before the plane had shuttled down the runway, I had fallen asleep. It was as though I was leaving Brussels as soon as I had arrived. Given that I hadn't even wanted to go on this particular business trip, I was just happy to be going to a place where service was still somewhat reasonable and where cab drivers didn't rip you off.