Sitting upstairs in the Roy D’Espagne, table for one, by the window, looking out across the Place in the pouring rain, drinking vin rouge and waiting for my stoempf.
Lots has happened. I checked my phone just after my last entry, and found a message from Gabriella: ‘I’m at the hotel with Marika. Where are you?’
‘Enjoying the sunshine, don’t know where. Do you want to meet for coffee? See you at the Grande Place in 10 minutes’.
I head back to the Lower Town. As I enter the Grande Place, the phone rings.
‘We’re in the Grande Place, where are you?’
‘Just got to the Grande Place, I’m standing by the stall that sells pictures, heading towards the flower stall.’
‘Sorry? ‘Where are you?’ Gabriella’s English is not great, but one hell of a lot better than my Hungarian.
‘By the flower stall.’ I stop, scan the Place, but I can’t see them.
‘I don’t understand. I’m giving you to Marika’.
Marika’s voice – confident, her English more assured.
‘Hi, where are you?’
‘In the Grande Place, by the flower stall’ I still can’t see them.
‘Wearing green?’
‘Yes!’
‘We’re right behind you!’
I turn, and there they are, a couple of metres away, laughing, Marika still holding the phone to her ear.
We smile, we hug, we laugh, we kiss.
I take them to the Arcadi. They look at the menu.
‘No English’ says Marika. I hadn’t noticed, I can usually find my way round a French menu with out too much trouble, so it hadn’t occurred to me.
There is ‘Tarte bocoli et epinards’. ‘Brocoli’ I can cope with, I don’t know ‘Epinards’, but the Flemish translation is ‘Spinazie’ (the advantage of Brussels, if you can’t read the French, sometimes the Flemish is easier to decipher). Gabriella doesn’t recognise ‘spinach’, but Markia does, so we try to explain. They both order it in the end, while I, not ready for lunch, go for the chocolat maison and the cheesecake I passed on yesterday.
Speaking of lunch… I’ve finished my stoempf and wine now. I wonder what ‘crepes Mikado’ are, I’ve seen them mentioned in lots of places. Should I order dessert, or a cappuccino, or get the bill and decamp for somewhere less pricey? Looks as though the rain is easing.
Back at the Arcadi, I told Marika about the concert on Friday and Strojmachine. She knows of them, of course.
‘The Stroj? They’re very... specific!’ she said with a laugh. I showed her the video on my camera. ‘VERY specific! But the music is great!’
‘Was it good?’ the waiter at the Roy has come for my plate.
‘Very good, thank you. Do I pay you, or downstairs?’
He leaves the bill. ‘I’m coming back’ he says. Me too, I hope.
