Monday, July 5
Our Euro Capital hotel in Brussels is the quintessence of our Euro lodging. Located across the street from the main train station—frequently an interesting part of town—it was 3-star, clean, comfortable and a compact and at €80 with breakfast, a screaming deal. The French-born Algerian desk clerk spoke at least 4 languages—pretty much the norm. I believe Groucho’s comment on our chamber no. 35 would have been “that’s an awfully big number for such a little room”, but it fit our needs.
Our routine now seems to include a very generous hotel breakfast, a beverage for lunch and then something in the evening. All-in-all, not a bad plan and with several kilometers of walking a day, not bad for waistline.
Rather than diving into the crowd at today’s race start, we hopped a tram and headed up course a few kilometers. The tram route paralleled the TdF course for quite a distance, so we just stayed on until we found a spot with large breaks in the spectator lines. It was great! No more of elbowing and jostling, the view of the passing bikes was unobstructed, but again, incredibly brief. Again, this is not a very good live spectator sport, but it’s still an incredible feeling to be inches away from a very determined and very focused pro cyclist cranking out a good 45 kilometers per hour. A passing peloton pushes a wind gust not unlike that of a Mack truck.
It was around noon when le Tour passed our spot and an office building just behind us was hosting an outdoor Tour view and lunch for their employees–my kind work environment. We had a bit of time to kill before our flight, so it was back to the trolley for an impromptu pass through a rather upscale Brussels neighborhood, a gorgeous park and a quick stop for glass of wine at a chic little bistro.
We ended up killing a bit more time than was probably wise and therefore the airport trip became rather hurried. In our haste, we overlooked the fact that the liter of Scotch we’d been schlepping since the duty free shop in Chicago was still in a carry on. We hadn’t had to deal with that security nonsense in over a week. Dumping an almost-full bottle of Scots whiskey in an airport trash can was not an easy act. C’est la vie. To sooth the soul after the great hooch dump, I ordered a half split of champagne on the SAS flight. The flight attendant brought us the most delightful Orefors glasses in which to enjoy the bubbly. Mange tak.