The couple of weeks leading up to my departure was especially hectic. I had agreed to rent out my place while I am away so I wanted to pack up all my clothing and quite a bit of stuff in boxes — I'm looking at it as a chance to do a big sort and paring down when I get back AKA "Swedish Death Cleaning" (Dostadning). Several of out of town friends were also visiting and I wanted to spend time with them. To add to that, I had to line up a few projects for when I return.
I finally got to packing my bike a couple of hours before my ride to the airport. When I checked in, the security guy insisted on me reopening the box which meant undoing all the meticulous taping up I had done at home.
I had a short flight to Montreal where strangely we had to walk the tarmac to get to the old part of the terminal. It was a bit sentimental as that part seemed little changed from when my family arrived here as our final destination in 1978.
The long flight to Brussels was terrible uncomfortable. I was in the middle seat stuck between a big man whose elbows alway protruded beyond my side of the armrest, and a smelly woman who sometimes put her shoed feet up on the seat a little too close to my leg.
I arrived at Brussel Zaventem a tired mess and it took me a while to assemble the bike. I had not test ridden the loaded bike before I left, and it always feels a bit wobbly before i get re-accustomed to the weight. The 18 kilometres to the hotel was a challenge in my groggy state, but along the way I managed to buy a SIM card from a salesman who only spoke French, and snap a few pictures as I rode past the European Union Parliament.
I booked a room at the Pantone Hotel which reminded me of projects in design school. I had all the intentions of going to the centre of town but after walking a bit i went for the first decent hole-in-the-wall eatery and called it a night
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