A visit to Central Europe in December is not complete if a visit is not made tour of the Christmas markets. The format, imported to other countries of the continent, is basically the same: small prefabricated wooden cabins, with a decoration dominated by green and red colors, hide inside stalls selling all kinds of typical items of the area or of the time or, remotely related to it.
In the case of Brussels, I visited two very close to each other. The first, smaller, was casually located in the Ste-Catherine Church square, across the street where he had eaten fish on Friday at noon. In front of the religious building there were several stalls but the main attraction was a curious roundabout, totally surreal.
Instead of the traditional horses and swings, the figures to climb and sit seemed out of the imagination of the great Dalí, both for the design and for the colors and finishes: a dragon with which to emulate Atreyu, a chameleon with a sphere-cockpit in the back, a steam locomotive not conventional, a horse but sea, a fish with mobile wings like wings, a hot air balloon with a puffer fish, the figure of a miner to climb behind him , a fishing boat, an ostrich, a unicorn ...
In perpendicular to the square that I have mentioned before, and at the height of the church, there was another market much larger, occupying almost the entire esplanade delimited by the Quai aux Briques and the Brandhoutkaais. Included one Ice skating rink and a colossal ferris wheel, in addition to all the imaginable positions of frittes, waffles, bread, honey, cheese, ham, spiced wine (with rum or Cointreau, if you feel like it), Santa Claus hats, small wooden dinosaurs for children, gin for adults (although it shares the name with which we all know, and that the retired British mix with tonic, it actually looks like a much softer liquor) ... and even a trailer called "Los Churros" and in which a Chinese sold the Hispanic product.
And we recognize it, in Belgium in general it eats very well.
When I returned to the hotel, I almost accidentally stumbled upon the church in which the poet J.B. is buried. Rosseau (not to be confused with the philosopher J.J. Rosseau, as I did very well) and very close to it is a shop by Pierre Marcolini, the ones who swear to me are probably the best Belgian chocolates.