TOP: Scenes at and around the Palais de Justice. CENTRE: A church we found, built in 1711, near the Palais de Justice. ABOVE: The style of the churches in Brussels differs dramatically, witness to their eras.

HERE WAS one intentional omission: we would not take in the Mannekin Pis, the life-size statue of the urinating boy. That did not fit with the notion of her Brussels. And seeing a boy urinate did not exactly appeal to me, either. It was like Titanic or a Star Wars movie to me: I’ve heard about them, but cannot claim to have gone to the cinema to catch them. If you know they don’t appeal, why join the masses?
   We set off toward the Palais de Justice. The largest building made in nineteenth-century Europe, in the eclectic style

If Brussels could survive de Villeroy’s troops in the seven­teenth century with its soul intact, then nothing could shift it save for its citizenry’s collec­tive free will

and built by Poelært, made for an impressive sight, for reasons other than scale. With the Palais, Brussels offersed another breathtaking duality: to go from streets of same-again apartment buildings and offices to sheer magnifi­cence matched only by the largest European cities.
   There was an underground car park nearby. We left the Opel there and began a walk in the Brussels rain to the Palais. The term is right: the magnificent building, which still houses the Belgian Supreme Court, is an impossibility today. Within a crowded metropolis, modern architects would have gone for a high-rise. We went from city apartments to an open space at the top of what was once Gallows Hill, uncluttered by neighbouring buildings.
   ‘This is a stunning city,’ I told her. ‘Everything seems so neat here. I mean, I don’t see the projects anywhere.’
   ‘Oh, they’re there,’ she replied. For all its impressive architecture, Belgium had not escaped the widening gap between rich and poor.
   One difference between the classes was evident at a store we passed. ‘Royal Dog Shop / Le Couturier de Chien’, proclaimed the sign. Accessories for the discerning pooch. Megan walked on, drawn toward the Grand-Place, or the Market Square, which is Brussels’ most famous tourist destination.
   En route we passed a shoe store that she had not previously discovered and another shop specializing in string instruments, but what did strike her as the streets went from paved to cobbled were the distinct churches regularly seen through­out the city. Each had stood for centuries, erected at different times in Brussels’ past and reflecting their eras. Christmas was a big deal here, she told me, not glossed over for political correct­ness’s sake.
   The first church we passed near the Palais de Justice was built in 1711, according to the grotesque lettering that appeared to have been dripping for the last 290 years. It was locked, but we were fascinated enough to try the door handles. I was more taken in by the alleyways that led from the hill: small, seemingly there for centuries, too, witness to Brussels’ continued everyday life.

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