I flew United, Denver to Brussels via Chicago O’Hare. Economy, back of the bus. The first flight was on time, but as is often the case for me, upon landing in Chicago, our gate was occupied. I had a quick connection – while we were still waiting for a gate, the United app was beeping my phone: my next flight was scheduled to start boarding. After a few minutes waiting on the tarmac, they directed us to a different gate. We were supposed to arrive at gate C 12. My flight to Brussels departs at C 16. Instead of walking a hundred feet to the gate, it was a sprint down one concourse, through the tunnel, and up another concourse. Luckily, things were running a few minutes late, and they only started boarding when I arrived at the gate.

The flight to Brussels was my first time on a 787. I was on the aisle in row 60, the very last row. The economy cabin is ten seats across, with two aisles. My row was only nine, but I was next to the head. I expected a suboptimal experience next to the head, but I was next to a bulkhead, not the door. There was no odor, and I could get up whenever I wanted and stand for a few minutes in the rear galley. Bonus: the middle seat was the only empty seat on the plane.

I was a little surprised at our route. I knew we’d be going fairly far north, but I didn’t expect us to go due north from Chicago and due south over Scotland and England.

Meal service started pretty quickly after we reached cruising altitude. There was a choice of three meals, unless you were seated in the last row and you took what was left. In this case, it was the chicken and rice.

I normally have no trouble sleeping on planes. This time, though, not a wink. Each seat has a screen on the back of the seat in front. They kept the cabin dark, encouraging people to sleep. When I turned my light on to read, it looked like a beacon. Nobody else had figured out how to turn the light on, perhaps. I watched the map of our route when I watched anything. People around me watched movies or TV shows.

Breakfast was some sort of bagel sandwich – egg, cheese, ham.

Inexperienced international traveller here. I was surprised by how the passport check and customs worked. Passport check was before baggage claim. I was asked if Belgium was my final destination. Passport stamped, and I was on my way. Collect my bag at baggage claim and head out the door.

I’m not renting a car on this trip. Well, I’m renting two of them, but that’s later.

Google’s route for me was to catch a bus at the airport, then get another bus to the hotel. I opted for simplicity. The second bus saved me a twenty-minute walk. I’m happy to walk twenty minutes.

They let me check in to the hotel early, which was convenient. That allowed me a quick rest before heading out. The hotel elevator is the smallest I’ve ever seen. The safety placard says maximum load 400kg or 5 persons. There’s no way to get five people in this elevator unless three of them are infants.

The staircase is adjacent to the elevator and seems to have the same footprint in the floor plan. It’s the size of a bedroom closet. The stairs are small triangles, not much bigger than my foot, and I have to be careful not to knock my skull on the ceiling at the bottom of each flight. I’m on the fifth floor. The lobby is floor zero.

To get any of the lights to work in my room, I had to insert my room card into a little gadget on the wall by the entry. That took me a minute to figure out. Not how to do it, but that I needed to do it.

After a short nap, I walked to Grand Place. It’s the city’s central square, surrounded by ornate old buildings. It’s the main tourist attraction in the city. The weather was nice enough when I set out from the hotel, but in the end, it was a two-hour walk in the rain. Silly me, I left the raincoat in my room and wore the hoodie instead.

The buildings in Grand Place are giant works of art. Many are covered in statues made of stone or copper. Hundreds of them, all unique. It boggles my brain to think of the number of hours of highly skilled labor that went into it. The crowd was on the thin side due to the rain.

I headed back to the neighborhood of my hotel to look for dinner. Just like any place I’ve ever looked for a restaurant, I had choices: Italian, Mexican, Asian, or burger joints. I had all these within a few blocks, as well as French, Lebanese, and Hawaiian Poke. No traditional Belgian kitchens, though. I didn’t come here for tacos, and I didn’t want to deal with two language barriers trying to order Lebanese food in a French-speaking country. So I got a burger.

It’s a little joint, Bintje. Most business is take-away. They have seating for a couple dozen, maybe. The kitchen is next to the door, so when you stand in line to order, you get to see them cook. Fresh-cut potatoes fill a large shelf above the fryers; no frozen frites here. They had three burgers on the menu. I had the “Original BBBQ” burger. That would be bacon barbecue, thus the three Bs. But no barbecue sauce. The sauce they used was tasty, but not BBQ.

The bun was delicious and the serving of fries frites rivals Five Guys in generosity. I had a draft beer, a local brew. The server switched to English with the first word out of my mouth: “Original”.

There’s quite a bit more English in use here than I expected. A high percentage of the businesses I passed on my bus ride from the airport had English names. There’s English graffiti. On the way from Bintje to my hotel, a couple was walking and talking behind me. She’s speaking a steady stream of French, then says, “Sign. Me. Up.,” then switches back to French.

I am 8 time zones from home.