I was homeless in Brussels once. Someone stole my backpack with my passport in it, and just like that I was stateless. It was over a weekend, and the embassy to my home country was closed and wouldn’t open until Monday.
No food, no money, no water, I had nothing to do. I walked all over that city, really got to see every interesting corner of it. It’s like 5 different countries smushed into one, and you can see french/german/british influence almost everywhere. There’s an overpass that cuts right through it at one point, occupying nothing underneath and that’s where the migrants gather on Saturday mornings to host their wares in this long unyielding impromptu market.
I slept in their parks, talked with their police (who didn’t believe my story), and even struck up a conversation with a random Canadian I met at the train station, who fitted the stereotype to a T, and gave me money so I could get by another day, asking for nothing in return.
When Monday rolled around, I took a nice leisurely stroll to the embassy and got an emergency visa, ready for the long bus trip home, and genuinely sadly bid farewell to that beautiful crazy mess of a city. It shares a special place in my heart, bureaucracy be damned.
I was homeless in Brussels once. Someone stole my backpack with my passport in it, and just like that I was stateless. It was over a weekend, and the embassy to my home country was closed and wouldn’t open until Monday.
No food, no money, no water, I had nothing to do. I walked all over that city, really got to see every interesting corner of it. It’s like 5 different countries smushed into one, and you can see french/german/british influence almost everywhere. There’s an overpass that cuts right through it at one point, occupying nothing underneath and that’s where the migrants gather on Saturday mornings to host their wares in this long unyielding impromptu market.
I slept in their parks, talked with their police (who didn’t believe my story), and even struck up a conversation with a random Canadian I met at the train station, who fitted the stereotype to a T, and gave me money so I could get by another day, asking for nothing in return.
When Monday rolled around, I took a nice leisurely stroll to the embassy and got an emergency visa, ready for the long bus trip home, and genuinely sadly bid farewell to that beautiful crazy mess of a city. It shares a special place in my heart, bureaucracy be damned.