Thank you for going overseas. Welcome back to the hell you call home! That seemed to be the message from the four customs officials at OR Tambo International on arrival recently after a fantastic few days in picturesque Brussels in Belgium via Zurich in Switzerland.
As if the flight was not painful, three customs officials, one after the other, searched my bag. They found a sealed piece of cheese, confiscated because I did not have a permit. They also took dog biscuits from my dear friends in Belgium for Montana. You cannot argue with customs officials; in my experience, they’re as anal as traffic officers. At least this time, I bit my tongue. Just being nice and reflecting on the fantastic travels is my 2024 mantra.
I told the person who took my cheese to think of me when having it. But I was peeved. To be encountered by one is enough. But three customs officials. Maybe it was the unshaven look? Or racial profiling in the land of my birth would not go amiss. I was glad to be home in time to register to vote. Now that my numero uno super bright 18-year-old golden niece Layla wants to know who to vote for and what the parties stand for, I will tell her to choose the one that offers a better life for all. If they’re unavailable, which has been the case since democracy, we pray for honest, ethical leadership with a servant mentality. I am a dreamer, yes.
The night before, when I found my seat in the crowded Swiss Air economy class, I regretted not accepting the airline’s offer to the waiting public in the lounge to take a later flight and get 600 euros to spend an extra day or two in Zurich. Having once shared an expensive pizza in Geneva on a BMW launch, I didn’t know how long this money would last, so I opted for home. The deadlines were starting to mount after ten days of workshopping in Wallingford, Oxfordshire, overnighting at a wasteful 60 pounds (R1400) in a dingy London hotel called The Belgrove, near Kings Cross, before taking the Eurostar to Brussels for a welcome break. One must know when enough is enough. Even in London, the Nandos at King’s Cross were a disappointment – as they are at home. Over-rated – and over-priced at 17 pounds (R465.38) for an awful Prego roll, some tepid wings, and a flat Coke Zero, I have had enough. Brussels was a welcome blast.
But it got worse after boarding the plane home from Brussels to Zurich. Instead of the aisle, I found myself sandwiched between two friendly gentlemen, one a top radio news broadcaster with 702 and the other an engineer from Cameroon with roots in South Africa. However, he is now anxious to ditch us over security fears and the quality of life for his children. Given our xenophobia, crime, Eskom’s loadshedding woes, potholes, and dishonest leaders across the board, can one blame him?
My mission was to get home, sleep, and activate work mould. Stuck in the middle, the flight took off around 8:30 pm. I watched ‘Mission: Impossible‘ with jaded Tom Cruise. Next up was faded Daniel Craig as James Bond in Casino Royale. They served bland dinners in between, which was nothing to write home about. Flat coke washes down anything these days. Heidi, the cartoon character from the beautiful Swiss Alps, must have starved as a child. Shame! The rest of the flight was spent listening to music, chatting with my new friends, stretching my legs, and having a comfort break.
But it was more than sufficient to regain my breath after four nights in Brussels. I checked in for the flight while awaiting Depeche Mode to take the stage at Sportpaleis in Antwerp, Belgium, as part of their Memento Mori Tour. They were brilliant. I assumed the seat was on the aisle. For Depeche Mode, I would have stood to Johannesburg.
These were my teen-hood heroes since the Construction Time Again album. Several songs on the new album Mememto Mori touch on death. But their concert was a celebration. The death of Fletcher convinced Gore to emphasise the importance of living life to the full. We took an hour-long drive in the BMW 1 series from Brussels to Antwerp. Parked in front of a church, no car guards on duty, we grabbed a tram ride to the stadium. When Depeche Mode started their set promptly at 8:45, the crowd approved. This made the journey memorable. One of the Modies, Andy Fletcher, passed away last year. The enigmatic Dave Gahan and soft, soothing, melodic Martin L Gore front the band. Gahan is a ball of energy, prancing around the stage, rallying the crowd tirelessly, singing beautifully. Their songs had a different feel live, unlike some bands who sound close to the recording. You wonder if they sang or did a Milli Vanilli, the guys who lip-synced to stardom before falling apart. Depeche Mode is a class act, going on forty years. Last year, they performed for 3 million people worldwide, starting in the United States before heading to Europe.
With South Africa attracting B-grades like Maroon 5, Deacon Blue, and golden oldies OMD, the chances of Depeche Mode returning look slim. Arriving in the United Kingdom on 28 January, I was disappointed to learn they played at the O2 Arena in London the night before.
We got on the phone when I got to Brussels and discovered that Depeche Mode was headed for Antwerp. The ticket was around 90 euros (that’s R2160). It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Depeche Mode was value for money, playing for almost 2 hours and 15 minutes, belting out hits from their latest album, Ghosts, and songs I have listened to and loved. These include Never Let Me Down Again, Everything Counts, Personal Jesus, Stripped, and many other favourites. They were amazing. A beer and a coke cost R186.
Brussels was a delight. The Eurostar from London to Brussels, with a stopover in Lille, France, was a lightening experience. I boarded at St Pancras International in London. Just over two hours later, I was in Brussels. They offered free WIFI throughout the journey, travelling for about 35 minutes undersea, but the connection was not the greatest. WIFI is ubiquitous in London and Europe. One wonders why Gautrain does not offer WIFI, considering they pitch themselves as a first-class service. My Hungarian hosts sponsored the 125-pound ticket. Although I provided my credit card details, they used Apple Pay. Technology one cannot beat when you know what you’re doing. If I had booked earlier, it would have been 85 pounds. When hungry, I am slow.
Being chauffeured around Brussels in the cool one-series Beemer was enthralling. We saw the famous Mannekin Pis, the statue of the small boy peeing, which has been a source of amusement since 1618. French fries and cheese with a mustard dip and a refreshing beer were on the menu at Café Le Cirio, where the service was slow in a dreamy ambience. Of course, my company was fabulous. Mealtimes were always special. The chicken paprika we had at their dreamy Woluwe apartment was yummy. It went down well with red wine. Equally yummy was the oven-baked fish, purchased from the local market, made with love, and devoured with zeal, accompanied by white wine. Dessert is a must.
We also managed a walk through a forest to the Woluwe shopping mall. Unfortunately, I missed the sale. With the horrendous exchange rate, shopping is not for the faint-hearted. Their mall seems like what we have here, but they have a better brand selection.
Our travels took us through the sights and sounds of Brussels, the city that is the headquarters of the European Union, steeped in history. In the air was the smell of cinnamon cake. Chocolate stores are plenty. Next was a trip to the diamond district in Antwerp, the Harbour, and a lovely meal in the city. Are those diamonds from Africa? That’s a story for another day.
I used to read about Brugge in thriller novels by Colin Forbes, the late British author whose real name is Raymond Harold Sawkins. Walking through these hallowed canals and castles via the 14th-century Stadhuis (City Hall), Markt Square has its 13th-century belfry with a 47-bell carillon and 83m tower offering fantastic views.
I also went to the church, which houses a venerated phial said to contain a cloth with the blood of Jesus Christ. It looked weird. Christ lives in one’s heart. Not some divine vile, surely? We ate dark chocolate with a hazelnut as we returned to Brussels, where everything seemed to function as a modern, first-world city should. It’s too perfect.
That night, we made the hour-long trek to Antwerp, a lovely ride in the beautiful Beemer. The second last song by Depeche Mode summed up the mood. Just Can’t Get Enough!
Back home, customs dished out a dose of the reality of our mediocre existence in our beautiful country, where few things work well, yet nothing beats our broken state. Right?
*Edwin Naidu: Jack-of-all-trades journalist Edwin Naidu talks about cars on Capricorn FM during the urban lunch adventure with King Bash on Friday. This is the first in a two-part travel series on his recent trip to Brussels and London. Look out next for his travels in Oxfordshire and visa troubles with the fussy Belgians.
