This is only the first few hours in Brussels because I’m too tired and lazy to write up the rest of the trip yet.

This is only the first few hours in Brussels because I’m too tired and lazy to write up the rest of the trip yet.

‘What we going to do while we’re in Brussels? Like I know nothing about Belgium –  do you know where we should go etc?”

“Well, I put a Tweet up yesterday asking for suggestions…..”

The Tweet in question implied I had throughly researched the city in Belgium; that I merely wanted some extra pointers on top of my basic Trip Advisor etc Googling. I hadn’t. The follow up Tweet suggested I knew more of what the city had to offer than merely the small statue of a pissing boy. I didn’t. Neither did Scarlett. Embarrassingly, we couldn’t be 100% sure of what language was spoken over there. The replies to Tweet were either well wishes for our travels or suggestions to go to Bruges instead; thanks, internet – helpful. We were going in blind.

Or should that be blind drunk?* At Manchester airport we ensured we were just as intoxicated as we were ignorant. Look, when you’re nervous about flying sometimes you need several vodka tonics on a empty stomach. In fact, I fully endorse this tactic as, having a blood stream 67% full of vodka really helped us cope with the following two problems:

*I’m sorry. That is a truly awful dad joke and I will see myself out. 

20 minutes before the plane was due to land, we were grounded for refuelling for around an hour

Plane 1
Killing time while we were grounded taking selfies. Hate us.

Nightmare. Obviously some obnoxious English girls had made friends with a couple of Welsh lads and were trying to blag the air hostesses to let them off for a ciggie and to get the ale served again. Arseholes.*

*It was us. We took selfies to make it even worse. Apologies if you were on this flight. But if we’re all being honest, we were more entertaining than the screaming toddlers.

Arriving at the wrong city

When we finally got going again and arrived at our destination, it became abundantly clear that some scatter brained bimbo had booked the wrong airport and we had, in fact, landed in Brussels South Charleroi, rather than Brussels. So our accommodation that was merely 15 minutes away via a cheap train was now actually over an hour away in an expensive taxi. The cheap flights suddenly didn’t seem like such a bargain now – well in, dickhead.*

*The dickhead i am talking about is me. Mad respect to Scarlett for not giving me a nasty Chinese Burn once she realised what I had done. 

The accommodation was booked via the crazy new concept, airbnb. I dub it a crazy new concept because, while you and me may have heard for it for a while, The Daily Mail has yet to run an expose on the ‘dangers of holidaying in stranger’s home’ and your mum finds the whole thing ‘a little bit dodgy sounding if I’m being honest, Zoe.’ If you’re unaware of the concept, airbnb simply allows anyone to rent out there space to those travelling through their city; could be an entire flat they own, a spare room, or even just a bed – there’s a price range for everyone and it’s a dream for if you’re ballin’ on a budget (aka ‘doing things on the cheap’ if you want to talk boring.) Even Mariah Carey is making a bit of extra pocket money on there!


Our host was wonderful considering we were over three hours late and had kept him up past midnight. He showed us to our floor, which featured interesting decor (Do you get a samurai sword in a Holiday Inn? No. You get questionable bed sheets and a feeling of despair in the air), and we got a few hours sleep before we started what can only be described as a two day bender in Belgium where horrible life decisions were made……

More once this hangover has finally checked out!

See also: #BiteMeDublin A Halloween Weekend In Ireland