So instead of going to sleep after dinner like I planned, I ended up going to a pub with a new set of international superfriends. Fast forward to an army regiment of Stella Artois and Corona bottles and you can see why I missed my train. What I had to do instead was take an adjacent train out followed by a cab ride for the rest of the way while slightly buzzed. Surprisingly enough, I was on time for this train. The ride itself, like the movie "Crash", wasn't anything special. At the train station, I decided to share the cab with a pair of young English drunks. The stories they shared were of the typical "I was so drunk..." variety, but they were peppered with enough English colloquailisms and accent to make them hilarious.
I arrived at the airport at around midnight and saw all these people lounging around. And by lounging around, I mean sleeping in the most uncomfortable of positions. Except for this one couple who somehow had been hit by the preparedness stick and had the foresight to bring an air mattress. They wouldn't share so I picked a spot between the check-in counter and the restroom. I know, my real estate skills are unsurpassed. Surprisingly enough though, I passed out. But let me tell you, it wasn't as glamorous as I make it sound.
Three hours of sleep later, I woke up, bought a cup of coffee to shake off the chills of sleeping on tile, checked in, flew out out of London, and landed near Brussels. I hopped on a bus to the main train station in the heart of the city. I then picked up a map and realize that (a) I can't read French, (b) I don't know where I am to begin with, and (c) that I'm a bit delirious from the whole not sleeping bit so it would be best to try neither (a) nor (b).
Lucky for me though, I call up my family here in Brussels and they tell me what I need to do. I bought a metro ticket, got confused as hell deciphering the metro map, called my aunt again, went "ohh", got on tram 4 towards Stalle, and got off at the Wagon stop to a warm greeting from an aunt and cousin I hadn't seen in 12 years.
Next up, my stay in Brussels, another moment of personal profundity, sitting on the coldest toilet seat I've ever sat on, and eating too many mussels... Waaaaaay too many mussels...