Brussels Confidential

Rain on my Parade and a Blood Orange Bonk

This weekend the Fete de Chien Noir was held on Avenue Georges Henri. The annual street fete is held on Saturday and Sunday. The fete is made up of many amusements for children (jupiter jumps, merry go rounds, bungee trampolines etc) and hundreds of stalls hawking everything from cut rate beauty goods and potholders to artisanal wild board sausages. It runs the stretch of Georges Henri all the way from Boulevard Brand Whitlock to the cemetery park at the foot of the hill.

On the Sunday, there is a parade - which is actually the Cavalcade for the Chien Noir. Every year a few scraggly bands make it down the crowded street, hopelessly separated from one another and having to fight the crowds that fill in the gaps between bands as they slowly move down the hill. There are a few bands with oompa loompa sounding horns and military inspired costume designs that look as if they once proudly represented the commune but since have lost a bit of their sparkle. The band members throw blood oranges to the crowd. Not sure what this symbolises, but they do. As always, the Brazilian band is next to last and all you can see are pink and white feather plumes bobbing up and down over the sea of heads. The beat of the drums reverberating down the street and the whistles and screams of the noisemakers. The final act is a car-drawn wagon containing a few jester type clowns and of course some poor soul dresses as a black dog. The jesters throw oranges to the crowd as well. Some rite of spring I guess. The whole mess goes down the hill and turns around and slowly makes their way back up.

As usual, I had invited a few friends over to wander the fete. I usually have people to my place for coffee and then we wander out the door and down the street as the fete is literally steps from my home. One very lovely friend arrived at my door with an armload of iris, pink Gerber daisies and lots of wild flowers and greenery as a spring gift for me. He always gets it right. Unique, warm and thoughtful - Mr. Flowers.

Though the day was grey and a bit foreboding, the clouds held and it wasn't too cool. We wandered down the hill and eventually had to stop at a cafe at the bottom for a beer and to give Bunny Dog a chance to chill. So many people, children, dogs and noise. He was a bit overwhelmed. We finished our beers and wandered back up the hill stopping for various fete foods to share on our way - we had tiny fried fish served in cones with a tarter styled sauce - they tasted like salty popcorn shrimp but looked like mini goldfish. We shared a sloppy but required doner kebab, we snarfed a sausage roll with sauteed onions among us, nibbled a couple spring rolls from the Vietnamese tent, some ate funnel cakes, and a few sugar spun peanuts.

We stopped at artisanal tables and my friends got thinly sliced smoked wild boar, Ardennes salamis, jams and speciality wines to take home.

As we came made it to the last block we anchored ourselves to a great table outside a local pub and waited for the last few bits of the parade to pass. Mr. Flowers was awfully funny and very attentive. All my friends having a great time - no one really paying attention to the clouds.

The Brazilian band inched up the street throwing confetti in the air, their drums a cacophony of noise. All the parade watchers shaking their hips, clapping their hands to the beat or whistling. Bunny dog and several others were barking but could barely be heard. As the thick of the crowd surged pass the table and the noise was at it's height, several things happened.

1. A blood orange hit me in the forehead with a painful zing
2. Someone knocked our table leg and all the wine and beer poured on to me
3. The heavens opened up and dumped masses of water on us

Luckily, I live so close it was not a big deal to run home. I let everyone in and got them fresh towels and they turned on the music, made themselves at home and then looked at me and started to laugh.

I had a big red spot on my forehead where the orange had whacked me and I was drenched head to toe, smelling like a brewery and covered in paper confetti!

Mr. Flowers wrapped me in a towel and kissed my forehead.

I went up for a quick hot shower and when I came down, my friends had laid out a table with sliced ham, foie gras, pate, several cheeses, fresh bread, grainy mustard, fruit, wine, beer and all sorts of lovely little things like pickled onions, cornichons and onion confit.

We listened to music, Watched the rain fall. Cuddled on the sofa and chairs with warm throws we talked and talked and shared wine and stories.

So there was rain on my parade and I got bonked with an orange. Life is still wonderful.

posted by Brussels Confidential @ 9:48 AM