Santa teaches our kid about diversity

There's a certain childlike joy that we all get from discovering new places. It's a feeling of excitement and wonder that reminds us of the magic in the world. It's a feeling that our kids get seeing anything, from the simplest of places to the most fascinating. Why not encourage that wonder in our children? Why not give them a sense of worldliness and diversity from the youngest of ages?

By immersing our kids in different cultures, they learn to appreciate and respect the differences that make each individual unique. The exposure also helps develop a broader worldview and a greater appreciation for the beauty and complexity of the world around them. Traveling with young children can truly be a transformative and enriching experience for them (and for you).

Innate prejudices

I consider myself a fairly open-minded person, but I've got to be honest: I've got a whole string of innate biases and prejudices that are automatically registered in my mind. Only if I look at them and see how they influence my actions can I contradict them, but that's a practice that not many people do, as they haven't really developed that kind of awareness. Indeed, it requires a lot of self-reflection and introspection that a lot of people just don't do. And that's not a knock on them, that's just a fact.

I grew up as a middle-class white boy in a Southern/Midwestern suburban town (I'm not really sure what Tulsa is), with extended family in Louisiana. All of that influenced the information going into my head during my formative years and shapes everything to how I immediately react around Black people, or Asians, or gowned or hijabi Muslims, or so on. I can't help it. Similarly, you, dear reader, have automatic thoughts and assumptions concerning anyone you meet or see. Everyone does. Because assumptions are built off past experiences, and they exist to save us time and energy. But often they're just flat wrong, but because society reinforces them, we often fail to question or challenge them.

Growing up with diversity

My Georgian-American kid is growing up here in Brussels, a French-speaking city surrounded by Dutch-speaking towns. And if that weren't linguistic diversity enough, Brussels is also the de facto capital of the European Union, which means thousands of people from all over the world come here to work in embassies and NGOs. It's the most diverse place I've ever lived in, and perhaps ever been to, with the exceptions of maybe New York City or Washington, D.C..

At the local playground—which is literally next to a mosque—it's common to hear Russian, Ukrainian, Czech, Polish, French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic, sometimes Chinese, and other languages I don't recognize. His best friends at school are from Senegal, France, Ukraine, Romania, and Armenia.

At the playground

Now, I grew up when "Pressing 1 for English" was a controversial thing in the US. So I view the world through that lens of prejudice. My mind automatically asks, "What do Belgians think of that mess?"

But also, I think it's really cool that my kid gets to grow up with "that mess". He gets to grow up with a worldview where global diversity is the standard. Where it's more weird to be part of the "same" group of people. Now, I like to think of that as an advantage, but who knows. Maybe that'll have the effect of making him a permanent outsider, but then I grew up with that feeling, and I grew up where everyone was "the same".

All that to say, traveling with young children can really widen their perspective—even if it's not the full experience of living somewhere, it's at least an experience. It educates them by exposing them to diverse cultures, traditions, and experiences. And as I'm writing this around Christmas time, you'll have to forgive my Christmas-centric examples.

Christmas market fun

If you choose to travel to Europe around the holidays, then you're in for a real treat. There is something really magical about Christmas markets, especially in Germany. Probably that magic is rooted firmly in the gluhwein, but it does help foster a kind of Hollywood "Christmas spirit" that you feel in those cheesy Netflix movies; I'll have to admit. And it's pretty fun for kids.

We just went to the Christmas market in Cologne a week before writing this. And though it's perhaps more accurate to say "markets", it was a real treat. There were roughly four or five markets, and a "Christmas train" connected them all; if you're traveling with kids, it might be best to pay for this otherwise pointless tourist attraction. Were we to be childless, I would have simply just ridden the city tram or bus. It ended up being much more convenient, and given how slow the kiddo can go, hugely time-saving.

One of many Kolner Christmas markets

And, I think that was our kid's favorite part! That and the Ferris wheel. He was not impressed by Kolner hot chocolate, that's for sure.

The most interesting thing about Christmas in Europe, though, is just how different they tend to be. The markets themselves have a different character. In France and Germany, they are much more "fairy-tale" oriented; in the Netherlands, they are winter flea markets; in the UK, they are carnival amusement parks; and so on. But even more than the differences in the markets are the differences in the Santas.

Santa-diversity

I've mentioned the cross-cultural creation that is my son. Now the hardest part of raising him is the myth of Santa Claus, and how him being part of so many traditions has really created weird complexities in teaching such a simple narrative. For the record, I'm not really huge on the Big Santa Lie myself, but my wife insists we go along with it.

I just remember the trauma of finding out the truth as a child, and I don't want to put our kids through that. My brother and I opened the Forbidden Hall Closet, where my dad kept all his clothes. We climbed up to the top shelf, to the suspiciously labeled "Santa" box and pulled it down. It fell with a clatter, the open box on the floor with the infamous red suit spilling out. And then I knew my dad was not the source of all that was good in the world: He had been lying to me!

Well, I don't want that. But my wife trumps my childhood tragicomedy.

Anyway, here's a list of the different Santa contenders that I've had to explain to my son. I've had to go through the different ways they're different, and how really they're all the same person, too. And this is all a metaphor for humankind: We're all different, yet we're all the same.

Georgian Santa on break

First, I should mention the reality of the Santa Clause legend. He's really a conflagaration of two different concepts: St. Nicholas of Myra and the pagan Grandfather Frost (who still lives on in Russia as Ded Moroz).

1. Belgium: We have both the Dutch Santa and the French Santa, along with the American Santa. I just want to start with Belgium to get that out of the way, since that's the world he's most exposed to.

   
   

2. US Santa: We all know the jolly fat guy in the red suit, brought to us originally by Coca-Cola a hundred something years back. But the reality is, they didn't invent him. They imported aspects of him from Germany, France, Poland, and the UK. Probably the guys on the Coca-Cola artboard were all immigrants from those places.

   
   

3. Dutch Santa: His name is Sinterklaas and he goes around giving out candies, accompanied by a kid wearing blackface, named Zwarte Piet. The kid has had some controversy over the years, as you might have guessed, but they claim the blackface is from chimney diving and not from performing in minstrel shows. Sinterklaas dresses like a Catholic Bishop, even though they burned down all the Catholic churches in the Netherlands in the 1600s. Yet Santa still reigns supreme!

   
   

4. French Santa: He's got two personalities. First there's Pere Noel/Papa Noel, or "Grandfather Christmas" or "Father Christmas", who's more of a "spirit of Christmas" than based on an actual man. But really he just looks like the American Santa. What's funny is that many Frenchies don't realize Pere Noel IS St. Nicholas. Because they also have St. Nicolas who goes around visiting schools and handing out candy. But he's not accompanied by some racist boy like Sinterklaas.

   
   

5. Georgian Santa: A bonus one for you, since my boy is also Georgian and they also have a Santa. Georgian Santa's named Tovlis Babua (Grandfather Frost). Though it's funny, because tovlis babua is also the word for a snowman. Tovlis Babua gives gifts on New Years, has nothing to do with Christmas (as he was sanitized by the Commies) and wears traditional mountain man clothing.

   
   

6. Cajun Santa: Another bonus! My parents are Cajuns, and one of my earliest holiday memories is my mom reading the Cajun Night Before Christmas. Now that I've a kid, she gave me that book to read. So we read it. According to legend, Cajun Santa is a man riding an eight-alligator-drawn pirogue while wearing muskrat fur.

   
   

Co-exist

So there you go, so many Santas! How about that lesson in cultural diversity! And on top of that, they celebrate in different ways too. Let's just look at gift-giving.

1. In France, Belgium, and Czechia: I'm throwing in Czechia to advertise for my book, A Facetious Guide to Czechia. Most of the gift-giving for children happens on St. Nicolas Day, or December 6, instead of Christmas. Bonus: In Czechia, Santa is accompanied by a hairy, bell-toting demon named Krampus who gifts coal to the bad kids.
   

   My kid recently left one of his shoes at school, because apparently Santa leaves the kids yummy carrots on December 6.
   

   But also the French for a long time ago had New Year's gifts, or etrennes, but then they moved it to Christmas because of the importation of Santa Claus because 'Murica.
   

2. In Georgia, gift-giving was moved to New Year's to remove any religious significance. Same in all theformer USSR countries. And their "Christmas tree" turned into a "New Year's tree".

   
   

3. In the UK and Germany, gift-giving is on Christmas.

   
   

So there you go. If you don't believe me about some real cultural widening, I hope Santa and his gift-giving are enough of a lesson to show you. I'm just using Christmas as an example though, but traveling during a holiday is definitely already a pre-packed cultural marathon of educational materials for your children.

Traditions for teaching

There are plenty of other holidays, though, depending on where you go, with cool traditions to watch for. There's Ommegang in Belgium, with a big medieval parade and performances in the old town. There's Jan Nepomuk Day in Czechia, where they parachute from the sky into the Vltava and barges float around playing orchestral music while they pick up the skydivers. There are the bull-friendly bullfights in South France.

There are scores of crazy, free events going on in all kinds of different locations, you just have to do a little digging in your planning. But they can all be used to teach lessons in history, tradition, and appreciating our differences.

Travel can be a powerful tool for broadening young minds. By immersing our children in diverse cultures, we equip them with invaluable life skills like empathy, adaptability, and a global perspective. From the enchanting Christmas markets of Europe to the vibrant celebrations of other cultures, there are endless opportunities to inspire wonder and curiosity in your little ones.

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A Golden Stream Through Brussels: A Guide to Its Quirky Statues

Most cities have that one big tourist attraction where you get there and you feel a little underwhelmed. In this, Brussels completely outdoes all the competition. The Mannekin Pis is just about the most underwhelming tourist sight you can ever imagine. Of course, no visit to Brussels is worth its piss if you don’t visit the famed pissing boy, but you also must lump that visit in with the pissing girl and the pissing dog. And after that, piss on a church (quite legally)! And then sit back and wonder if there’s more to Brussels than pissing.

I’ve already written quite a lot on this blog about Belgian pissing culture. Though I never shared this anecdote: I had a Belgian friend who was driving through the Netherlands and he really had to piss. So he did what was natural. Pulled over to the side of the highway, found a bush, and let it fly. The police immediately arrived.

“What are you doing?!” the Dutch officer asked.

“What does it look like?” my friend replied, cigarette hanging from his mouth, penis hanging from his hand.

“You are a savage,” the Dutchman said.

“I am a Belgian,” my friend replied.

“Do you not have toilets in Belgium?”

My friend shrugged. Indeed, toilets are often hard to come by in this country. And when you do come by them, they’re often… weird. Again, see my other blog on this.

Anyways, back to Mannekin Pis. Why is that little guy so revered? Let’s delve in.

A short history of Pis

By the way, I’m not overly sure how to pronounce “Pis”. Is it like the French would say, “Pee”? Though my kid came home from French school, and he pronounced it with the “s”, so perhaps it’s true to the Flemish form.

Regardless as to how it's pronounced, the Manneken Pis is more of a symbol of Brussels than just a transparent metaphor for late-night happenings.

The fountain first made its appearance in 1619 when Hieronimus Duquesnoy the Elder completed it. The meaning and purpose behind it has been lost in the mists of the early morning steam of a… sorry, I can’t help myself to the urination metaphors.

Duquesnoy was born in Le Quesnoy and died in Brussels, and was the court sculptor for Archduke Albert and Archduchess Isabella. Most of his life was spent working on church furniture and sculptures for the royal palace and gardens. Along with this piece, you can find a sacrament tower in Sint-Martinuskerk in Aalst and another one in Sint-Jakobskerk in Ghent.

Origin stories

The first story I heard was that when Brussels was under siege by the French, Dutch, German, or some other army, a fire was ignited in the city. A young, heroic boy sped to the task of putting out the fire—or fuse from explosives, or something—the only way he could think of: by pissing on it! I told that one to my 5-year-old; he loved it. Though this probably explains all of his joking lately with his toilet.

Another story, which I just learned from AI—so take it or leave it—is that a wealthy merchant’s son peed on a witch’s door, so she turned him into a statue. Now that I’ve read that, I kind of would like to believe that one’s true, but then, this being Brussels, there’d be a lot more pissing statues about…

The dressing begins

Though we can’t date the statue, we do know when the whole dressing thing started. It started in 1746, after the French took Brussels (then at the time part of the Netherlands) during the War of Austrian Succession and occupied the city. The French, seeing how the Brusselaar had a weird reverence for the pissing boy, often mocked it as they passed. The Brusselaar complained up the chain of command that their boy was being mistreated.

Seeing that French attitudes could cause an uprising there, the French King Louis XV, gifted the statue a royal gown, and he made the order that every French soldier passing the statue would have to salute.

Pissing Louis XV

Since then, they’ve taken up dressing the boy in all kinds of clothes.

All the Pissing Clothes

Over the course of his lifetime, our favorite little Belgien has had over 1,000 outfits. He changes outfits for any occasion, pending a request and donation to the city. That’s right, that means you too can design your own little pissing boy clothes and have him wear it (for the right price). They change him up to three times a day, and being a pissing boy dresser is an official, full-time job of the city.

In a chokha for Georgian Independence Day

I’ve seen him wearing a Georgian chokha for Georgian Independence Day, some Italian national clothes, firefighting clothes, graduation clothes, and so on. Really, I don’t remember all the different clothes I’ve seen on him. Most embassies, though, will sponsor an outfit during the Independence Day of their country, and the Church (or some rich religious guy) often has him dress up for religious days.

Lucky for you, they even have many of his clothes on display. Right around the corner, there’s the Garderobe MannekenPis just a spitting distance away. So, if you want the complete experience, you can see the fountain, grab a penis waffle at one of the adult waffle vendors, and scarf that down, and then go to the museum.

On the side of the museum, there’s a gigantic mural of “Manneken Peace”, so don’t miss that. The museum is 5 euro to get in and includes a fairly amusing audio tour (it’s also included in the Belgium Museum Pass).

Manneken Peace

The Pissing Ceremony

Whenever they change the clothes, the sponsor of the getup comes out and makes a little speech to their cohort. Then the caretakers change the clothes, and they do some photo ops. At almost every ceremony I’ve seen, one of the caretakers has a lot of fun controlling the flow in the fountain. That means, at any moment, a “golden stream” shoots out across the street like a broken fire hydrant.

And a Pissing Girl…

Manneken isn’t the only pisser in town. There are, in fact, two more pissing statues, as the Belgians are very much aware of how ridiculous their main tourist icon is.

There’s Jeanekke Pis, who squats down in the “Delirium Village” (itself a tourist icon), don’t go at night or you’ll run into an immovable wall of tourists blocking your way to peep at a statue of a baby girl pissing.

Jeanneke Pis doing her business

Just head down the Delirium cul-de-sac (fun fact, though you can use that word the same in French, it also means “ass bag”) and you’ll find her at the end, surrounded by a swarm of curious Asians and Russians inspired by Western degeneracy all trying to snap a pic.

She’s been there since 1987. The artist Denis-Adrien Debouvre wanted to express his solidarity with women’s rights and show that Brussels is a truly egalitarian city. It’s tradition to throw money into the fountain, and that money is collected and donated to medical research and people in need.

At night, they lock her up with the cage doors to avoid getting damaged or humiliated by all the drunks gathering at Delirium. But on occasion during the day, you can find her fully exposed.

And even a Pissing Dog

Meanwhile, a bit on the opposite end of Old Town, we’ve got Zinneke Pis (also the name of a beer), a famous pissing dog that’s marking his turf on a bollard. The last few times I’ve seen it, the water hasn’t been running though, so don’t expect too be overwhelmed by the action.

The unstoppable

Zinneke has been there since 1999 and was installed by Tom Frantzen as a nod to Jeanneke, and was so popular that they made a copy of him in Neufchatel-Hardelot, France. The poor guy met the fate of many street dogs and was ran over by a car, but lucky for Zinneke, Tom was around to freshen him back up. His name is a nod to the River Senne, which runs at a trickle underneath the city.

Final thoughts

So, take a moment to appreciate the playful spirit of this city. Whether you're marveling at the ever-changing wardrobe of the Manneken Pis, having a laugh at the pissing dog, or tourist dodging at the crowded Delirium Village, remember that Brussels is a city that doesn't take itself too seriously. And maybe, just maybe, you'll find yourself charmed by its irreverent wit and silliness. Just don’t mind the smell.

From Beergardens to Panoramas: Why Brussels' Cinquantenaire is a Must-See

Looking at the arches from Merode

Towering above two of the main arteries in Brussels like some sort of crown centerpiece of Brussels, or perhaps a gateway into the EU Quarters, is the Cinquantenaire Arch, named for the park in which it sits. The Arch reminds people of either the Brandenburg Gate in Germany or the Arch du Triomphe in Paris, and though it's its own thing, it is just as monumental and demanding of attention from the average tourist. My favorite way to see the Arch and the Parc du Cinquantenaire in which it stands is from the Merode Metro station, because it feels like you are kind of entering the city in a real triumph.

The park itself is split up by the Arch and museum complex. On one side is the Square de la Bouteille (Square of the Bottle) with a grand fountain. It's part of the Etterbeek neighborhood, and here and the grand plaza is where a great number of festivals are held throughout the year. When there's no festival, it retains the feeling because people like to sprawl out here and sunbathe or sit around with a bottle of wine.

This is true on the other side of the Arch as well. On sunny afternoons, locals sprawl across the manicured lawns, their picnic blankets dotting the grass like colorful confetti. Kids kick soccer balls while couples strolled hand-in-hand beneath the towering chestnut trees. And you can tell who's a local Belgian on warm (not hot) days because they all huddle in the shade like vampires, unused as they are to the sun.

The sprawling, 30-hectare park was built in 1880 to commemorate—you might have guessed it—the 50th Anniversary of the Kingdom of Belgium, which declared its independence in 1830. The triumphal arch, though, wasn't completed until a few years later, not until 1905. The park was originally a “Field of Mars”, that is, a military parade and training ground, and as such, you’ll find the Military Academy on the north face of the park. In 2030, Belgium will mark its 200th anniversary. So, until then, they’ll be doing random renovations, pop-up sculptures and beergardens, and so on to give the park a fresh new flavor.

By the way, you can walk through all this yourself with me as your audio guide with the VoiceMap app on your phone! Check it out here.

The Arch

The crowning element, featuring a chariot driver at its summit, bears the name "Brabant Raising the National Flag," crafted by artists Jules Lagae and Thomas Vincotte. As Belgium's richest and most pivotal territory, Brabant has consistently maintained its grip on authority in this nation, serving as the historic duchy where Brussels resides. When the Belgian nation emerged in 1830, the selection of Brabant and Brussels as the kingdom's capital was an obvious decision.

Notice the big lady statues at the bases? If you look closely at the inscriptions, you’ll see that each one represents a different region of Belgium. When the monument was built, Belgium was composed of 9 provinces, Brabant being just one. But in 1995, they divided up Brabant to Flemish Brabant and Wallonian Brabant, so the counting is a bit off now.

The Cinquantenaire Arch

Leopold II, the Builder King, was the man with the plan (funded by a "unique" rubber trade, more on that later). His original idea was for a single arch, like the Arch du Triomphe in Paris, and only the pavilions were completed in 1880. They succeeded in constructing a wooden prototype of the lone archway for the 1897 World's Fair, but following the death of Gedeon Bordiau, the initial architect, in 1904, his French successor Charles Girault preferred a more original three-arch set-up. Consequently, they dynamited the whole thing and began anew in 1905.

The King wasn’t overly happy about all this and demanded that it absolutely had to be finished for the 75th year anniversary the next year. Girault had to round up 450 workers to get the arches and the arcade completed in time. The whole affair became a tourist attraction in its own right. The workers were on shifts 24 hours a day and lighting rigs had to be strewn up. They also built a three-level suspension bridge to get the most work possible done at once.

The Museums

When approaching the arch from Merode, you'll find yourself standing on a grand plaza in a U-shaped complex that houses three world-class museums (all available on the Museum Pass).

The first one, through the Arch and on the left are the Royal Museums of Art and History, which hold prehistoric and artifacts from the Merovingian age (remember Clovis from the history chapter?), as well as some from Egypt and Iran. And a lot of rotating global exhibitions.

Then there is the Military Museum of Belgium and Autoworld, both buildings date to 1880. If you’re at all interested in military history, the Military Museum is a must, with uniforms and armor that dates all the way back to the medieval ages and also including weapons and armor from Congo. And then, in a big hall, there are planes, boats, and tanks. If you know French or Dutch, then there’s also a great exhibition on World War II. There's also a huge hall with a collection of World War I weaponry, including all kinds of zany tank designs and aqua suits for Belgian marines to surprise the Germans from the dykes.

The entry to the Military Museum also includes a grand panorama view from the very top, just under the quadriga (the four-horse chariot). The city stretches out before you with a patchwork of medieval spires, Art Nouveau facades, and gleaming EU buildings. On clear days, the vista extends all the way to the Port of Antwerp.

Autoworld has a collection of about a thousand automobiles. They’ve got some of the first cars ever made to the most recent, and examples from all over the world. It's interesting for car fans, but if you're not one and you don't have the Museum Pass, then it's a hard pass, since at an 18-euro entry it's pretty costly. They also often use the big plaza for car exhibitions. I remember once, there was a swarm of Volkswagens that descended upon Brussels—apparently, there was a Beetle convention.

The Monument to the Belgian Pioneers of the Congo

Again, starting from Merode, going through the arches, and wandering to the leftmost far corner of the park, you'll find a few more monuments. Weird ones. The first on that list, is the Monument to the Belgian "Pioneers" of the Congo, which showcases Congolese slaves and crocodiles.

The Monument to the Belgian Pioneers of the Congo

This fountain monument was originally built for the “explorers” of the Congo behind the murder and ravishing of massive populations of the region. This included the enslavement of the locals for a growing rubber trade under King Leopold II’s private enterprise. The monument says nothing of the dark history behind the rubber and slave trades, and as such only stands in praise of the imperial system and not a true telling of history. It’s often defaced, with red paint thrown over it, especially since the Black Lives Matter protests in the United States triggered a movement in Europe to re-examine some of their own public spaces.

Rubber from the Congo is what made Belgium rich and is what paid for all the beautiful buildings in this park and many more throughout Brussels, earning King Leopold II the title of "Builder King". You can find more on this history under the King Leopold II statue entry in the Upper Town part of this book.

For a long time, there's been a missing inscription on monument. You might notice the removed bits at the inscription on the bottom left. It mentioned the Belgian “explorers” “wiping out the Arab slave trader” (which is also true, though they just replaced the Arabs in that trade). The mention was removed in 1988 because the residents at the Grand Mosque were offended. This, of course, makes the monument all that more unusual. Both Arabs and Europeans had a huge hand in the slave trade in Africa, so you’d think the monument would be most offensive to the ones who were made slaves, that is, the Africans themselves…

The Grand Mosque

The Mosque has a kind of an interesting Art Deco style going on—though originally in a neo-Moorish style by Ernest Van Humbeeck. It was built in 1897 to house a huge painting by Belgian artist Emile Wauters, which had gone on quite a tour of Europe before coming back to Belgium. The painting ended up in the hands of Count Louis Cavens, who had this imitation mosque built to house the painting.

The minaret towers over a nice sandbox playground

The Mosque-as-exhibition center eventually fell into disrepair, eventually, the painting disappeared, and in 1963 the doors were closed for good. In 1967, King Baudouin lent it to King Faisal ibn Abd al-Aziz of Saudi Arabia in exchange for some oil contracts.

The imitation mosque thus became a real mosque. Unfortunately, rather than a peaceful form of Islam, the extremist Salafism was preached here for the longest time. Two worshippers from this service would later become the terrorists behind the Belgian bombing in 2016, and many more had gone on to join ISIS and other Middle East wars. 

So, in 2018, the Saudis were forced to relinquish control. It was handed over to a new non-profit Islamic group that was much more Eurocentric, but it’s since been discovered they were riddled with Moroccan and Turkish intelligence agents. Who knows about the future of the mosque and if state actors will ever just let average people get on with their worship.

The Temple of Human Passions

Awkwardly situated next to the Grand Mosque is Victor Horta's "Temple of Human Passions". This neo-classical slash art nouveau temple was built by the famed architect in 1896. Inside it holds a gigantic marble relief by Jef Lambeaux. Take a close look at the temple and notice there is an excess of slightly off right angles and slightly bent lines, despite appearing classical. That’s part of the art nouveau touch. Everything is just slightly off.

Horta had originally designed it without the front wall so that it’d be open. But Lambeaux wanted his piece to be more exclusively accessed, and eventually Horta had to slap a wall up after Lambeaux died. The building was given to the Sauds as part of the lease with the mosque, who gave it to the Royal Museums of Art and History after their run.

Horta's Temple of Human Passions

The interior statue was commissioned in 1890 by King Leopold II about all the “passions” of mankind. Rather fitting to the King, it also included the negative passions like war, rape, and suicide. Nobody liked it, and everyone was glad when Horta finally covered it up. You probably can’t see the frieze now as it remains locked through most of the year, but you can look it up online.

Beer Gardens

There are two beer gardens here in the park (and really, that's not enough as they remain quite packed throughout the season). The best one, Chez Maurice, is near the EU Quarters entrance to the park in the Southwest corner. It's in a forested area and they've got great burgers.

Chez Maurice

The other "beer garden", La Guingette du Peristyle, is a new affair, and the first year was the year of my writing this. It may or may not exist in the years to come, depending on how successful the model is. The cafe is hidden up in the History Museum side of the gallery. If it's open, you'll see a huge scaffolding staircase that leads up to it. They've got the same menu and prices as the forested beer garden.

Gates to Schuman

If you're standing with the Arch at your back, then the sculpture you see on the right is called "Summer" by Jean Canneel. The one on the left is "Autumn" by Gustave Fontaine, both made in the mid-1900s.

"Summer" by Jean Canneel

Canneel was a Belgian sculptor coming from a family of artists. He fought in World War I, got injured, and did mostly cubist and expressionist forms afterward. In 1957, he traveled to the Congo for a brief stint doing some awkward sculptures of colonial leaders.

Fontaine was another Belgian artist who also did work in Paris and Italy. You can find another famous piece of his in Liege—a huge Lady of Belgium standing at the post of the bridge.