'Well, if we don't get home in one piece, know that we loved you,' we joked to our family just before we left for Brussels on Saturday. We were to have an interview with American writer David Vann there, and the day after take a walk through Brussels in the footsteps of writers Charlotte and Emily Brontë. There would be some police presence, we expected, so soon after the Paris attacks and the arrests in Brussels, but oh well, it would be fine.
Saturday
When we walk through the city with David for the photo shoot, it all turns out to be more serious than we thought. 'There really is army and police everywhere, it's bizarre,' he says. We walk to the Place de la Bourse, only to find that the monument there is cordoned off with crowd barriers. The wooden shacks, intended for a Christmas market, suddenly look like guard posts, with policemen and soldiers in front of them, machine guns slung over their shoulders, camouflage scarves pulled up to just below their eyes. Two tanks, two police cars. 'Can we take a picture on the steps?' we try, but we already know the answer. Walking around with a camera is suspicious in itself; we are being watched closely. 'But good thing you asked,' the soldier retorts. 'Because otherwise? Would we have been arrested?
When we get back outside after an interview of almost two hours, the atmosphere has become grimmer. All restaurants and cafes have to close, we hear, and this is being massively complied with. The mood lighting in the trees on the Old Grain Market is not on, the Christmas market is closed, the food and drink outlets are empty. The streets are also becoming increasingly empty, except for the presence of policemen and soldiers.
A large inflatable dinosaur needs to be cleared away; the Ferris wheel is at a standstill. In contrast, the hotel lobby is very busy; all the guests stay here to have something to eat and drink. If you wanted to make an attack now, you knew where to go. But the main entrance is locked and the guard at the reception does not leave his post for a minute.
We walk our dog Vigo and take a stroll through a deserted city. A Saturday night in Brussels and hardly anyone on the streets - it has an alienating feel to it. I wish we could be 'en terrasse' right now too, but it looks hopeless for tonight. We do need to eat something - hopefully the food supply at the hotel will not have already reached the bottom by the time we get back.
We greet the policemen and soldiers we meet. Their faces are tense. What do they all know? What is going on that is not being told? It must be something big, given the severity of the measures and the huge amount of security on hand. This must cost millions, and they surely won't do it lightly. There is so much you don't know as a citizen, and that's probably just as well. Because if you see that people are already avoiding the city - reservations have been cancelled en masse, people are not taking to the streets - then major panic is on the cards. Are you worried or scared? we ask each other. No, we are not, not at all.
Sunday
The Grand Place is quieter than usual on Sunday morning, but not completely deserted. Still the city is full of army vehicles and soldiers. We with our camera are again closely watched, though Vigo seems to be a disarming factor. People go into town, though it is significantly quieter than it normally is here on a weekend day. Many shops and restaurants remain closed, but more and more are welcoming guests anyway. Men in blue and brown-green are lined up at every monument, square or official building. Police cars with sirens regularly race back and forth through the city. Display of power or could something really be going on? Nobody knows.
Having spent the whole day trudging outside and briefly imagining ourselves in the nineteenth century with the Brontë sisters, we find ourselves rudely back in the longest in the evening. We go for a bite to eat, but are the only ones in an otherwise deserted restaurant and while we are still sitting on our main course, the shutters are already going down. A little further down the Grote Markt, a police operation is underway, the place is cordoned off and the Radisson Hotel seems to be more or less closed. 'I wouldn't walk in that direction,' the waitress kindly advises. 'Be careful.'
Come on, let's take Vigo for a walk, 'at the risk of your life', we grin at each other. The amount of surveillance everywhere seems to have been ramped up some more and helicopters are circling above the city centre; without lights, so you can hear them but not see where they are. It creates an ominous atmosphere, but, strange as it sounds, in a way it's also kind of refreshing to see what's going on and to feel what that's like - because this is what we in the Netherlands are facing at some point too, I suspect. And aren't there whole tribes worldwide who live day in, day out in the midst of threats or actual attacks?
Whether an attack was planned or not, those terrorists still managed to achieve quite a bit this weekend. Could they be laughing in their fists? They almost have to be, considering what is happening here. Tourists are staying away, museums, concert halls and other public places are closed. No art this weekend, but tanks and television cameras. This too, unfortunately, is our culture, more and more.
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