Desert
Heat
On the train to Bruxells, I
watched a passenger try to evade the ticket man because he had no ticket. His passport and visa was confiscated, and
the man just ran off the train into Bruxells.
Very strange to me. As I stepped
off the train in Bruxells, I saw a new, but familiar face. I saw an old woman with squinted eyes
looking and yelling at me in a language I did not understand. Once again I seemed to be the only person
noticing this woman. I immediately
began to think about Satan once again.
I continued into the main terminal of the station. It was like the modern Wild West. There was music blasting, people walking around
drunk everywhere, groups of people walking around wearing the same colors, dogs
running freely that with one bite could bite off 50% of my body, and pictures
of chaos everywhere. In the middle of
this chaos was a woman with a hiking backpack holding a wooden cross. In English, Slovak, Dutch and French were
the words, “Jesus loves you.” This
woman was walking up and down the train station at a steady pace. She did not look anyone in the eyes, but
just stared a few paces in front of her at the floor. I admired her courage and walked by and gave her a thumbs up.
I threw my computer case on
my shoulder and decided to go explore the city. My train did not leave for 5 hours. Walking around the city, beautiful street art was in the tunnels
of the overpass. Belgium waffles were
on almost every corner, and the food was the best value I had encountered thus
far. There is a sandwich in Belgium
that uses a French roll, puts whatever kind of meat you want on the roll, adds
ketchup, thousand island, then a large French fry over it with salt and then
adds more ketchup to complete the sandwich.
It was so good, so filling, and only 2 Euros. My body went away from Belgium happy. My mind and soul however were not so fortunate. I was back in the desert heat.
Walking back from taking
pictures, I turned down a street and saw a short Middle Eastern woman. She approached me and said, “Choppy,
choppy.” I responded with, “Excuse
me?” She then repeated herself with the
motion of a man masturbating and then pointing to her mouth. I understood clearly now. This was my first time ever being approached
for sexual activity so directly. I told
her no, and continued walking away. I
was shocked! I came to the corner of
the street and while waiting for the light to turn, a man just fell out and hit
his head on the street post. The man
was standing erect in good posture one minute, then the next his eyes turned
blood red and he just collapsed. A man
tried to help him back up but he was as flimsy as a fish out of water. All I could think of was drugs, alcohol, and
the two old women who were yelling something at me.
My mind was in a state of
confusion, and my soul was swinging its sword combating evil at what was
literally at every corner now. I went
to the train station with my mind telling me that I just needed to see my
friend, then return back to Prague. It
was too dangerous to be doing this for another week. I went to the Hagen Daz and ate a Belgium waffle with ice
cream. I watched as drunk Italians
yelled comments at and tried to grope girls as they passed. Another drunk guy was the only person trying
to prevent these drunk guys from trying to do these perverted things to
women. I became tired of watching these
guys and moved tables. As I sat at the
table, a drunk guy approached me making airplane noises, bent over, and tried
to take my computer case that was between my legs. Where were the police?
Where was the order in this place?
My mind was racing with fear at this point.
I went out to the main
terminal to just wait until my train arrived.
While waiting, I observed 4 girls instigating a fight between two other
girls, a thief being chased across the train station by 3 policemen and a
police dog, and a conductor of a train try to solicit sex from teenagers. This place was outrageous! It was one of those times a grown man wants
to put his thumb in his mouth and cry, “I want my mommy!”
I left Bruxells never
wanting to return there again. At least
not without a baseball bat. My spirit
was in battle with evil around me everywhere, my mind was in shock from all it
had just experienced, and my body was full with food and warmth. I was on my way to Amsterdam. The train to Amsterdam was a little
different then the other trains I had rode.
There were no cushy, plush, gray and brown lining seats in sections of
four. There was no entrée tray at the
back of every seat, or ash trays in the arm rest. This train had bright orange, ripped, plastic seats. Graffiti was on the inside of the train, and
the seats were arranged in couples and no