Brussels...

Belgium is beautiful from the air. Verdant, lush, sprawling fields flanked by bushes. Straight, organized roads. A land bridge lined by trees, crossing a sparkling lake. The skylights of pointed houses glittering like clusters of crystals.

At the airport, I see chocolate shop after chocolate shop. The book shop has a big comics section with Tintin in at least four languages, Asterix, and many more Belgian comics I can vaguely recall or have never seen.

I buy two chocolates from my childhood. They are not fancy, but they are delicious. I eat the “elephant” chocolate on the plane and save the Mikado sticks for later. I will savor them and remember summer nights spent camping in our backyard in a tent, nibbling Mikado sticks, and listening for hedgehogs rustling in the undergrowth.

Belgium makes me sad. It is too green for me not to be envious, and there are too many familiar sights and tastes and sounds. I can’t believe it, but I have even missed hearing French.

I wonder if a longer stay would have immunized me. But too late now, my two hours are up and I have flown elsewhere.