I could not recall the exact travel time we did from Zurich to Brussels, but I can remember that we had to regrettably drop-off of our itinerary the city of London, which we really would have loved to visit after Switzerland. When we bought our Globalpass, I thought that we can practically travel to any European city we choose. It was essentially right, but not in a case going to London, for example. We needed to pay more on top of what we paid for the pass in order for both of us to experience bulleting through the undersea English tunnel between mainland Europe and London. We opted out.

It was a rather quiet evening ride inside our TGV train cabin. Only a muted soft-pitch sound of steel wheels grating against to what might be a kinky rail was the occasional nuisance. There was no sightseeing of the countryside that happened in that particular train ride. Remindful of mischievous fireflies fluttering out in the darkness of summer night were those seemingly flickering lights from far villages that we passed by had become our consolation against the night’s black tinted sky.

Soon, we arrived at Brussels station late in the evening. The terminal’s customer service office was the only one open with an employee at the counter talking to couple of passengers, in between them was a glass window. I was a bit surprised at the early absence of activities at the terminal.

I came up and asked if we're in the right station we planned to detrain to one of the three gentlemen busily replacing poster from an advertising board at the station’s concourse wall afterward. Shortly, I went back to my wife who was nearby - smiling, I pulled her close to me and whispered, “We disembarked too early, ha ha! This is not the main station; this is why it is eerily quiet here!” We were two stations shy from the main terminal of Brussels. We continued to find the exit and left the station.

From the ground outside, I could tell the rain-shower had just abated. The light drizzle was above our heads. Several puddle on the street our feet and our hand-carry’s casters had to avoid were like patches of mirror reflecting weak gleam of light from city light posts. It was short-lived though, as the drizzle darts its way down through it, the reflection muddled abruptly.

The east indian restaurant we found nearby was an answer to my late craving and our refuge to our tired feet. While sipping tea and while waiting for our dinner to be served, I pulled out my travel guide and started flipping its pages to find a place to stay. I wanted to find a budget-friendly accommodation yet decent enough to sleep in. I found Les Bluets Hotel. It was close to our modest expectation.

“I have one remaining room available, but can only accept guests until 9:30 in the evening!”, says the lady on the other end of the phone. It was past nine when I checked the local time.

“Well, we’re actually in the middle of our late dinner right now. If you would be so kind to expect us no later than ten in the evening, it will be much appreciated. You see, our train just arrived awhile ago…”

“Not later than ten, then!” she interjected firmly without a perceived willingness on her voice to entertain further any negotiation for the extension I might have.

“Fair enough!” I said to myself. After my exchange of information with her, my wife and myself tried to finish our dinner without much rush, but still mindful of the time.

Soon, we braved the drizzle for the second time and walked out to a close by plaza where several cabs were in their queue ready to take in passengers…

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