So my epic walk across Brussels turned into an epic failure, as I think we all knew it would. After Cine Paris till closing time, I found Club L’Intime easy enough. Small bar, 2 girls, champagne 30 euros, private dance 50 euros, private moment 1 hour 200 euros. Then I headed towards Grand Place looking for Reves Table Dance. I never found it. The streets around Grand Place are an absolute warren; like entering the Minotaur’s maze. Turning left & right, backward & forwards, retracing my steps over & over, I was by now already hot and sweating, and hungry, so I gave up; grabbed a McDonald’s then bed. Rue de Livourne can be my mission for next time, but I will stick to my original plan—go the long way around but stick to the big straight roads—straight along Boulevard du Jardin Botanique then straight down the Rue Royale to Justice Palace, then straight down Avenue Louise to Rue de Livourne. Trying to cut through the centre of Brussels was always going to end in disaster.
Well I have never had a taxi driver get me back to Gare du Midi so fast. If you’re ever in a rush to catch your train he’s the man to call; he drove like a Dervish. A Somalian Dervish. Less than 10 minutes and we were there. But, here’s the thing, it was the most expensive taxi ride to Midi I’ve ever had. 16,70 and we were not held up in traffic. I noticed when I got in the taxi the fare already stood out 5,70; is that right? I didn’t say anything. I was too scared. I let him take 18 and bid him a good day. Who knows, maybe there is a higher tariff on Thursday mornings.
Yes, so, the “northern route” to Berlin I think is over for me. I see no reason to ever go back there, now Stuttgarter Platz’s golden age is over. So the only route that remains is the “southern route”—Brussels to Munich to Vienna. Second beer gone. 925pm. I expect nothing from Intime or the Reves or the Livourne places, except real rip off expensive hostess bars, a fortune just to buy a girl a drink. Another reason why Fifth Avenue is so wonderful (despite the sad dearth of quality girls); if you want to buy a girl a drink it is normal prices, same for them as for you. Munich died for me when they put private dances up from 25 euros to 50 euros, whenever that happened. And it is funny how it is uniform across every club you go to—in every club it was 25, now in every club it’s 50. It is almost like the city government sets the price for private dances—is that the case? Part of the licencing stipulations (stripulations)? If one club was allowed to undercut the others they would do roaring trade but they do not. One can only presume they are not allowed to. A far cry from the glory days back in 2003, 2004, when Patricia let me get my man out and put some kitchen roll over her breasts to catch the result. Don’t think that kind of thing would happen now. The emasculation-sterilisation-castration of old male Europe continues. The human race will die out eventually; that is the end result of damming up men’s juices in this way. Kind of like where they burn books they will eventually burn people. Where they ban masturbation/pornography/stripclubs they will ban sex. Then the feminazis and the Islamists will be happy. For god’s sake Europe, stand up for your old Priapic rights! One fears it is too late, the tide is already irreversible.
My first beer of the “evening shift” completed. 9pm. When on holiday I want to be randy, and fuck like a rabbit; but it hasn’t happened this time. Rarely does. I have to see someone quite special before I feel like that. Like my first sight of Lucy in Fifth Avenue last year; first sight of Adelina in Manhattan in Vienna last year. In fact, this year I have not had any moments like that. Just take my time tonight. Walk down to the Justice Palace and Rue de Livourne as slowly as I like; and as slowly as I like coming back. There is no hurry.
I don’t want any relationships, I don’t want to be with anyone; just drink and watch the world go by? Is this then all my life will be? Tonight I plan an epic walk across Brussels, from my hotel all the way to the Justice Palace, and beyond, down to Louise then Rue de Livourne. Stopping off along the way in Club L’Intime and Reves Table Dance. Perhaps. I doubt I will go all that way. Not with this complete lack of enthusiasm which has bedevilled this trip. The skies still bright blue but at street level dusk starting to fall; lamps outside the Hotel Plaza glowing brightly. 845pm. I just want a little nest, where I can be alone with my ferns, and my classical music, and my writing. Perhaps my lethargy & torpor on this trip is sub-consciously because I feel it is nearing the time when I find that little nest for myself and save my money for that.