Brussels is not special to me because every visit was perfect or because everything was new. It is special because I kept returning, and because my mama and I began to recognise parts of it together.
The first journeys stretched beyond the city — Antwerp, Leuven, Ostend, Amsterdam and Paris — and made the train itself part of the memory. Later, Brussels became the centre again: familiar façades, waffles, rain, chocolate shops and the comfort of choosing a place we already knew we loved.
The small detour to Roermond belongs to that third chapter too. It was less about adding another destination and more about having one more day together inside a weekend we had deliberately made for ourselves.
