Just how accessible is Brussels for a wheelchair user. You’ll have to read on to find out.
Dads & Lads
This was going to be a trip with a difference. Lisa wasn’t coming with me on this one. My companion, and carer, for the trip, is Sprog No.1. This will be different. First, he’s 19 – well, he was when we left the UK; and, second, we didn’t do the whole ‘in sickness and in health’ marriage vow stuff that Lisa and me have done.
Yet, he was adamant he wanted to do the journey, even with a Dad who no longer ‘fires on all cylinders’ – physical, not mental. He was the one who’d asked me to go. It was his trip, and he’d already made up his mind he was going to Antwerp – no, I don’t believe he’s a diamond thief. Apparently, it’s something to do with a fashion show.
So, it’s Monday morning and we’re on our way to the airport. I have a 3-day plan worked out for our trip. A hectic mix of Brussels, Brugge and then back into Brussels when sonny boy goes to Antwerp for his show.
Did it all work out? That’d be telling. You’ll have to read on and find out.
A series of Notes to Self
Thinking back, it was only a brief break, but it was bloody eventful. There were even times when it was pure comedy gold. I hope this post does them justice. Stick with me on the series of Notes to Self or just scoot over to the Brussels piece. Whatever your decision, I won’t take offence.
First note to self: “In the future book the airport taxi with Jim’s mate and not Jim”
This is in no way an indictment of Jim and his airport transfers. The man is a legend in my eyes.
We have spent many an hour on an airport run, discussing his life’s greatest challenge – getting his Filipina bride into the UK. There are just some subjects that keep you gripped, wide awake and hooked, especially on a boring, late-at-night airport journey.
Jim is a lovely bloke. Well, he always has been with me – take as you find etc. But, I’m sure that if you didn’t give him a chance, you’d judge him by his ‘cover’ and select a different taxi firm. Certainly, I remember my Dad nearly choking on his pint when Jim turned up to collect us from a Family wedding. I think he thought Jim was going to rob us all, or worse…
With his tombstone teeth and a clothing style that makes mine look positively haute couture, raising an eyebrow is a certainty. However, I now know that the ciggie burns in his jacket aren’t the result of a ‘can’t give a shit attitude.’ They’re carelessness while having a crafty kip in his minibus when he’s gone ‘above & beyond’ to collect a fare rather than let them down. I also know that the appearance of a lack of a shower and shave, result from him following the same creed of don’t disappoint the customer.
Jim, I salute you. Never again shall I be so judgemental. But enough is, unfortunately, enough. Why?
A taxi, a taxi…my kingdom for a taxi
You have to picture the scene. It’s a 5 AM taxi pickup from home. It’s dark. Shit dark, with no full moon to help. And it’s raining Manchester’s finest drizzle. The sort that comedian Peter Kay knew was “…the fine rain that soaks you through.” Comic genius! If you haven’t a clue what I’m going on about, where have you been for the last 20 years?
But redemption is here. Just type the quote into Google, hit ‘enter’ and be prepared to lose at least an hour or two watching videos of the man himself.
Anyhow…I’m sat in my wheelchair, at the side of the kerb, at the side of his minibus, looking at his open passenger door and the two 6 inch+ steps up to the passenger seat. Two bloody enormous steps! I know there are only two of them, but I might just as well have been looking up to Everest’s summit from Base Camp.
And next on the Gymnastic Rings representing GB is…David Hurst
All that I have to do now, is use ‘something’ to pull myself vaguely upright out of my chair and get my arse a mixture of against or just on the edge of the passenger seat.
Then I can use a mix of my true gymnastic prowess and contort myself like buggery to reach from the passenger side, over to Jim’s steering wheel and use it like a ‘chin-up’ bar to pull me onto the passenger seat. Or I can just use Sprog No.1’s strength to toss me, caber like, onto the front seat.
What I think looks like a handily placed grab handle, quickly and easily gets separated from Jim’s minibus. The piece of plastic is indeed handily placed and shaped. But that’s because it’s a…cup holder. WTF!
“Sorry Jim. I’ll pay for the damage”, I say. “Oh don’t worry”, he replies, then coughs like it’s his last, before having another drag of his roll-up. “People do that all the time”, wheezes Jim. A fucking heads up would have been nice, runs through my mind. If I fall now, I’m not getting back up, holiday or no holiday.
If at first, you don’t succeed…
Attempt two…let’s try the back seats of the minibus.
Jim opens the side door of the minibus and…fuck me, that step looks higher than the front! But at least there’s a (proper) grab-handle this time. One…two…three… more moaning and groaning from me, more caber tossing from Sprog No.1 and I’m finally sat in the Minibus.
It’s frank admission time. “Jim. Sorry mate but I think I need Paul’s, [his mate’s] Citroen going forward. My Tarzan days are done”. No more recounting of Jim’s Far Eastern love-life for me.
Second note to self: always remember to let Special Assistance, (‘SA’), know I’ve ‘arrived’ in the airport by calling in at the SA ‘landside’ hub.
SA is the service that you book if you’re disabled/have mobility problems and require assistance at any point through your airport journey. https://wheeliebigadventures.com/what-does-special-assistance-mean/
SA is vital to me as a wheelchair user. I need their assistance to get me onto the plane and to my seat. As it’s so vital, that I book SA at the same time as booking my holiday.
So, of course I’ve booked SA in advance. What sort of a cock-womble do you think I am?
However, it turns out that I’m a big enough cock-womble to get us checked-in, through security and ‘airside’ before I realise that I’ve not notified the SA landside ‘hub’ that we’ve arrived at the airport.
‘Don’t stress’, I’m telling myself. ‘This must happen all the time. This is fixable from airside. Isn’t it?
Well, as it turns out, it is fixable. Two conversations with airside SA staff later and phone calls have been made to the SA control hub. “You’re fine Mr Hurst.” I’m assured. “We have you down as needing the Ambulift to board the plane”, they say. Tick. “Just make your way to Gate 53, 50 minutes to 1hr before boarding, and we’ll get you seated on the plane before the other passengers.”
We get to Gate 53 at the allotted time, and I can see the Ambulift through the T3 windows. It’s already on the tarmac, attached to our plane, and de-planing someone from the inbound flight. Woo hoo. That’s a breakfast of Prosecco when we’re in the air!
All’s well that ends well?
Belgian Beer and Waffles in the Grand Place in Brussels at 14:00? Fuck no…
It’s 12:28 and I’m writing this from Caffe Nero in T3 at Manchester Airport. Despite the best endeavours of me and the 2 Ryanair staff to get us onto the plane, the SA team just didn’t TURN UP. And my Hold luggage was de-planed at 07:43 so the plane could make its take-off slot.
In the final analysis and with the ‘milk of human kindness’ burning the back of my throat, I understand the logic of ‘piss 2 passengers off, rather than piss 200 off by delaying the flight’. I really do. Honestly…but, fuck me, it’s totally demoralising watching your plane taxi down the runway without you.
O Ryanair, Ryanair. Wherefore art thou Ryanair?
I’m scratching my head and wondering what’s next. Ryanair was apologetic in ‘letting’ the flight go without us. And exceptionally quick off the mark to blame the airport’s SA team. “Be Jaysis. What else could we fecking do?”, I hear Michael O’Leary say in my head.
It turns out that Ryanair was good enough to escort us back landside, through passport control, collecting our de-planed bag and then pointing us in the direction of SA’s landside hub so I could do battle over their ‘no show’.
During our trip back landside, our Ryanair escort was all ‘fire & brimstone’ over the despicable way that SA had just left us high & dry at the gate. OMG, I’m thinking. He’s going to flay them alive. Woo hoo. This would be the only support I’d need.
Anyhow, I roll into the SA hub, turn round to look for our Ryanair escort for his magical and explanatory words to make everything alright…and…the fucker’s out through the airport exit, scurrying to his car and home. Raise a glass to Ryanair. I’ll be forever indebted to you.
I’m leaving on a jet plane
So, I approach the SA desk and start my long explanation in my calmest, politest manner. The SA staff are equally courteous, but state they’ll need to ‘make their own enquiries’ over the situation. Thank God I took the name of one of the airside SA team who assured me that all was OK.
15 minutes later and a fantastic SA Supervisor is telling me just what I want to hear…they’ve royally fucked up. That’s good, but how do we get to Brussels today?
It’s now 12:50 and the same lovely Supervisor informs me that SA is ‘within a whisker’ of finalising getting us seats on an outbound flight to Brussels on the 18:45 leaving Manchester tonight. Aaaaaargh!
I have to give credit where credit is due. The SA Supervisor was fantastic. But irrespective of how well Kevin handled the situation – and he did – we’ve still ‘lost’ a day of our three-day trip because SA forgot to board a bloke in a wheelchair onto his flight.
Third Note to Self: When a situation is shit, just accept that it’s shit. No amount of rolling the turd in glitter will polish the fucker
Fantastic Mr Supervisor returns at just gone 13:00 and confirms SA have been unable to book us onto Ryanair’s 18:45hrs evening flight to Charleroi. Aaaargh! But, they’ve got us onto a Brussels’ Air 17:30 flight to Brussels Airport instead. Hercule Poirot & Tintin are smiling.
He then tells me there’s good news and bad news(?) WTF! Can this day get any worse?
The good news is that they’ve managed to get an upgrade to Business Class. The bad news is that they’ve only managed to get the upgrade for one of us. I’m thinking this is no problem, the Sprog can have the upgrade.
More smiles from us. The situation is turning. We’ll be in Brussels by 22:00hrs, and the transfer time from Brussels Airport is better than the transfer from Charleroi. And Sprog No.1 has a flight upgrade! He’s now on his laptop looking what the upgrade means for him. He’s thinking complimentary booze, better seats, in-flight entertainment etc. Things are looking up.
This time we’re met at the gate by SA and they do their job…Wow! They actually do it well. Everyone’s all smiles. I’m eventually strapped into the aisle wheelchair and turning right through the plane door, expecting Sprog No.1 to be turning left and into luxury…
Well, that’s a bloody enormous NO then. He turns right like me and we both get an upgrade to Business Class. We’re in row 1. That’s correct, plain ordinary, standard Row 1. No luxurious comfy seats. No acres of legroom. Not even inflight entertainment. We’re the same as all of the other rows of seats on the plane…but we get a complimentary drink. We are offered more if we want it but we’re only in the air for 1hr 20minutes.
Fourth Note to Self: No matter HOW it might happen, giving your son a Golden Shower is just WRONG, WRONG, WRONG…on every conceivable level
I know this heading doesn’t read well. There’s no dressing this one up..but, please bear with me while I give some ‘context’.
I’ve already written about travelling with a convene and leg bag and just how liberating this has been. But you still have to empty the ‘bladder’ that’s strapped to your leg.
Well, we get off the plane and naturally, (well it seems so to me), we both want a pee. We spy the toilet sign and…he’s off at breakneck pace to the toilet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so quickly.
I eventually roll into the toilets and he’s clearly feeling relieved as he offers to help me drain my leg bag. Context again…the bag has an ‘empty spout’ to direct into a urinal bottle and an open/close tap to allow the leg bag to drain. Simples.
But the spout is next to my ankle and when I lean forward to empty the bag, it always carries the risk of overbalancing the wheelchair and spilling me and the bag’s contents across the toilet floor. Imagine a yellow, warm, mini tsunami of pee with a fat, slightly balding surfer, bodyboarding the crest of the pee wave. It’s not the best or most pleasant of thoughts. So when I get an offer of help, I say yes.
Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head
So, he’s holding the empty urinal bottle in one hand, aiming the leg bag’s spout into the urinal, all the while running his hand down the front of my trousered shin, squeezing the pee out of the bag and into the urinal.
We’re laughing about how the bag feels like a hot water bottle, how he can’t get over the flow from the bag and the ‘damage’ that would be done if he didn’t close the tap securely. And then he curses loudly, springs up from his haunches, runs towards the sink, furiously turns on the tap, douses his hands in the tap water and rinses his face.
It turns out that in his eagerness to close the tap, he’d caught the leg bag spout on the lip of the urinal, snagging the spout and bending it backwards, all catapult like. As the spout broke free from the urinal, the catapult force showered the remaining, warm, golden droplets of pee upwards and into his face.
I’m in hysterics. Bad Dad. But, all the while, I’m thinking, ‘Thank God for the ‘human shield’’. After all, I wouldn’t want to get the noxious liquid on me…
Fifth Note to Self: Make sure that your room requirement is double and treble checked
The one essential that I need from any hotel accommodation is that it’s a wheelchair accessible room with an accessible wet room. Trying to get confirmation of this from booking.com or hotels.com is more difficult than you might think. Therefore, what a joyous moment it was when I was looking for a room and this was listed as a Disabled Access room. And the room photos looked good. Tick in a box. Next.
The only issue was that the room had a double bed, and much as I love my son, bed-sharing when he’s nearly 20 seemed a bit…well, freaky. So I emailed the hotel and asked for twin beds. They emailed back saying they could do it. I emailed back saying fantastic and we couldn’t wait for our trip. Tick in a box No.2. Next.
So, remember that we’ve been on the go since 04:00hrs and we’re now checking in at 22:00hrs. The receptionist is looking at his screen, then looking over the reception desk at me, and then back again. And I’m thinking, ‘what’s gone wrong?’
Receptionist: “Did you book a Disabled Access room Sir?”
Me: [once more sensing disaster but being calm and collected] “Yes. Would you like to see the booking and emails from your colleague”
Receptionist: Yes, please
I hand him my phone so that he can look at the email trail. In fairness, he gave the email trail more attention than I did…and he spotted the error…bastard! Yes, they’d given us twin beds. But to do this they’d had to change the ROOM TYPE. Aaaaaaargh!
The receptionist is massively apologetic, but they no longer have a Disabled Access room available for the duration of our stay. They have a ‘larger than twin room, family room’ that we can have for tonight – but the bathroom isn’t wheelchair accessible – and then we can move to a Disabled Access room tomorrow, i.e. our last night.
That’s going to have to be the solution then. Alternatively, if the Family Room ‘works’, we’ll stay there for both nights. It, (the Family Room), didn’t…work.
It was a normal size Family room with loads of beds. But more beds means less wheelie space. However, the ‘killer’ was the bathroom. The layout of the bathroom, (and its position just off the hall), meant that I could just get my wheelchair footplate through the bathroom door and into the bathroom. That was it.
But I could only, just about, do this if I first opened the room door and reversed me and the wheelchair out into the corridor, so that the bathroom door could be opened!
We tried it with me fully clothed to find out it wouldn’t work. Thank God we didn’t try it with me being ‘locked and loaded’ to go, i.e. naked. That would have spawned an international incident.
Sixth Note to Self: Just because your son has been a ‘mixologist’, (cocktail maker to you & me), as his part-time job in his 1st year at Uni, doesn’t mean he knows anything about alcohol.
It’s 22:30hrs by this time and it’s been a LONG & TIRING day, (have I said how long & tiring), but we’re in Belgium so it would be rude to call it a night without at least one beer.
We’re about a mile from the Grand Place, so we hit the hotel bar instead, and I let the Mixologist take over on this one.
He’s forever telling me that he loves IPA, and drinking his way through Brewdog’s menu. So I thought, ‘What could go wrong here? He’s been working in bars for the last three years, and the Belgians love their beers’. Well, this is what he ordered:
He chooses a session IPA, so that’s one to the Mixologist. But when I look at the alcoholic volume, the label shouts…2.7%. Fuck me, after the day we’ve had, he’s got me drinking Shandy!
Move over Sonny, it’s Daddio’s beer choice next. What’s that? 8.5% Duvel?
Seventh Note to Self: Cut down on the swearing in my writing
Now that I’m editing this, I have reached a conclusion…fuck it! Fuck is a brutal and guttural sounding word…but it works, especially in conveying the frustration from this trip.
Ah well, onto the main event. Is Brussels accessible for a wheelchair user and what useful accessibility tips can I share?
Rail Transfer into Brussels
Brussels is served by two passenger airports, Charleroi to the south of Brussels, (29 miles south to be exact) and Brussels Airport, (7 miles to the North-East). If cost was never a consideration, then of the two, Brussels Airport wins hands down. It’s an airport. Charleroi is a cattle shed. But I didn’t know this until we did the return leg of the trip.
One floor below Brussels Airport is the rail link taking you into Brussels Midi Rail station – if I remember correctly, that’s three stops and 20 minutes. That’s better than Charleroi Airport to Brussels – a combined rail & bus journey and c. 1hr 45 minutes of your life that you’ll never get back.
When we were in Florence, https://wheeliebigadventures.com/3-nights-in-florence-my-wheelchair-accessible-break/ I learned not to be too complacent with disability access on and off trains. I’m not talking here about journeys from remote backwaters to other, remote backwaters. I’m talking about journeys from major airports to major cities. I won’t ever again, just assume that wheelchair access is available on all trains, on all major routes. Why would I assume this in the 21st Century?
Anyhow, despite my meticulous planning in researching and booking ramped access onto specifically timed Belgian trains, SA’s actions at Manchester Airport completely stuffed my planning. I’ll swallow my frustration and put it down to being a learning experience. I now had to revert to type. I had to ‘wing’ it.
So…we roll into the main information point on the station concourse and…5 minutes later…and with NO meticulous planning…we’re following a smiling, high-vis jacket-wearing Belgian rail employee with an enormous metal ramp hanging from his spade-like hands. 10 more minutes later and we’re pulling out of the airport train station, Brussels bound. Remind me again why the UK wants to leave the EU?
Overall view of Belgian Railways – SNCB
One word…Excellent.
It’s a civilised rail system that works. It’s punctual, clean and very PRM, (Person of Restricted Mobility), friendly.
Anyhow, I’ve attached below a link to SNCB’s guide for travelling on the Belgian rail network if you have reduced mobility, https://cdn.belgiantrain.be/-/media/files/pdf/support/brochures/guide-pmr-2019-gb.ashx?v=3ba4f2737ca34e82aec7063a4df269de&_ga=2.107745280.343579326.1574280343-1659221768.1574280343
Other SNCB tips I have are:
- Get the SNCB app on your phone before you go. The instructions are on their website. Here’s the link https://www.belgiantrain.be/en/travel-info/prepare-for-your-journey/use-the-sncb-app;
- Register with SNCB – use the My SNCB link on their webpage. Then, when you book tickets through the app, it remembers you, your preferences etc.;
- If you’re last-minute booking Belgian SA, don’t be scared of calling their telephone helpline to arrange assistance. The answerphone message greets you with options to choose your own language. Then I was transferred to an operative who spoke better English than 51-year-old me. That’s a resounding result; and,
- If all else fails, i.e. you haven’t listened to my tips 1-3, don’t be afraid to ‘wing’ it, (as I did in Brussels Airport). Turns out the Belgians are pretty forgiving of travel incompetence.
B&B Hotels and their Disabled Access rooms
The hotel is a budget hotel, but the location is great – about 200m from Brussels Midi, (or Zuid, depending on your choice of language), train station. And a 15-20 minute stroll to the Grand Place.
B&B’s Disabled Access room works for me. Lots of room in the room to allow me to move round in my wheelchair. Below I’ve attached some photos showing the wet room. Personally, I’d have liked another grab rail near the shower seat, but that’s personal preference.
One moan. If you need a hoist, there was no room to put one under the bed – the base of the bed went straight to the floor. But, I’m sure if the staff could find a way to accommodate it, they would. The staff were great.
Breakfast is an eat as much as you want – burp, how rude – continental buffet. Ideal for filling up before heading out sightseeing.
So, what’s to see in Brussels when you’re in a wheelchair?
In fairness, I suspect a lot more than we saw in our nearly one and a half days. But after SA’s cock-up, (are you sure that I’ve not mentioned this already?), losing us a day, (bye-bye Brugge), we really just wanted to kick back and chill. So it was Grand Place, Art Museums and lots of beer – I know, items 1 & 2 sound cultured…but what about item 3, (hic).
Grand Place
It’s the central square in the City of Brussels. It’s spectacular and has to be seen. UNESCO has it on their World Heritage List, so that’s good enough for me. Still not convinced? Here’s a link to its page on the Visit Brussels website https://visit.brussels/en/place/Grand-Place And I’ve included a video for you shot from my very own wheelchair.
The Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium
This is a stone’s throw(ish), from the Grand Place.
The access into the Art Gallery is very wheelchair friendly but, if you approach from Grand Place, to get there, you’ve got to go up the Mont des Arts. Yes, a hill…I thought this was the bloody low lands!
There are 6 museums in total, and you could definitely spend more time there than the 2 hours we did. I’ve attached a link to their website https://www.fine-arts-museum.be/en
If you like surrealism, (as I do), it’s massively worth a visit. Not only Rene Magritte, but a Salvador Dali exhibition was on when we were there as well. And then finding out that I’ve passed this liking of surrealism onto Sprog No.1, (after never speaking of it before), well, it brings a tear to an old man’s eyes. Spooky…genetics…poor sod. He doesn’t realise that he’ll be fat and bald in 30 years. Go on Son, have another waffle and beer.
The Beer Houses
There are many. Too many for a pub-crawl. Are you bonkers?
We stuck to the beer houses off the back of Grand Place and one in particular…Delirium Cafe. 2004 beers under one roof. This is enough culture for me. Slurp. Hic. Here’s a link to their website https://www.deliriumvillage.com/
Manneken-Pis
Another site that’s not too far from the Grand Place. Are you detecting a theme?
So…this is a statue of a little boy…taking a leak…Comme c’est hilarant.
He’s old…400 years old or 401, depending on who you believe. He’s the symbol of Brussels. The Bruxellois love this little guy. They even dress him up from time to time.
OK, it’s a statue and people like statues. I get this. I also get the dressing up point. But I can’t say I see too much hilarity in this. I thought this had something to do with my age, but Sprog No.1’s 20 and he wasn’t pissing his sides either. Maybe we just needed more beer(?)
General wheelchair points
Cobbles
Don’t expect to come to ‘historic’ Brussels without crossing cobbles…many, many cobbles. Millions of the little buggers. They were the surface of choice for the ‘historic’ Belgians. I think the only able-bodied who really understand the discomfort of cobbles for wheelies are cyclists.
Curb cuts
Or dropped curbs – whatever you choose to call them – are pretty prevalent in Brussels. But on the whole, the cuts aren’t flush to the road surface. There’s usually a 5cm-10cm ‘step’ to contend with – fine for me with the Batec. And will be fine for the more ‘physical’ wheelchair users amongst us – not me without the Batec…I’m a pussy. Miaow!
Steps
There are ‘proper’ steps to get into virtually all the shops – the best excuse I’ve ever seen not to spend money. The photo below is pretty much representative of shops and bars, (boo hoo), in ‘historic’ Brussels. Needless to say, they were a no for me.
That’s about it for me and Brussels. And, yes I know there’s more to Brussels. But we only ended up with a day and a half there. Despite this, I’d certainly come back to have a look at what other ‘treasures’ the City has to offer. And to drink more, (lots more), of that gorgeous beer.
Final thoughts
Much as I have moaned about the journey from Brussels to Charleroi Airport, the Bus stretch of the journey left me with another indelible memory of the kindness there generally is in the World.
There isn’t a direct train going from Brussels to Charleroi Airport. You travel to Charleroi train station and then catch a bus for the final leg of the journey. You can even get a combined train and bus ticket from the helpful people at SNCB. This is what we did.
The only problem was that the access ramp onto our bus was broken. It was locked in it’s closed, retracted position. And no amount of effort and (eventually) cursing from the Belgian bus driver was going to make the ramp open and work. For non-wheelies, the picture below is what it should look like when it’s working.
The driver’s initial default position was to shrug his shoulders as if to say ‘Sorry mate but there’s fuck all that I can do. Catch the next bus or get a taxi’. But my fellow travellers had a different idea.
The next thing I know, I have a Belgian at all 4 ‘corners’ of my wheelchair and they lift me and handball me – still seated in my chair – onto the bus. I felt like royalty. They do the reverse 20 minutes later at the airport and there are smiles and handshakes all round as we say goodbye and go our separate ways.
With all of this co-operation between EU partners, it just made me think…it works, why change it? I apologise to non-EU readers as you’re probably thinking ‘what the bloody hell is he on about’.
Until next time. Bye-bye for now.
David
