Insolent Noise

Sadly, hayfever is back with a vengeance - it's alright when I'm out in the open, but enclosed spaces seem to aggravate it. This makes métro rides somewhat tortuous, and I spend the whole journey sniffing and stifling sneezes.

Tonight I went to see some life jazz at Sounds, a semi-legendary little jazz club which I'd seen recommended many times on the likes of TripAdvisor. The venue itself is tucked down a side-street behind the Parvis de Saint-Boniface ("parvis" meaning roughly "the square in front of a church - Brussels has many and they're all populated with bars and restaurants, making them prime spots for some al fresco people-watching.

Saint-Boniface church is on the edge of the Matongé district, the centre of Brussels' African community, and it's a throng of brightly-coloured activity throughout the day. Many of the residents are descended from immigrants from the former Belgian Congo, and the area takes its name from a market in Kinshasa. I decided to grab one of the rental bikes and cycle there, without realising that the entire trip was uphill. Shamefully, I ended up pushing my bike towards Matongé on foot, where I arrived soaked in back-sweat.

The jazz itself was wonderful. Three convivial gents, perfectly in harmony - the cellist, lost in thought; the pianist, who would grimace every time his improvisation almost ran away with him, only to rescue it at the last moment; the drummer, who bobbed his head around while smiling to the audience as if to encourage toe-tapping and dancing. The staff would gather at the side of the stage to listen when the bar was quiet, chuckling and shaking their heads at the audacity of the improvisations. Every one of the small, elegant listeners would have been at home in an impressionist painting, staring into space wistfully with a glass of wine in hand.

Except for me, with my sweaty back and my eyes streaming with hayfevery goo. I'll never be continental... *sigh*