Brussels vs. Prague

Which European City Offers the Best Cultural Experience for Living/Visiting?

Now that I’m leaving Brussels, I’ve got some time to reflect on our two major temporary-life places. Of course, the experience with each was a bit different given that we had a toddler in Brussels, but I’ve at least got enough in me to make some general comparisons between the two cities. And if on the off chance you just can’t make up your mind between visiting these two cities…

Why not do both? There’s a new Sleeper Train that you can take from Brussels overnight to Prague. So don’t think you have to sacrifice one for the other.

Granted, there are a lot of solid reasons to favor Prague over the “Capitol of Europe”, but I wouldn’t think so fast, Brussels has some strong points. I’ll discuss a list of some topics for both visiting and living in these two cities and which are the winners.

Historic vs. Modern Importance

Prague

Prague is an old city of huge importance. It was both the capitol of the Kingdom of Bohemia and the sometime capitol of the Holy Roman Empire, so it had it going on. Of course, the Holy Roman Empire didn’t really of capitols per se, more just favorite cities of the emperor, but some lived in Prague. And during the time of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire, its importance rivaled Budapest and Vienna, with Empress Maria Theresa loving it so much that she lived there for a great portion of her rule and renovated the entire palatial complex to her liking.

All that to say, Prague is grand in the old sense of the world. Huge medieval castles perched on hills overlooking epic cityscapes of piercing spires and rose-tiled roofs. There’s the massive castle with St. Vitus looking imperiously across the Vltava valley, the narrow old-timey streets with fanciful facades and lively cafes, and the flower-filled beer gardens perfect for tapping off a summer day.

When I was living there, it was also the center of a booming IT and video game industry, with a lot of contracts spinning out from German companies looking to capitalize on the cheap cost of living, and local live music was at such a premium that it was also easy to catch touring international acts for cheap. As the cost of living has crept up though, I imagine it’s been taking a hit economically, and rents of gone through the relative tiled-roofs.

Brussels

It’s a harder city to fall in love with than Prague. With Prague, it’s love at first sight and it continues to enamor you, even with the sultry weather. But with Brussels, there’s a bit of brutality, a real love and hate that the city holds on you with its weighty, slow-wheeled bureaucracies, out-of-place modern architecture, and near-constant rain.

Yet, it too has its romance. Despite being robbed of a river, it has one or two majestic views, like that from the Mont des Arts, the Palace of Justice, or Ambriorix. But the Brussels of history was a lot different than modern Brussels, de facto capitol of the European Union.

Where now stands the neoclassical Royal Palace, what once stood was much more impressive, if can be imagined. There was once a castle that rivaled the beauty of Prague’s, and it too stood on the hill top surrounded by water and a vast hunting ground. It met its tragic end in the 1700s by fire, allegedly from the duchess forgetting to blow out her candle at night, though she blamed it on a kitchen accident.  

Imagine also a river running through Brussels, which was later covered up due to sewage and stench, and you’ll see the historical Brussels was far different than what we have today. Now we’ve got a smattering of smashed up styles, a labyrinth of pedestrian streets and alleys, and puddles and the vague smell of piss everywhere (some things never change…).

The old town squares of the two cities definitely rival each other in beauty, I must admit.

Though my preference is for the weird medieval layer cake of Peter Parler’s Our Lady on the Tyn, the 18th century guildhalls that crowd around the towering town hall can do a number, especially when accompanied by a steaming waffle fresh off the griddle, a pool of melted chantilly forming at the base of the paper plate.

Prague old town square and Our Lady on the Tyn

Art Nouveau

Both cities have very particular histories regarding art nouveau, and were power houses in their own rights, giving birth to such notable artists as Victor Horta (Brussels) and Alphonse Mucha (Prague).

Horta was the founder of the movement that became known as Art Nouveau and spent much of his early career designing houses in the Chatelain neighborhood of Brussels, and also take on students that would build more houses in Chatelain and other boroughs. It’s primarily due to Horta that a walk through any of the Eastern neighborhoods is a walk through the prime of 19th century architecture, absolutely alluring gems that dazzle with the finesse of their feminine forms.

Obecny Dum next to Powder Tower

With a preference for curves and a inspiration from pagan roots, Art Nouveau inspired a cultural/nationalist rebirth throughout much of Europe. And never was that truer in Prague, which had embraced its own Czech identity. And though Alphonse Mucha was most known for his Parisian theatre posters of Sarah Bernhardt, he still earned his place in the Prague pantheon with his contributions to the grand Art Nouveau Obecny Dum. Not to mention the non-Mucha National Theatre, and you’ve got two of the world’s foremost premium examples of the architectural style on truly grand scales.

And to top off Mucha, there was also the nationalist endeavor, the Slavic Epic, which highlights the grand moments of each of the Slavic peoples.  

Victor: Brussels if not just because the quantity

River

I mentioned earlier that Brussels had a sewage filled, vomit-inducing river, didn’t I? The Senne, not to be confused with the Seine, has long been buried and is a forgotten underground channel in Brussels weirdly waterless landscape. There is a lonely, foreboding and industrial canal they keep trying to sell off as “hip”, but every year fails in that project.

You can still see the Senne though if you head off to the Sewer Museum near Midi Station, where you can go underground and walk alongside the original waterway that once carried a prized statue of Madonna from Antwerp to Sablon.

Naplavka looking towards the Castle

The Vltava, in Prague, on the other hand is a majesty to behold. Wide, vast, speckled with boats and cut by dozens of elegant bridges, with the medieval stonework of Charles Bridge being amongst the most beautiful in the world. Tap that off with the successful waterfront renovations like the Naplavka project, where a semi-permanent beer garden goes on at the water’s edge, sipping water on barges or cobblestone while the ducks and swans come and beg you to paddle off and defend a damsel (points for those who catch the Belgium connection to that line).

Victor: Prague

Medieval life

Without sounding too redundant, they both offer a dose of that “medieval” feel that most Americans crave from Europe. At first arrival in Brussels, I assumed the old town was a smaller paving of just two or three streets, but I’ve ended up thinking its quite an expansive labyrinthine network that goes beyond the circle that attempts to bind it. But Brussels is not limited by the “medieval”, and the city didn’t truly come to life until 1800s, so it really is a different era, but still “historical” in feel.

Go to Ghent for the medieval feel

But a trip to Belgium doesn’t need to be without the medieval mystique, with places like Ghent, Bruges, and Bouillon all playing their part to keep up that romantic, timeless feeling.

Meanwhile Prague… well, is also mostly a different time period, with the post-medieval Baroque really taking front and center. But still, it gives that epic, knightly feel with all those winding cobblestone walks, Charles Bridge, and Vysehrad fortress.

During my four years in Prague though I never witnessed a Medieval Market/Renaissance Faire inside the city, whereas in Brussels there’s the Medieval Marche in May in the Cinquintennaire and the Ommegang in July in the old town. So there’s that too.

Victor: Prague

Beer

Both cities are the centers of the best beer in Europe. And in Prague, this led me to pack on 20 kilos and gave me quite the majestic waistline and chin. Belgium arguably has better beer, but I’ve lost weight here because it’s so expensive. The only thing that Belgians price higher than beer in a restaurant is the water.

This isn’t to down Czech beers. The hallowed pilsner still takes a premium spot in my heart, especially with its premiumly awesome price. And the Czech beer drinking culture of large booze-laden mugs in peaceful, forested parks with epic views across the magnanimous Vltava is hard to beat.

Victor: Prague

Royal Palace in Brussels

Food

Czech food is basically meat and potatoes with lots of cumin and/or paprika. It’s the standard Austro-Hungarian fare, and what most people think of as Czech, the chimney cake, due to its ubiquity in food trucks in every square is actually from Transylvania.

Brussels on the other hand has claim to waffles, fries, pralines, and a type of cookie named speculoos. It’s hard to wonder why Brusselois aren’t all fat, but then you remember that everything is so friggin’ expensive and everyone is taxed out of their shoes that it forces people to keep committed to a trim and slim lifestyle.

But, besides the inventions, Brussels is also home to the most Michelin-starred restaurants, and has fine dining of just about any cuisine imaginable. In fact, you’re probably better off eating at one of those, because traditional “Brussels food” is… well… meat and potatoes and not that different than Czech fare.

Victor: Brussels   

Music scene

When making a decision where to visit or live, of course you’ve got to have some sense of the music scene. When I was in Prague, the scene was at its prime, with bands playing in all the hoods every night, and jazz flooding the windows throughout the old town. I myself contributed, playing accordion in an Irish folk-punk band, Cupla Focal, in an endless jig that will be remembered forever in my memory.

Brussels city street

Brussels has been hard for me to tack though. Part of the problem was that we came here in the middle of Covid, when nightlife fell to ruin as the first victim of the draconian measures to curb the infamous plague. And my next excuse was helping to raise a toddler, where as the house-husband I had to be there in case he was sick, or the wife had to work late, or whatever. So it was kind of limiting to develop a nightlife and I never got into it.

But from what I’ve seen lately, Brussels does have a hopping seen, and it’s possible to spend most nights enjoying the regales of various bands, both covers and originals.

Prague used to be a kind of destination city for bands, though I’ve heard it’s lost its place in the post-covid years. Brussels is often inexplicably looked over for Antwerp or Luxembourg, so there’s that.

Victor: Brussels, because Antwerp is less than an hour away

Taxes

Prague has a generally low cost of living, which also means the taxes are fairly low. They’re also easy to file and something  most people don’t really take register of. As a diplo-spouse, we got an easily filed VAT refund too. The bureaucracy was no greater than anything I’ve dealt with in the United States, mostly sensible and easy to work with.

Prague city street

The Americans complaining about bureaucracy in the US have clearly never had to deal with Belgian bureaucracy. Seriously. It’s such a complex web of insanity that you’d think Kafka were from Brussels rather than Prague. And it’s certainly not helped by the fact that every region and every neighborhood has to have their own government with their own systems and administration and rules and so on, that you can’t ask anyone help on how anything is done because their experience is probably entirely different than yours.

Victor: Prague

Moving-in nonsense

This is another one that goes along the lines of nutty bureaucratic propensities. In Prague, you just kind of move in. No real big deal. Get your shit and get in.

In Brussels? Where to start?

You’ve got to get a permit for a lift to bring your stuff up, as most houses don’t have lifts or have tiny lifts or have decent lifts but just don’t allow in furniture. Then you’ve got to schedule for a police officer to visit your home for whatever reason, and then with every service and such you’ve got to get on waiting lists as each of them have to apply to the borough while councils bicker out this and that detail behind the scenes.

Victor: Prague

Language

Let’s be honest here, Brussels speaks English. It serves as a nice neutral ground between Dutch and French, where even Dutch and French will often just speak English to each other because neither side wants to lower themselves by speaking the other side’s language. It’s a mineral rich language, so to speak.

old guildhalls in Brussels

But if you were inclined to learn either language, you have the advantage that French is spoken by millions of people around the globe and Dutch is spoken also by the Dutch. Very useful. Czech on the other hand is… well, you can also basically speak to Slovaks with it, but they’ll pretend you can’t. And if you know any other Slavic language, then it’s not terribly hard to pick up.

Victor: Belgium

Family-friendly

Both cities have their share of family-friendliness too. Though I can't say too much on Prague, since as I said before, I didn't have my kid until coming to Brussels. But I do remember in Prague a very nice aspect of the restaurant life. Restaurants there usually include a "detsky koutek", or "children's corner", which is stuff with games, books, and sometimes even play equipment. That way you can let your kid run over there and let out some energy in a safe place while not disturbing other diners. In Brussels, there's McDo's and Burger King.

That said, we've had an amazing time raising our child in Brussels. There's free child-care from 6-months, there's amazing kindergartens (at least ours was), and parks with maintained playgrounds every few blocks (you're never more than a 10-minute walk to a playground). In both places, healthcare is affordable if not free, so that's never a concern. But in Prague, I don't think there was as many playgrounds.

Victor: Brussels for the free child-care

Conclusion

I’ve lived in both cities for a long time and they both have a great place in my heart. And they have a surprisingly lot of similarities. But when it comes to visiting and living… actually it’s hard to say, still. Probably Prague wins out for living. And probably for visiting too. But I still highly recommend seeing Brussels, as it’s the capitol of Europe, and a beautiful, underappreciated city in its own right. And has a huge ton of awesome villages and towns in a very easy drive/train ride away.

But so does Prague. Even so much that I wrote a book on it, so there’s that.  

If I had to choose one though... I'm really glad we lived in Brussels at the time we did (and Prague when we did). To raise a small child, I really can't think of a better city. With its huge array of parks and playgrounds, festivals, free day-care, and ice cream/waffle vans, it's a really hard city to beat for family life. And with zoos like Pairi Daiza nearby, to visit it's got to be a pretty incredible place as well.

But if I were traveling for just a weekend, kid or no, I think maybe still Prague takes the cake. The beauty of Prague is that much more overwhelming, with its epic vistas and grand views, and its easy to have a fairy tale experieince, since the urban architecture isn't so... random. Brussels can't make up its mind whether it wants an old town or a hyper modern architecture playground.

Dealing with Tantrums on Travels

The kid roared. The museum was pounding out some soft, reverberating downtempo beat overlaying some stereotypical Chinese-sounding music, while Chinese people in deep focus and concentration were focused on serving their tea to their guests. But we didn’t stay to figure out what the scene was about. The kid was furious.

And our own senses of shame and embarrassment were growing by the second. A sense any parent can be familiar with.

We pushed the screaming infant on to the next room, where there was a weird glass thing with a laser shooting into, the light split into a prismatic display moving in the opposite direction as the rotation of the exhibit.

Woah, a chandelier

I didn’t know if my sense of underwhelm was because of the artwork or because of the wailing tyrant. But we shuffled along and got out of there, conscious of all the splintered ear drums we left in our wake.

What had set him off this time?

The BRIGHT festival, which is normally a brilliant collection of works to brighten up the winter mood, proved to be a lackluster display this go round. But it wasn’t disappointment with being herded through a dark and empty museum—other than the tea ceremony, mind you—that set him off.

It was the gift shop.

It’s almost always the gift shop.

He begged his mom to buy a little Andean pan flute. His wailing began then. They consulted me and I said, “Maybe it’s a bit hard to play and we shouldn’t buy it. That’s my opinion.”

My opinion is often invalid. He buried his face into his mother’s shirt and she couldn’t resist the canny little museum-shop gypsy. It was indeed too hard for him. And ever Chinese serving agent from here to Beijing would know the tale of the boy who couldn’t play pan flute, I tell you what.

Evolution and tantrums

I read somewhere in something more learned than any of my writings that the tantrum came about by evolution. It was a way for children to survive. They weren’t getting what they wanted, so they would throw a tantrum.

This really makes no sense to me.

When I hear a whining kid at maximum decibel, my first instinct isn’t to pacity, it’s to chuck the little bugger out the window.

I’m kidding. I’ve never gone the full defenestration a la Prague. But the temptation has certainly been there (“Defenestration Temptation” sounds like a great title for my next track). And I certainly can’t imagine that tantrums have ever improved the infant mortality rate.

This boy is not taking what I'm serving.

Initial reactions

When you first witness a tantrum from your kid, age 2 or 3, you don’t know what to do. It’s easy to take it personal and to return a tantrum with a tantrum. Or, thinking that the child is rational enough to throw a tantrum, it should be rational enough to ease himself out of it if they just heard the sound logic of your argument.

It’s an easy thing to lose it and shout back. Or to threaten. Or punish. But none of that really works. For one, the tantrum-thrower is a freaking child, not an adult. Don’t expect adult responses or reactions or any application of logic.   

Stay calm

Instead you should calm down. Take a deep breath. One book I read, that was written for kids, was about an “anger volcano”. That the kid should identify their anger, step away, take deep breaths, and calm down.

Well, it’s total bullocks advice for a 5 year old who’s flipping their top. They can’t think that straight. Their “volcano” has well and exploded. But you know what? You can follow that advice.

Take a deep breath.

Remember: It’s not about you.

It’s not even about the present situation so much.

There are other underlying issues that have led to that tantrum. Keep that in mind. You have a few strategies you can deploy, but otherwise just remain calm.

Zoom in

I like to do a thought experiment. I zoom in to my 5-year-old’s experience.

One time, we were walking through the park. He heard that I was making spaghetti for dinner and that lit his wick. “What kind of noodles?” he asked. I could tell by the slight tremble in his voice what was to come. It didn’t matter the kind of noodle that I was going to say. No noodle would be good.

We all have the same sense of world crushing importance in our worldview. Let’s say you can assign points, 10 points for “end of existence” and 1 point for “it’s a fly”. But we can only assign points based on our actual experience with things. So identity theft of my bank account would rank probably an 8. That’s some big, hefty stuff. Wrong noodle choice would probably be about a 2.

Maybe if I throw a tantrum I won't have to ride in the car a really long time

But for the kid who’s got no experience of identity theft or owning a bank account, those things don’t even register. The absolute worst thing in his subjective experience was that one time he ate a noodle that was a little too flat. Totally ruined his meal, which ruined his day, which ruined his week and month. Because it was a huge, effing deal (again, relative to his subjective experience).

So when we’re dealing with kids, and hell, when we’re dealing with other adults, we have to remember we can only relate to them on terms of their relative experience. Yes, you might think you’ve been through worse, but actually, you haven’t. Because that world crushing factor of 10 feels just as soul-destroying no matter what gets that score.

A flat noodle IS identity theft, for all emotional values of x.  

Causes

But, is the noodle really the problem? Was the pan flute really a problem?

Well… probably not. But that’s also the same as when adult flips out and loses control. We can experience some pretty horrific level of stuff as long as other, primal conditions are being met. And so can kids. I’ve sat down and explained heavy stuff like death and moving to my kid and he barely bats an eye. Instead he’s curious about it, processing it, and so on.

But only if he’s got his primal needs met.

The real causes of a tantrum can usually follow under a few categories: tiredness, hunger, boredom, overwhelm, need for attention, or testing boundaries.

Incoming tantrum in 3... 2... 1...

So when traveling especially, and when it would really put you out to deal with a tantrum at the moment, you need to make sure you’ve met those needs so that your kid can brave much worse experiences like The Nightmare Airport of Istanbul.

Tactics

How you immediately deal with the tantrum greatly depends on the place you’re in. Are you in a museum? A café? At a park? Consider your circumstances, your surroundings, who is around. And remember, most people give their sympathies to the parent. Unless the parent flips out, and then they get all judgmental and think, “That’s why the child is having a tantrum, because they have shit parents.”

Removal/relocation

If you’re in a place that would disturb other people, like a museum or theatrical performance, then simply remove the child from that place. There’s no reason to punish other people because you can’t get your kids’ needs met. Just kidding, again, back to rule one, don’t take it personal.

But really, you should get your kid out of there. You decided to have a kid, you decided to bring them to that place, and you need to have the flexibility and maturity to calmly take them outside without throwing a fit yourself. You know how many movies I’ve had to miss since I had a kid? It used to be my favorite activity. Actually I had a lot of favorite activities I don’t do anymore…

Distraction

When they were a toddler or a baby, they might have been easier to deal with. Probably because we don’t anthropomorphize a baby as much as we do with an infant. Shake a rattle to distract, shove a nipple in the mouth to feed, easy peasy. With a child, we don’t think, “Oh, they’re tired/hungry/overwhelmed”, we think, “that rat bastard just won’t behave!”

But really, they’re just being a big baby. That haven’t grown out of that theatrical overreaction yet. Try some of the same tactics as you would have when they were a baby. But just make sure you take it outside too, nobody wants to hear you being goofy during “Midsummer Night’s Dream”. That’s Puck’s job.

Comfort

Same as above. Again, it’s not about you. And sometimes even if you could address their needs, they’re must not capable of seeing that their needs have been addressed. Sometimes all that serious bad shit that’s happening, like flat noodles, cold wind, stinky room, night peeing, etc. is all just building up inside them and they gotta unleash it and that’s the time to unleash.

That’s okay.

And just tell them that’s okay.

Sometimes they just need a good cry. And you can’t do crap about it. But you can be there for them with a hug.

Ignore the stares and advice

When they’re having a public tantrum, people are going to stare. They’re going to talk. Especially single people without kids. I remember being single and without kids. I remember how judgy I was. Well, now it’s my turn to be judged. That’s fine.

The old concept of honor had very little to do about how you felt about something inside. But it had everything to do with how your actions were perceived by everyone else. An honorable man acted in a way that everyone perceived was honorable. Honor was a kind of social reward.

Same thing here. Be an honorable parent. Act in such a way that people minimize their judginess. And I know people are thinking when they’re reading, “That’s BS, I do what I want!” Yes, you do, and everyone judges you for it.

Explain

When the dust has settled and the tears are dried, bring up the tantrum to your kid. “What was all that about? What can I help you with?”

Maybe they’ll admit they were hungry or tired and you can talk about it.

Maybe they really were just overwhelmed.

When we were home later, after the museum visit, I asked my kiddo again. “What was all that about?”

“It’s just too hard to play.”

“So you were frustrated?”

He nodded his head.

“You know you can learn to play. Everything is hard when you first try something. But you just got to try over and over and you’ll eventually get it.”

And you know what? After we passed that little pan flute back and forth, he finally made a sound.

The Bombs of Bastogne

With every blast, the ground shook, the windows rattled, and the lamp overhead began to swing again. The crumbled wall revealed a scene: a family and neighbors huddling in a basement, a makeshift common bedroom and kitchen where the residents of the house could take shelter for long periods of time.

Outside were flashes of light, occasional groups of footsteps, rapid chains of flak fire, and deafening, heart-wrenching booms. With every silence from each intense barrage, were low murmurs and the baby next door crying, with her mother cooing her gently.

This wasn’t a scene I lived through, but one I experienced at the 101st Airborne Museum in Bastogne in the bombing simulator in the basement.

The museum is singly one of the best war museums I’ve been to. Dedicated specifically to the 101st Airborne’s actions in the Battle of the Bulge, it showcased stories, tactics, weaponry, and the uniforms used during that terrible moment in history.

The Battle of the Bulge

In December 1944, the Nazi Germans were getting desperate and Hitler was in a near panic. The Americans, British, and French Resistance were rolling through Northern France and Belgium. The Americans, primarily the 101st Airborne, had temporarily set up a base in Bastogne, with shipping routes from Antwerp carrying supplies to feed the various avenues of advance.

Hitler wanted to take Antwerp in a devastating blow against the Allied supply chain—a last ditch effort to bring the Allies to the negotiating table and obtain a peace treaty in Hitler’s favor. He was all about getting peace, after all. Most dictators are in order to consolidate their winnings before pushing further.

The Americans had gone through a series of blunders in evaluating their position—the speed of their advance and the bad weather led them to think there weren’t any Germans nearby. That was a bit of an underestimation. The Germans had amassed nearly half a million soldiers, with over 4,000 tanks and artillery. They went on full Blitzkrieg mode on December 24th, sending a very unfriendly Christmas present by way of a flock of Junker 88 bombers demolishing Bastogne and its area in preparation for the offensive.

The battle was the largest fought by the Americans in World War II and led to the third-highest casualties of any battle in American history. The line of battle stretched on for an incredible 85 miles, nearly every bit of inch engaged in combat. A truly massive attack.

The 101st Airborne

This famous division was originally born out of World War I, but “got its wings” in 1942, where they had made their names for themselves by parachuting past enemy lines. They were used extensively in Operation Overlord and took part in the liberation of Belgium and the Netherlands, and obviously the Battle of the Bulge.

101st Airborne Museum

The arrival into Europe was one of the more intense occasions of the war, when they were dropped behind the German lines with the task of knocking them out and giving the boys floating in an easier arrival on the beach.

The Museum

The building itself was the former officers mess of the Belgian Army, built in 1936. Later used by the occupying German forces as housing for lower officers, after the battle it became a hospital ran by the Red Cross. With this war history, along with just the fact the building survived, it became of interest to two Belgians, Hans and Mieke van Kessel, who bought it and turned it into the museum in 2009.

It’s not a big place. Just three floors with a few rooms on each floor, and it leans towards the pricey side (14 euros each), but it is definitely worth both the trip and the money.

The first room opens up with a big battle map, like you might see in a war movie, with all the pieces laid out Axis & Allies fashion around Bastogne. Cases around display various artifacts, from some personal possessions and letters to one of General Patton’s uniforms.

Make your Instagram poses here

Upstairs is where it starts to get interesting though. Rather than just standard case layouts, the museum curators decided upon full, life-sized dioramas of action. There are Nazis in an office, Wehrmacht in a barn machine gun nest, some Americans talking to a priest in an office, a brasserie with some men on leave. It was truly a detailed and explicit way to arrange all the leftover paraphernalia from the war.

Scenes from upstairs

Not for kids

Already with the soundtrack of bomber planes and distant explosions, my kiddo was getting nervous at the intensity of it. When you finally enter one hiding area of American soldiers, you hear nearby blasts and reports of sniper fire from one mannikin perched in the rafters above.

That was when we made the parentally responsible decision to go downstairs in turns. One of us would hang out with the kid and play with his dinos on the war map while the other would descend into more hellish themes—and the bombing simulation.

Down the hatch

In the bottom floor, things get grisly. One diorama is an interrogation of a family gone wrong, ending in Nazis murdering the inhabitants. Another is a triage station, blood spilling out of a mannikin’s leg while his comrades hold him down and ready for amputation. The bombing sounds are more intense here, partly because the simulation room is on this floor.

A triage scene

Helping a wounded comrade

Man down!

Fighting the Wehrmacht

Nazi post

Fighting more Germans

And then there’s the simulation room. It takes about 10 minutes. First you enter a small basement room, with two benches along each wall, an old chandelier overhead, and a table with a decorative ashtray (no smoking please!). And then it begins.

Here are some highlights (turn up the volume for the full experience):

Proud to be an American

It’s a strange experience in Bastogne when you step out of your car as an American. There are American flags on various shops on the streets, with American-themed museums as well. A huge American flag hangs from the town hall, frozen in time even as the wind blows. But there’s something odd about it all, a kind of Hollywood gloss coating everything like in a Wild West set for a Deadwood Dick adaptation. The flags mostly drape over souvenir shops selling World War II trinkets, with large yellow tin boards of women showing their biceps saying, “We Can Do It!”

Get your Battle of the Bulge collectible souvenirs here!

But looking at the Sherman tank on the corner of the road, there is a kind of pride that I feel. Knowing that not only did my country do something good, but something rather extraordinary, playing a pivotal role against an overwhelming evil, but carrying on as a beacon of hope against a growing Red darkness that stretched across the world.

The Sherman forever guarding Bastogne

And I can’t say I truly understood that side of things until I went out and traveled. The US might always be acting in its own interests—but this is a normal thing, not sure why everyone else gets a pass and not the US—but sometimes in acting out those interests, it does a lot of great stuff.

Thoughts on foreign aid

Years ago, driving past the birthplace of Jesus in the West Bank, I couldn’t help but notice the USAID sign advertising that funds both helped refurbish the plaza in front and the road. Walking with a UNDP worker at an IDP camp and seeing how USAID funds helped build toilets. Then while I was in Peace Corps, piecing together recovered computer parts to build enough for an Internet lab in the youth center (in the days before mobiles brought ubiquitous access).

We’ve done a lot of good in the world. But now that’s being quickly canceled, by the same people who lament us being the “world police”. And I get that, because it all feels like the same “American Empire” BS, and I myself was out protesting against Bush and the Iraq War every chance I got.

But the security and goodwill it takes to ensure the fairly comfortable lives, cheap oil, and overnight Amazon shipping of any object imaginable is absolutely immense.

Fear and loved

Security and goodwill. Both are necessary. When Yemeni terrorists launch rockets at shipping containers, companies reroute from Suez to all the way around Africa, meaning your Temu order is going to be another week later. When Russia storms the front and pierces through Europe’s defenses, the United States’ most profitable market vanishes overnight. When China invades Taiwan, say goodbye to the iPhone 26. The price of flashy toys and convenient living IS Empire, whether you like it or not.

And security is only one prong. As the great philosopher of manipulation Machiavelli writes, the best is to be both feared AND loved.  

Goodwill can ensure that there are those people in Yemen are willing and capable of standing up against the rebels. It can help reduce the amount of terrorists wantonly killing Israeli civilians that would lead to an even worse ethnic cleansing campaign than one our president is advertising for on tv. It can mean favorable trading conditions, it can mean willing cooperation in endless affairs. It can mean people wanting to help the United States in various small ways (that add up) just because they like what it stands for.

And both that security and goodwill inspire the world. The people who live on the periphery of Russia today have hearts swelling with hope because of the dream that the United States once sold. And maybe it’s not as glamorous as the television movie sets, but it is what it is, and it’s better than living under Vova’s cruel reign.

A mirror darkly

The United States has a dark reflection in Russia, and in many ways we’re quite alike. We both tend to have a mentality of “bigger is better”, we both were superpowers, we both like to take pictures of 12 year olds with automatic weapons, and we both talk about tradition as if we really meant it, besides some sort of illusory cocktail to keep the people drunk on the dream.

And what’s even more: we both defeated the Nazis.

And we both use that defeat to justify just about every other ill that our society did.

Russians claim the USSR couldn’t have been that bad, because they defeated the Nazis. Never ming the GULag.

And Americans claim the US couldn’t have been that bad, because they defeated the Nazis. Never mind slavery and Jim Crowe laws and the Tuskegee Airmen.

We’ve done a lot of bad shit. And instead of looking at that bad shit, and asking why and how do we prevent that again, and how do we truly live up to the standard that we claim we have… we’d rather cheer over eliminating dubious programs that probably didn’t exist but were the result of an 18-year-old Big Dick kekker not knowing how to read a report.

But here we are. Instead of self-improvement, we’ll just spray the champagne and masturbate all over the flag.

Well, I apologize for getting political here. I guess seeing the flag all over the place in that little Belgian town brought out the feels in me. Also I was bitter that I missed getting to the tank museum by ten minutes, and thus didn’t get to see the famous “First in Bastogne” Cobra King tank. C’est la vie.