Sunday was threatening rain, so we decided to stick close to home and visit some sites that were relatively close together, allowing us to duck into various places in the event of an outburst. We walked over to the Etangs, where the Saturday-Sunday market is held. This market has a good variety of items: produce, meats, cheeses, wines, homemade yogurt, jams, honey, bread. Additionally there's a number of vendors of plants and cut flowers and, surprisingly, one gentleman selling mattresses. We got a waffle from the waffle guy, and he poked two holes in the side and inserted two chocolate tubes, which melted on contact with the hot waffle. I had a tiny piece, just to see if it was better than the last. It was about the same. The addition of chocolate was a bit over the top, I was reliably informed. They did, however, provide us an insight into the creation of what J referred to as "pig snouts", blunt-ended croissants with two choclatey tunnels burrowed in them.

We then went to the Ixelles museum. There were two things I knew about the well-regarded art museum: (1) had a complete set of Toulouse-Lautrec posters and (2) it was free. The latter notion was immediately dispelled, as it is only free when they don't have a temporary exhibition, in this case one featuring a not-very-interesting architect. Fortunately the woman at the desk sized us up as students and gave us a discount. Because it was a relatively large museum with a good number of interesting pieces, it took a while longer for us to discover that the entire Toulouse-Lautrec collection was also missing. Since the temporary exhibit wasn't all that, I might have to go back when it's free and find out what they put in the large main gallery when nothing else is going on--probably let cats roam around in there.

The museum was unusual in that it had a staff that was not very interested in being inside the building. J had to leave her backpack with the coatcheck guy yet he was nowhere to be found when it came time to retrieve it. She had to go behind the counter and get it herself, for which she left a 50 cent tip. The woman at the admission counter where the gift shop was located had also abandoned her post, and Jack had to go get her from outside to buy a poster. There also wasn't the level of security to be found at most museums, and we figured (after O touched a ceramic figurine affixed to the wall will no ill effects) that we could at least get the art off the wall before the staff made their way through the building to see what had set off the alarm. With their lackadaisical attitude, though, we might just have been able to make off with a Magritte.

Lunchtime arrived and we made our way back towards our house in the direction of a pita place so they could try this Brussels staple. There's a place not too far from us that has table service and back patio with a number of figurines perched in nooks and crannies, both somewhat unusual for a pita joint. We found a table outside and ordered our selections, Jack and J both choosing the gyro sandwich, which came in a split-open loaf of french bread. O and I got our selections with durum (wrapped in a tortilla-like flatbread) and pili-pili sauce. It started to rain as we began eating our meals, so we high-tailed it into the glassed-in porch (suitable for receptions and baptisms, the menu informed us) to finish. The food was all good, and the fries, which were nestled inside our breads, were tasty. Jack thought the sandwich had an unsatisfactory bread-to-filling ratio, so it seems like the durum is the way to go (the pita breads here are tiny and don't come with fries so have already been discarded as a viable option). The pili-pili sauce was a little spicy and a little creamy, but it went well with my falafel. I really need to do a more rigorous survey of all the sauces to appropriately compare and contrast.

Later that day we went and saw Superman, which met our expectations. This was preceded by a light dinner which, for O, was a salami sandwich laced with Oreos with chocolate filling, for which he received one euro.

Monday O and J went out for more clothes shopping and I attempted to catch up on grocery shopping and some work. O came back alone, claiming to have eaten J in a fit of ravenous hunger. It was later revealed that she was, in fact, still alive, and they had gone to the Quick Burger for lunch. This fast food restaurant is more prevalent than any other in Brussels (although there still aren't that many), but we haven't been. They said it was better than the food at American chains.

For dinner that night we had a feast of salmon, big salad, and bread at home. O baked the salmon with lemon and sea salt, a pretty plain rendition but I was impressed nonetheless, having never seen him cook before. To me he was still our paperboy from 1989. How on earth had he acquired such skills in the intervening 17 years? I hadn't gotten fish at the grocery before and was pleased with the freshness and flavor. O managed to polish off a half loaf of the bread all by himself, stating that a meal without that much starch is no meal at all.

Tuesday, another day of intermittent showers, was their last before heading home. I wanted them to try the Breton savory crepes and designed our itinerary so we'd arrive in the vicinity of the restaurant around lunchtime. First we went to the Royal Palace, which is open to the public for a few weeks in the summer following the Belgian national holiday. The palace is where the king conducts most of his business, although the family lives in the house out by the Atomium. It is most notable for being a fairly dull-looking building taking up some prime real estate in the center of the city. We entered and, having been relieved of our bags, cameras and umbrellas, alighted the staircase to the grand rooms.

Virtually the entire place was empty of furniture, with portraits of various nobles hanging on the walls and the occasional side chair. The throne room was completely bare aside from an area rug. Some of the items that I managed to find interest in under these difficult circumstances were: the parquet floors, elaborately inlaid; a Louis XVI chair owned by Louis XVI; and portraits of Leopold II as a child, before he ascended the throne and depleted the wealth of the Congo. The thing that one couldn't help but find interesting (except perhaps if you were blind) in these barely-furnished rooms was "Heaven of Delight" by Jan Fabre, an installation in which most of the ceiling of one room was covered in millions of jewel beetle carapaces. Commissioned by the queen a couple years back (probably after thinking to herself, "hey, this place really sucks!"), it is amazing. Due to its reliance on iridescence photos don't do it justice. I haven't seen any good photos of it on the web anyhow, although there are sites with other, smaller works of his in this style. You all will just have to come here in August and see it for yourselves.

Then it was off to the Breton crepes. I swear we had the same waitress as we did in March when Jack and I stumbled across the tiny restaurant, but she pretended not to remember me so I couldn't impress her with my marginally-improved French. My crepe had a mound of delicious sauteed onions on it with gorgonzola cheese and pieces of thick-sliced bacon. Magnifique! I had a coffee for dessert so I could give the speculoos cookie that always accompanies it to J so she could try it and determine whether to buy some as gifts.

We then headed over to the Parc du Cinquantenaire so I could show them Brussels' triumphal arch. The buildings flanking either side house museums, and during the summer weekends the side of one building is used for a drive-in movie screen. The arch was appropriately majestic, and we ambled towards it while keeping an eye on the sky. It started spitting after we passed under it to the other side, so we went in the auto museum to check out the lofty building interior and get out of the wet. At 6 euros we couldn't summon the requisite interest to actually pay for it, but we did go to the gift shop. I got a lovely postcard.

Before going home we hit the Neuhaus and Marcolini chocolate shops so they could get obscene quantities of sweets for all their pals. What good people. I also got the Marcolini sampler, which contained "at least" 33 pieces of deliciousness (or at least 31; it turns out the earl grey tea flavor is pretty odd). J had already bought 4 jars of fancy mayonnaise to take back, but I think that was mostly for personal consumption on the flight home.

That evening we attempted to go to what was billed as the best ramen noodle restaurant outside of Japan by one anonymous reviewer, but they were closed for their summer holidays. We ended up at a hipper, smokier place where I got the tuna steak followed by lemon meringue pie. The pie was not really up to my standards, as the meringue had a gritty texture like the sugar hadn't completely dissolved before the egg whites set. The lemon custard was nice and tart, though, and the crust was okay. O and J got a milkshake (actually two), and it turns out that they don't actually use ice cream in them, so that they're just frothy milk with some kind of flavored syrup. Not sure if this was a one-off deal, but it definitely requires further investigation.

Wednesday morning they got up at the crack of dawn (pretty early, considering when the sun rises here), caught the tram and began the long journey home. It was good to see people and speak English for long stretches of time. I asked them to fill out a comment card and drop it in the mail to us so we could further improve our services to our guests, but they declined. They did, however, follow up rather rapidly with a large box of assorted stuff from Trader Joe's, for which we are eternally grateful. Hopefully this indicates that they had a good time as well.