I'll take "These Are The Days" for 2000, Alex.

Hannibal used to say, "I love it when a plan comes together," and while I echo the sentiments forged in that classic A-Team line, this weekend in Brussels came out something more to the tune of "I love it when an unplan comes together."

Oliver and I woke up on Thursday and wondered what we should do for the weekend. We researched Dublin, Edinburgh, Cardiff...nothing was working. "What about taking a ferry to Belgium?" I said without much earnest. Within 30 minutes, travel and lodging were booked and the planning ended. The weekend was unplanned, and everything just fell into place.

So I arrived in Brussels without any expectations, actually without even a plan not to have expectations. I left utterly pleased. So many of the happenings would have been fine on their own; standalone events, emotions, thoughts of enjoyment. But the fact that they occurred all at once, or in succession really, is what made this past weekend unlike any other. The most pleasing outcome of it all, I would have to say, though, was my ability to be comfortable with myself and my actions, to command the moment, experience life without attempting to control it, and really, truly own the space of my life.

To briefly recount my final night in Brussels might take longer than I'd like to spend, so I'll make a passing attempt at brevity and do my best to sum up (I'll need to start by no longer allowing myself these sprawling sentences that say so little).

We got dressed in our best and headed to the city center to try some typical Belgian cuisine at a restaurant suggested to us by the nice, young Greek woman we met at breakfast. Oliver had rabbit stew and sausages had I, and we relaxed on the open patio and drank a few wonderful liters (yes, liters) of beer as we listened to the free live music. And as luck would have it, who should walk by but the girls we met at breakfast! So we made plans to meet up later. Oliver and I finished our beverages and went up close to allow our eyes and ears to feast on the delight that was "The Crazy Mess Groovers," an 8 piece array of loud-suited Frenchmen with names like "Mr. Deebeedeebop" and "Mr. Creamy," fronted by a skinny fop in suspenders who could really belt it out. We met up with the ladies (Sophia the Greek and Hanne the Belgian) midway through the set and got swept away in the music. And then the rain came. It was magical. To dance in the rain, in a place I've never been, to music I've never heard, with people I'd never met before...to do all that, and feel 100% at home in my skin. The night didn't have to get any better, but it did.

We met up with some of Sophia's male friends (who were less than pleased to meet us, but made an effort to appear otherwise nonetheless) and we ended up at this small South American, Che Guevara-themed bar who's walls were covered in Sharpie art, open to any patron with a desire to wax philosophical. Naturally, there was a sort of tree diagram on one wall, and printed defiantly in block letters, asserting masculinity, were names of classic films. Names like Predator, Total Recall, Rocky, Over The Top. I may never understand the science behind it, but there on the wall it just made sense. In any case, after a few drinks (two pints of 8.5% Duvel for me) the live salsa music called for dancing, so dance we did. Lucky for us, we can dance, and also lucky for us, so could our ladies!

Afterwards, we wound up at a nightclub for more drinks (how am I, who never drinks, still standing? Perhaps it was the hearty Belgian meal), more dancing, and in all likelihood kissing and some heavy petting. For some reason, I wasn't thinking about the details of life. Maybe it was booze, or mania, or a combination of that and a natural high, but I felt good, I was happy, and that was all that mattered. The night eventually turned into morning as it has a habit of doing, and though what else transpired is clear as crystal to me, I shall leave it foggy for you. In any case when we woke up, the four of us had brunch on the rooftop terrace of the Museum of Musical Instruments. It was delicious, delightful, and despite getting a little rained on (again), it was a dream.

And then it was time to leave.

We said our goodbye's to each other and parted ways. I said goodbye to Brussels, but hello to a new confidence, and welcomed fond memories of a trip unplanned.

P.S. Did I mention the girls were the only people we met who didn't smoke, and just happened to have European Master's degrees in Exercise Physiology?

Bonus.