Christmas is always spent in Brussels, Belgium. Not necessarily by choice. I fear that the family I left behind fifteen years ago would irreversibly shun me and remove my name from the will if I ever failed to show up, all bundled up in the three sweaters I own and ready to be fed like a goose for two weeks.
Don’t misunderstand me. I love most everything about Brussels. The weather, however, could use a little global warming. The day after I get there, I am always full of good resolutions, determined to brave the chilly elements to photograph my most favorite places.
The said good resolutions lasted about two hours this year. Just enough time to document the Christmas market at Place Ste Catherine, and eat enough beignets to kill someone twice my corpulence.