Getting up for work can be difficult, especially on cold dark mornings. However, one sight that always invigorates me is looking out our windows and watching the city come alive below me. I love to see other commuters already heading down into the metro, to watch the garbage collectors trundle down the street, to spot the dog-walkers with their pets in the park and the shop keepers dragging out their tables for the day.

The buzz of the city gives me energy; it wakes me up and encourages me to join the hive of activity. Within a few moments of waking up, I already feel as if my day has begun, and the Bruxellois are inviting me to step out and join them.

We spent a few days in Milan after our Mediterranean cruise. The weather was crummy, and it seemed like we needed a vacation from our vacation. So, embarrassingly, we spent a lot of time reading books and watching movies, rather than exploring the city. However, we were able to brave the weather to wander out and see a few of its highlights.

The Duomo di Milano cathedral was beautiful, one of the most stunning churches that I have ever seen. The entire structure was carved out of pink marble, and the front façade had just been polished. It took over five hundred years to create this glowing patchwork of pink. The colours varied from block to block, yet they all blended together to create a harmony of warmth.

In the museum at the Pinacoteca del Castello Sforzesco, there is a very interesting Pieta by Michelangelo. Our guide told us that this might have been the one that he was carving for his own tomb, but he died before it was finished. He had originally planned a design of Mary facing to the side, but later decided that the composition worked better if she was facing forward. Here two faces are still visible in this unfinished masterpiece.

We were also lucky enough to spend 15 minutes admiring “The Last Supper”, originally painted by da Vinci. It deteriorated quickly after he finished it in 1498 onwards, and has since had to suffer through being restored, scratched off, restored, un-restored, stoned, removed, reattached, cleaned, stabilised, bombed, restored, stabilised, and then restored again. While what we saw might not have been remotely like what was painted by da Vinci, it was a spectacular painting. The centrepiece of what was once the dining hall in the Santa Maria delle Grazie convent, the perspective works perfectly. The figures looked down upon us, and the scene was full of movement and mystery.

Image from para communications.

Photo by CaptPiper

I look outside my window and I can see an immense flurry of snowflakes whirling down. It is an astonishing sight. Bit by bit, they are starting to form a thin layer on the ground. The green grass is gradually disappearing under millions of fluffy white specs.

Growing up in Australia, I never saw snow fall from the sky. My first introduction to snowflakes was in a Strawberry Shortcake picture book. The flakes were as big as her hands, and did not melt when touched. This is how I imagined them to be – resilient thick structures of ice, capable of being passed from hand to hand without melting. Instead, they are like a swarm of white insects, filling the air with circling motion.

In Brisbane, Australia, the temperature has only dropped below freezing once since records began, in 2007 when it fell to -0.1 ^oC. Here, at the beginning of winter we have a maximum of -1 ^oC today. It is painful to be outside during my short walk between work and the metro. My eyes tear up and my lips crack in the cold. I have a thick coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, yet I yearn for earmuffs and thicker socks.

They tell me last January it reached -29 ^oC in Belgium. I can’t even imagine that temperature. Surely the only time that water should become ice is when I put it in the freezer?

On Saturday night we boarded the train and headed west to Aachen. We walked through the city to our hotel, passing through the markets all lit up against the darkness. Giant inflatable gingerbread men stood guard over the markets, for we were to discover that this city was the home to dozens of different varieties of sweet biscuits called printen - similar to gingerbread but sweetened with sugar instead of honey. Once we got to our Best Western hotel room we discovered that it included our own private sauna, and we were able to soak in the steam to completely rid ourselves of the winter chill before bed.

In the morning, we stumbled across a great bar/restaurant called Havana (Homphausbadstr 17) that served a delicious buffet breakfast. The chicken was succulent, the potato gems were crisp, the tomato was fresh, and the mozzarella was bursting with flavour. We then meandered through the streets towards the markets, admiring the quirky statues that seemed to lurk on every corner.

The markets were much smaller than those of Cologne, but well worth exploring. It was very cold outside, with a high for the day of one degree above freezing. I drank plenty of hot chocolate to ward off the ice, and we often popped into cafes or museums to defrost. Many people in the crowd were wearing novelty hats, often resembling a great herd of reindeer and elves. We caught sight of this hungry little puppy called Dusty, who was desperate to sample one of the German sausages.

The printen stores were everywhere, and happily offering free samples and describing their contents. There were hard and soft biscuits, covered with white chocolate, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, or icing, and filled with nuts or raisins or liquor. We picked our favourites and took some small samples home to tide us over for the rest of the winter. I was smitten with the sight of a printen reindeer in one of the shop windows, but when we went inside they told us that they were sold out. Adrian told them how much I loved the reindeer, and begged them to sell us the last one in the window. They obliged, moving boxes and tables out of the way so that I could take the very last reindeer home with me to Belgium.

We also explored Aachen as Charlemagne’s capital city back in the 8th century. We saw his portraits and treasures proudly displayed in the opulent rooms of the town hall and walked around his hodge-podge cathedral. He spent his winters in Aachen, solidifying his control over the region and planning his future conquests. He was buried in the cathedral that had been initiated on his orders 28 years previously.

Then we hopped onto the train at 4:20, sped back to Belgium at 300km/hour, and we walking through our front door at 5:45. One of the many joys of exploring Europe by rail.