Five Belgian Episodes
Small Encounters in a Small Country
It has been well over a decade since I traveled to Belgium, yet some journeys refuse to disappear. They remain quietly stored somewhere in the mind, waiting for an ordinary moment to return. Sometimes it is not the grand cathedral, the magnificent museum, or the celebrated monument that survives in memory. Instead, it is a mischievous old woman at a railway station, a bowl of mussels mistaken for water, a tiny statue of a urinating boy, a plate of thick-cut fries, or a stranger looking carefully at someone’s shoes.
Belgium gave me all five.
Belgium is a small country, almost modest in size compared with many of its European neighbors. Yet its history, languages, food, architecture, and cultural traditions seem disproportionately rich for such a small piece of land. Perhaps that is one reason Belgium is so enjoyable to visit. It does not overwhelm a traveler with enormous distances. Instead, it invites you to look closely—to notice the small things.
Looking back now, I realize that my most memorable Belgian experiences were not carefully planned. They happened by accident. And perhaps that is one of the great secrets of travel: the itinerary tells us where we are going, but the unexpected tells us what we will remember.
The Old Lady at the Railway Station
My first Belgian episode took place while I was waiting for a train from Brussels to Ghent. I was looking forward to visiting Ghent, one of Belgium’s historic and beautiful cities, when nature suddenly reminded me that even the most carefully planned tourist itinerary must occasionally surrender to biology.
I urgently needed a restroom.
Looking around the station, I spotted one nearby. An elderly woman was sitting in front of it on a chair, apparently acting as the gatekeeper of this important public institution. She seemed to be collecting a small fee from people who wanted to enter.
I approached her and explained, as politely and urgently as I could, that I needed to use the restroom.
Without hesitation, she pointed toward the women’s restroom.
I stared at her.
Perhaps she had misunderstood me. Perhaps I had misunderstood her. Or perhaps Belgium had suddenly developed a revolutionary new approach to restroom management.
I hesitated.
The old woman looked at me impatiently, as if I were wasting valuable time.
Why was I standing there? Why wasn’t I going in?
Only then did I realize that the men’s restroom was completely occupied.
What happened next remains one of the strangest moments of my travels. With little time for philosophical reflection, I entered the women’s restroom.
For the first time in my life.
I quickly finished what I had come to do. But leaving proved to be considerably more complicated than entering. Women were constantly coming and going. Every time I heard footsteps approaching, I froze. I had suddenly become an extremely cautious traveler, listening carefully for the right moment to make my escape.
Eventually, the corridor became quiet.
I seized the opportunity and rushed outside.
The old woman was still there.
And she was smiling.
It was not an ordinary smile. To me, it looked almost like the smile of a mischievous witch who had just successfully played a trick on an unsuspecting traveler.
I hurried toward my train, hoping nobody had noticed my unusual adventure. Fortunately, I made it onto the train to Ghent.
But the old woman’s strange smile stayed with me long after the train had left the station.
I sometimes wonder whether she remembered me.
I certainly remembered her.
When “Water” Became Mussels
My second Belgian episode was considerably more delicious.
One evening, a friend and I went to a famous outdoor restaurant in one of Brussels’ traditional neighborhood markets. We had traveled from Korea together on business, and my friend, who had considerably more international travel experience than I did, confidently suggested that we order mul.
“Mul?”
“Yes. You have to eat mul in Belgium.”
I was puzzled.
In Korean, mul means “water.”
Why would anyone travel all the way to Belgium to eat water?
My friend insisted that if we left Belgium without eating mul, we would regret it.
So, when the waiter came to take our order, my friend confidently announced, “Mul!”
The waiter nodded.
That was my first clue that something unusual was happening.
It turned out that our “water” was actually ‘mussels.’
The Belgian word moules sounded remarkably close to the Korean word mul, producing one of those delightful accidents that occur when languages meet. What I had understood as a request for water was actually an order for one of Belgium’s most famous dishes: Moules et Frites.
When the dish arrived, the presentation was almost theatrical. The mussels were served in a black container that looked to me like an elegant gentleman’s hat turned upside down—a little reminiscent of the kind of hat one might imagine Charlie Chaplin wearing.
Inside were numerous mussels cooked with herbs and seasonings.
We opened the shells with our hands, ate the mussels, and drank the savory broth.
The flavor was different from the mussel soup I knew from Korean street stalls, especially the warm bowls of mussel broth enjoyed during the Korean winter. The Belgian version seemed to rely on a different combination of herbs and spices rather than the garlic-centered flavors familiar to me.
Around us, tourists were laughing, talking, and casually eating mussels with their hands.
It was a wonderful scene.
There was something democratic about it. Businesspeople, tourists, couples, and families all seemed to become equal once the mussel shells arrived on the table. Fine manners temporarily gave way to fingers, shells, conversation, and laughter.
And there was an additional linguistic joke that I could not resist.
In Korean, saying that someone “ate water” can imply something quite negative or unfortunate. But in Belgium, our “water” turned out to be expensive, authentic, and delicious.
Sometimes travel teaches us geography.
Sometimes it teaches us history.
And occasionally, it teaches us that one should never trust a familiar-sounding word in a foreign country.
A Tiny Boy with a Global Reputation
Few tourists visiting Brussels are likely to miss Manneken Pis—although finding him can be surprisingly difficult.
The famous little statue is hidden among the narrow streets of central Brussels. I followed directions, wandered through winding alleys, and eventually encountered a large crowd gathered around what appeared to be an extremely small statue.
That had to be him.
Manneken Pis.
After all that searching, I stood before the famous little boy and wondered whether I had perhaps been expecting something larger.
He was tiny.
Remarkably tiny.
Yet the crowd around him was enormous.
Tourists were taking photographs from every possible angle. People were laughing, pointing, posing, and buying souvenirs. The contrast was almost comical: a very small statue surrounded by a very large international audience.
That contrast, however, is precisely what makes Manneken Pis interesting.
The statue has become much larger than its physical size. It has escaped the boundaries of stone and bronze and entered the world of cultural imagination.
I was told that the statue is periodically dressed in traditional costumes sent from different countries around the world. Each costume is displayed for visitors during designated periods. I was even told that Korea had sent a costume, although unfortunately I did not see it during my visit.
Around the statue, souvenir shops offered an astonishing variety of products inspired by the little figure. Among them were small bells made of copper or tin in the shape of Manneken Pis.
I bought several as gifts.
One of them still sits on a shelf in my office bookcase.
But there was another detail about the statue that I found particularly amusing.
The little fellow does not always behave politely.
At unexpected moments, he begins to urinate.
Quite energetically.
So if you are standing nearby, absorbed in conversation, looking at your camera, or concentrating too much on taking the perfect photograph, you may suddenly receive an unexpected shower.
It is perhaps the most literal form of interactive tourism.
Manneken Pis offers visitors something that many monuments cannot: participation.
You do not merely look at him.
You wait to see what he will do.
And that may be part of Brussels’ genius. A city famous for grand architecture has also managed to turn a tiny, mischievous boy into an international cultural icon.
The Belgian Potato and National Pride
Then there are the fries.
Or, more precisely, the ‘Belgian fries.’
One should be careful about calling them ‘French fries’ in Belgium.
Belgians take their fries seriously.
Very seriously.
The familiar dish of potatoes cut into strips and fried in oil is known around the world as “French fries.” Yet Belgians have long maintained that the culinary tradition is distinctly Belgian and prefer the term “Belgian fries.”
When I first heard this, I thought it was simply a matter of terminology.
After spending some time in Belgium, however, I began to understand that food can carry something much deeper than its ingredients.
Food can carry identity.
It can carry history.
It can even carry national pride.
When I finally tasted Belgian fries for myself, I searched carefully for some dramatic difference.
To be honest, I could not identify a revolutionary difference in taste.
But there was a noticeable difference in form.
Belgian fries tended to be thicker and broader than the relatively thin fries I was accustomed to in the United States.
Perhaps that was the secret.
Or perhaps the secret was simply eating them in Belgium.
Travel changes the meaning of ordinary things. A potato is a potato until it becomes part of a national story.
That is one of the pleasures of travel. We begin with food and end up learning something about people.
The Belgian fry taught me that even the most humble food can become a cultural symbol when generations of people attach memory, tradition, and pride to it.
Why Do Belgians Look at Shoes?
My fifth episode is perhaps the strangest because it concerns something so ordinary that I almost forgot to question it.
I was told that Belgians, when meeting someone for the first time, often pay particular attention to the person’s shoes.
I found this fascinating.
Every culture has its own subtle ways of reading another person. Some people notice the face first. Others notice clothing, posture, manners, handshake, or voice. Some cultures emphasize eye contact; others pay attention to personal space.
And, apparently, Belgians may look at your shoes.
Why?
I never had the opportunity to ask.
Perhaps shoes reveal how carefully a person presents himself. Perhaps they suggest cleanliness, occupation, social background, personality, or attention to detail. Or perhaps the explanation is much simpler: perhaps Belgians just happen to like good shoes.
I cannot say.
But the unanswered question itself has stayed in my memory.
If I ever return to Belgium, I have one small piece of unfinished business.
I will ask.
And I will also look at my own shoes before meeting anyone.
A Small Country, A Large Memory
Belgium is a small country.
But perhaps countries, like people, should not be measured by size.
A few days in Belgium can take a traveler through medieval streets, historic squares, remarkable architecture, lively markets, distinctive foods, multilingual encounters, and countless small cultural surprises. Brussels, Ghent, and other Belgian cities do not require a traveler to cross enormous distances to encounter different layers of European history.
Yet what I remember most is not a monument.
It is a series of little moments.
An old woman laughing at a railway station.
A Korean word that unexpectedly became a Belgian dish.
A tiny boy whose reputation was infinitely larger than his body.
A potato that became a matter of national pride.
And a pair of shoes that apparently deserved a closer look.
These episodes remind me that travel is not simply the movement of a body from one geographical location to another. It is a movement of perception. We leave home with one set of assumptions and return with another. Sometimes the transformation comes through a museum or a historic site. But just as often, it comes through something wonderfully trivial.
A restroom can become a cultural story.
A mussel can become a linguistic lesson.
A tiny statue can become a study in global tourism.
A potato can become national identity.
And a pair of shoes can become a question about how one culture sees another person.
That may be the real charm of Belgium.
It is small enough to explore in a few days, yet rich enough to leave behind memories that survive for decades. The grand history of Europe may be written in its castles, churches, treaties, and battlefields, but the human history of a country is often preserved in much smaller things: a meal shared at an outdoor table, a joke between strangers, an unexpected misunderstanding, a souvenir on a bookshelf, or a smile from an old woman at a railway station.
More than twenty five years later, I still remember Belgium not as a collection of tourist attractions, but as five small stories.
And perhaps that is what makes a journey truly memorable.
We do not always remember where we went.
We remember what happened to us there. +++
벨기에에서의 다섯 가지 에피소드
작은 나라에서 만난 소중한 순간들
벨지움을 여행을 한지가 25년 훨씬 너머 되었음에도 거기에서 겪은 기억에 남는 몇가지 에피소드가 있어 간단히 소개하기로 한다.
어느 할머니의 짓궃은 상술
브뤼셀 (Brussels)에서 벨지움 관광의 명소 겐트 (Ghent)로 가는 열차를 기다리다가 나는 급히 화장실에 갈 처지가 되었다. 주변을 돌아보니 유료화장실이 하나 눈에 띄었는데 나이 많은 할머니가 의자를 하나 앞에 두고 입장료 (?)를 받으며 지키고 있었다. 나는 급한 나머지 노파에게 사정을 이야기하니 여성전용화장실로 빨리 들어가라는 거였다. 나는 너무 어이가 없어 머뭇거리며 주저하고 있었더니 왜 빨리 들어가지 않고 무엇하냐며 오히려 성화였다. 마침 남성전용화장실은 만원이었던 것이다. 얼떨결에 나는 난생 처음으로 여성전용화장실에 들어가 일을 마치고 나오려는데 쉴사이 없이 들락거리는 여성고객들의 소리에 정말 언제 거기서 나가야 할지 매우 난감하였다. 한참을 기다리다 주위가 조용한 때를 기다려 쏜살같이 밖으로 나왔지만 왠지 마귀할멈 같이 요사스럽게 웃으며 나를 골려먹는 노파의 심술을 등 뒤로 하고서 다행히 겐트 행 기차를 올라 탔는데, 겐트에 도착할 때까지 나의 마음이 영 유쾌하지 않았음은 물론이다.
식당에서 물먹기
함께 한국에서 출장을 간 친구와 저녁식사를 하러 브뤼셀의 전형적인 동네 시장에 있는 유명한 노천식당에 갔다. 친구가 권유하기를 “물”을 시켜서 먹자는 거였다. 내가 무슨 물을 먹느냐고 했더니, 해외 여행 경험이 나보다는 한 수 위인 친구가 벨지움에서는 꼭 “물을 먹고 가야한다”고 하면서 그냥 가면 후회할 거라고 하였다. 나중에 웨이터에게 음식을 주문할 때 친구가 자랑스럽게 “물” 하고 대답했더니 신기하게도 웨이터가 고개를 끄덕이는 거였다. 알고보니 “물”은 우리나라로 치면 홍합이었던 것이다. 아마 홍합의 영어 이름인 mussel이 프랑스어 (또는, 벨지움 고유의 Flamish 어 ?)로moules로 발음되는 것 같았다. 주문한 “물” (Moules et Frites) 요리가 드디어 나오는데, 찰리 채플린이 즐겨쓰던 멋진 신사용 모자를 뒤로 뒤집어 놓은 듯한 까만 플라스틱 용기에 “물”을 삶아서 조미료를 적절하게 섞어가며 알은 까먹고 국물은 마시는 거였다. 우리나라에서 포장마차에서 겨울에 즐겨 먹는 홍합국물의 맛과는 조금 다른데, 아마 마늘을 쓰지 않고 다른 향신료를 쓴 것 때문인 것 같았다. 많은 관광객들이 벨지움에 와서 “물”을 손으로 까 먹으면서 담소하는 모습은 아직도 내 뇌리에 인상적으로 남아있다. 우리가 “물”먹었다고 하면 부정적인 의미인데 벨지움에서 “물”은 비싸지만 꽤 먹을만 하였다.
참고: Moules et Frites – Belgian’s national dish http://www.travelsignposts.com/Belgium/tag/moules-et-frites
오줌싸개 동상 (Manneken Pis)의 국제적 매력
오줌싸개 동상 (Manneken Pis)은 벨지움의 부뤼셀에 있는데 많은 사람들로부터 사랑을 받고 있었다. 실상 동상을 찾기가 의외로 쉽지는 않았는데 꾸불꾸불한 골목길을 물어물어 찾아가니 아주 조그만 동상 앞에 많은 사람들이 몰려 사진을 찍고 있어 그 것이 문제의 동상인지 알게 되었다. 안내자의 설명에 의해 거기서 알게된 바로는 일정한 기간을 미리 정하여 전세계에서 보내온 각 나라의 고유한 옷을 동상에 차례로 입혀 관광객들에게 전시한다고 한다. 한국에서 보내온 옷도 있다고 하는데 보지는 못 하였다. 사실 보고나니 별 것이 아닌데 입소문을 전세계적으로 조직적으로 퍼뜨린 결과인지는 모르겠지만 동상을 소재로한 수많은 관광상품을 제작하여 주변에서 판매하고 있었다. 대표적인 상품이 오줌싸개 동상 모형을 이용하여 구리나 주석으로 만든 종(鐘) 이었다. 나도 선물용으로 몇 개를 샀는데 그 중 하나는 나의 사무실에 있는 책장의 한 칸을 지금 차지하고 있다. 재미있는 사실은 동상이 예고없이 갑자기 세차게실례를 한다는 것이다. 사진찍기에 전념하거나 동상에 집중하지 않고 쓸데 없는 잡담을 옆사람하고 나누다가는 즐거운 오줌벼락을 맞을 수 있으니 관광을 계획하는 분들은 조심하기 바란다.
참고: Manneken Pis
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manneken_Pis
http://www.journalog.net/raphy/38676
벨지언 프라이의 자부심
벨지움 사람들의 자존심 하나는 우리가 잘 알고 있는 프렌치 프라이 (French fries: 감자를 잘게 썰어 기름에 튀긴 요리)로서, 그들은 결코 그 요리를 프렌치 프라이라고 부르지 않고 “벨지언 프라이”라고 하였다. 본래 그 기원이 벨지움이라는 것이고 심지어 그 명칭에 관한 지적재산권 문제를 제기하여 세계의 많은 패스트 푸드 업계에서 당연시하며 쓰고 있는 이름인 프렌치 프라이로 모두 고치고 로열티도 벨지움에 지불해야 한다는 거였다. 내 개인적으로 “벨지언 프라이”를 시식해 본 결과 그 맛 차이는 잘 모르겠으나, 가장 큰 차이는 보다 넓은 감자채에 있었다. 미국의 프렌치프라이는 얇은 감자채튀김이라면 벨지움의 “벨지언 프라이”는 굵은 감자채튀김이라고 할 수 있겠다. 아무튼 “벨지언 프라이”는 먹을만 하였으며 벨지움 사람들의 자존심이 깃든 편리한 음식이라는 것을 여행을 통해 알게 되었다.
참고: Belgian fries
http://www.belgianfries.com/
French fries
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_fries
벨지움 사람들의 습관: 왜 구두일까?
벨지움 사람들은 어떤 사람을 처음 만날 때 가장 먼저 상대방의 구두를 유심히 본다고 한다. 나라마다 어떤 사람을 처음 만날 때 가장 먼저하는 행동이 조금씩은 다르다고 하는데, 꽤 재미있는 습관이 아닐까 한다. 그 정확한 이유가 무엇인지는 물어 볼 기회가 없었으나 다음에 기회가 되면 그 이유를 한 번 알아보고자 한다.
벨지움은 조그만 나라지만 여러모로 아기자기한 면이 많아 유럽 일주 여행을 계획한다면 2-3일 정도는 충분히 재미있게 보낼 수 있는 매력적인 나라임에는 틀림이 없는 것 같다. +++
2026년 9월 14일
{솔티}
Prof. Dr. Young Choi (Editor in Chief) — Regent University
Young B. Choi is a Professor in the Department of Engineering & Computer Science at Regent University. He published 38 books with ‘Selected Readings in Cybersecurity’ (2018) (over 800 copies archived globally at university/college libraries around the world) and ‘Cybersecurity Applications and Artificial Intelligence’ (2023) available in seven major world languages. He proposed the world’s first global and universal telecommunications “Service Order Handling (SOH)” Model (T-SOH Model) (1995) with Dr. Adrian Tang. With this innovative research work, he received the IEEE NOMS ’96 Best Paper Award and became the first recipient of the Outstanding Contribution Award of the TeleManagement Forum in 1998. His research areas include Natural Language Processing-focused AI, AI-applied cybersecurity, network and telecom service management, and Korean studies on Gani Choi Rip’s Jeonggwan (靜觀: Quiet Contemplation) philosophy and Shilhak ( 實學: Practical Learning).
© K-GSP (K-Global Scholars and Professionals) Forum. All rights reserved. 2026.
Suggested Citation:
Choi, Y. B. (2026, September 14). Five Belgian Episodes: Small Encounters in a Small Country. K-GSP.