sometimes there is dancing around the corner

If ever you find yourself in the Grand Place in Bruxelles, Belgium on a dark night, you might find a man named Elmer giving the performance of a lifetime. Standing at around 5 feet tall and light on his feet as he dances around the square, Elmer plays the guitar proudly, stomps his feet with bells attached, and sings in his heart language, Spanish.

On this fateful evening, I had decided to take a stroll into the town center of Bruxelles in search of some semblance of excitement. In this pursuit, I came across a few street performers singing in different languages and styles, with various instruments accompanying them. Some caught my attention longer than others—I even stopped at one for a long 30 minutes to watch as a regular woman performed songs suggested by people on the street. Walking away from her, I thought to myself that the other performers in the area had tough competition with her around. Not long after this thought, however, I came across Elmer—not two street corners away.

The street that led to the Grand Place was tourist-heavy and lined with chocolate stores, TinTin memorabilia, cobblestone paths, and the smell of beer and frites. The country’s pride seemed to be found in this square, as it held the pieces that set it apart in the world—its own unique culture made up of the entire world colliding under the EU Parliament.

All photos by a member of our team

Bruxelles, as one can quickly learn upon arriving in the city, is the home of the world. The EU Parliament and the city’s dynamic have made this a home for people from all over the globe. Food from the East and the West could be found and made to perfection—including some authentic Mexican tacos, which, up until this point, had been impossible to find in Europe. The city was home to a large population of diaspora, which kept my interest as a cultural researcher. If you desire to experience the world, go to Bruxelles—you will find it.

While the city itself is rather international, at a glance, you might miss it. The demeanor of a European in these parts was cold—without smiles or greetings, and often in a hurry to work. With time, you will find that this is merely a front for a much warmer and friendlier people, but the surface can be difficult to adjust to for a Texan like myself. The city seemed to hold you at a distance—to stare you down and interrogate your intentions. It was a concrete slab decorated with ornate lining: just enough beauty to bring the tourists, and just enough cold culture to keep the tourists from truly acclimating to Belgian life, even if they did stick around. While the world lived here, Belgians could not accept them so easily as cold people. No warmth, it seemed to me, could so easily penetrate through the armor of its inhabitants.

In the town square, there is a location called the Grand Place. This is a large open space sandwiched between gold-lined buildings with Dutch-style architecture. Walking into it, especially at night, felt like being transported into another world for a period of time. Lining the area are shops, restaurants, and art collections—a particular favorite of mine was the gallery called 3:16, which serves free tea and cookies.

The Grand Place was always full of excitement, but this night was different. As opposed to the typical violinist, pianist, or vocalist with a speaker you might encounter, this evening the air was energetic, light, and vibrant with the echoes of the guitar. Rounding the corner, I saw in the center a group of twenty or more people gathered around a man who was jumping and dancing. The crowd looked hesitant as I approached—watching almost longingly, as though the cold European audience was awaiting the warmth in their hearts to flow into their feet as permission to release oneself. It was like watching a caged animal be introduced to the wild natural habitat—without boundaries or restraints, only freedom—and he cannot take it so excitedly.

Standing among the crowd and desiring to be a fly on the wall to this performer, we watched as he took ownership of the space. The infectious energy he brought soon led the audience to clap—a gateway into the dancing and shouting soon to come. After a few songs and a brave young boy who joined in the dancing, the whole crowd was swept up into a conga line, overtaking the square and claiming each person as its own. There was no fighting the vibrant, warm, life-giving energy that came out of this song. Upon breaking apart, there was more dancing and clapping. Slowly, as we danced, the crowd seemed to double and then triple in size, until it was nearly impossible to distinguish the number.

If you have ever seen a moment like this, you understand the beauty I’m getting at here. It was like laughter after a funeral, the hug after an argument, or the celebratory outing after an exam. It was more than a performance for the spectators—it was a space of relief from the cold culture of Europe. It was a breath of life in a space that demands so much air. Elmer and his ragtag performance had softened the cold shell of the Belgians and brought together the cultures of the world in one performance.

Bruxelles was a special city then, and even more so after that night. The air held a different mood—one that was more vibrant and colorful as a result of this temporary inhibitor. As I traveled on the train and sat across from cold-faced people with furrowed brows, something inside of me smiled and giggled, thinking about how that person might have danced had he been there that night.

Maybe you and I are more than just a facial expression at a busy, hot metro station. What do you think?

our team member’s photo from their iPhone before the evening overwhelmed with people