Getting of the plane was like an icicle forming over my body. I had landed in Brussels. It was late, dark, and cold but I could see the familiar white blanket coating the ground. It was my first time seeing snow on the ground in Europe.
The air was familiar. Dry and cold, not damp and cold like it is here in Bilbao. The kind of cold that's dry and takes your breath away when you first walk out the door. It's like those early mornings driving to the mountain for a day of skiing and riding and the moment you step out of the warm car the dry air goes right up your nose and chills you to the bone.
Cold it was, but it felt like home. No more of that dank, humid, cold air. A day like that on the slopes is a regrettable day for skiing. Once you're dampness soaks through to your skin nothing reverses that kind of coldness. Not even hot chocolate breaks.
But at last, I felt at home in the bitterness and cold. Miles away from anyone I knew, miles away from hearing Spanish, something felt right about the air. And the waffles, and the chocolate something felt right about those too.
Eating a real chocolate truffle is unlike any other chocolate experience. The light and powdery exterior gently touches your lips, leaving you with a slight chalky feel in your mouth. Except as soon as the truffle has settled on to your tongue the creamy, soft, and smooth center take over your taste buds. The chocolate nearly melts in your mouth, completely ridding the chalky feeling. Buying these tasty treats was the interesting part.
Not knowing a lick of French, I started blankly at the everyone I encountered speaking French in Belgium. Struggling to make Spanish sound like French, mixed with pointing, and lots of hand movement usually got the point across. It got me chocolate at least. I left Brussels with three bags of truffles. I couldn't resist in spreading the cheer of this amazing chocolate experience. I am however resisting to open these bags on a daily basis, otherwise the cheer will be spread right to own stomach.
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