12-09-2017, 05:09 PM
Some of you may recall a story I told about my mate Khalid, who I used to hang out with in wee hrs of the morning, in the Grand Place, Brussels back in early Sep 2001. I was in the city for Scotland's showdown with Belgium, needing to win I think, to qualify for the 2002 WC in Japan & S Korea. They were fucking terrible, and I don't even remember them having a single shot in the first half.
Anyway, I was always keen to keep the fun times going. I was on my holidays from the Arctic. So opportunity knocks were typically always around every corner ... including my hotel , literally just off the Grand Place; staying out late afforded me a simple 50 yard stagger for a great breakfast before dragging myself upstairs around 7am for a kip. That was the routine as it turned out. Expensive digs but it was a last minute decision so no real choice; still can't complain ... location, location location.
Och, I'm rambling a bit .... One night in the GP I saw him sitting on a high, wall bottle of Juliper by his side, just observing the high jinks that come with the TA circus on such occasions. He was rolling a joint; I approached and struck up conversation. Decent bloke from Morocco. Probably mid to late 20s. I distinctly remember his all red Adidas high-tops and maroon-coloured type pilot jacket. Quite talkative and interested in Scotland, the Arctic and Mrs P's younger sister, who I said would make a fine wife.
We shared his doobie, talked some more then I bought some more beer from an offie. He offered to roll another one but I said that because I didn't smoke and had been used to indulging in weed back in Canada I found it difficult to smoke much hash. He said we could go get some green so off we went to an address a dozen or so blocks away. Good night was had, and upon parting I said I'd maybe see him the next day/evening if he was around. Right enough bumped into him late Tues after my mates had gone back to their hotel ready for the big day, game day the Wed.
I went to my 'local' offie/corner store ( ) and bought some beer, and we hung out at the GP again; smoked a bit and watched the night pass us by. By 2/3am we went and got more beer and then joined a group of slightly older men from his country/community (he said) under the arches at the lower end of the square. They were smoking hookahs, etc and in various depths of discussion. I offered beer but most declined. I sensed I wasn't particularly welcome by a few of them. Khalid reassured me that it was cool, they just wanted to know who I was. Never thought anything of it. I bought more beer, we smoked an hung out. We parted ways. I caught up with him again briefly that night but we had an early departure for Edinburgh the next day. We exchanged email addresses, said our cheerios. Never saw him again.
Anyway, if you've got this far I bet you're wondering why I'm recounting this somewhat tedious tale? Yes? Well, I have been doing a bit of tidying up around the house, down in the crawlspace; shifting boxes around and getting rid of stuff. Back then I printed out and kept all personal communications I had via mail or email. I opened one such box and one of the first sheets I read was an email I had written back to Khalid on Tuesday Nov 20, 2001, in response to his email to me sent a week earlier, on the 14th.
I had only ever remembered him as my Moroccan mate, Khalid from Brussels; I didn't know his last name or what had become of him. His email afforded me his last name. It sounded somewhat familiar so I googled it and got this hit amongst others.
https://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/12/world...angry.html
Anyway, I was always keen to keep the fun times going. I was on my holidays from the Arctic. So opportunity knocks were typically always around every corner ... including my hotel , literally just off the Grand Place; staying out late afforded me a simple 50 yard stagger for a great breakfast before dragging myself upstairs around 7am for a kip. That was the routine as it turned out. Expensive digs but it was a last minute decision so no real choice; still can't complain ... location, location location.
Och, I'm rambling a bit .... One night in the GP I saw him sitting on a high, wall bottle of Juliper by his side, just observing the high jinks that come with the TA circus on such occasions. He was rolling a joint; I approached and struck up conversation. Decent bloke from Morocco. Probably mid to late 20s. I distinctly remember his all red Adidas high-tops and maroon-coloured type pilot jacket. Quite talkative and interested in Scotland, the Arctic and Mrs P's younger sister, who I said would make a fine wife.
We shared his doobie, talked some more then I bought some more beer from an offie. He offered to roll another one but I said that because I didn't smoke and had been used to indulging in weed back in Canada I found it difficult to smoke much hash. He said we could go get some green so off we went to an address a dozen or so blocks away. Good night was had, and upon parting I said I'd maybe see him the next day/evening if he was around. Right enough bumped into him late Tues after my mates had gone back to their hotel ready for the big day, game day the Wed.
I went to my 'local' offie/corner store ( ) and bought some beer, and we hung out at the GP again; smoked a bit and watched the night pass us by. By 2/3am we went and got more beer and then joined a group of slightly older men from his country/community (he said) under the arches at the lower end of the square. They were smoking hookahs, etc and in various depths of discussion. I offered beer but most declined. I sensed I wasn't particularly welcome by a few of them. Khalid reassured me that it was cool, they just wanted to know who I was. Never thought anything of it. I bought more beer, we smoked an hung out. We parted ways. I caught up with him again briefly that night but we had an early departure for Edinburgh the next day. We exchanged email addresses, said our cheerios. Never saw him again.
Anyway, if you've got this far I bet you're wondering why I'm recounting this somewhat tedious tale? Yes? Well, I have been doing a bit of tidying up around the house, down in the crawlspace; shifting boxes around and getting rid of stuff. Back then I printed out and kept all personal communications I had via mail or email. I opened one such box and one of the first sheets I read was an email I had written back to Khalid on Tuesday Nov 20, 2001, in response to his email to me sent a week earlier, on the 14th.
I had only ever remembered him as my Moroccan mate, Khalid from Brussels; I didn't know his last name or what had become of him. His email afforded me his last name. It sounded somewhat familiar so I googled it and got this hit amongst others.
https://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/12/world...angry.html
Quote:Mr. Zerkani, a Moroccan who became a Belgian resident in 2002, moved on the fringes of Mr. Ayachi's milieu but did not attract close attention, people in his neighborhood said. While the Islamic Center had championed an ascetic and rigid form of Islam that had only modest appeal to young people who liked to drink alcohol and carouse at night, Mr. Zerkani, Belgian investigators said, was able to bridge the divide by channeling the criminal energies of young delinquents.