Antwerp

As many of you have been following along with my European fairytale love story, I feel I owe you an update. If you’ve been reading since I found love in the South of France, then you know that my sweet boy and I have spent the better part of nine months on late-night phone calls and weekend trips back and forth between our respective cities in Europe.

I’d like to tell you about Antwerp, but I feel it’s my duty as a journalist to inform you of my personal bias. I had my heart broken in this city, so the usual rose-colored glasses I wear in a new city have faded to a gray-blue. Much like the weather in this northern Belgian city in the thick of January, my memories are tainted by a constant mist and the frigid temperature of my heart weighing me down. I'm not really sure what this story is about except me trying to find my way through it—through the weekend and through the time hereafter.

The weekend started as normal: giddy and excited to see my love again after another month apart. I took a Thursday afternoon flight out of Madrid after my morning teaching English. I landed in Brussels around 7 p.m. and took the next train to Antwerp. After planes, trains, and Ubers, I finally made it to my boyfriend, expecting a relaxing weekend together because he had fallen ill Wednesday night. I came prepared with vitamins, ready to take care of him all weekend.

On Friday, he managed to make it to work despite his cold, so I ventured out on my own for the day, much like I did in Amsterdam. Bundled up in many layers, a scarf, gloves, and my fur coat, I braved the freezing, gray, misty day ahead. I had done some TikTok research and found a very cute café called Charlie’s that offered gluten-free options.

I took the 20-minute walk in the arctic blast, not quite ready to figure out public transportation. When I arrived, I was welcomed into a warm, quaint café and got my very own couch to enjoy avocado goat cheese toast topped with edible flowers. I stayed long enough for two cappuccinos and then spent the rest of my day shopping. Antwerp is known as a fashion hub of Europe, so I took advantage, browsing incredible shops with luxury brands at great prices. It’s a very walkable city, but January temperatures don’t allow you to stay out for long. Eventually, I made use of the tram and found it simple—you can just mobile pay when you enter, though no one really checks. I’ll admit I evaded fare all weekend.

That evening, I went for a glass of wine alone at a random bar near my boyfriend’s apartment in the south part of the city. Known as an affluent neighborhood, it had many cute spots. Can you tell I’m trying to sneak some normalcy into my city exploration review despite my heartbreak?

One of my favorite parts of these trips is getting a taste of solo travel. I don’t have to actually be alone, but I get to experience a city with him as my safety net to come home to.

It was time to go home to him as he was off work soon. Since he wasn’t feeling well, we ordered sushi in. I didn’t complain; I understood. I was really there to see him anyway. It’s not as if Antwerp is a must-see in the dead of January. The landmarks are barely visible, covered by the gray mist. This may have been my favorite time of the weekend—just quality time. No distractions, nothing to do, no place to see or be, no people to talk to other than each other. I laughed more than I had in months that night.

You know how they say that when people are very sick and nearing the end of their life, they often have one really good day with a lot of energy? They’ve been sick for a while, you’re praying they’ll get better, and then one day they have a burst of energy, laughing and telling stories. You have hope they’ll turn it around, only to find they’ve passed the next day. I think the same is true in relationships. Looking back, I see this was our last burst of energy. One last evening of all the good, making us forget all the bad, making us think that maybe we could figure this out. Maybe if we laughed a little harder and loved each other a little more, we could overcome our circumstances. Our relationship died the next day. 

The next day, we decided I needed to try the frituur—the place with the iconic Belgian fries. You may think fries are French, but fries are Belgian. According to my Belgian boyfriend (and most history books), soldiers during WWII first tried fries abroad. Confused about where exactly they were in battle, they mistakenly named them “French fries,” thinking they were in France. They were in Belgium.

Back to my story—this place doesn’t just have fries. It also has an assortment of fried meats that you have no idea what they are. But you know they’re deep-fried. The best part is the sauce. I thought America had the best sauces, but the Andalouse and Samurai sauces blew me away. I don’t know what they are other than mayo-based with lots of flavor. It doesn’t really matter because you don’t know what’s in the meat anyway. You just dip it in your sauce and enjoy. The fries were genuinely heavenly. He ordered them with seasoning that was life-changing. Fries outside of Belgium will never compare.

After lunch, we thought I should see some sights, so we walked around the center and saw the Cathedral of Our Lady. Yep, you guessed it—another giant European cathedral with unique architecture right in the city center. The best part, I thought, wasn’t the cathedral but the sculpture outside it. Embedded in the ground lay a white sculpture of a boy and a dog cuddling up, napping on the street. Their blanket was the pavement itself. The brick walkway actually lifted up on top of them, appearing as if they had peeled back the pavement and crawled inside for rest. Adorable.

Next, we visited Het Steen, our last tourist attraction of the day—because we got into a fight. It’s a grand castle along the water with medieval architecture. By then, it had started raining, and the breakup felt imminent, so we went home to talk. A few hours of tears later, we decided we needed to get out of the house and have one last nice evening together as a couple.

We went for drinks in the South, which had very cute bars. We then made a last-minute dinner reservation, which was actually quite disappointing—but what can you expect from a restaurant in a hotel, he told me. Afterward, we had a couple more drinks, prolonging the melancholy evening, knowing I was leaving the next morning. And that we weren’t going to be together anymore. One last night together, still in love, still pretending everything was normal.

When I woke in the morning, I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would be the same. So we proceeded to have the breakup conversation—essentially for the second time, because the first time, I was in denial. I will keep the details private, but there was no infidelity, no life-changing mistake, no faults in character. Just time and circumstance were not on our side.

This was my first breakup. My first real love, my first boyfriend. I couldn’t believe our fairytale love story was coming to an end. I thought that after all the odds against us, after nine months of effort, it would all be worth something. That we had something worth fighting for.

Our last goodbye he carries my pink suitcase down the stairs. We exchange our final sweet words and bittersweet glances. One last kiss, and my Uber is outside. I put my suitcase in the trunk and got in the backseat. I turned around and watched out the back window. Just like every rom-com movie, I see him standing in the doorway, our eyes locking, both filled with tears. Only this isn’t a movie, and he doesn’t run after me.

And at the end of it all, there I was—alone in the Uber, alone on the train to Brussels, alone on my flight back to Madrid. Alone in Europe and wondering why I was still there. Ending our relationship the way it started: in tears.

So thank you, friends, who have followed along through every girl’s European dream. I’m unsure what’s next in this story, I'm not sure if it's the end. But for now we have reached an impasse. Necessary for protagonists character development. 

Xoxo, 

Livy.