We went for a walk and met these musicians on the Rue de Montagne, playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons (what else) in perfect CD quality.

This piece of PS homework is instead of the many good shots I could have made yesterday, if I had had my camera with me when brave Belgian police, otherwise very busy broke up the 911 memorial march. Why? The PC mayor wanted to please his Moroccan voters. There were 10 years old kids among them, I mean the police, dressed in full riot gear. My GOD what a picture it could have been. But I had to choose between going home for my bulky 20D, which I don't always carry on me, and missing the demo alltogether.
If it goes on like this, in a couple of years I'll photograph ashura on the Grande Place or some other weird Muslim festival. This country is like camembert cheese, looks OK outside but rots inside. Wish I could go home, Hungary stinks too but at least its our own stink.

September mornings

I like the parks of Brussels. Each of them full of statues and memories, telling stories of faded glory like history books. They're never dull. During winter, even after five years, my eye still finds the green color of grass and mossy statues difficult to believe. But my favourite strolling time is autumn, when the low sun casts its symphonies of light, through an orchestra of morning haze and dying leafs.

Kilikia