Creative Writing (from Belgium)

During my trip to Antwerp, I got inspired by the exploration of the city. This page consists the writing prompts from there

Jazz in Antwerp (23/02/2024)

Rainy day in Antwerp. Windy, it pierces my skin and makes my black coat flow with the wind. Muddy streets, which are in a permanent state of construction, dirty my new leather shoes.

Seems like the day could not be redeemed, yet I feel at peace. A warm, three-storey bar with inviting candle lights is busy with customers. A Sapphic couple in their late 30s is whispering sweet nothings and lingering their lips against each other. The barman, seemingly unimpressed by my greeting from the second floor, gave me a dirty look once. After that, he was distracted by the endless waves of customers: young and old, foreign and local. Four friends, a little Antwerp band, are playing jazz in this bustling wooden bar. They play well, putting their souls into each note.

The saxophone player, a big and tall guy with a bushy ginger beard and bright rosy cheeks, clearly is too hot in the space. It's no surprise, as first of all, the bar is quite warm. This is shocking, considering how big it is and the fact that it is right in the heart of the old city of Antwerp. They must really pay fortunes to heat it up. Secondly, he sat on a flimsy, dark oak bar stool and rapidly rocked from front to back, kind of like a child, while playing his solo. His cheeks were inflating and deflating fast, similar to a balloon, making the skin even redder.

The guy behind him, with a sick, knotted afro and a Tupac t-shirt, grooved while playing on his dusty-rose Fender bass. Out of all the band members, he seemed the most relaxed and in tune with the music, smiling and dancing along with the tune. The shiny bass guitar pegs (the ones you use to tune the instrument in the head of a griff) were freshly polished and shined a bright light into my face, blinding me for a fraction of a second with each energetic movement.

The drummer seemed to be the most concentrated one in the bunch. With dirty blond hair, a black leather jacket, and a 90’s styled undercut, he looked around with sharp gray eyes in between each set. He fidgeted with his lip piercing, biting his lip while hitting that jazzy and deconstructed rhythm that seemed so easy to follow until you actually started counting. The man completely emerged in the tempo, mouthing something under his breath, like a metronome.

And the pianist. A scrawny, ordinary-looking guy, you would be able to find at any student party. Yellow hoodie, khaki jeans, and a brown, slightly messy side part. Yet, he was extraordinarily good with the instrument. What I noticed first were his hands. As the bright soffit lights shined at the band in the dim and cozy space, his hands fluidly danced on the black and white piano keys. With fascinating agility, his fingers set the melody for the rest of the band, who were quick to adapt to a live, slightly chaotic, jazz jam session on a Wednesday night.

The crowd in front of the stage cheered and bopped their heads with the music, while further tables were occupied by tight-knit companies. Occasionally, the applause to the band between each tune was the only thing that united every person in this bar, previously occupied by different activities.

And I sat on the balcony above the bar (In my opinion, it is the best place, with a clear view of the scene, yet far away from the speakers, so my eardrums will thank me later). I lazily sipped my Irish whiskey on the rocks, which left, at first, a burning warmth in my mouth but then transformed into a candy-sweet aftertaste that made me smile a bit.

A gloomy night in Antwerp had so much soul, in these thin, old, and grimy streets, connecting people to listen to jazz and drink till sunrise, hiding and warming up after a sharp wind and cold rain.