With its destination in bar Le Cirio, WALK 2 allows for a more in-depth exploration of another religious concept de Botton

speaks of, namely Genius Loci.

According to Wikipedia, in classical Roman religion a genius loci was the protective spirit of a place. De Botton draws on historical examples to explain such beliefs that people assigned to certain geographical sites at the time: The spirits from the coastline south of Naples, for example, were thought to be particularly well suited to the abatement of melancholy, while the genius loci of Colonia Iulia Equestris (modern-day Nyon, on the shore of Lake Geneva) was supposed to have a special talent for consoling those oppressed by the vagaries of political and commercial life. (p. 268) De Botton points out how these Roman customs were later appropriated by Christianity and he includes a Pilgrimage Map of Medieval Europe in his book, mapping the places pilgrims were to travel to when suffering from Excessive Fears of Lightning (Bad Mnstereifel, Germany) or Throat Problems (Dubrovnik, Croatia).

De Botton adds that although few of us would today walk a hundred kilometres to seek help for a fear of lightning, travelling nevertheless remains at the heart of many secular ideas of fulfilment. (p. 272) The thing we lack however is a capacity to identify these rare and curative locations. As a former student in Brussels, I myself can testify to the troublesome relationship one may establish with the city. Often times Brussels can present itself as a dirty old town, an unwelcoming one, hostile even. I remember I felt relieved travelling back to Antwerp in the evenings, leaving that messy city behind for my quiet hometown. But to maintain such an attitude does not do any justice to Brussels what so ever. It does not grant the capital city sufficient credit, especially when it does finally reveal itself as a melting pot of the most disparate cultures on the one hand and keeper of charming local tradition on the other, against the background of a staggering divide between rich and poor. A city of chance meetings with strangers also, with people passing through, to fall in love (with). If I think about it, I am pretty convinced that my initial conflict with this city has never really been feeling-based or aesthetic, but rather dictated by my incapacity to get a sense of what the city stands for. De Botton argues this has become a very common concern: Having arrived at our destination, we seldom know what to do with ourselves. We wander around in search of a centre. We long for a plausible crucible of significance, for somewhere, anywhere to go in order that we may touch the essence of the genius loci, but in the absence of alternatives we usually end up listlessly touring a museum, ashamed of ourselves for the strength of our desire to go back to our hotel and lie down. (p. 273) Discussed here as part of the books chapter on Architecture, de Botton recognizes this problem of locating the genius loci as being first and foremost a spatial one. To him it seems to be a matter of defining and/or building sites temples and shrines that will get us back in touch with the transformational powers these places may still have to offer: How much more therapeutic our journeys might be if they could include a visit to secular local shrine or temple, a work of architecture that would define and concentrate the qualities of its surrounding setting. Inside, we could deposit wax versions of our anxieties and immaturities, attempting thereby to formalize the purpose of our trip. (p. 273)

In Medieval Christian faith, pilgrims were accustomed to carry small moulded wax figurines with them to the holy shrines, placing them onto altars, tombs or caskets. De Botton informs us how these models represented the troublesome parts of themselves, from legs, ears and breasts to penises and even whole souls (in the form of babies). Nowadays this peculiar fetish ritual has long disappeared from Christian church service but the act of lighting a wax candle does persist.

So-called votive candles - ones you find on stands in rows which you can light in church indicate that someone is praying about something particular, either for themselves or on behalf of someone else. The word votive can also refer to a promise to pray for someone, as well as a wish or desire for a certain outcome on behalf of someone, such as recovery of health. (from Ask a Catholic - http://www.cptryon.org/ask/ask/candles.html)

The Spanish word for candle is cirio.

As the voice speaking to me through my headphones directs me to bar Le Cirio around the corner of La Bourse, I notice the sign of a place that has not caught my attention before. I head for the front door, open it and I am surprised to walk into a very posh looking interior. Senior waiters in tuxedos pass me by, slow-paced, like priests in a church, as I make my way for the back of the space, where the voice has asked me to find a table in the corner. I sit down, order a beer and I find myself in this place where I would not usually go. I wait for the woman whose voice just spoke to me to arrive to the scene, but I suspect that she will not be coming. My suspicion is confirmed as the voice tells me she had to leave quickly, that she will be back. There and then I am struck by a strange awareness that the genius loci of Brussels happens to take over me in that bar. In that moment, sitting there by myself in Le Cirios old-fashioned bourgeois decor, having missed someone who had to leave in an instant, who wont be coming back until later, with myself pretending to be an actor in some tragic love story, drinking a beer, Brussels makes much sense to me.