On Friday night I decided to finally try out Spirito Martini club. It apparently was very popular and very close to my place. The feedback I had got about it was contradictory however covering the love-hate range. A friend said: “If you are going there, I am not coming. I don’t like the people…not professionals, you know…” She said more than that but I won’t repeat it in order not to put labels.
Fortunately another friend was eager to explore Brussels night life secrets with me. So I did a little research as part of my preparation for the evening.
The club website looked fashionably and had musical background – some electronic beat. The most impressive thing about Spirito Martini was that it was situated in a former church. Hence the spirit part in the name. As I was looking at the pictures from recent parties I was more and more convinced that this was definitely not a place where I would belong to. Nor that I would, most probably, wish to return there. But for once I was curious to enter its shallowly-glittering-world.
I also checked the forums and read through some of the comments: never going back there; we had a great party last night; we were a group of good looking girls but they didn’t let us in; a friend had booked it for his birthday party but they didn’t like one of us and didn’t let him in… It seemed that the formula they used to keep you away was “private party”. Many of the postings mentioned a woman who was making the selection, the Guardian of the Shrine…
Having completed my research I called the club. The woman on the phone was kind and explained that I didn’t have to make a reservation and we could simply go after 11 pm.
I wore a little black dress and high heel red shoes and put more make up than usual. Would this do?
We arrived around midnight. And there she was. Short, thin, black long straight hair and clothes, sticking to her body.
“Private party”, she said.
“Oh, no”, I replied, “I called earlier and your colleague didn’t mention anything about a private party”
“Why didn’t your colleague tell me about it then?”
I was really amused by the situation. It was clear we were not going to make our prayers there that night, but I enjoyed observing her reactions.
“Everyone seems very young and elegant here”, my friend commented, “Is it a ball?”
And a ball it was. Without realizing we had entered the annual ball of the Flemish lawyers. Or were they student lawyers? Most of them looked young indeed. And dressed up – men in suits and girls in ball dresses. I had been preparing for the world of the bad girls, but instead found myself once again surrounded by the bourgeois ones. The whole situation felt surreal, almost like in a Fellini’s film.
It was a night of twists and this was the thing I liked most about it. Brussels can be like this. But then any city can when you leave behind your expectations and open to the unexpected.