Sassi di Matera. A City Shaped by Stone and Time

In today’s post I want to take you to a truly stunning place you may well recognise from the big screenMatera, a city in southern Italy’s Basilicata region. It’s been used as a film set for productions such as Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ and the James Bond film No Time to Die.

Matera spreads across a limestone plateau above the deep Gravina gorge, carved over thousands of years by the river of the same name. On one side, rugged hills and rocky slopes frame the view; on the other, sun-drenched plains typical of southern Italy stretch away into the distance. While much of modern Matera consists of newer buildings, its soul and greatest treasure is its historic heart – a place that feels like stepping into another world.

The historic district of Sassi di Matera is among the world’s oldest continuously inhabited settlements, with the first dwellings dating back as far as 9000 BC. Early settlers used natural caves in the soft limestone cliffs as shelters. The local limestone, known as tufo, is so soft that it can be carved with simple tools – perfect for hollowing out small cave homes.

As the community grew, people began joining single caves together, carving corridors and passages, enlarging chambers, and adding simple stone walls at the entrances to create façades. Typically, each of these early homes had a single front room and a series of chambers receding into the rock. The roof of one cave often became the terrace or floor of the next, creating the distinctive cascading look that still defines Matera today.

During the Middle Ages, as building techniques advanced, façades were reinforced and extended with dressed stone, and arches, vaults and retaining walls were added. Interiors were converted into proper homes, with extra floors and courtyards, and original rock walls were faced with stone to strengthen them. Over time, the line between built structure and natural cliff blurred – it’s often impossible to tell where the rock ends and the masonry begins. This organic process produced a unique architectural landscape: a labyrinth of rooms, passages and stairways embedded in the hillside.

One of the most extraordinary aspects of the Sassi is their historic water management system. Matera sits on a dry limestone plateau with no natural springs, so for centuries residents captured every drop of rain. Roofs and terraces were carved with grooves that channelled rainwater into rock-cut cisterns, reservoirs and underground canals. The settlement functioned like a vast rain-collecting machine – water cascading from the upper levels down into lower tanks. The largest cisterns were supported by stone pillars and vaulted ceilings, resembling underground cathedrals, and could store enough water to last for months.

Ventilation and daylight were equally cleverly managed. Because many rooms extend deep into the rock, they were designed with ventilation shafts, skylights and small openings to let in fresh air and natural light. This stopped damp and smoke from building up and kept the air circulating constantly.

Believe it or not, there are countless articles in international water research literature that explore how this city managed to collect and store its water. What’s more, when you visit Matera, you can even join a guided tour that takes you inside and shows exactly how this ingenious system once worked.

Over the centuries, as building methods improved and new districts developed higher up the hill, many residents left their cave homes behind for more modern dwellings. By the mid-20th century, only the poorest lived in the Sassi, often in dire conditions.

After the Second World War, the area was severely overcrowded. Whole families lived with their livestock in damp caves without sanitation, running water or electricity. Conditions were so appalling that in the 1950s the Italian government declared the Sassi a national disgrace (la vergogna nazionale) and relocated their inhabitants to newly built housing on the city’s outskirts.

For decades the Sassi lay abandoned and crumbling, until restoration efforts began in the 1980s. Painstaking and costly, this process eventually paid off — and in 1993, the Sassi di Matera were awarded UNESCO World Heritage status as a unique example of continuous human settlement from prehistoric times to the present.

Today, many former cave dwellings have been transformed into boutique hotels, art galleries, restaurants and small museums showing what everyday life in these cave homes once looked like. Many retain their original layout but are now styled with minimalist design and luxurious furnishings – combining rough limestone walls with sleek modern décor. You can even spend the night in some of these hotels: from the outside they look like ordinary stone houses, but inside they reveal extraordinary cave interiors now infused with comfort and elegance.

At this point I need to add a bit of a personal touch. Matera, in a way, was simply lucky – after years of abandonment, it was brought back to life and turned into a UNESCO-listed gem. As a teenager, I spent a few years in a country in North Africa on the edge of the desert where people once lived in cave homes carved into the mountains. They were forced out and given modern blocks instead, but many never adapted. I still have black-and-white photos (unfortunately not suitable to be digitalised) of those homes from over forty years ago — and with the conflict and war there now, they’re unlikely to ever become the kind of place international travellers could safely visit, explore and truly experience.

Matera’s historic heart is made up of three districts clinging to the same rocky slope. On one side is Sasso Barisano, on the other Sasso Caveoso, with Civita perched on the ridge between them, crowned by the city’s cathedral.

Sasso Barisano takes its name from nearby Bari, as it was historically the entrance to Matera from that direction. It has more buildings with conventional façades, narrow lanes, and even a road that cars can use. Sasso Caveoso lies on the opposite side of the ridge, lower down, and feels far more ancient – its dwellings are mostly carved directly into the rock, resembling the original cave homes. From Barisano you can’t even see this hidden district.

Between the two lies Civita, the rocky spine of the hill, topped by the cathedral which dominates the skyline and can be seen from miles around.

As we visited Matera, we came by car from Bari, so we naturally entered through Sasso Barisano. We didn’t have much time and we were travelling with a curious little two-year-old traveller, full of ambition yet still bound by her toddler limits. It was November, well after the main tourist season. Almost all houses and sites were closed, and the city felt still and hushed. And don’t be fooled by the fact that there’s no one in my photos — it was simply a time when the streets of Matera were completely empty.

We began our walk near the Church of Saint Augustine, perched on the edge of Sasso Barisano. From there we wound our way through the narrow lanes of Barisano, climbing ever higher until we reached Civita and the cathedral at its peak. We didn’t make it as far as Sasso Caveoso — that district lies lower down on the far side of the ridge and was beyond our reach this time.

In photos below you’ll mostly see Sasso Barisano and Civita, but if you look closely at the rocks across the gorge — and beneath the Church of Saint Augustine — you’ll spot openings in the cliff that look like the entrances to the most ancient and primitive cave dwellings.

The Sassi di Matera are not just picturesque houses revived for visitors — they are evidence of how human settlement adapts, collapses and gain new meaning over time. At times the attention can feel superficial, driven more by the setting than by the story behind it. Yet maybe that curiosity is not a bad thing. Even if we start by simply admiring how striking it looks, it can lead us to something deeper – to understanding how people once lived here, and how much history still echoes through these stones.

Sassi di Matera. A City Shaped by Stone and Time

Why Vikings Avoided Northern Norway

Some time ago, as we spent some winter days in Northern Norway beyond the Polar Circle, I had the initial impression that we would be entering a harsh and heroic land – the kind of environment that forged the Vikings into formidable seafarers. But on-site, an later digging the Internet, I realized that I was absolutely wrong. No, Vikings did not settle there.

Northern Norway in winter, with only a couple of hours of twilight, is dark and cold. We were there around the full Moon – the moonlight was powerful, as though it wanted to compensate for the absent sun. But on cloudy nights, total darkness engulfed everything, stripping even the mountains of their outlines. This polar night period, lasting from late November to mid-January depending on latitude, shaped traditional human activity for centuries. Besides, the mountainous terrain and fjords made overland travel difficult. Fjord landscapes – while spectacular – presented serious challenges. Even today, roads are carved into rock or replaced by ferries.

Northern Scandinavia – stretching across modern-day northern Norway, Sweden, and Finland – lies mostly within the subarctic and Arctic climate zones. The region is defined by long, harsh winters, where temperatures can drop below –30°C in inland areas, and short, cool summers with a growing season often limited to just 50–90 days. These extreme seasonal contrasts are intensified by dramatic changes in daylight: during the polar night (mørketid), the sun does not rise for weeks; during the midnight sun, it never sets. These conditions severely limited traditional Norse agriculture, making year-round farming unsustainable.

The terrain itself compounds the climatic challenge – rugged mountains, deep fjords, and poor soils make large-scale cultivation nearly impossible. Snow cover can last for six to eight months, and inland areas experience more extreme cold than the coast. One exception is coastal northwestern Norway, including the Lofoten Islands, which benefits from the North Atlantic Drift (a branch of the Gulf Stream). This maritime influence moderates winter temperatures, allowing for seasonal fishing activity even in midwinter. Still, even in these milder zones, the land was too marginal to support the Norse agrarian lifestyle. That’s why, historically, only reindeer-herding Sámi communities thrived in this environment – while the Vikings avoided it almost entirely.

Still, northern Scandinavia held a different kind of value: not as a home, but as a resource frontier. Norse traders and chieftains ventured northward to exploit the riches of the land through seasonal expeditions – hunting, trapping, and above all, trade with the indigenous Sámi. The Sámi, expert reindeer herders and trappers, became crucial partners (and at times, subjects) in a quiet but persistent economy of exchange. Furs, walrus ivory, and dried fish from the Arctic made their way south, often taxed or claimed by Norse elites. Though the Vikings may not have planted crops in the frozen soil of the north, they reaped its hidden wealth.

So, for many ages, besides the indigenous Sámi, only a few Norsemen dared to settle in the north. The exception would be coastal West-Northern Norway, including Lofoten, as well as … Iceland and southern Greenland.

How was this possible? The answer lies in a phenomenon we now call the Medieval Warm Period. This was the period from 950 to 1250 CE, which was a time of relatively warm climate, particularly affecting the Northern Hemisphere. While not a globally uniform phenomenon, this period saw higher average temperatures in many regions, including Europe, the Arctic, parts of North America, and Asia.

For the Vikings, it was a time of expansion, exploration, and attempts to settle new lands. However, the warming did not affect all northern regions equally. Paradoxically, some remote Atlantic islands became more hospitable than the continental north of Scandinavia. The key to understanding this imbalance lies in ocean currents, especially the Gulf Stream and its northern extension, the North Atlantic Drift. These powerful flows of warm water, moving from equatorial regions toward the North Atlantic, tempered the climate of islands and coastal regions in western Europe and the Arctic. This is precisely why Iceland, and even southern Greenland, despite their high-latitude locations, became temporarily suitable for settlement and agriculture. In Greenland, in the sheltered fjords of the southwest coast, Norse settlers established farms, raised livestock, grew barley, and harvested hay for the winter. Iceland also developed as a self-sustaining colony, benefiting from a milder climate and access to rich marine resources. Even the Lofoten Islands – an archipelago in northern Norway – managed to retain a surprisingly mild winter climate thanks to the Gulf Stream’s influence. This made year-round fishing and seasonal Viking activities possible there, despite the high latitude.

The Medieval Warm Period enabled Norse settlement and activity in the west and partially along the coast of Norway, but it did not transform the Arctic interior of Scandinavia into a region fit for permanent habitation. This contrast between the ocean-borne warmth and the frozen continental interior remains one of the most fascinating climatological paradoxes of the medieval period – and one of the keys to understanding Viking migration patterns.

Although much land was available, the Vikings did not settle the far north. Outside the few coastal zones influenced by warm oceanic currents – such as the Lofoten Islands, Iceland, and southern Greenland – the vast interior of northern Scandinavia remained largely untouched by permanent Norse settlement. While harsh climate certainly played a role, the Vikings’ persistent drive southward was rooted in a much broader set of motivations. Their avoidance of the Arctic interior was not only about survival – it was also about opportunity, strategy, and ambition.

The northern interior was simply unsuitable for Norse agriculture. Even during the Medieval Warm Period, its thin soils, short growing seasons, and prolonged winter darkness made farming nearly impossible. In contrast, southern lands offered fertile fields and a growing season long enough to sustain grain and livestock – vital for Viking settlement. Social dynamics added further pressure. Inheritance customs left many younger sons without land, pushing them to seek fortune elsewhere. In the remote far north, there was no path to status. But abroad, these men could gain land, gold, or even noble titles through conquest and alliance.

Economically, the south was far more profitable. Viking trade networks stretched into the Islamic world, Byzantium, and Western Europe – regions rich in silver, spices, and textiles. The far north offered no such goods, nor access to major trade routes. Crucially, slavery was a major Viking enterprise. Raiding expeditions into Ireland, the British Isles, and Slavic territories provided a steady supply of captives – thralls – who were sold or used as labor. The sparsely populated Arctic offered no such opportunity. For a society in which slave-taking was both business and warfare, heading south made practical and economic sense.

Finally, the Viking world was oriented toward the sea. Their ships were designed for coastal raiding and river navigation, not for overland migration through mountains and tundra. The north lacked both navigable routes and economic incentive, making it a natural frontier to avoid.

In short, the Viking expansion southward wasn’t just about climate – it was about power, profit, and people. The Arctic north may have been vast, but it lacked the very things Viking society thrived on: farmland, wealth, trade, and human capital.

Why Vikings Avoided Northern Norway

Brussels History. From Medieval Guilds to a Multicultural Capital of Europe

Today’s post is dedicated to a city that I hold in great affection and have had the chance to visit many times. Most often my trips there were work-related, but because they required more than just flying in for a day and heading straight back – sometimes a week, and once even two – I had the opportunity to get to know the city more closely. Until now I have written several posts about specific buildings there, but I have never devoted one to the city itself and its history. Today feels like the right occasion to do so – to rediscover Brussels, the capital city of Belgium and the European Union.

In the 10th century, Charles, Duke of Lower Lorraine, built a fort on Saint-Géry Island where the Senne river was navigable, laying the foundation for Brussels. A turning point came in the late Middle Ages when in the 14th century Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy and youngest son of the French king John II, married Margaret III of Flanders, heiress to vast lands in the Low Countries. Under Philip’s successors, especially Philip the Good, these lands expanded further. By the end of the 15th century, Brussels had become the de facto capital of the Burgundian Netherlands, serving as a residence of the ducal court and a center of administration.

The strategic location of Brussels played a decisive role in shaping its prosperity. Situated on the Senne river, the city became a natural hub for the trade of goods between the wealthy Flemish cities such as Bruges and Ghent, the Rhineland, and regions further afield. Markets flourished, drawing merchants from across Europe who came to exchange products.

Brussels, like many cities in Flanders and Brabant, specialised in the production and trade of textiles, particularly woolen cloth. This industry was not only the backbone of the local economy but also a cornerstone of the medieval European economy. The city’s craftsmen earned a reputation for producing high-quality textiles, which were exported far beyond the Low Countries.

The growth of trade and manufacturing was further stimulated by the presence of the Burgundian and later Habsburg courts. Their demand for luxury goods and fine craftsmanship encouraged the development of diverse industries and services. Brussels also hosted trade fairs, which facilitated the exchange of goods and ideas, linking the city more closely to the wider European economy.

As Brussels grew in wealth and prestige, the question of public finances became increasingly important. The city’s prosperity relied not only on trade and craftsmanship but also on an organised system of revenue that allowed it to fund infrastructure, fairs, and, eventually, the splendid projects that symbolised its power. Taxes on commerce, levies on goods entering the city, and contributions from wealthy citizens all strengthened the urban treasury. Within this financial system, the guilds played a decisive role. Organised around specific crafts and trades, they regulated production, ensured the quality of goods, and trained apprentices. But their influence went far beyond economics: guilds wielded considerable political power, often participating directly in the governance of the city and holding seats in municipal councils.

Some guilds rose to particular prominence. The brewers, whose industry was among the most profitable in Brussels, accumulated vast wealth and influence. The butchers, by maintaining a monopoly on the supply of meat, secured steady income and leverage in urban politics. The cloth weavers and drapers, tied to the textile trade that formed the backbone of the city’s exports, also ranked among the wealthiest and most respected corporations. Even the boatmen, controlling river transport along the Senne, held strategic importance for the flow of goods.

Daily life in medieval Brussels looked rather different for the majority of its inhabitants than for the wealthy guild masters. The narrow streets were crowded and noisy: artisans worked in open workshops, market traders haggled at stalls, and carts full of goods rolled across the bridges over the Senne. Poorer townsfolk and domestic servants often lived in modest timber houses, vulnerable to fire and disease. Periodic outbreaks of plague, typhus and dysentery swept through the crowded quarters, with the Black Death of the mid-14th century leaving a particularly deep mark on Brussels.

The city’s wealth allowed it to raise splendid and ornate buildings – and its pride was the central square with its magnificent Town Hall, which – despite the turbulence of wars – has survived in an almost unchanged form to this day.

When the last Burgundian duke, Charles the Bold, died in 1477, the Burgundian Netherlands passed to the Habsburg dynasty through the marriage of his daughter, Mary of Burgundy, to Maximilian I of Austria. Under Maximilian I and later Charles V, who was born and raised in the Low Countries, Brussels reached a new peak of prestige. Charles V ruled over a vast empire stretching across Europe and the Americas, and Brussels served as one of his principal residences. The presence of the imperial court attracted nobles, diplomats, merchants, and artists from all over Europe, reinforcing the city’s cosmopolitan character.

The dukes of Burgundy and later the Habsburg sovereigns sought to centralise power and reduce the autonomy of guilds and urban institutions. On the other hand, the guilds resisted any attempt to curtail their privileges. Disputes often arose over taxation or the right to influence city councils, and though conflicts rarely escalated into open rebellion, they underscored the delicate balance between princely authority and urban independence. Despite these tensions, both sides recognised their mutual dependence. The rulers needed the wealth of Brussels to sustain their courts and military campaigns, while the guilds relied on princely protection to safeguard trade routes and markets. Still, growing tensions between local privileges and dynastic authority became a defining feature of the period.

Brussels was also a city of languages and cultures. In daily life most people spoke Brabantine Dutch, but at court and among the nobility French became increasingly dominant, while Latin remained the language of administration and scholarship. Merchants from England, Spain, Italy and the German lands added to the city’s cosmopolitan air. Over time, this linguistic divide took on a social meaning: Dutch remained the language of craftsmen and commoners, whereas French became ever more associated with prestige, authority and aristocratic culture. This contrast deepened across the centuries and still shapes Belgium’s identity today.

After Charles V’s abdication (1555–56), the Habsburg realms were divided and the Low Countries passed to Philip II of Spain. Philip pursued a policy of religious uniformity and harsh repression of Protestantism, combined with centralisation of power and heavy taxation. In Brussels, as in many Netherlandish cities, Lutheran and later Calvinist communities had begun to take root, and in 1566 the wave of iconoclastic riots known as the Beeldenstorm reached the city’s churches. Philip responded by sending troops and by strengthening the Inquisition, which prosecuted heresy with ruthless severity. These measures fuelled growing resentment against Spanish rule and erupted into the Eighty Years’ War (1568–1648). Over the following decades, the northern provinces broke away, forming the Union of Utrecht (1579) and laying the foundation of the Dutch Republic.

The southern provinces, however, failed to break away from Spanish control. Strong military garrisons, the success of the Counter-Reformation, and the reluctance of many Catholic elites to join the rebellion kept the south under Habsburg authority. It was this division that gave rise to the Spanish Netherlands, with Brussels as their capital. Brussels remained the administrative and ceremonial heart of the southern provinces. The presence of the governor-general, representing the Spanish Crown, ensured that the city retained prestige, even as its international economic role diminished.

As the capital of the Spanish Netherlands, Brussels retained its importance as a political and administrative centre, but its economic fortunes shifted during the seventeenth century. The long conflict of the Eighty Years’ War had disrupted trade routes and drained resources, weakening the city’s role in international commerce. While northern ports like Amsterdam rose to dominance, Brussels was increasingly oriented towards serving the needs of the Spanish court and administration.

Despite these challenges, the city’s economy did not collapse. Luxury industries, such as tapestry weaving, flourished under royal patronage and commissions from European nobility. Brussels’ workshops became famous across the continent for their elaborate wall hangings, which decorated palaces from Madrid to Vienna. The city also continued to profit from regional markets. Agriculture from Brabant and surrounding areas supplied foodstuffs, while traditional crafts like brewing and cloth production remained staples of urban life.

Still, the scale of commerce could no longer rival the dynamism of the Dutch Republic to the north. Brussels’ economic trajectory under Spanish rule thus reflected a shift: from a thriving hub of European trade to a court-driven economy, sustained by the presence of rulers, nobles, and their demand for luxury goods and services.

The seventeenth century was marked by almost constant warfare between the Spanish Habsburgs and France, whose kings sought to expand their influence into the Low Countries. Brussels became not only a political centre but also a strategic target. The most dramatic moment came in 1695, during the Nine Years’ War (1688–1697). French troops under King Louis XIV launched an attack on Brussels, bombarding the city with heavy artillery. The Grand Place, the pride of the city and the seat of its guilds, was almost entirely destroyed.

The financial strength of Brussels was still so great that the Grand Place, devastated by the French bombardment of 1695, was rebuilt in barely five years. Between 1695 and 1700, the city’s guilds and wealthy citizens financed the reconstruction, each contributing to the splendid facades that today surround the square. The result was not only a rapid recovery from disaster, but also a unique ensemble of late baroque architecture that remains one of Europe’s most celebrated urban landmarks.

In 1701–1714, the War of the Spanish Succession broke out after the death of the last Spanish Habsburg, Charles II, who left no heir. The conflict drew in all of Europe and turned the Low Countries into one of its main theatres. Brussels once again became a contested city. The war ended with the Treaty of Utrecht (1713) and the Spanish Netherlands were transferred to the Austrian Habsburgs. Under Austrian rule in the eighteenth century, Brussels enjoyed relative stability and prosperity. The governors-general, often members of the imperial family, resided in the city, and although Vienna controlled foreign policy and military affairs, the Southern Netherlands retained a degree of autonomy in local governance. Cultural life flourished, and the reconstructed Grand Place gave the city a new splendour that impressed visitors from across Europe.

A change came as Emperor Joseph II (1765–1790) tried to modernise administration, limit the power of the Church, and standardise governance across his empire. In the Austrian Netherlands, these reforms clashed with local traditions, privileges, and the autonomy jealously guarded by the provinces. In 1789, resentment boiled over into the Brabant Revolution. Rebels, inspired in part by Enlightenment ideas briefly drove Austrian forces from Brussels and declared the United Belgian States. After a couple of months Austrian troops had already restored control, but shortly after in the 1790s, revolutionary France expanded its wars into the Low Countries.

After the Battle of Fleurus (1794), the Austrian Netherlands, including Brussels, were annexed by France. It was the time of the French Revolution. Brussels became part of the new French administrative system, governed as the chief city of the Département de la Dyle. French rule brought deep changes. Church property was confiscated, monasteries dissolved, and traditional privileges of guilds and corporations were abolished. French law, including the Napoleonic Code, replaced local statutes, while new taxation and conscription systems tied the city directly to Paris. After Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo (1815), just outside Brussels, the Congress of Vienna created the United Kingdom of the Netherlands under King William I of Orange.

The idea was to unite the northern and southern provinces into a single strong state that could act as a buffer against future French expansion. Brussels became one of the political centres of this new kingdom, alternating with The Hague as a seat of government. Economically, the south (with its industry and wealth) and the north (with its navy and trade) were meant to complement each other. Yet tensions quickly surfaced: differences in language, religion, and political outlook created growing resentment among the southern provinces. In August 1830, unrest broke out in Brussels, and quickly escalated into a full-scale uprising known as the Belgian Revolution. Brussels was at the heart of the rebellion, and after fierce street fighting, Dutch troops withdrew from the city. On 4 October 1830, independence was formally declared. A constitutional monarchy was established, and in 1831 Leopold I was crowned the first King of the Belgians. From that moment on, Brussels became the capital of the independent Kingdom of Belgium, a role it has held ever since.

Under the United Kingdom of the Netherlands (1815–1830), Brussels benefited from investment in trade, infrastructure and industry. The southern provinces were more heavily industrialised than the north, with textiles, mining and metallurgy driving economic growth. Brussels, though not a manufacturing hub itself, thrived as an administrative, financial and cultural centre, drawing strength from its central location.

After 1830, independence gave the city a decisive boost. As the capital of the new Belgian state, Brussels became the seat of government, finance and national institutions. The city quickly developed banks, a stock exchange and service industries, consolidating its role as a financial hub. While Wallonia remained the industrial heartland, Brussels flourished as the political and economic nerve centre of one of the most advanced economies in 19th-century Europe.

While Leopold I consolidated the new Belgian state after independence, ensuring its neutrality and stability, his son Leopold II pursued far greater – and far more controversial – ambitions. Frustrated that Belgium itself lacked overseas possessions, he set out to acquire one personally. Through diplomatic manoeuvres, international conferences and the explorations of Henry Morton Stanley, Leopold secured recognition at the Berlin Conference of 1884–85 for his private rule over a vast African territory: the Congo Free State.

Officially presented as a humanitarian and scientific mission, the Congo quickly became the foundation of Leopold’s personal fortune, built on the ruthless extraction of rubber, ivory and other resources. With these revenues, he launched an ambitious programme of urban transformation in Brussels. Monumental projects such as the expansion of the Royal Palace, the triumphal arch and park at Cinquantenaire, the creation of the Mont des Arts as a cultural quarter, and the opening of broad new boulevards were all financed by colonial wealth. In this way, the splendour of modern Brussels was inextricably tied to the exploitation of Africa – a legacy that remains deeply visible in the city’s architecture and public spaces today.

The splendour of nineteenth-century Brussels rested on foundations that were far from glorious. Profits from the Congo Free State financed monumental building schemes, but in Africa they were extracted through forced labour, violence and exploitation of the local population. The brutality of Leopold II’s regime provoked growing international outrage, and under pressure the king was forced in 1908 to transfer the territory to the Belgian state. In Brussels, however, colonial power long remained a source of pride, celebrated in museums, exhibitions and monuments. Only in recent decades has the city begun to confront this legacy more critically, acknowledging the suffering that lay behind its golden façades.

At the same time, Brussels became one of the birthplaces of Art Nouveau, a style that transformed the appearance of domestic architecture. Victor Horta, together with architects such as Paul Hankar, designed houses whose flowing lines, floral motifs and ingenious use of light defined an entirely new aesthetic. Many of these masterpieces still stand in Schaerbeek, Ixelles and Saint-Gilles, where elegant façades, stained-glass windows and wrought-iron balconies turn ordinary streets into open-air galleries.

After the death of Leopold II in 1909, Brussels entered a new and turbulent century. Under King Albert I, the city faced the ordeal of the First World War. German troops occupied Brussels (1914–1918), turning the capital into the administrative centre of their military regime in Belgium. Daily life was marked by shortages, censorship and repression, yet the city also became a symbol of quiet resilience. In the interwar years, Brussels recovered, hosting international exhibitions and affirming its cultural prestige, but war returned in 1940. Under King Leopold III, the city again fell to German occupation. This period brought hardship and controversy, with the king’s decision to surrender casting a long shadow over post-war politics.

In the decades after the wars, Brussels underwent rapid transformation. The 1950s and 1960s saw a wave of redevelopment known as bruxellisation, when historic houses and entire neighbourhoods were demolished to make way for office blocks, motorways and modern housing estates. While this symbolised ambition and modernity, it also provoked dismay at the loss of heritage. At the same time the city became ever more multilingual and multicultural: alongside the traditional Dutch-French divide, communities of Italian and Spanish workers arrived, soon followed by migrants from Morocco and Turkey. These new inhabitants contributed greatly to the post-war prosperity of Brussels, shaping the diverse identity of the modern metropolis.

The post-war decades transformed Brussels into the administrative capital of Europe. With the creation of the European Economic Community in 1957, the city was chosen as its provisional seat – a decision that gradually became permanent. Around Place Schuman and Rue de la Loi, the first offices of the new European institutions established a centre of political gravity that would redefine Brussels. From the 1960s onwards, the growing Communities required ever larger headquarters. Their financing came directly from the shared budgets of member states, meaning that the construction and expansion of Brussels as a European capital was effectively funded by taxpayers across the continent. This steady flow of European money reshaped not only the city’s eastern axis but also its economy, attracting thousands of civil servants, diplomats, lobbyists, and journalists. Over time, the European quarter became an engine of employment and investment, giving Brussels a new role beyond its national borders. By the late twentieth century, the city had evolved from the capital of Belgium into the political and administrative heart of the European Union, a transformation underpinned as much by finance and governance as by architecture.

Today, Brussels is considered one of the most multicultural cities in Europe, not only because of these waves of post-war migration from other continents, but also thanks to the presence of countless officials, diplomats and civil servants who have settled here from all across Europe.

Today, Brussels also dazzles architecturally, offering a panorama of styles that reflect its long and complex history. The Grand Place, still the beating heart of the city, remains one of Europe’s most admired squares, while the Basilica of Koekelberg, a monumental creation in art deco style, stands as a twentieth-century landmark. Beyond these, the city reveals its charm in elegant streets, grand boulevards and carefully planned axes, many of which have survived despite waves of redevelopment. Outside the dense historic core and the modern European quarter, Brussels continues to surprise visitors with its variety of neighbourhoods, where medieval traces, nineteenth-century façades and modernist experiments coexist in a uniquely layered urban landscape.

This post is therefore less about the detailed history of Brussels and more about its visual character, about the way its architecture appears and speaks across the centuries; for those who wish to see more, I invite you to explore the gallery of my photographs from the city as well as my other posts about Brussels, all linked below.

Brussels History. From Medieval Guilds to a Multicultural Capital of Europe