It’s a sunny day, and I’m strolling the boardwalk in Middelkerke, a Belgian coastal town about 75 miles from Brussels, watching bathers brave the chilly North Sea waters. Suddenly, my attention is drawn by a shout. A young boy has spotted a statue of a balding man with an overwrought mustache. “Look!” he exclaims. “Kiekeboe!”

You’ve never heard of Kiekeboe?

“I’m world-famous — in Flanders,” quips Kiekeboe’s creator, Merho (real name: Robert Merhottein). Featuring a bumbling father and his chaotic brood, the Kiekeboe comic-strip albums sell an astonishing one million copies a year — one for every six inhabitants of Flanders, the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium. These stats secure 59-year-old Merho’s status as a rock star of Belgian comic strips.

Last summer, Kiekeboe’s 30th anniversary was the highlight of the Milky Way Stripfestival, a three-week-long comic-strip convention in Middelkerke where fans flock to buy comic-strip albums, socialize, and secure drawings that will transform their albums into collector’s items. Highlights include the Gala of the Golden Pencil (an event that honors a luminary of the comic-strip world) and the unveiling of a new comic-strip statue on the seaside promenade.

In line for a Merho signing, I meet a 38-year-old IT specialist who says he owns 16,000 comic-strip albums — 2,000 with signatures and 800 with autograph drawings. He and his 10-year-old son both hold stacks of Kiekeboe albums. When I ask his name, he identifies himself only as Ben for fear of comic-strip thieves who might target his collection.

The idea isn’t that far-fetched: Belgium, like Ben, is comic-strip mad. “Comics are truly part of our culture,” says Willem De Graeve, deputy director of the Belgian Comic Strip Center in Brussels and a collector himself. He says that comic-strip albums comprise more than 60 percent of the books published in Belgium.

Though enthusiasts complain about a dearth of government support for what French film critic Claude Beylie dubbed “the ninth art,” comic-strip bookshops and academies thrive, comic-strip murals festoon the walls of Brussels and Antwerp (where you’ll find one of Kiekeboe), and festivals attract fans from across Europe.

While Middelkerke is a comic-strip mecca in its own right, the best starting point to explore the country’s love affair with this art form is in the capital of Brussels, at the Belgian Comic Strip Center. It’s just a 10- or 15-minute walk from the ornate Grand’Place, the central market square that’s home to breathtaking Gothic and Neo-Gothic buildings like the Town Hall and the Bread House.

Opened in 1989, the center’s home is a former 18th-century monastery that was converted into a textile warehouse in 1906 by Victor Horta, Belgium’s leading art-nouveau architect. The structure and its contents comprise what De Graeve calls “a very Brussels marriage” of two Belgian art forms.

The lobby’s mosaic-tiled floors, glass ceiling, central lamppost, benches, and wrought-iron balustrade with floral motifs create a parklike setting that seems to merge indoors and outdoors. The space also houses tributes to the father of the Belgian comic strip, Hergé (1907–83), and his hero, Tintin, a young reporter whose sidekicks include his dog Snowy, Captain Haddock, and Professor Calculus. A 1950s-style checkered red-and-white rocket pays homage to Tintin’s moon voyage; standing nearby is a statue of Tintin, with his upright shock of hair.

“Hergé was like a locomotive of a whole comic-strip generation,” says De Graeve. His strip’s history — minus its more controversial aspects, such as criticisms of Tintin’s colonialist views — is celebrated in an exhibition upstairs. A Hergé museum is slated to open next May in Louvain-la-Neuve, southeast of Brussels.

The real revelation at the museum is the dazzling virtuosity of the best comic-strip designs. Hergé was known as “the master of the clear line,” for a style that prized simplicity. But other Belgian (and European) comic-strip art betrays influences as diverse as Impressionist, Abstract, and psychedelic art as well as Goya, Edward Hopper, and film noir.

Neither the dominant French-speaking tradition of comics nor the Dutch-speaking tradition favors the supernatural heroes typical of the American Marvel comics. The French speakers (Walloons) prefer solitary protagonists, like the satirical cowboy Lucky Luke created by Morris (Maurice de Bevere), whose befuddled dog Rantanplan is a parody of Rin Tin Tin. Franco-Belgian comic strips were once published in two competing magazines, Tintin and Spirou, but they now appear mostly in albums.

Flemish artists, such as the late Willy Vandersteen (Suske en Wiske) and Marc Sleen (Nero), are known for family comics in newspapers. Merho, who worked for Vandersteen for five years, is a product of this tradition. (So foreign is Kiekeboe to French sensibilities that Merho, despite his popularity in Flanders, has never found a Franco-Belgian publisher.)

Modern European strips have considerable adult appeal — and not just because of their subtle humor. Some tackle social and political themes, advocating for peace and environmental causes; others are brazenly erotic, with racy scenarios enacting decidedly grown-up fantasies.

The symbiotic relationship between film and comic-strip art is especially striking. Strip artists rely on cinematic devices such as closeups and wide angles, while both animated and live-action films have boosted the popularity of characters like Peyo’s Smurfs, probably Belgium’s best known comic-strip export. Michael LeLoup, director of the Comic Strip Center and a graduate of the first Belgian comic-strip academy class in 1968, worked on Smurf animations. And Steven Spielberg, a Hergé enthusiast, is reportedly planning a Tintin movie.

I meet Marvano — his real name is Mark van Oppen — at Tintin’s rocket ship. At 55, he is sardonic and smart, a former interior designer who later edited the Dutch version of Tintin magazine. His interest in comics dates from “the moment I could read, and even before that,” he says. “It’s something we grew up with. It’s a peculiarity.”

Comics were born in the U.S. as turn-of-the-century weapons in the great New York newspaper wars. But American comics were banned in Belgium during World War II by the Nazi occupiers. Marvano says that as Belgians scrambled to fill their magazines, they discovered they “have a different way of telling stories, and different stories to tell.”

Marvano himself has an affinity for American culture. His albums, published in French and Dutch (as well as English and several other languages) and filled with serious themes and abundant action, are essentially graphic novels. His most famous series is his first, the late-1980s trilogy The Forever War, adapted from a novel by the American science-fiction writer Joe Haldeman. Its protagonists are soldiers involved in a distant, unending galactic war. When they return to Earth, says Marvano, “all the people they have known are dead,” a parallel to the alienation Haldeman felt as a returning Vietnam veteran.

Berlin, an original Marvano trilogy, begins in World War II. The story depicts the Berlin airlift and the building of the Wall, and it continues to the present. The third volume was published in February, and its themes echo those of the earlier trilogy. “It’s trying to show people that a war doesn’t end when the shooting stops,” Marvano says. “A war goes on and on in different ways.”

After squeezing past seemingly endless bargain shops, produce stands, and ethnic eateries in the Ixelles neighborhood of Brussels, I finally spy La Bande des Six Nez, Brussels’ oldest comic-book shop, founded in 1980. The store’s name (“the strip of six noses”) is a pun that refers both to la bande dessinée, the French term for comic strips, and the six classic comic-strip artists whose caricatures adorn the entrance.

The owner, Jean-Louis Carette, heads the Belgian Association of Comic Strip Experts, which evaluates collections for insurance purposes. The value of comic-strip art, he says, has been rising exponentially: “When you buy an original drawing, you never lose money.” Carette’s wares include rare first editions and comic-book figurines, as well as the latest albums.

On the shop door I spot a poster advertising an exhibit on Boy Scouts at La Maison de la Bande Dessinée, or the House of Comic Strips, near Brussels’ Central Station. Just that morning, I had spent fruitless hours looking for the Jijé Museum, dedicated to one of Belgium’s early masters, only to learn it had closed two years earlier. This, it turned out, was its successor.

According to museum cofounder Jean-Philippe Steclebout, a government minister visited the Jijé Museum shortly before it closed and was impressed by its cache of original drawings. The official helped secure backing for the new museum, which features the work of Spirou contributors. This trend of taking pride in Belgium’s comic-strip heritage has taken hold in Brussels. The city has collaborated with the Belgian Comic Strip Center to commission a series of murals that make up the Comic Strip Route, both to pay tribute to the country’s comic-strip icons and to beautify some of its more aesthetically challenged urban byways.

It’s possible to take a self-guided tour, but it’s equally fun to stumble on the murals unawares. The artwork frequently attracts attention with trompe l’oeil effects or characters’ wry comments on their surroundings. One such example features Tintin and Captain Haddock scrambling down a series of fire escapes. A yellow “M,” from the adventures of Edgar P. Jacobs’s Blake and Mortimer, is scrawled on a wall, just as it should be. Elsewhere, Dany’s Olivier Rameau stumbles into a dreamland illuminated by pyrotechnics — a burst of color that decorates an actual fireworks shop, and a vivid depiction of Belgian wit.

At the festival in Middelkerke, it’s time to catch the coastal tram to Ostend, where I’ll take a train back to Brussels. Tonight, Merho will be feted at the Gala of the Golden Pencil. And tomorrow, dignitaries will unveil a statue of Fanny, Kiekeboe’s daughter. She’ll join her father on the boardwalk, where in the future, eager children will no doubt point her out with glee.

HOW TO GET THERE
US Airways offers year-round service to Brussels from Philadelphia. Trains to central Brussels depart every few minutes.

WHERE TO STAY
Hotel Amigo
This unassumingly elegant hotel is filled with artwork, and its bathrooms feature characters from Tintin.
32.2.547.47.47
hotelamigo.com

Radisson SAS Royal Hotel
This lovely atrium hotel has free Wi-Fi and two restaurants, including the Michelin two-starred Sea Grill.
32.2.219.28.28
radisson.com

Hotel Alma
This new hotel near the Grand’Place is charming and affordable, and it has some bi-level suites.
32.2.502.28.28
almahotel.be

WHERE TO EAT
Vert de Gris
Try inventive fusion cuisine with Italian and Asian accents in a space with exposed brick accents and brass chandeliers.
32.2.514.21.68
www.vertdegris.be

L’Horloge du Sud
Don’t miss Senegalese food in a cafe setting across from La Bande des Six Nez.
32.2.512.18.64
horlogedusud.be

Brasserie Horta
You’ll find tasty salads at the Belgian Comic Strip Center’s restaurant, which is frequented by comic-strip artists.
32.2.217.72.71
brasseriehorta.be

La Tulipe (Middelkerke)
Exquisite seafood is the hallmark of Middelkerke’s finest restaurant.
32.5.930.53.40
latulipe.be

WHAT TO SEE
Belgian Comic Strip Center
Begin here to learn about comic-strip art in Belgium. Slumberland, the museum shop, has an excellent selection of albums and souvenirs.
32.2.219.19.80
comicscenter.net

House of Comic Strips
A small museum featuring original drawings by Spirou magazine contributors.
32.2.502.94.68
jije.org

Comic Strip Route
Dozens of murals and statues are scattered around the city. Thibaut Vandorselaer’s The Comics in the City, available at Slumberland, is a great guide.

La Bande des Six Nez This shop is a haven for comic collectors.
32.2.513.72.58
labandedessixnez.com

Milky Way Stripfestival (Middelkerke)
Flanders’ leading strip festival draws artists and fans to this seacoast resort. This year’s festival runs from July 11 through August 3.
stripbdmiddelkerke.be

Julia M. Klein is a cultural reporter and critic based in Philadelphia.