“We don’t have a lot, but what we have is good,” says Ariane in a self-effacing way that doesn’t fool me. It’s a bitter-cold winter day in Antwerp, and we’re power walking past the home of the master painter Peter Paul Rubens.

“You have Rubens,” I point out.

“Yes, we have Rubens,” she admits.

“That’s a lot,” I insist.

Ariane from Antwerp responds with a sly smile that seems to sum up everything about her city.

Antwerp is Belgium’s “second city,” and like most second cities it cherishes its position. You can overlook it, as many travelers do, in favor of bigbrother Brussels or precious little Bruges. But then you’ll be left wondering why Antwerp greets the world with that “I’ve got a secret” smile.

Ever since I first visited Belgium as a kid in the 1970s, something about that small but mighty country has struck me as quintessentially European — an indefinable combination of history, artistry and “foreignness.” Subsequent visits to Brussels, Bruges, Ostend and Tournai — with its spectacular half- Gothic, half-Romanesque cathedral — convinced me that Belgium was worthy of further exploration.

Brussels grabs the attention — so much so that even enlightened travelers tend to use “Brussels” and “Belgium” interchangeably, as if visiting one were the same as visiting the other.

Antwerp sneaks up on you, much as the so-called Antwerp Six sneaked up on the fashion world in 1988. That’s what Ariane and I talk about as we admire the window display at designer Dries van Noten’s elegant Modepaleis (“Fashion Palace”) on Nationalestraat.

The Six were students from the fashion department at Antwerp’s Royal Academy of Fine Arts, including then-unknowns van Noten and Ann Demeulemeester. They chipped in on a van to cart themselves and their creations to a London fashion show, where they let the world in on their secret. Until then, no one knew — or perhaps even suspected — that fashion’s next wave would come from Antwerp.

Ariane says fashion design is now the most popular course of study at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts. The school’s annual student fashion show in June draws thousands of visitors, and since 2002 the Mode Museum, or MoMu, in the heart of the city’s fashion district on Nationalestraat, has paid tribute to the world’s great designers.

MoMu tends toward high-concept exhibitions, such as men’s suits doused in perfume and hung out to drip dry or a showcase of clothing influenced by circus themes. Such things may prompt head-scratching if you are, like me, fashionably ignorant.

Easier to understand is the Museum Mayer van den Bergh on Lange Gasthuisstraat. It’s a hidden gem that reopened in October 2004 after renovations. Though it resembles a 16th century residence, with artwork displayed in room settings, the museum was built in the early 20th century specifically to house the collection of Fritz Mayer van den Bergh. Its centerpiece is Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Dulle Griet, a captivating and bizarre allegorical work that invites contemplation. When Mayer van den Bergh bought the 16th century painting in 1894, Bruegel’s work was not highly prized, yet the collector saw its potential.

More recently, Antwerp’s forward-thinkers have seen the potential of turning former industrial neighborhoods into artistic enclaves. Take Het Eilandje (“The Island”), a port-side warehouse area north of the city center that’s still something of a secret, even in Antwerp. As early as the 19th century, Het Eilandje had been left to languish as port activity moved farther north within the city. But in the late 20th century, the lure of those neglected, vast warehouse spaces was irresistible. Avant-garde artists grabbed some for performance space in the 1960s. By the 1980s there were full-fledged exhibition spaces and galleries. Dries van Noten moved his company’s offices to Het Eilandje a few years ago. Now it’s also home to the Royal Ballet of Flanders, the Philharmonic Orchestra and Het Pomphuis, a stylish restaurant housed in a former hydraulic power station.

On the river Scheldt, west of the city center, the gentrified neighborhood Het Zuid (“The South”) boasts art galleries, cafes and the city’s contemporary-art museum, MuHKA, housed in a converted grain silo. Between Het Zuid and Het Eilandje is Scheldekaaien, a neighborhood of quays where international cruise ships dock.

Antwerp’s port has always been its life. In the 14th century and at various times in the 15th and 16th centuries, Antwerp was the most important trading city in Europe. Its port remains the second largest in Europe, behind Rotterdam’s.

Historically, it was Antwerp that meant “Belgium” to the citizens of the world. For diamond dealers it still does. Since the 15th century there has been virtually no other city for diamonds in Europe. Antwerp is still the world’s largest diamond trading center, home to four diamond exchanges and some 1,500 dealers. An estimated $26 billion worth of diamonds pass through town in a given year.

Yet Antwerp’s greatest jewel is unquestionably Peter Paul Rubens. The master painter of the 17th century is, was and always will be Antwerp’s favorite son. Belgians wish people understood that Rubens, who lent his name to a synonym for voluptuousness, did not spend all of his time painting nude fat ladies. He was, however, fond of the robust human form. Even his triptych of The Raising of the Cross in Antwerp’s Cathedral (a must-see) depicts a dying Jesus of incongruous vitality.

Standing beside Ariane in the sun-streaked atelier of the Rubens House — Antwerp’s most visited tourist site — I considered his story. No tragic starving artist, Rubens was well-to-do, well-liked and well-connected. He was a superb draftsman, as a recent exhibition of his drawings at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art attested. He was a great talent scout, counting Anthony van Dyck among the young protégés in his atelier. And he understood a thing or two about production.

Rubens could not have executed the 2,500 works attributed to him (about one painting every four days of his adult life) without help. Some he did entirely on his own. Others he roughed out in sketches for assistants to paint, after which he added finishing touches. Still others he subcontracted to fellow artists who specialized in motifs like battle scenes, fabrics and flowers.

The sly master was proud of his “production efficiency.” In fact, he frequently invited patrons and customers to witness the inner workings of his atelier. There was just one catch: For the secret to be revealed, they had to visit Antwerp.