"I love crepes"

Unlike Ricky Bobby, I can admit that "I love crepes". Also on the list of favorite Belgian things, prepackaged crepes:


Heat in a skillet, slather in Nutella (the spread formerly known as "Kobe's Favorite"), add a few banana slices and voilá, a restaurant-quality dessert.


Or for breakfast, wrapped around a bit of smoked salmon with a splash of maple syrup. Even Ricky might be able to go for that.

Seeing the past with new eyes in Ypres

So we visited Ypres on Saturday September 20, 2008 and very much enjoyed the glorious weather and beautiful surroundings. D went into detail on our historic journey in the countryside but I wanted to talk about the city a bit. So, the town center, or Grand Place in French, is literally the center of the action and every town has one. Town hall is there as well as at least one great historic site and tourist attraction, shopping, good eating, tourist information center, etc. It is the place to start almost all visits to any city in Belgium (and I dare say Europe). It not only gives you the best “face” to the town, so to speak, but also a flavor of who the people are and what they value.


Ypres was no different than the rest. It started with a stunning town hall and gorgeous surrounding buildings. We were impressed especially with the church right next to and behind city hall. We visited the tourist infor center to orient ourselves for our trips out to the various cemeteries, but had to run back to the car to pick up lunch (we packed one to help keep us on time and on track) and to comply with the parking laws of Belgium (e.g. feed the meter and put the receipt in viewing on the dashboard for all police to see.)


On the way back to the car, we went by the lovely church and I noticed a beautiful Celtic cross with flowers in front. I stopped to take a picture (the Irish in me couldn’t let it pass) and noted that it was a memorial to WWI erected in 1924. I didn’t think anything of it again until I noticed a postcard in a shop showing the condition of Ypres after the Great War (as all the monuments and headstones here refer to it.) Not only was the town truly leveled, but the big glorious Grand Place and the church I was admiring were non-existent. One post card, which I had to get, was of that same beautiful Celtic cross, the picture taken in almost the same place as I did, with nothing behind it.



I was truly shocked. I knew that western european towns had to rebuild substantially after WWI (and WWII, although that included a lot of eastern European towns as well) but I guess it had never been as stark a reality as it was when I saw that photo and realized the enormity of the task. History is something I love and am so grateful to be in a place where we can visit sites of significant world-changing events virtually daily. It takes on a new meaning, however, when the reality of the sacrifice of rebuilding life – normal everyday life – after such cataclysmic events comes into view. The comparison to Ground Zero in NY came to mind simply because it is the only one that I can relate to. It is now rebuilding, seven years later, but the difficulty of coming to agreement as to what should be there and the building delays have been thought provoking. And here we are, in a place that has had only 60+ years to rebuild entire nations and they have done it beautifully. We wouldn’t have known that the buildings we were admiring weren’t from the 17-18th Centuries had we not seen those pictures.

Ypres prides itself on being a town that promotes peace, and it is easy to understand why after visiting and starting to get an idea of the loss that they had to endure. Not just the people, which is a mind numbing amount, or the way of life, which I am sure was changed forever, but of the normalcy. Even when rebuilding the structures just as they were before the war, and that had to have taken a tremendous amount of time, they still wouldn’t be the same. Also, I know that there was devastation on the economies of all these countries after the war, so to rebuild these grand buildings in the old style not only cost, but cost a lot of what they didn’t have. It just really struck us, as we talked about it walking through town, that the rebuilding resulted in substantial sacrifice as well. Perhaps that was a way of healing, bringing everyone together – providing jobs and dignity, trying to pull a beloved past into an unsure future and sacrificing comfort and precious resources to see it done right. My understanding and appreciation of history grows the longer I am here, as well as my respect for those that lived it.

In Flanders Fields

In grammar school, I was required to memorize In Flanders Fields, the poem by Canadian WWI physician John McCrae. Even today I can remember snippets including the opening line of the second stanza, "We are the dead" and I imagine my class chirping the memorized and meaningless words of yet another assignment, little context given other than as a hurdle to be crossed before the next English lesson.


In college I took an art history/appreciation course and learned how the Flemish painters were some of the first to use realistic lighting and how influential they were on Dutch masters such as Rembrandt. Never had any context for who the Flemish were, and it wasn't until I arrived in Belgium and learned of the two territories within the country, Flanders and Wallonia that I realized the Flemish painters were from Dutch-speaking Flanders.

At some point during the past few weeks, something clicked and I realized the poem referred to the fields of Flanders, not to a field owned by a "Mr. Flanders". So Saturday afternoon we took a drive to Ypres, the town leveled during the battles around the Ypres Salient. Hundreds of thousands of mostly Commonwealth troops (English, Irish, Scottish, Australians, New Zealanders, Indians, and Canadians) are buried in and around Ypres in over 160 graveyards scattered throughout the area: some in the midst of residential neighborhoods, others carved out in the corners of cornfields, most with only a few hundred headstones.


We wound our way to Hill 60, a heavily contested strategic high-point where a few decaying bunkers are the only clue that the undulating ground around the hill is the product of over 90 years of erosion slowly leveling the foxholes and trenches of the Great War.


Next stop was Essex Farm Cemetery where McCrae wrote the first draft of the poem before ending the day at Tyne Cot Cemetery, the largest British Commonwealth war cemetery in the world (12,000 graves with the names of an additional 35,000 whose bodies were never recovered).


As we walked through Tyne Cot, a lone bagpiper played "Amazing Grace" over the site where headstones are arranged around several German pillboxes left from the war. The gentle slope from the entrance at the bottom of the site to the exit at the top gives a clear view of the farmland framing the English memorial garden.



The photo above looks out at the countryside, with the German pillbox in the right foreground. We ended our day with a dinner at home, then juxtaposed the historical significance of the day with dessert in the main town square where a troupe of acrobats performed as part of a local festival.

We are not in Kansas anymore.

Sunday Football

Our Amsterdam hosts Josh and Liz aren't huge sports fans, but they indulged my interest in Ajax, Amsterdam's home team and one of the top in the Dutch domestic league. Bus-then-train deposited us at the Amsterdam ArenA (no typo, this is how they spell it) and minutes later tickets were in hand for the season opener. A pit stop at a souvenir vendor for the requisite scarf--all true football (soccer) fans have a scarf with their team's name and colors--and lunch beckoned.

At most frite (fry) stands, there is some sort of mascot and our lunch vendor was no different but the three-dimensional anthropomorphized frite cone statue begged a posed photo:


We sat, ate sandwiches and fry-cones, and watched the crowd. About 20 minutes before the game we noticed the crowd had substantially thinned and decided to find our way to the seats. At which point things started getting weird.

We walked up to the gate and were told to go around to another entrance. Fine, walk around to gate D. Then, backpacks get searched: no problem. Up to the upper deck (ugh, more stairs) and then we have to present our tickets for verification not once but twice. Once we got to our seats (€19 cheap seats were amazing) we realized the reason for all the fuss about who sits where. Different groups of fans are physically separated from each other by distinct staircases, then by stadium stewards, and finally by high plexiglass barriers with razor spikes across the top. All this to discourage hooliganism--fighting between rival fan groups (look closely at the photo and you can see the climbing deterrent at the tops of the section dividers).


All the preventative measures didn't detract from the game or the crowd which was very well behaved, sang various songs throughout the game and paid close attention to the action on the field. Upon reflection, the crowd was quite remarkable: J and I have been to professional baseball and football games in the US and many of the spectators seem more interested in talking on their phones than watching the game. In the ArenA, supporters were quick to applaud good play or whistle (the European version of booing) errors or bad officiating. We debated whether the nature of the American games--many pauses in action, TV timeouts, etc.--makes them more prone to casual viewing while the continuous play of football requires more careful observation.


I also think that a much higher percentage of the spectators were active players. In the month I've been here I have seen a number of recreational games involving primarily men ranging from 30-50 years old. Past a certain age, continuing to play baseball or football (American) becomes difficult due to the high number of players required to play and, in "gridiron", the potential for injury. Basketball and football (soccer) really only need 3-on-3, lowering the barriers to entry, and here football is king.


In the end the home team won 1-0, J enjoyed explaining the game to our hosts who found themselves intrigued by the whole spectacle, and we caught the train to the Van Gogh museum for a bit of last-minute shopping.

Historical Amsterdam

The great thing about going from Mons to Utrecht (where our friends Josh and Liz live) is the trip through unfamiliar territory. The tough thing is when new road construction renders the GPS useless. Traffic was as confusing and bad as it has been, which has us swearing to go by train wherever we go next. Serves us right, driving in Europe, it is criminal.

We met Josh and Liz at the conference D spoke at last year in Berlin and were excited to be able to visit almost exactly one year later. They graciously invited us to stay with them in Utrecht, which is about ½ hour outside of Amsterdam. The great thing about visiting friends is that although you still get to see fun things, the visit becomes less about the place and more about the people – which inherently makes it more fun and relaxing.


Despite the ugly traffic, it was really very cool to see the new windmills and the old ones along the road. The countryside is lush and gorgeous. We were actually bummed that the Netherlands is so flat because we didn’t have as much of a view as we would like. So, after the drive (again, tough on poor D) we had a lovely dinner of Indonesian food (very tasty) and hit the hay.

Saturday started with some wonderfully traditional Dutch pannekoeken (thin pancakes, like crepes) filled with all the goodies a girl could hope for – smoked salmon, fresh berries, and nutella, to name my favorites. Once we were fortified, we ventured over to the open air market in Utrecht. J&L needed to do some shopping for goodies and these markets are such a great way to be introduced to a city/culture.


We learned immediately upon leaving the house that the Dutch have a love affair with bikes. As you may have noticed from D’s earlier post (he couldn’t wait), the bike parking lots are the size of car lots in the States but completely overrun with only bikes. We were amazed. Liz explained that although it started as a mode of transportation, it has been adopted into the identity of what it means to be Dutch. She said that many citizens have 2-3 bikes each: one trashy one ridden from home to the train station, another left at the other end of the train route to get from the train to work, and a third “nice” bike to ride on weekends. The flat terrain helped the popularity as well as the laws and infrastructure – bikes get right of way (always) and there are a tremendous number of wide bike-only lanes.

Next, we were off to Haarlem, the home of the Corrie Ten Boom Huis. Haarlem is about 15-20 minutes west of Amsterdam (right on the water) and is a quaint and lovely town. Our objective was to visit the museum of Corrie Ten Boom but since we had to wait about 45 minutes for the next tour, we were able to see some of the town first.


We lucked out and discovered that it was “monuments day” which meant that certain tourist locations were open and free of charge this one weekend a year. We discovered this because of the people coming out of the city hall building wearing flowers. We decided to investigate and were rewarded with a lovely tour of this great building. It dates back to the 14th century and is a picture of contradiction. It has a grand hall where you can easily imagine a great medieval feast taking place (gorgeous stained glass windows with the coat of arms for the families that had lived there) next to the Burgemeesters (mayor’s) office that had a PC on the desk. It had a beautiful tapestry and stunning fireplaces. Getting to see this former grand home of the well-to-do gives me such an appreciation for the craftsmanship that went into these historical and lovely buildings. I am grateful that there is such care taken to use them, but to keep the historical character intact.


We made it back in time for our English guided tour of the Ten Boom House. For those unaware, Corrie Ten Boom wrote an autobiographical book called The Hiding Place (one of my favorite books) about her life during WWII. She and her family were active in the resistance against the Nazis and saved the lives of hundreds of Dutch young men and Jews alike (young Dutch men were being conscripted by the Nazis). Corrie and her family helped because of their love for Jesus and the belief that helping was right and God honoring. They did this knowing full well that it could cost them everything. The book is tremendously moving and encouraging.

I guess I appreciate the book (and now having visited the building that it took place in) because it talks about hardship (real TRUE hardship) and that it has purpose and isn’t wasted or in vain. She didn’t see or know the purpose at the time she experienced it but she kept faith in the God of creation being in control and didn’t let circumstances rule her. The older I get the more I experience pain and suffering (nothing like what she experienced) and I guess that is why I like it so much. I know (and am reminded in her writing) that circumstances cannot determine my reaction. What I believe determines my reaction (good or bad). She inspires me in the faith she showed in her actions, not in her words. She lived out what she believed, and I want to be more like that being willing to risk comfort and “safety” to do what is right, what God wants.


Also, now that I am rereading the book, the visuals of her house and the actual place where people hid in it are real to me and mean so much more. It was out of the way and I am grateful that D and Liz were willing to go, it meant a lot to me.

We grabbed lunch on the go and headed to Amsterdam to meet up with Josh and catch the Anne Frank Huis. Now, I was the one planning out events, and I didn’t choose real uplifting historical sites, so thankfully, God helped out by giving us a beautiful sunny afternoon. The clouds parted in Haarlem and gave us such a stunning afternoon that we were all wishing for sunglasses.


Josh met us at the Anne Frank house, which is the home where she and her family hid for several years during WWII (they were Jews) along with several others until they were betrayed, captured and sent to concentration camps. Otto Frank, Anne’s father, was the only one to survive and was given Anne’s diary by a faithful friend and protector after the war. He published it a few years later and it has become an international bestseller because if its unique perspective and excellent writing. The tragedy of the story is heart-rending.


The house was really very big which surprised me. The narrow, extremely steep stairs also surprised me. I think I was most moved by the personal pictures, cards and bits of popular media preserved on the walls of Anne’s room, put there by her and talked about in her diary. I really appreciated the interviews the museum had filmed and showed throughout the house of her father, one of the workers who hid the family, as well as a friend from the concentration camp who survived the war. It gave more context and a fuller picture, which is nice. I am grateful that we were able to go - as a history buff and specifically a WWII buff, visiting the sites gives a depth and meaning that reading books alone cannot.

We were all tired and a bit hungry by this time, so we decided that a rest at a café with some lovely fries would hit the spot. Liz had educated me on the importance of fries and that Belgium is actually well know for their good fries. Since she and Josh knew what they were doing, we decided that it was time for us to experience this joy ourselves. The only problem was that many cafes don’t serve food, and those that do, don’t necessarily serve fries. We walked and searched for what seemed like forever – thankfully Liz is a perfect hostess and shared some apples she had brought so that we could get over the blood sugar dipping tiredness and press on to our goal. Gratefully, J&L decided to abandon the café idea and just head to a fries-only shop they knew was good.


Off we tromped. On our way, we experienced the most unusual bathroom. D posted it earlier as well – the outside urinals. The one we captured “on film” in the middle of a busy intersection. Curious location.

Bike Parking Lot

Triple-decker bicycle parking next to the main Amsterdam train station.

The New Continental Port-O-Let

As seen in an Amsterdam intersection: high-density mobile relief for 4.  Sorry, no action photos were taken.

UPDATE: note the gender icon stipulating use by males only.

A Grand Duchy

Luxembourg is an intriguing place. It is a small country, a duchy. [SIDE NOTE: I had to look up what that means exactly. A “duchy” is a territory, fief, or domain ruled by a duke or duchess. It is independent and sovereign. Luxembourg is the last independent duchy that exists and it is, technically, an independent grand duchy. Those granted the title “Duke” are purely ceremonial, except for the guy running Luxembourg.] It is located in the Ardennes Mountains and is simply gorgeous. We drove in with mist and marveled at its beauty and drove out in lovely sunshine with the same thoughts.


A friend had recommended that we take a slightly more circuitous route to Luxembourg City (our primary destination) that would take us by a couple of castles. A castle visit sounded like a lot of fun so we chose to visit the Chateau de Bourscheid. This castle is 1000 years old and situated on a “high, rocky bluff” overlooking the Sure River. The castle has had parts restored, not to the extent of Vianden (a real fairy tale looking castle that is on the eastern border of the country, but it was just too far out of the way for our day trip) but the view was why we chose it.


The ride there was half of the fun, we oohed and ahhed as we looked right and left and wound our way up the mountain to the small village that led us to the castle. The misty weather added to the mystery and soft beauty of the castle. We were virtually by ourselves, despite a car club lunch meeting in the main hall, slightly separated from the main castle. The cost of admission also provided an audio guided tour that gave wonderful information about the history, former owners and what the castle would have looked like and how it would have been used. We enjoyed it but both agreed that the view was what made it just so remarkable. We honestly sat there for awhile just looking in all directions. We also, however, needed to rest a bit given that there were a lot of stairs, and although a “high rocky bluff” sounds wonderfully romantic, it takes a touch of energy to get around.


After about an hour, we needed to press on in to Luxembourg City. Friends had piqued my interest with mentionings of the catacombs underneath the city, so we decided to try that first. After finding a good parking garage, we wandered our way down to the Bock Casemates, the catacombs. (Again, a city/country built in the mountains, or into a mountain, gives great views and great exercise.) The history of the casements is fascinating. Apparently, the Spaniards carved the honeycomb passages out in 1744 (I don’t know the reason why, presumably for strategic purposes because several of the rooms have cut-outs and cannons mounted therein) and then expanded over the years. Some of the uses of the casements have been: bakeries, slaughterhouses, housing soldiers, and in WWI and WWII they sheltered some 35,000 locals.


The housing of people in this space caught my imagination and I thought about it as we wandered through. There are areas that are wide and airy and extremely cramped areas with no air flow and a claustrophobic feel. Tremendous stairways seemed to be the theme of the weekend, with the width decreasing as the visits progressed. That means that these staircases were so narrow, uneven and steep that the possibility of passing was impossible. Naturally, the way up was also the way down, no separate entrance from the exit. Thankfully there were very few people visiting at the time so we only had to wait for a short while every now and then. Honestly, it might have been nice to have a few more people because we seriously struggled to find our way through the maze and to find the way out. We were starting to feel a touch trapped when we realized that we had walked past the exit gate. We had been bonding with the other few tourists trapped inside with us when we finally escaped. Whew.


Next, we wanted check out the Palais Grand-Ducal, where the royal family live. It is in the middle of town and apparently the royals here are have a “normality” that makes them popular with the citizenry. The guidebook said that in 1919, when the monarchies around them were crumbling, they had a referendum as to whether to keep the royals. The answer was a resounding affirmative and the royals have not been questioned since. I guess it helps that although they live in castles, the royal kids go to ordinary schools and are frequently seen out and about town (shopping, movies, etc).

After a few pictures, it was time for dinner. Now, you would think that there would be restaurants open on a Sunday evening in the heart of a major European city to feed the circling tourists, but no, we searched for at least 30-45 minutes in vain. (During this time, we came across the artistic comic of a baby crying violently, which D thought he was so clever by taking my picture next to it. Timing is everything and I did not appreciate that particular piece of humor. When a girl is hungry, don’t go poking her. It is a bit like jabbing at a shark circling the waters, not smart.)


FINALLY, an Italian restaurant opened and we gratefully jumped in and ordered. Now, I found it interesting that several times during the day, since our French is far from good, we had to use my German to communicate. I was surprised because Luxembourg City is much bigger and more tourist-visited than Mons but there seem to be more English speakers in Belgium than Luxembourg. That really surprised me. I was grateful for my German that got us what we needed (FOOD!). It was 5:30pm and we left around 6:30 and there still wasn’t another person in the restaurant. As a matter of fact, the cooks served us originally because the wait-staff wasn’t there yet – they trickled in as we were eating. Quite funny. Again, Europeans eat later, I must get used to that.

So, having quite enjoyed Belgium and Luxembourg, our next trip is to the Netherlands to visit friends in Amsterdam to complete the Benelux trifecta.

Chocolate in the Belgian Venice

We had been told by various well-traveled friends and family that Brugge, Belgium was a not-to-be-missed destination. We decided to get up early on Saturday and take a drive up to see the town.

Brugge is in northwest Belgium and is particularly known for the canals that run through it – often compared to Venice. Belgium has 3 official languages – French, Flemish and German. Flemish is a close cousin to Dutch and is, not surprisingly, in the North, where Belgium borders with The Netherlands. Equally, French is spoken in the South, where Belgium borders France. (The German is a hangover for one or two small cities that I haven’t found yet.)

Brugge is probably Belgium’s most visited city, and after our visit, I can understand why. Apparently, the canals are a result of persistent floods in medieval times that began carving out channels and waterways. These waterways were then used over time to provide prosperity through trade, particularly for the textile industry.

Brugge was “discovered” as a fantastic place to visit in the early 19th century by those traveling through to get to the Waterloo battlefield. Thankfully, Brugge was spared the bombing destruction of World War II, so it retains its lovely character and old world charm.


D and I had the blessing of another fantastic day (weather wise, but also in general). We started our day in the heart of town. The bell tower – the Belfort – in Brugge was built in the 13th century and is on UNESCO’s World Heritage List (I need to look that up because we keep seeing that distinction but really don’t know what it means. It has to be good because it is highlighted in all the tour books.)


The sky was filled with big beautiful fluffy clouds that were moving at quite a pace, there was a bit of wind, but it was sunny and fabulous. We decided to climb to the top of the tower before the weather changed its mind so that we could enjoy a brilliant view of the city and surrounding area.

The guidebook (generously lent to us by new friends in Mons, thank you!) said that the “366 steps to the top are an exhausting and unusually tight squeeze but are well worth it.” They were right. There are easily 4 different ages and materials visible in the construction of the steps – all a circular staircase – that becomes progressively narrower the higher you climb. Oh, yes, and there isn’t a rail to hold onto nor is there a separate exit staircase. So, on top of there being a lot of stairs, you have tourists trying to pass each other on exceptionally uneven and narrow steps. It was an adventure getting to the top. They did have a couple of platforms before the very top that allowed rest and congestion relief. (As D said, and I agree, this is a self-selecting attraction. Those with heart conditions or other ailments would take one look and opt-out. Presumably they count on this to keep numbers down.)

The top was actually open with only a grate to prevent people from falling/jumping out. The gale-force winds blowing through felt fantastic after the medival stairmaster. The view was phenomenal. We enjoyed our view, but did get quite hungry from the work to get to the top, so we decided it was time for lunch.


We negotiated our way down and found a nice restaurant with an outdoor terrace on the main square and actually just enjoyed watching the clouds sweep by with the view of the tower in front. It captivated both D and me. I tried to take some pictures but they don’t do the view justice. It was quite peaceful and beautiful.

On a friend’s recommendation, we wanted to take the walking tour of the city. The canals and bridges have a charm and I think Aunt Beth said it best when she called it a “warm fuzzy feeling.” You can’t help but be charmed by the city. We were taking pictures around every corner because it was just so quaint and picturesque. Again, pictures don’t capture the “vibe” of the city.

We decided to stop into the Chocolate Museum to better understand why Belgium is the premier chocolate manufacturer (as we have been told). Again, I was less than impressed with the crowd control (read here “lack thereof”) but it really was fascinating to learn the history and what work goes into a good bar of chocolate. I especially appreciated the video that showed the process starting from the harvesting of the cocoa beans and taking us through all the way to the making of the “base” chocolate. This base is what all the shops in Belgium purchase as their raw material to then make all different kind of ganaches and wonderful treats that we buy in the finished form in their specialty shops.


But, my FAVORITE part of the Choco-Story (as the museum was called) was the live demonstration. The man pictured in our tour book was the same man who did our demo (clearly he has worked at the museum for awhile now) and that made it seem cooler to me – a chocolate celebrity! He was a wealth of information about what temperature the molds have to be versus the temperature of the chocolate. Then, of course, we got to eat what he made. The info tid-bit that sticks out most is that the reason Belgian chocolate is better than other countries’ (Swiss or German) is that the Belgians 1. use better cocoa beans, as well as more cocoa bean and butter versus additives, but 2. their methods are what makes it special. I don’t know how they discovered this, but they figured out that if you grind the cocoa bean to a certain measure of fine-ness, the human tongue will not be able to detect the grit, giving it a smoothness that other chocolate does not have. I can’t verify the truth to this, but it does taste good. We are diligently testing different chocolates on a regular basis so that we may report our findings. So far, Belgian chocolate is very smooth.

I was a bit tired and a touch cranky at this point in the day – a lot of activity and sometimes I just need to stop and eat something. Thankfully, God blessed me with a husband who recognized the tell-tale signs and quickly got me to a café and bought me a hot chocolate and pastry treat. The presentation was fantastic. The milk was super hot, but the chocolate and sugar were served in separate bowls so that I could make it to my exact desire of sweetness and chocolaty-ness. I naturally dumped it all in. Yummy. (D chose the pastry named Miserables – I will leave that for you to translate. He has a bit of a cheeky sense of humor.)


We finished the day by going to a begijnhof. This is basically a small town within the city, walled off from the rest, that began in the 13th century. It was started by a Catholic order of unmarried women (named the Begijnen, hof simply means town, so hence the name) or widowed women. The Crusades had made the male-female ratio skewed, so, with little prospect of marriage and therefore little future hope, women would join these orders and would adhere to vows of obedience and chastity but not poverty. They supported themselves through making lace or textiles and dedicated themselves to caring for the poor and elderly. I love this bit of history and had to visit it. Most of the orders are gone now but this one in Brugge is inhabited by a nunnery and had the look and feel of how it may have been back then. It was peaceful, beautiful, and serene.


We loved Brugge.  There were crowds but that still didn’t detract from the charm. I really hope we go back.

Happy 9th Anniversary!!

Although we agreed that the trip to Paris was the celebration of our anniversary (and the gifts the lovely perfume that we got for each other), we still wanted to go out on our actual wedding date. My job was to find an appropriate restaurant in Mons and get reservations. It sounds easy, but I had a specific atmosphere in mind, and a former coal-mining town doesn't have as much in the way of romantic restaurants as you would think.

So, I got myself together and started pounding the pavement in search of a good place. I started trolling back alleys (preferable to the Grand Place not just for fewer people, but also better prices) and was coming up empty. Then, I happened upon a lovely little place called Les Salon de Lumieres, which had chandeliers over the tables and a very Louis XIV flavor to it. I wrote down all the information about it from the window that I could find and rushed back to the apartment to translate and hopefully get more information on line. (Most restaurants here are closed either until dinner, or often, open for lunch, closed from 2-6pm and then open for dinner. This means I couldn't go in and ask or see a menu or make a reservation.)

Remarkably, they have a website - which Elizabeth told me was unusual. I translated everything I could with my Internet friend Babelfish and was thrilled by what it all said. It sounded perfect, so I called and was able to make a reservation for 8pm (a little later than I would have liked, but I wanted D to be able to come home and relax for a bit before we rushed out to spent time together).

Feeling extraordinarily pleased with myself, I went to the store and bought the ingredients for Michele's fantastic rice and bean salad (M- the rice is even better if you cook it with a bit of salt and 2T of olive oil, just yummy!) so that we would have something to munch on around 6pm - our normal dinner time. I also picked up a lovely red necklace at the local "Alternative Boutique" which is their name for thrift store. (I do love them.) I wanted a little color to go with my black dress.

D had a terrible day (not a good start) but thankfully was able to relax, eat a bit and enjoy our day. I was in such a great mood that I am sure that helped a little:-) We got ready and had D's co-worker take our picture and then headed off - oh, I had also wanted to pick a restaurant in walking distance since I didn't want D to have to drive and then fight with finding parking. The walk was lovely and the restaurant was all that I had hoped for. All the chandeliers were lit with real candles and there were really very few people inside. We had a fantastic table off by ourselves and were surrounded by beautiful stemware and illuminates.

Our waiter really added to our experience.  He was engaging, lively, nice and had an openness (and I am not sure exactly if that is the right word) that just made you want to be his friend.  I noticed that as the night went on, several of the people that came in said hello to him seemed to be friends.  Again, we used our limited French to much avail, until the end of the meal when we had to move to English.  They were offering us a free after dinner Amaretto (that the waiter's mother "mixed," I think that means made herself...intriguing).

The restaurant specializes in crepes and we had recommen-dations that I had found from the website, but surprisingly, we could understand enough of the menu to make informed decisions.  My favorite was the dessert (big surprise) which was a crepe with cooked banana and pear and a lovely chocolate sauce. Yummy. 

Presentation was the key for this lovely little establishment and they carried that through to the end, when they presented the bill in a decorative ceramic egg.  It was, I think, aside from one dinner on our honeymoon, the most romantic dinner I have ever had (that I can think of right now anyway.)  I HIGHLY recommend this place, in case you ever find yourselves in Mons, Belgium - take a look at the website, it doesn't do it justice, but it gives you a flavor.

http://www.salondeslumieres.com

A Moveable Feast Deux

So we got up early and enjoyed a lovely breakfast of cafe au lait and croissants and then started in on our touring adventure.  We made our way through the Jardin des Tuileries, which were just beautiful - the wonderful flowers and topiaries with the sun just shining over the Louvre buildings to paint them gold and radiant in the morning light.  We continued along the Champs-Elysees and were surprised by the fairly steep grade up to the Arc de Triomphe.

There was a growing crowd of people gathering around the base of the Arc, but as we started the ascend, we were amazed at how few people were actually in it and climbing to the top.  That means that we were able get up without much fuss, enjoy a spectacular view (and on a day where there wasn't a cloud in the sky, that was a remarkable thing) and get down again without assault. 

As we started walking toward the Eiffel Tower, we realized that Paris was going to be a city in which to enjoy cars (D saw 3 Lamborghinis in one day).  In order to settle a disagreement - I think that Smarts in the US are bigger than Smarts in Europe - we used D as a measuring devise, so that we can go back and measure him against the cars at home and settle it once and for all.  [Using the Internet wouldn't be nearly as fun here.  Yes, we are a crazy strange couple, but life is ever exciting in the Avilla home.]

On our walk, we started wondering where all the people were - the streets were fairly deserted and the Arc had so few.  We need not have worried, all of Paris was waiting for us by the Tower. The line was over an hour long and since we had just had that lovely experience and view at the Arc, and were starving, we decided to take many nice pictures of the Tower and perhaps visit another day.  The tower was decorated with the stars from the EU flag and at night, it was lit up a blue color, again, to match the EU flag.  Our friends Keith and Elizabeth, who live here, had never seen or heard of the tower being decorated like that, which led us all to believe that there was some special event here that we couldn't really find.  I saw a formula one car event for Paris being advertised but I don't think that would have the EU theme...a mystery.

So, after scarfing down a granola bar to ward of the beast the I can become when not fed regularly, onward we went. Continuing SW to a not very nice part of Paris, we journeyed by the river, to a smaller replica of the Statue of Liberty.  She didn't have the pageantry or popularity of her larger US sister, but we enjoyed seeing her and snapping a few shots.  We started trekking back along the river toward the Musee d'Orsay, but stopped at a nearby cafe to rest and refuel with a sandwich and some needed water.

The Musee d'Orsay is a remarkable place.  It houses art from the time period of 1848-1914 and is itself truly a work of art.  It had been converted from the Orsay Railway Station, which had been built for the Universal Exhibition of 1900.  I was eager to visit because I enjoy Impressionist art as well as Art Nouveau, and this museum is rich with both.  I also liked the fact that it was substantially smaller and more manageable than the Louvre, which can just be overwhelming.  I saw several pieces that I really enjoyed [other than the ones that I came to see, which, naturally, I ate up.]  A unique aspect to this museum was that they have an outdoor terrace on the roof of the place, which had a fantastic view, particularly of the Basilique du Sacre Coer (Basilica of the Sacred Heart) which is on a hill overlooking the heart of the city.  It also had a great breeze, and since the air conditioning (even in museums) is spotty in Europe, it was a welcome relief on this unusually warm day.

After this we were positively cooked.  We agreed to head back to the hotel to take a nap, freshen up, and then see if we could find a dinner cruise. (Keith had suggested a cruise to D as being quite the lovely way to see the city.  Elizabeth had warned me that they can be a bit like cattle cars or sardine cans, so I got the idea in my head that a dinner cruise would be perfect.  Now, finding said cruise, booking and getting there are all details we hadn't yet figured out, but D is a resourceful man, and we were too tired to figure it out before the nap.)

It is remarkable the difference an hour of good sleep can make to your disposition.  That and a good bath.  Hmmm, it was great.  So, we decided to see if our friends at the front desk could help us out again.  Gratefully, the hotel again came up big and got us reservation for 9pm on a dinner tour of the Seine. (These Parisians really eat LATE.  Oh well, I guess the "When in Rome..." adage works in Paris too.)  Since we had a little time to kill, we decided that a nice aperitif at the Bar Hemingway was in order.

The Bar Hemingway is named after Ernest Hemingway who spent a good deal of his time in this bar when he lived in Paris in his later life.  It is a tiny establishment.  The wait staff is positively entertaining and remarkably attentive and the drinks come with a constant supply of homemade potato "crisps," olives and warm slightly salted almonds - and the price reflects these amenities [oh, and my drink was served with a fragrant and perfect rose, which despite myself, won me over].  It was a fun experience in a delightful atmosphere.  It was filled with tourists (shocker) but we did get out of there before the real crowd hit, which was a bonus.

The dinner cruise was just fantastic - it started beautifully with us taking a cab from the Bar Hemingway to the port, my feet were so grateful!  We had a perfect table just for the 2 of us next to a window.  The boat was not overly crowded and had soothing mood music lightly playing, which meant that the romantic atmosphere was maintained throughout the night.  Dinner wasn't bad (compared to the night before, it had no chance) but the overall experience was really so nice.  We went by all the highlights: Notre Dame, Hotel de Ville (Town Hall), Eiffel Tower, baby Statue of Liberty, the Louvre, as well as many gorgeous bridges and other beautiful buildings.  We took as many pictures as we could (hard to get them to turn out) and enjoyed each others company and the romantic atmosphere.  We both enjoyed the short walk home and fell blissfully into bed.

The next morning, knowing that we were going to have to leave sooner rather than later in order to be back in Mons for the "Tanks in Town" event, we decided to just go to Notre Dame.  Since it was Sunday morning, we were pleased to make it there in time for Mass.  Much of the music was in Latin, which I thought put the majority of us on equal footing - no one understood very much.  (I later discovered that we were attending the "Gregorian Chant" mass, which then made the Latin make more sense.) The church really is beautiful and it was quite an honor to be able to participate in worship there, even if we didn't understand as much as we would have liked.  After the service, we walked around and reveled at the stunning stain glass and architecture.  We went around the outside (around back) just to see it all, and as we were coming up to the front again, we were able to witness the procession of the choir, alter boys, priests and the presiding priest - I think it was the archbishop by the way he was dressed, but I don't know for sure - coming in for the next mass.  Quite a production.  I was grateful that they allowed tourists in to participate.  I guess size isn't a problem there, so no need to keep us out.

We headed back to the hotel to check out and start our ride back home. We were feeling so great about the trip.  This is when the "bone crushing traffic" (or BCT) came in again.  D helped define it for me.  BCT is not just being at a stand still for long periods of time, having no idea what is wrong or when/if it will be cleared, it has to include pedestrians jumping in at any moment in front of you as well as side streets dumping into your flow of traffic, causing you to have your attention frayed in a multitude of directions.  Apparently, these additional components cause the stress to go through the roof and shave years off your life (perhaps and exaggeration...you will have to ask D.)  The police closed down several key roads leading out of town, which meant that there were a lot of us trying to find alternative routes.  The Garmin helped once we were convinced that she wasn't just trying to get us back to that same closed road - old fashioned map reading was necessary until then.  Once we blessedly got on the highway, it was clear sailing on home.