Happy Anniversary to our friends Deirdre and Mark!

Today is All Souls Day and a holiday in Belgium and indeed much of Europe. It is also our last day in Europe and we must do our final repack and organize the return of the car when we arrive for our flight to Argentina tomorrow evening. We plan a quiet day (for us!) which includes a quick trip to Brugges and making dinner for Yves, Marc, and Marc’s daughter Allison, who is visiting for the weekend.

We are up and out fairly early today and on the road by 9:30 for the 48 kilometre drive to Brugges. The fall weather continues grey, cool and wet. The leaves are practically gone from the trees, leaving yellow carpets on the ground. Brugges isn’t completely open when we arrive around 10:15 but because of the holiday, some small cafés are doing a brisk business for the busy tourists that, like us, have descended early on the picturesque town.

Brugges is a medieval tourist town and probably more visited than Gent; we have been told that Brugges is for foreigners, Gent is for Belgians. There are organized boat tours and caleches that regularly (and recklessly) tread the cobblestones, leaving groups of tourists scurrying to get out of their paths. Gent is less openly touristy and therefore easier to absorb and enjoy, and my personal favourite.




Views of Brugges

We wander the town, jumping back and forth over canals covered by footbridges, sticking our heads into the souvenir shops and window shopping for clothes we won’t buy. The town is quaint and romantic in many ways and you can see why it is such a draw. Even the restaurants have candlelit tables welcoming you at lunch time. We understand Brugges is particularly wonderful at night; the medieval buildings warmly and invitingly lit for the delight of its visitors. However, we don’t have the opportunity of seeing this night-time splendour, as we head for Gent and home shortly after our lunch.

We drive up and find parking right in front of Yves and Marc’s house and pull out our big bags and bring them inside for the repack. Yves and Marc are busily working on restoring the blue room upstairs, and we catch up a bit on email and our journal, and do a laundry, before naps and dinner tonight.

I start prep work for a simple dinner of cornmeal-coated pork loin marinated in dijon and browned in a fry pan, then baked, and finished with a port wine reduction. We are also having braised anise and leeks and the pork will be served with a fall fruit compote, and a nice salad to start. We sit down for our final European dinner just after 7 o’clock and spend the evening with a couple of bottles of wine and lots of conversation. We try to convince Yves and Marc to come to Canada when we return and, we hope, are successful in planting the seed. After dinner and the dishes are done, we receive a phone call from Mieke, a close friend of Yves and Mark from Antwepen. She sometimes spends weekends here and we met her when we first arrived in June. Mieke is a convert to followsummer.com and we have laughed and welcomed her many comments during our trip. She wishes that she could have joined us for dinner tonight but alas she too is entertaining guests, from South Africa. She wishes us continued good travelling and we extend our invitation to Canada to her too.

We are going to have a very busy guest bed!

Happy early Birthday wishes to Benjamin Lawrence and his dad, Peter on November 4!

It is the day before All Souls, and it seems appropriate today that we join friends and family as they visit the graves of their loved ones, for we will visit a couple of the many WWI cemeteries that dot this part of the world, and pay homage. It is also Hallowe’en, which is not a very celebrated holiday in Europe. The French in particular hate and shun it, and here in Belgium we see only the odd reference to it.

We start our day in the town of Ypres, or Ieper, once one of the wealthiest cities in the world. It was the scene of some of the most vicious fighting in WWI, as the British fought to maintain control of the town, sacrificing countless soldiers’ lives, and destroying the entire town in the process.

We arrive at the beautiful Cloth Hall in the centre of Ypres. It is the home of “In Flanders Fields”, an incredibly moving museum dedicated to helping the world understand the horror of WWI. We learn that the very building the museum is housed in, this Cloth Hall, was the largest non-church building built in Europe until after WWI, and was completely levelled by shelling during the war, and then painstakingly rebuilt. We are reminded of something we sort-of knew, that WWI was the first war in which the full technology of industrialization was engaged in producing the instruments of war. As recently even as the Boer War, the cavalry had had a major role. In WWI, the cavalry sat and waited, with nothing to do; in the Boer War, bayonets were the way death was inflicted. Virtually every soldier in WWI had a bayonet, and they were useless against machine guns and shells that could fly 20 kilometres through the air.


The Cloth Hall, completely destroyed in WWI, and now home to Ypres’ “In Flanders Fields” Museum

The museum was opened only in 1996, and, interactive and involving as so many newer museums are, it brings the experience home, and helps us to truly understand, if that is possible, the magnitude of WWI, and the folly of leaders who fight wars without purpose, sacrificing human lives for their vanity.

From Ypres, it is a short drive to the Canadian Memorial. Much smaller than the memorial at Vimy Ridge, it is not a cemetery or a place where the names of the fallen are recorded: it is the scene of the first mustard gas attack launched by the Germans during the war, an attack that happened to blow over the Canadian position, and one that signalled a major evolution in fighting: chemical warfare.


The Canadian Memorial near Ypres, scene of the world’s 1st chemical weapons attack

We drive through the narrow lanes and backroads of Flanders, carefully moving the passenger side off the road, but not to far, lest it fall into the very deep ditches, whenever another car approaches. There is still occasional evidence of the war – large craters, used by resourceful farmers as watering holes for their livestock. The farmers still harvest a horrible, deadly crop every spring, when they plough their fields: hundreds of tonnes of unexploded munitions rise from the earth, including many chemical weapons. These chemical weapons are carefully stockpiled: there is still no known safe method of disposing of them.

We are looking for Passchendaele, a tiny village, which was the site of a major British action against a German fortress built on the gently rising hill, taken at huge cost by the Australians. It is also home to Tyne Cot, the largest Commonwealth cemetery from WWI; far more numerous than graves at Tyne Cot, though, are the names of the soldiers whose bodies were never found. We walk the entire length of the back wall of the cemetery, over 3 metres tall, and hundreds of metres long, covered from one end to the other and top to bottom with the names of the missing dead. And this isn’t a full listing: many others are listed at Menin Gate, in Ypres, and yet others are listed on particular memorials, such as the Canadian Memorial we visited at Vimy Ridge; of the over 1 million Commonwealth soldiers who died in WWI, the bodies of more than 50% were never found.



Tyne Cot Cemetery, scene of the Battle of Passchendaele

We drive silently back to Gent, lost in our thoughts, the grey day well complementing the images and sights we have seen today.

Later, we are sitting with Yves and Marc in the comfort of their wonderful home, glass of wine in hand and describing the day, when the doorbell rings. Marc answers, and excitedly calls me out: a goblin and a witch stand before us, sacs in hand, held out expectantly. Marc is excitedly searching for some candy, in order not to disappoint. He finds some, and as he closes the door, he tells me that this is the 1st time in his life that he has ever had a trick-or-treater at the door.

Amsterdam to Gent via Brussels: 275 kilometres

Ugh, my head! We try not to wake Fred and Michiel this morning as we tip toe around the apartment and grab a coffee before we head out the door. They are awake anyway and wish us well and we say our final goodbyes and head to Brussels for the day. We hope to see them in Canada, possibly in June.

There is an incredible fog hugging Amsterdam this morning. The sun filters through the fog and makes a glowing, eerie white opaqeness that is very disconcerting. Occasionally we see a pale green field with ghostly trees silhouetted against the fog as we move onto the highway. We are amazed at the speed at which some of people are driving. We are in what Canadians refer to as ‘whiteout’ conditions, and as soon as John mentions this he slams on the brakes as someone 10 cars ahead of us rear ends the car in front of them. We spend a good hour getting out of Amsterdam and the fog remains with us until at least Antwerpen.

Brussels is a pleasant surprise. We had not been expecting very much from this largely governmental town, the head of the EU. The area we park in is like Ottawa on a Saturday: completely void of human life; the ministers and their aids and other staff are in their home countries for the weekend. It is a long weekend here, November 1st being All Souls Day. The city is, however, teaming with well-heeled tourists, smartly turned out in their weekend finest. Brown suede and pashmina predominate. We hear French, German and the occasional bit of American twang bounced around the Grand Place where we start our tour. The Grand Place is, well grand and after the appropriate oohing and ahhhing, we wander a bit and take in the side streets of the area.


Brussel’s Grand Place

The tourists in town continue their unabated wandering as the sun begins to set and the lights of the city start coming on. We walk back to where we are parked, and pick a very traditional brasserie nearby for our dinner. We arrive about 7 p.m. and are the first customers. We have a simple, wonderful meal made even better by the extraordinary service we receive from the staff. Impeccable!


From left: war memorial; Brussel’s Cathedral

Our drive home is happily uneventful, the fog completely gone at this point. As we drive into Gent, wispy clouds of low lying fog start to roll in and across the canals, welcoming us home.

We have our 2nd lazy day in a row, enjoying the warmth and comfort of Marc and Yves’ home. It is a wonderful place to be as we come to the end of our European adventure.


From left: at work in the breakfast room; Marc and Yves' entrance foyer, with its murals of 4 continents; the Asia mural in the entrance foyer


From left: the garden in fall; the charming Mouste

We take a day off today. We do nothing except relax in the comfortable atmosphere of our hosts’ lovely home. Mid-afternoon I leave John reading and working on the computer, and walk into town for the newspaper and some wine for dinner tonight. Yves and Marc have asked us to join them for dinner tonight and of course we have accepted. No restaurant food for us tonight!

The old city has few mid-week late season tourists in it and it is a lovely, sunlit stroll through the Vrijdagmarkt and Sint-Baafsplein. I have the Ipod on, listening to Cecilia Bartoli and blissfully wandering around the town for a few hours, retracing some of our earlier steps from June and discovering new areas of this lovely town.

It is full autumn here; the leaves of many of the trees are on the ground. We are averaging about 9° and layered for the cool dampness.

We have a conversation filled dinner followed by coffee and of course, Belgian chocolates before we climb the stairs and head for bed.

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Rouen to Gent: 426 kilometres

We start our drive out of France, our longest stay in 1 country since Australia, by heading to Dieppe (pronounced, we learned last night, as “deep” in Kiwi). A city surrounded by high cliffs, it was the scene of a failed Allied invasion in August, 1942, when a force of 5,000 soldiers, 80% or so Canadian, attempted to take the heavily fortified city. Although a major failure, with a terrible cost, war historians say that the lessons learned were critical (dare I say “key success factors”) to the success of D-Day.


The beach and cliffs at Dieppe

We find again the Canadian cemetery, a few kilometres outside town. We are again overwhelmed as we walk through the graves – almost all of them have but one date on them: 19 August, 1942. It is a chilling sight.


The Canadian War Cemetery at Dieppe

We turn away from the coast, crossing the beautiful Normandy countryside as we head for our destination of Gent, Belgium. We are surprised when a sign appears announcing that we are driving alongside the site of the battle of Agincourt, which happened early in the 100 Years War, where the English, led by Henry V, won a decisive victory over the much stronger French forces.

Shortly after, signs announce that we have entered the Somme Valley, scene of some of the deadliest fighting in WWI, and, as at Gallipoli in Turkey, a word that today connotes meaningless slaughter in war: over 21,000 British soldiers were killed on the 1st day of fighting alone, and over 1.2 million lives were lost on both sides during the 4 ½ months the Somme offensive lasted, and the British had advanced only 12 kilometres, the French even less.

We make our way to Vimy Ridge, a little north of the Somme, to the Canadian WWI Memorial. Vimy was a major victory for the Canadian forces, fighting for the 1st time as Canadians and not integrated into the British forces. Unlike most of the countryside, and most of the war cemeteries, which bear few traces of the fighting, the Canadian Vimy Memorial stands on land that stands as it did at the end of the war, down to fenced off areas still full of landmines and unexploded shells.


The Canadian War Memorial at Vimy Ridge

The Memorial is powerful: its sculptures depict the losses caused by the war. Most moving to me is the inscription around the huge base: the names of over 11,000 Canadians who died in WWI, whose bodies were never located. And saddening are the words also engraved: the war to end war.


Some of the names on the base of the Memorial


Sheep grazing where death ruled 90 years ago

We arrive in Gent just after 6, coming back to Marc and Yves’ wonderful guesthouse where we stayed in June, and to Marc and Yves’ wonderful hospitality: comfortable, lavish and always pleasant, warm and inviting. Our day, an emotional and exhausting one, ends with a feeling of being safe and protected from the world outside.

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Gent to Antwerpen: 61 kilometres

Happy Birthday to our new friend Yves de Baets

After a wonderful breakfast at which we toasted Yves’ birthday, we walk back into old Gent, and find that the centre is much larger than we had anticipated – and all of it has kept its look and feel. We wander without reference to the map, just going where our eyes lead us, exclaiming in awe as we go round another corner to find another building, more spectacular than the last.


The golden dragon of Gent

St. Bavo’s Cathedral is 1 of 3 beautiful churches side by side by side, evidence of the former wealth of Gent. Inside is a Northern European cathedral that feels almost southern European because of its artworks (including a masterpiece by Rubens), which is so unlike the austere beauty of most northern European cathedrals I have been in.


From left: St. Bavo’s Cathedral; St. Bavo’s Square


Inside St. Bavo’s Cathedral

We happily stroll around Gent for hours, every corner revealing beautiful new sights. At one point, we run into Marc and Yves, who are out doing their marketing for the dinner party that will have tonight to celebrate Yves’ birthday. We stand chatting in the sun for 10 minutes, enjoying the streetscape and the conversation.


Gent

Mid-afternoon we force ourselves to leave Gent and do the short drive to Antwerpen. Another guest of Marc and Yves, Mieke, is from Antwerpen and she tells us that she thinks her city is quite as beautiful as Gent. When we arrive in Antwerpen, we find it a much bigger city than Gent, with a more modern feeling. We get to our B&B and Stephane, our host, gives us a map and shows us where to go.

Antwerpen is a bit of an onion – the 1st impression it makes is of a big, industrial city, which it is. It has not managed to preserve the integrity of its old quarter in the way that Gent has, but as we walk the streets and peel back the layers, we discover its many charms, and we are glad to have come here.


From left: Antwerpen Railway Station; streetscape


Antwerpen Cathedral


Roofs of Antwerpen

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Köln via Aachen to Gent: 303 kilometres

Charlemagne is in evidence everywhere through these parts – his name, in its Latin, German, Dutch and Flemish forms appears on roadsigns, schools, and bars as we drive through western Germany, Holland and enter Belgium.

We stop in Aachen, Charlemagne’s capital and long the centre of the Holy Roman Empire. It has gone back and forth between opposing armies over centuries, and it is perhaps an omen of a stable and long-lasting peace that today the signs throughout Aachen are trilingual – Aachen, Aken, and Aix La Chappelle.

Most of Charlemagne’s castle is gone, and we find a quaint and unexpectedly pretty town in its place; Aachen is well-accustomed to tourists, as evidenced by the high-end shops that line the streets. What is left is Charlemagne’s Dom – unexpectedly small on the outside. It must be the cathedral, it has pride of place, but we walk the exterior expressing scepticism until we find confirmation, which comes in the form of a sign announcing the cathedrals 1,200th birthday celebrations.


From left: Aachen street; Charlemagne’s Dom

Inside, the Cathedral is as unlike the great cathedrals of Europe as it is possible for a church to be – the influence of Byzantium is very clear, in the beautiful mosaics of black, gold and mother of pearl that cover the walls and ceiling, creating a dark and almost mysterious interior. We feel that we have been transported back to Turkey in this serene space.

From Aachen the drive to Gent takes us through the Netherlands – a tiny finger extending down to Maastricht – and into Belgium, through flat, lush farmland. We take the ring road around Brussels and get caught in Friday afternoon traffic.

Our B&B in Gent is a 100 year old mansion that Marc and Yves bought a few years ago and restored themselves to its original splendour – uncovering in the process the frescos on the walls of the entrance foyer that had been painted over. Despite its grandeur, Marc and Yves have turned their home into a welcoming and comfortable place, and we feel lucky to have such a nice place to call home for the night.


Marc and Yves’s Garden

We walk into the old town for dinner, and discover that Gent has been able, somehow, to maintain its historic look and feel in the centre. We decide that instead of driving as planned to Brugge tomorrow morning, we will spend the morning exploring Gent and will pass on Brugge, at least for the moment. (We are told repeatedly over the next day that Brugge is for tourists, Gent is more beautiful.)

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