The town still retains the semblance of a nineteenth century sanatorium, with many couples walking through the classical parks for their daily constitutional. I visited the Museum of Water, finding the most interesting part to be the temporary exhibition of historical advertising posters proclaiming “Eaux minerales ferrugineuses” (iron-rich water), “tir aux pigeons” (shooting pigeons) and “trajet en 7 heures de paris” (journey in 7 hours from Paris). Those who came from France and Spain in their flamboyant costumes to partake in the water from Spa were called bobelins (perhaps derived from the Latin bibelus (heavy drinker)), which I believe now is used in Wallonia to mean “stupid and weird”.

On Sunday I caught my private funicular to the top of the highest hill to visit the Thermes de Spa. Nestled amongst the trees are some very picturesque indoor and outdoor baths. I began my relaxation in the outdoor baths, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness, as well as the contrast between the cooler air and the warm water. Eventually wandering back inside, I enjoyed a bubble bed before drying out in the dark and forest-scented relaxation room. My Spa weekend culminated in a Watsu – a water shiatsu massage. The therapist attached foam to my legs so that I could float effortlessly, and then gently whoosh me through the water while tenderly stretching and relaxing my limbs, leaving me feeling completely relaxed and rejuvenated by my Spa weekend.

The story goes that in 1466 the city was under siege by the Duke of Burgundy Charles the Rash. After some people from Dinant cast doubts on Charles’ true parentage, he marched into the city and destroyed all supplies. Forced to improvise, the remaining citizens took honey and flour and pressed it into the intricate moulds used for copperware to produce biscuits in the shapes of landscapes and animals.

Today, the moulds are carved out of pear tree wood and depict everything from piglets to shopping carts. One place to sample these treats is at Patisserie Jacobs on Rue Grand, where these impressive biscuits have been produced since 1860. The biscuits are easy to display, as they can be hammered directly onto the walls and last for years.

Photo by Grant.

The first beer is called Delirium Tremens, and prominantly features a pink elephant, one of the stereotypical hallucinations experienced by those with the “trembling madness” caused by withdrawal from alcohol. It is a very young recipe, as it was released to the public on December 26, 1989. It is a strong, golden ale that is made from three different strains of yeast, and contains 8.5% alcohol. The producers love calling it “the best beer in the world” because it won the 1998 World Beer Championships. While I don’t really like the taste of the beer, the sight of those cute pink elephants on the glass will often win me over. After the tour I bought two Delirium Tremens mugs and four bottles of the Delirium Noel seasonal brew, simply because they had skiing elephants in Santa hats on their label.

My second favourite Hughe beer is Floris Passion, and beer purists will insist that it shouldn’t be called a beer at all, as it is a white beer with a great deal of passion fruit syrup added. It is an even younger recipe, as the range of Floris fruit beers was first released in 1993. We were given the so-called Floris Kriek to try. This beer, while delicious, is not a true Kriek lambic. The brewers use one specific strain of yeast, rather than the a variety of wild airborn yeasts required for a traditional kriek. I returned home with six Floris Passion beers and two Floris glasses. When unpacking, I discovered that I had sadly broken both the glasses, but luckily the beers themselves were safe. We will have to return to the Delirium Cafe for some replacements in the near future.

Photo by Grant.

The brewery is in Melle, a small town that doesn’t have much else to speak of. We tried to find lunch, and we were first drawn to a cafe called Melle Rose Place. However, it was full of smoke, so we spent a long time walking up and down the two main roads to see if we could find a smoke-free restaurant. Finally, we settled on a small frituur (fries shop), which turned out to be excellent. I ate my fish-burger while watching the arrival of Sinterklaas and his entourage on television.

Photo by Grant.

The tour was conducted in Flemish, and our translator was a retired professor who was mostly deaf. So while we didn’t get to hear much about the brewery, we were able to walk through the various stages of brewing. We explored the warehouses containing the blank bottles, painted to resemble grey ceramic rather than glass. We finished the tour with a beer tasting in the old museum, filled with Hughe memorabilia from 1654 to today.

Photo by Grant.

We spent the day in Hasselt, sampling a wide range of their delicious jenevers, and snacking on freshly baked speculoos cookies. My favourite part was watching the cocktail jugglers assemble the winning cocktail, a mojito-inspired concoction of lime and mint.

While we were there, we also discovered that today was the day of the annual pie-eating contest. I looked it up on my iPhone and discovered that the record stood at fourteen. Wow, we thought, fourteen pies in fourty-five minutes. That is impressive. The pies were like quiches, and called flamische, as they were cooked over the flames. The Confrérie des Quarteniers de la Flamiche Dinantaise (Brotherhood of the Officers of the Dinant Flamische) assembled on stage, the choir began to sing, and the competition began. We quickly realised that the record was fourteen slices, not fourteen pies. And why was this number so low? Because the men insisted on using their knives and forks, pausing between mouthfuls to enjoy a glass of burgundy wine and to answer questions over the microphone. Even in an eating competition, the European instinct was to savour every mouthful. All the contestants simply ate until they were full, then pushed back their plates and watched the others with a smile. No records for gluttony were broken in Dinant that day.

On Saturday he and his tall bride gather in the town square, accompanied by his personal guard – the devil Magnon, two wild men covered with ivy, and two horsemen. The giants and their entourage dance down the street to the church, accompanied by the “Bleus”, French soldiers who periodically fire blanks into the air after a dramatic drum roll.

They two giants are married in front of the church, in the language of Picard (not French) before dancing back to the town square. Suddenly, shepherd David approaches, dressed in white and red. He challenges Goliath to a duel in a dialogue (“bonimée”) that dates back to the 16th century. This dialogue has been passed down by oral tradition, and now some segments are so garbled that they have lost all meaning, even to historians. At the end of the banter, David calls on his lord to give him strength and power to bring vengeance on the villain. The young shepherd has a single attempt to throw a stone through the peephole in Goliath’s wicker frame. If he succeeds, the town will be bathed in a year of happiness.

This year, David was played by seven year old Noa Depôtre, the son of the chief carrier of Madame Goliath. Unfortunately, for the second consecutive year, the shepherd did not succeed, and Goliath lived. This meant that the giants did not perform their final dance, which is seen as a bad omen for the town. David slunk off, ashamed and disappointed. His mother said “Of course, we are very disappointed for Noa, but the festival continues. I am very proud of him because he perfectly recited his lines perfectly. We cannot blame him because the pressure was so great, especially for a child so young.”

It might have been a dark moment for Ath, but our day was bathed in beer and sunshine. Friends Grant and Michelle were visiting from Cambridge, and we were able to sit together amongst the festivities and sample special grape beers that were brewed just for the event. A short ride on the train, and we were back in Brussels to end the day with some magnificent Cuban cuisine for dinner.

This confusion is due to centuries of sales and swaps between the lords and dukes of the region. Yet still today, these borders are considered strict international boundaries. As we strolled through Baarle, we crossed the border dozens of times, and I was careful to have my passport ready. As we explored the suburbs, we noted that most of the residents were very nonchalant about the location of their house. For the most part, the only way that we could tell which country we were in was by very carefully examining the house numbers. Dutch houses have a red stripe on the left and a blue on the right. Belgian houses have a black/yellow/red flag in the top left hand side. This apartment complex straddled the border, and had two front doors, so the residents had both a Netherlands (left) and Belgium (right) address – very useful for tax purposes:

The two cities of Baarle Hertog and Nassau have different police forces, laws tax systems, fuel costs, speed limits, alcohol licensing laws, closing times, and mobile phone rates. A letter posted from Hertog to Nassau travels via Amsterdam. And yet the border quite often cuts right through a business or home.

But best of all, in these odd tangled territories, the sun was shining and all the stores were wide open on a Sunday. So we were able to sit outside, eat chocolate and beer, and soak up the sunshine in the enclaves and exclaves of these intertwined cities (note how the border continues down the middle of the road behind us before finally crossing the street).
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It is fascinating to learn about saints and their symbols. Those of them who were tortured often display on a plate the body part that was severed – the head of St Denis, the breasts of St Agatha, the eyes of St Lucy, the flayed skin of St Bartholomew. St Nicolas is accompanied by the three children he restored after they were pickled in brine by an wicked innkeeper. St Jerome carries a stone in his hand with which he strikes himself in penance for his sins. St Roch has a dog who fed him by stealing food from its master’s table while he suffered from the plague. These stories are never pleasant.

In contrast to the suffering of martyrs, we were also lucky enough to watch the baby elephant frolic in the water at the zoo. It tried everything to try and convince its mum to join it in the water – using its feel to plash her with water, spraying her with its trunk, and even forcefully head-butting her towards the shore. Finally, she reluctantly joined in and the little one was overcome with joy. I’m not even sure the baby creature remembered it was an elephant, the way it attempted to clamber on top of her in the pool and to do handstands while completely submerged. I think that I would like a baby elephant of my own. I am following the progress of the latest pregnancy at www.baby-olifant.be. Maybe I could take it for weekends once it is born?

Image from brucity

I think that’s enough to keep me busy for twelve months or so. It is a bit overwhelming to be faced with so many changes, but I realise how lucky that we are to have this opportunity, so the main emotion I feel is excitement. We had a great time in North America over the past two years, and while I think we are better suited to Europe, I am very thankful for all the happy memories that we have of the United States of America.

In various nooks and crannies, there are sculptures that reflect its position as a place of learning. Knowledge, communication, and contemplation are all epitomised in bronze throughout the town. The last sculpture is called “Renee”, but it reminded me of Sarah, lost in her thoughts as she waits for the bus.

The first World’s Fair after World War II occurred 13 years after the war, and was in Belgium in 1958. The theme was “technology for the progress of humankind”. The centerpiece of the expo was Atomium (atom plus aluminium). An iron crystal with nine atoms, magnified 165 billion times, and towering 105 metres above the ground, it is an imposing and spectacular structure. It took two years of a team of construction-acrobats to assemble, working day and night, rain and snow, with no helmets or harnesses. There were no deaths during its construction, only one broken leg.

Each atom is joined by a powered escalator, that at 39 metres were the longest in Europe in 1958, and the trip to the top atom is via what was the fastest lift in the world, designed by Schindler to travel 5 metres per second. One of the spheres is reserved for children between the ages of 6-12 years who can hire it overnight, and fall asleep inside the oxygen of water molecules that descend from the ceiling like rain. They still sell the same treats today at the Polka Dot Cafe that existed fifty years ago – the Cha Cha biscuit and Dessert 58.

The 186 days of the expo were not a success, they were a triumph. Over 41 million people visited the Worlds Fair, and at night they could look up and see the lights twinkling around each sphere of the Atomium, like electrons orbiting their nuclei. Walt Disney was in Brussels working on Peter Pan, and he was saddened that the expo was to disappear at the end of September. This inspired him to built the EPCOT center and theme parks that would never be torn down.

Like the Eiffel tower, the Atomium was intended to be a temporary structure. As such, its outer spheres were coated with aluminium sheets that were only 1.2 mm thick, which was showing its age by 2004. For its fiftieth birthday, the Atomium was given a complete makeover. It was completely stripped down to its skeleton, and then the aluminium and fiberglass spheres replaced with galvanized and stainless steel. Today, this structure should correctly be called Atosteel, as no trace of aluminium remains today.