Last week we took our friend Lina to the small Walloon town of Dinant. It is a beautiful little town situated on the River Meuse, featuring a citadel accessible by cable-car, allowing us to look down over its onion-domed Collegiale Notre-Dame (Church of Our Lady). Dinant is also the birthplace of Adolphe Sax, who invented the saxophone, and the couque, Europe’s hardest biscuit. We bought a few tiny sticks of the honey-flavoured couques to try, and they were very delicious, if a little difficult to consume.

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.

I had always heard the story of David and Goliath, but had never stopped to consider it from Goliath’s point of view. In the city of Ath, I was able to see a whole new side of him during the Festival of the Giants. On the fourth Friday in August, the townspeople gather in the park to burn Goliath’s trousers. Why? Because the next day he is to be married.

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.

What I would like most from our new home is a sense of community – a feeling of togetherness and joint celebration. Although I have only lived in Fremont for just over a year, it is a neighbourhood of great joy and quirkiness.

Today we gathered at Solstice Square (near the Adobe headquarters) celebrated a new sculpture – titled “Late for the Interurban”, to complement the existing sculpture “Waiting for the Interurban”. Even the governor of Washington attended the unveiling, however that was not for whom the crowd had gathered. Look very closely at this photo for a clue:

They were waiting for Julius Pierpont Patches and Gertrude, who is to Seattlites what Mr Squiggle is to Australians. The Emmy award winning show entertained both children and adults on Seattle television for thirteen years, from 1958 to 1981. After the show finished, the actors Chris Wedes and Bob Newman dedicated their time to visiting hospitals and raising funds for medical research. And, now both in their eighties, they donned their costumes one last time to witness their likenesses forever commemorated in bronze by sculptor Kevin Pettelle.

Chris Wedes’s sixteen year old grand-daughter spoke at the unveiling, and talked about how she has met hundreds of Patches Pals over the years, who told her how JP Patches was a bright spot in their lives, even when their lives as children were perhaps filled with abuse, ostracisim, or depression. A representative from Seattle Children’s Hospital thanked them for entertaining her children, and giving her a few extra much needed hours every afternoon. There will be a donation box at the base of the statue to raise further funds for the Seattle Children’s Hospital, so the legacy of JP Patches will forever continue.

The crowd was full of tears, smiles, and cheers. I love living in a neighbourhood where people come together to celebrate the power of a smile.