Death in the Afternoon

Day 6 – Thursday – Vinkt

Finally a sunny day after five days of gray skies. Everything looks different. Warm streams of sunshine slant through the open wood-framed window and dance dust particles to the floor. Waking up, I swear I hear chickens from the other side of the wall. Below, cows moo in the pasture across the lane, and a wind rattles the tree leaves that are just starting to turn and fall. Further off, a dog barks now and then, the swish of a passing car, a small airplane in the sky.

Bed & Breakfast Deinze seems like way out in the country, but is actually just five minutes outside the town of Vinkt. You turn at the café ‘De Haring,’ where it’s not unusual to see John Deere tractors parked alongside the sedans. This is farmland. One-lane roads lined with cows and cornfields and modern commercial greenhouses.

Martine Haerens, our hostess, explains the B&B used to be a dove or pigeon barn (duivekot). A dark wooden barn door opens to an inner glass door, and a white tile entryway. And then I see them. “Stairs?!?” I think, leaning on my crutches. In one corner, the white tiles lead up steep and winding stairs. Hardly-adequate handrailettes are mounted on the red wall in a couple places. The corner turning stair steps are barely wide enough for my entire foot near the wall side, and like vertigo, the outside ends of the steps narrow away to nothing but the floor below.

The accommodations at the top of the stairs are so pleasant I decide it’s worth the effort to deal with these stairs. Up on my hands and knees, down on my butt. Not pretty, but it works.

A superb breakfast including coffee or tea, sugar cubes and cream, orange juice, milk, assorted croissants and brioche with chocolate, gouda and laughing cow cheese, little jars of local jams, cereal, yogurt, mini chocolate bars, small cookies, butter, and a fleece snuggie covered eggcup keeping one very local hardboiled egg warm. All artfully laid out at the hour of our choosing, with lots of cups and saucers, bowls and plates, silverware and napkins. Fortified, we’re off to visit the mother, brother and sister-in-law.

Dirk and Vera are literally just back from the south of France as we arrive. Unloading the travel trailer and doing laundry quickly segs into sitting around in the sun drinking Pastis - licorice-tasting booze mixed with water. Pictured are Dirk, Vera, Jonn and Clarissa. It’s a good thing we had a substantial breakfast, otherwise, it could have been like drinking Death in the Afternoon - an absinthe drink invented by Ernest Hemingway, consisting of Pastis mixed with champagne.

Later the same day: Belgian pancakes and coffee in the afternoon, served with ice cream AND whip cream. A lovely fish dinner at Leie Zicht (which means “the view of the river Leie”) where they served garlicky artichoke taupinaude for which I want the recipe. And the climax bar of cigarette smoke, the Bachtenaarke, a typical Belgium neighborhood bar, I’m told.

Ooidonk Castle

Day 5 – Wednesday - Bachte-Maria-Leerne

The weather is still cold and windy, the sky dull gray. Far away, thin wisps of clouds scratched into the sky. Autumn is just around the corner. Enroute to Ghent, we take the scenic way through little brick towns with narrow brick sidewalks, surrounded by little farms with fat cows, fat horses, and wavy fields of well-ripened corn awaiting harvest. It's for the cows, I’m told.

Further along through winding neighborhoods of large brick houses all painted white, sweeping American-style front lawns, set well back from the narrow roads behind clipped hedges.



Unbeknown to me a forehand, we suddenly turn down a side road and shortly arrive at Ooidonk Castle. With my left peripherals, I see an asphalt parking lot and a few tour buses maneuvering around in front of the gift shop. My right peripherals pick up a lush sweeping lawn leading up to a good-sized red brick castle with turrets and whatnot like what you would expect to see on a Flemish castle. Between the tour buses and the castle, and not slowing down a bit, we zip forward, past a ‘keep out’ sign, and dip down onto a small gravel driveway. Just ahead is a little brick-lined tunnel leads through a dike. Beyond the dyke, reflected in the lily pond, is this romantic view of the castle.

This is the third Ooidonk castle, built on the site of a 14th century fortress and open to the public. You can rent some of the rooms, like the ‘stylish dining with adjacent round drawing room and the tapestry gallery’ for workshops and such, or have an outdoor party with tents and walking dinners. There’s parking for 150 cars and several coaches.

I think it would be okay with the family if I mention that back in the 70s my companion’s aunt used to date the count of Ooidonk Castle ... but that’s another story.

You can't go home

Day 5 – Wednesday – Lake Overmere-Donk

Woke up late at the Diamond Hotel. The noise of trains and traffic below no problem evidentally. Across at the Belgie-Lei apartment buildings, a window washer sits in a swing, a bucket and squeegees hanging from his belt, gently swaying to and fro with a dancer’s steady rhythm and fluidity. No movement wasted as he massaged and caressed each little windowpane. Like he’d washed those windows a million times before and could do it in his sleep. Checked out and left Antwerp for our next destination: Vinkt.

Enroute we passed several houses where prostitutes ply their trade morning, noon and night. Like big spiders in a web, each girl presents herself in the big front picture window with special costumes and lights and a chair maybe, waiting for a passing motorist to slow down and check her out, stop, come in, yessir!

Stopped for lunch at Lake Overmere-Donk, which is in East Flanders, where my companion lived until he was about 9.

Before going to the restaurant, we drive the one block (remember, I’m ‘walking’ with crutches) to where his old home still stands. Up a gently sloping hillside, past a manicured privet hedge and behind a glass and wood monstrosity that is now a restaurant, the tip-top of an old house can be seen. It’s hard to tell what style architecture it is, but it's striking because it doesn't seem to be made of brick. There’s a small broad roof and a sharply peaked front façade just visible, and an old whitewashed garage up a long driveway behind the house.

As we sit in the car, he tells me of his boyhood adventures and how things used to be: an orchard in the back yard, ice-skating on the lake. Just across Donklaan Straat – as scenic as it gets - is the longest lake in Belgium, Overmere-Donk. Roses, rush and manicured hedges fringe the visible shoreline. Boats sit waiting to be rented. Close by, a small island, home to a miniature forest, contrasts with a round manmade fountain further out, shooting plumes into the wind, sprays of moisture heading south in the gray day.

As unsightly as the old family house has become as a restaurant, right next door, however, takes the cake for bad – the Wok Palace. A picture worth a thousand words.

Diamond and Dim Sum

Day 4 – Tuesday - Antwerp

Staying at the Diamond Hotel in Antwerp. Straight out the window, a hodge-podge of residential windows and curtains and buildings and rooftops in dull browns. Passers-by across the street six floors below are men with long, uncut sideburns, dressed in black trousers, white shirts and top hats; and modestly-dressed women wearing wigs, pushing baby strollers and holding hands of even more children. Leaning further out the window, directly below, every five minutes a subway train appears briefly, then disappears down a tunnel. A macabre discovery on the ledge outside the window: a hundred years of cigarette butts (including an overflowing ashtray) slowly decomposing, all turned the same brown color as a smoker’s lungs.


We are in Antwerp to visit my companion’s son Nathan and his long-time girlfriend Goshia, and hopefully see their new apartment they are in the process of remodeling. Joining us is Goshia’s cousin Roman [say: ROW-man] who lives near The Haag, but is here working on the new apartment. We enjoy the evening and dim sum at an outside table at Lucy Chang’s, across from a statue of Neptune.

Traffic and driving is crazy in Antwerp, even for a native-born son. I would never have found my way back to the hotel.

Etend en drinken

Day 3 – Monday - Aardenburg

Eating and drinking is not cheap in The Netherlands.

Stopped for lunch at Hotel Restaurant De Eenhoorn in the nice little town of Oostburg. Two salads and two beers for €36.50 (over $50). Another typical little town square where driving cars is discouraged by the inconvenience of not being able to park, and where bicyclists rule.

Spent the night in Aardenburg. There are Roman ruins nearby, dating to after 212 BC, so I think that means this area is above sea level. Out the window from the room, the wind rustles the leaves of an old Ginkgo, doves coo-coo, birds chirp, and church bell type chimes of ‘Frere Jacques’ float up from the little town square.




Later, across the square two beers at Lekens Café-Restaurant, Mossel-en Palinghuis, cost €7.00 ($10). Dinner at the Hotel Restaurant Rudanna Castra was €28.70 ($42), which was a deal compared to lunch, I guess. Once again, fresh flower arrangements abound.

Father & Son

Day 2 – Sunday - Middelburg

A short drive from Middelburg is the small coastal town of Veere, which means ‘ferry.’ Father and son pose with cannon on a cold windy autumn day. The sky is gray. It’s been around a year since they last saw each other. The son’s back is killing him.

There are lots of tourists. Crutching around is hard on the uneven cobblestones. My palms especially hurt. Haven’t seen any handicapped people. Everyone here is in good shape; slim and well dressed astride their bicycles.

Surprising to me, lots of people still smoke cigarettes though, especially at the outdoor cafes. Huge umbrellas with gas heaters underneath prolong the warmth while people watching. Big kettles of steamed mussels are the thing to have here. With beer, of course. And fried potatoes. The buildings are magical and unbelievably old and interesting.

Haven’t seen any homeless people or beggars.

When researching what the heck to say about Veere, I came across this youtube link on Veere’s official web site. It’s good. Watch it. Laugh. Toss your hair over your shoulder.

Only 6 Returned

Day 3 – Monday – Middelburg

So pissed off! Broke my glasses. Now I have crutches, das boot, AND a rubber band holding my glasses together.

Stumbled across an old Jewish cemetery yesterday. Crutched all the way around the black wrought-iron fence only to discover the gate locked. On one corner, along a very busy street, an old home and bathhouse stands ‘for sale.’


I have a goal to seek out old Yew trees in Europe, especially in cemeteries, since reading The Yew Tree: A Thousand Whispers by Hal Hartzell and Jerry Rust. The only Yew I see is a scraggly hedge along the fence. I collect a few seeds.

Today, on our way out of town, we pass the cemetery and discover the gate is open. Inside we find ourselves in a small under-story forest of man-size incredibly thin grey slabs leaning every which way. Scattered along a slightly inclined, bumpy hillside, dappled sunlight reveals monoliths with old Hebrew in fading black calligraphy on one side, and Dutch or English on the other. A few people are working to restore the old markers; setting them upright.

According to the web site Jewish Virtual Library, Middelburg has one of the oldest surviving synagogues in Holland, and two Jewish cemeteries that are recognized as national monuments. Of the 600 Jewish families that were transported during the Holocaust, only six of Middelburg's Jews returned to the city after the war.


Here's what I learned about those little yew tree seeds I collected: The seeds are very slow to germinate. It may take one, two or three years. Seeds must be given a warm and cold treatment in the proper sequence and at the optimum temperatures and lengths of time. Five to seven months of warm stratification (60-65 degrees F), followed by two to four months of cold stratification (34-40 degrees F).

Middelburg and Real Plates

Day Two – Sunday - Middelburg

Awoke late to a serenade of church bells. Ten minutes left for the hotel’s free/included breakfast at the restaurant downstairs. Threw on clothes and rushed down.

Beautiful vases of fresh flowers surround the diner. First along the breakfast buffet was the stainless steel industrial coffee-making machine (the size of a bathtub) with different buttons for coffee, espresso, café, mocha, or cappuccino. And naturally, there's six kinds of little cookies, and cream and sugar, and chocolate to go with the coffee. There’s croissants, assorted breads, eight kinds of chocolate sprinkle spreads in little boxes (stuff a few in your pocket for later), butter, little jars of jams, and eggs scrambled or hard-boiled, bacon, and soft slices of komijn (fennel seed cheese) round out the protein.

What was missing? Throwaway containers. Throughout Holland and Belgium, every order of coffee, tea, beer etc. comes with a full serving of set-the-table. Stainless steel utensils and glass glasses, ceramic plates, cups and bowls. Coffee always comes in a cup with a saucer, on a tray with chocolate, cookies, cream, sugar and sometimes even a little glass of water. All arranged artfully on a square or rectangular platter.

And on garbage day, in front of each house, a small bag (made from decomposable material, I’m told) sits out on the curb for collection.

Three Shoes to Amsterdam

I recently had the good fortune to visit Belgium and Holland for two weeks. Unfortunately, I broke my ankle three weeks before leaving. So, for the entire trip I wore the big, black velcro boot. I packed three shoes; one walking shoe (what a joke), one flip-flop, and one teva.

I departed my hometown on 9/11. Since the airport-supplied wheelchair won't go through the metal detector, the airport security personnel gave me the choice of "sit in the chair and get 'patted down,' or stand and be 'wanded.'" I stood.

Fifteen and a half hours of being crammed into airline sardine chair. Curtailing liquid intake to keep to a minimum trips hopping crutches crab-sideways down the isle to the lavatory. "Unusual Liesions and the Lessons They Teach," was playing on the man in the next seat's laptop. Mammograms. Ordered 'special' vegetarian meals when booking flight. Nothing special about them.


Landed Schiphol Amsterdam, rented car, headed into the city to visit tropical palm tree decorated coffee shops. There's no parking in Amsterdam and all the narrow, cobblestone streets are one-way in the opposite direction you want to go. There's no end to the bicycles. All shapes, sizes, colors, plain or decorated, fat tires, wide handlebars, big wooden tubs over the front tires, and upright perfect posture riders in family groups like a ballet troupe peddle effortlessly by with total right-of-way.

Unable to get a room in Amsterdam due to a convention, we head southwest to Zeeland, the area where New Zealanders originally came from, aka Middelburg.