A Trip Down the Garden Path

Well I went and got my hair done today. After two months of it looking dull, it's now nice and fresh again.  I must say I had reservations about it, not having been to a salon other than Chez Loz for some time.  Yet all went well, and she did a really good job - I doubted there were others out there that could get just right like Loz, obviously they do exist - he he. 

Loz: I must say, I did enjoy their services, I got a head massage (which I know you do normally, though I rarely recieve - ha ha) AND, I also got a little bouquet of flowers. Oh dear, one up on the Lozza. Though I must say, you are more intuitive with the colours, you get it more spot on than she did today when I ask for: 'A dark brownish colour, like chocolate, but with a little bit of red too, not too much, something nice and warm, something deep...' My colour is not quite as dark as I wanted it.  Ah well, 99.999% happy.

 

Stories please the heart. It's true. There's nothing like finding true meaning in a great piece of writing. Mostly, the stories I hear come from the words in novels, many of which are truly great examples. It's these ones that you hold gently, careful not to dirty or crease the cover. The stories you are doomed to never savour because they're so good that you always devour them, sometimes in one sitting. If you're like me, you may even polish the finger prints off their glossy covers when you're done, only to place them, skinny side out, in an obvious place on your book shelf. Yet each time you glance in their direction the colours on the spine conjure up a little patch of familiarity deep inside; a soft regognition of those special people, places and events that hollowed out a little place in your heart and mind.

There's this ad on TV at moment that really captures what I'm getting at, embracing the power of the story. Granted it's an ad for pay TV, but I really like how it's just Dustin Hoffman talking. And even more so, I really like what he's saying (I've more than echoed it in my words above). Watch the clip for yourself (above) if you haven't already...

I spend most of my working life teaching stories, watching stories, listening to stories and telling stories (the latter is perhaps too frequent, as I've come to realise, in the classroom,  I am a big user of the analogy and anecdote - perhaps too much so, ha ha ). Anyway, one story that's stuck with me over the years delves into a time gone by: The Great War, or World War One as it's  more often known.  All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque (translated from German)  gives the account of innocent German teenagers thrust into the hellish experience of the frontline of war.  I like it because it's from the perspective of  'the enemy'. Not that I can say my personal enemy, but at least in a patriotic sense, the enemy of my country at the time.  Yet I come to realise these charaters are far from the enemy, as I follow their horrific journey we are united by our universal ties to humanity.  These boys were just like you and me.

What's my point I hear you say? I know, I know, I'm winding it up...

 This story is true.  Those words on the page were real.  And when I walk on the gently ondulating grassy hills in the south of Belgium, I think about these things and those people who scratched a meagre existence (and death) into this very dirt.  Yup, to me this was a pretty powerful experience. 

Below is a series of pictures of the two places we visited near Ypres, situated on what was once the Western Front.  No running commentary for this next post, just pictures and captions.  Hope you like, don't be thinking I'm crazy now, just a person who feels and thinks quite deeply at times (and at other times, quite shallowly too, ha ha). Enjoy.

Looking to the top of Hill 60. if you've seen the film you know the story.  The Australian miners who became army tunnellers, digging underground tunnels and fitting explosives to destroy the German enemy lines.  It worked - over 600 were killed and The British (Australians) were able to take Hill 60 (a strategic vantage point) from the Germans.



You can see the uneven ground - crater holes in the ground from WW1 bombs.



Monument atop the hill.

 

What's left of a WW1 concrete bunker.



And another.



This one's amazingly still in tact.

 
  

A monument that commemorates The Australian involvement in this great feat.

And the plaque reads...



Just in case you're keen to dine on the battlefield - no thanks.

This is in the museum at  Passchendaele. The museum chronicled the great number of battles that went on across the Western Front, there were heaps and each had a name and a map of the territory gained/lost by each side.. These masks always scare me.  Whenever I see old photographs of men wearing them they give me the creeps. Imagine my horror at a whole cabinet of them! Maybe because they look so alien-like it scares me. I wonder what they thought of them back then?



A reconstruction of a bunker.  Pretty authentic, looks a lot like real photos we saw.



Bunker hall.

The lighting in this one is a bit better, hate how stark a flash makes things.



Sleeping quarters, for those that were lucky enough not to have to sleep in the trenches I guess...

A mock-up medical room, still looks pretty horrific.

Hi all,
Well we're back from our long weekend in Belgium.We've unpacked, and I'm enjoying a nice glass of wine and some chocolate (my favourite in the whole world, white chocolate with hazelnuts - the sort you can only get in France; Cadbury's eat your heart out). I need to get into that jogging again this week...




Anyway, lots to tell certainly. Brugge was such a pretty place, have a look.

  Glen was talking to a 'local' (mate at work), who was saying he goes over to Europe for a day or two to get cigarettes really cheap in Belgium.  Now, being a pack-a-day kind of guy (maybe a 6 pack of Sprite cans that is - ha), Glen thought we could do this too. It turns out, for a 36 hour turn around trip, it's a mere £12.50 each way (that's car and a max. 5 passengers (approx. $20.00 AUD each way - same price as a ferry ticket for one person to Maggie Island I'd say - Crikey! Anyone keen to fill up our car?).  Well we think we'll certainly make a bit of use of this sort of thing. So over we go.  The ferry terminal is not all that exciting, lots of metal and heaps of trucks transporting their goods across channel, have a look for yourself:


So from the white cliffs of Dover to Calais in France, it was a 1 hour 40 minute journey by ferry. On the other side Glen was a little excited to finally be in Europe.  Battling with driving on the otherside of the road was interesting, let's just say we had one close call with oncoming traffic, then we were pretty at it good after that.

As we got off the ferry Glen was searching for the Clandestines who camp out near the truck stop (in some forest apparently). Glen  is a fan of the TV show 'British Border Security' and and knows from the show that when the truckies have  a snooze at night the 'Clandestines' (aka. Stowaways, aka. Illegal immigrants) sneak into the trucks and hide in the cargo. It's their ticket into the apparent country of great opportunity.  Alas, we did not find their 'camp' driving out of the port, but that's not due to Glen's lack of looking.

Well an hour and a half later we're in Burgge.  We headed to Camping Memling to set up camp.  A pretty basic park.  Nice warm showers though, which were much needed - more about that later. Have a look at our set up below:

Magic tent!!! Yeah, real magic - it can magic itself back to shop again I reckon....again, more later.

After setting up camp, we headed into town for the afternoon, took a wander around the city and had a famous Belgian Beer.  Here's our afternoon in images.

Here's our first encounter with the canals that run all around and through the city.  Apparently Burgge is known as the Venice of the west. Nice smile Glenny, you're being so photogenic!

A shop of gateaux, we passed this on our walk into town.



A typical street, always abundant with bikes.



Sneaky photo of Belgian Chocolates. Not sure why it was 'sneaky', I think I fet like I'd get in trouble for photographing the chocolates. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense in hindsight.

Another pic, these are pralines - famed as origninating in Belgium.

making a little purchase.  Still haven't tried them yet!

This is the Church of the Holy Blood. We visited it the next day. A typical Catholic church, very elaborate and rich inside. A little vial of blood is displayed on a purple velvet cushion and guarded by a priest.  This is believed to have been Jesus's blood. Brought here after one of the Cursades.  Others theories say it's perfume.  Me I say.....creepy. Pretty impressive gothic building though.

We tried this beer.  It's a famous Belgian one called Kriek and is cherry flavoured. You can see it's sort of red in colour.  It didn't taste too bad, strong and heavily cherry flavoured, but not the sweetness I expected. there was raspberry too.

I wonder if they fight over bike parks? Do they have bike rage? Do they ring their bell if the bike in front is stalled at the lights? Are there bike trade-in yards, when you want to upgrade your model? I have no answers to these questions, but all the bikes certainly make you wonder...

We saw this beerrmobile in the streets.  They pedalled it round, stopped had a few drinking games, then pedalled on again. Interesting idea, but it was at this point that I realised how old I'd become.

Guess what was for dinner? Chips...mmmmm.... The Belgians credit themselves with having invented the frie (fry? not sure on the singular, it's not often that we eat just one of the things).  More about that in the info for the next day, but have a look at dinner.  Twice cooked fries so they're nice and crunchy with some creamy mayonnaise.

Yummy.....and greasy!

We headed back to camp to get an early night. After nice warm showers we squeezed into the tent - 'hmm Glen, it's a bit of a tight squeeze isn't it, ah well, we'll be ok.....oh dear, now the door's shut, you're too long for the tent, are you right to curl up a little?...Hey there's condensation developing on the inside of the ten, funny that....sleep, sleep, sleep...Geez Glenny can you move over a little....sleep, sleep... Gee I'm finding it a bit hard to breathe in here, I wonder if I have claustrophobia? No, listen to Glen breathe too, it's loud, he's wheezing and breathing far quicker than normal....sleep...Oh, my hair's wet, it's the condensation from the tent, and I still can't get enough air....sleep... Morning, *Glen sits up and his head knocks the roof of the tent. Lots of big droplets of water rain down from the roof all over the blankets*...I hop up with a splitting headache and wonder (just quietly) if I have brain damage due to the seeming lack of oxygen in the tent over the duration of the night. Arggh, this is a disaster! A delightful little tent turns into a nightmare.  One thing I can say I was happy with - being nice and warm and toasty - no thanks to that carbon dioxide chamber! More thanks to my warm jarmies and bedding.

Well this sleep was better than then second night, so no need to relive all the drama again for you, you get the picture.

The next day we headed into town again.  I've given an outline of our some of the highlights of our day below.  I must say, we had a really good time in Brugge - lots of eating, you'll see...

The Fries Museum
Yep, that's what it's called. A museum devoted to the quintessential fry (or chip as we Aussies are more accustomed to saying). From the origin of the potato (did you know it was Central and South America?) to abtract art made of tiny forks (fry eating forks to be exact), this museum was pretty comprehensive.  There are a few theories as to the origin of the term French fries: here they are below, just for your cultural enlightment:
1. As I said in my last post, the French comes from the cut, to french cut something means to cut it into small pieces.
2. During wartime, the Belgians shared their cooked potatoes - with the Yanks, who named them French Fires due to the fact that French speakers shared their crunchy cuisine admist wartime camraderie.
3. A guy named Fritz and his wife pioneered the fry in their restaurant. (Sorry, the rest of his story evades me...maybe it's too much carbon dioxide on the brain - ha ha).

FYI - The potato crisp (or potato chips as we know it) came about after a man in a restaurant requested that his fries be cut thinner. The chef must have been a bit peeved, taking it to the extreme in wafer thin slices and serving these to the customer - who loved it.

Fries dispensing machine. 60 seconds and you have freshly cooked fries. One machine can provide 200 serves.

Glen cookin' those fries, with this experience, he's a shoe-in at the fish and chip shops back home.

Choco-story -The Chocolate Museum
This one was pretty interesting too. Lots of info on the origins of chocolate - the cacao tree in Mexico  (Central and South America have lot to be admired for).

Chocobama!

All my dreams come true, the biggest chocolate egg I've ever seen.

I'm just glad that chocolate doesn't cost 5 days' wages as it did about 200 years ago in England.  I'd have suffered greatly.


Madonna and Child
This is one of the very few Michaelangelo sculptures outside of Italy.  It depicts Mary and baby Jesus.  It's surprisingly small (as most famous paintings and sculptures seem to be; their infamy seems to enlarge their actual size). It was pretty special to look upon something sculpted all those many years ago - 500ish - by one of the greats. 

Aview down the passage to the Madonna statue.

Belgian Waffle
Need I say more? Yum yum. We had two in one day.  Me, dusted with icing sugar and Glenny with cream.

Don't know how waffles with Nutella would go, but we were impressed with the giant bottle of the stuff.

The smallest gothic window around!

Lots of chanels just like this one, but you have to have a license to operate a boat on them.

Picturesque! (just for you Dad)

Belgians and their Beer

Certainly not on our boat ride through the canals, is this interesting wall of beers that we spotted. One of the biggest varieties around I'd way, way too many if you ask me.




Belgian Lace, hawked in souvenir shops all over the city.  I did invest in two pretty hankies, don't tell the grandmas...shhh. They'll head their way later this year.

 Flowers in a Nunnery 


Just pretty, there're those crazy daffodils again.

 Well that brings our sojourn in Belgium to a close.  We didn't get to Brussels, maybe another time. But choosing between the two, we're glad that we decided on Brugge, a weekend well spent I say. Another post to come about our visit to the Western Front, but I'll save that for another day.  Goodnight!