Through the Ardennes

If you’re visiting the eastern Ardennes, the handiest starting point is big and gritty Liège, an industrial sprawl from where it’s a short hop south to the historic resort of Spa and the picturesque town of Stavelot, with its marvellous carnival. You can use Spa or Stavelot as bases for hiking or canoeing into the surrounding countryside and to venture into the Hautes Fagnes, though the attractive little town of Malmédy.  --The Rough Guide to the Ardennes

A short drive across the border from Maastricht, the hilly green  region along the German border of Belgium has always been a draw for a day trip.  Although the site of many battles during the first and second world wars, today’s  roads wind through picturesque villages, along peaceful streams, and through quiet forests that are time and worlds apart.

It’s hard to envision tanks and infantry being able to navigate the rugged valleys and dense brush that covers most of the region.  While it provides cover, it must have been slow going for any campaign.  The abundant memorials suggest that progress got stuck, allowing battles to be fought, almost everywhere.

We started in Spa, predictably the home of one of the oldest mineral cold spring baths in Europe.  Casinos joined the baths in the eighteenth century, and the German Army used the town as it’s principal headquarters in World War I.  There’s a lovely local beer, Bobeline, for washing down ham and cheese croque whilst people-watching along the main boulevard.

Spa is relaxing.

   

Stavelot is the historic center of the region, the home of an Abbye that dominated culture and politics for centuries.  The museum follows the evolution of the complex and the personalities who dominated it, some inspirational and some venal.  The ebb and flow of wealth,  repeatedly built up to the glory of God and then dissipated for the pleasures of  men, mirrors both personalities and power. 

    

So little is left: I didn’t realize the significance of the low walls and high arches when we arrived, then had to take a long walk around the outline before we left.  It’s a remarkable construction.

Stavelot is thoughtful.

Incongruously, beneath the Abbye is the F1 Racing Museum. It’s   a delightful collection of vintage cars and motorbikes, linked to the nearby Circuit de Spa Francorchamps.  My son was a big fan of F1 racing, he didn’t understand my neglect of it.  I made some amends today.

  

We made the stop at Malmédy late in the day, more for completeness and hunger than anything.  A quick round of the church, then abundant frites, blond beer, and spiced meat-on-a-stick made the world right again.

Malmédy is comfort

  

Back through Ghent

The black ice is finally off the E40, the major highway across northern Belgium.  It was time to head back to England, back from Carnival, back to fundraising.  The drive to the ferry at Dunkerque was familiar, skirting again the two dominant cities in Flanders: Bruges and Ghent.

Both were major centers for trade in woolens in the Middle Ages, both suffered in the sixteenth century from wars and declining political and economic influence as power shifted east to the Brabant (the cities of Brussels and Antwerp).

I like both, perhaps giving an edge for Ghent with its picturesque central harbour and trio of church steeples.  Ahead of schedule, I pulled in for a walk and a lunch.

For me, Ghent is water: connected to the Western Scheldt bay by the Ghent-Terneuzen Canal.   This feeds waterways throughout the city (rather than around it, as with Bruges), and I particularly like the Leie river tributaries that meander through the town center.  A waterside café, Falstaff, under a blanket with a bier and a tagliatelle is a nice break, with canals and castles nearby.

  

My other landmark is the three church towers aligned along Cataloniestraat:  Sint-Niklaaskerk (left, below), Het Belfort van Gent (the Belfry, a watchtower), and Sint-Baafskathedraal (both right, below).  Here, I have a preference for Saint Nick (interior pictures, below), more intimate and interesting.

 

From there, another hour’s drive to the ferry and a late afternoon crossing back to Dover.

‘would be nice to linger, but its an aspirational goal for now.

Bruges and beyond

I hadn’t planned to spend Valentines on the highway.  But pitch schedules, ferry prices, Carnival friends all boxed in the travel dates.

And then there was the moment that the ape and the banana climbed on board….

I’m not sure that they ever got to Prague: this was one of 30 student teams racing from Edinburgh to the Continent for charity at half-term.  The egg that they were protecting had long since broken and they weren’t sure how to get across the Channel, but they tucked in back between suitcases and grocery boxes and slept most of the way to Dover.

The crossing was easy beyond the usual winter cold, and we made mid-afternoon arrival in Dunkirk.  Rather than rush straight through to Maastricht, it made more sense to drop off the E40 into Bruges for a dip into moules and chocolate.

I’ve always liked Bruges.  Although the best bits aren’t accessible in winter, the Grote Markt square, surrounded by ornate gothic towers and travée brugeoise shorefronts, is a delight at sunset, when the contrasts and colours are at their best.

With the Valentine’s Day holiday in full swing at evening,the chocolatiers were staying open late and doing their best to attract the forgetful and desperate.

 

The 13th century Golden Age . core is surrounded by 15th century canals, built to re-establish the city’s authority and connection to the sea.  Trade never developed to the level expected, but the waterways set off the city walls and buildings and helped to establish it as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

 

Naar Zussen en terug

Zussen is sort of a non-entity: it doesn’t appear in Wikipedia and is only a green smudge of buildings against surrounding fields in satellite photos.  ‘Located just over the Belgian border in Limburg, it is best known for it’s high-quality limestone quarries and hospitable climate for growing mushrooms.

The brick pavement along Kesselskade was shining red from overnight rain as I turned my bike south along the Maas.  Sleep wasn’t coming easily, again, and a morning ride might clear my head and boost my spirits.  The only traffic was the early barges thrumming along the river; the only people were workmen laying a new highway above the expansion of the shipping locks.  I turned west, pedaling hard past the joggers along the Albert Canal.
  

Normally I head right at the bridge back towards Maastricht; today I turned left across the border into Belgium, along cycle path 80 up through the Tiendeberg preserve.  The stiff climb leveled out into spectacular rolling fields of golden wheat and green corn.  A church spire and brick houses marked Zussen, glowing in fresh-washed morning light, nestled in a hollow.

  

I did, of course, manage to get confused among the tractor trails and farm roads, taking pictures and circling a bit out of my way before finding the main roads and the river again. But the rolling landscape, reminiscent of the Palouse hills, was really lovely, serene and still at 8 am.

By any reckoning, a good start to the weekend.