National Day

National Day for Belgium; another Feestdag  when shops are closed, buses and trains run Sunday services and restaurants and bars are crowded with an increased number of tourists and locals out to enjoy themselves. So, a Day of Celebration which, by happenstance, became a day of despondency
for me, and I write as an incurable optimist whose persistent high spirits can irritate some!

After my lovely, exuberant few days in Britain last week, I came home with a super birthday present from my son and his wife. A slender black Fitbit which really appealed to my slightly obsessive nature.

For any unaware of the nature of a Fitbit, it is a glorified pedometer with added electronic wizardry to tell not only the number of steps walked, but the heart rate at any given moment, calories burned, kilometres walked etc. I think it is something of a craze among young professionals [though not octogenarians] and I have been proudly wearing it all week, absolutely delighted to find that every day, doing everyday things, I seem to walk around 11000-12000 steps, or around 9/10 kilometres. I try to keep healthy with a daily swim and some walking so the new gadget greatly appealed.

I have worn it every morning to and from the Crowne Plaza [worth at least 1000 steps!] when I go for my morning swim, leaving it in my jeans pocket, with my key and Crowne Plaza card, and the rest of my ‘stuff’ [underclothes, case for goggles etc] adjacent to my bag in the changing cubicle. I have never considered putting it all safely away in the lockers available. It all feels so safe in the Crowne Plaza! This morning when I entered the normally sedate and silent swimming area, I could hear two male voices shouting and laughing from the sauna round the corner, and smiled indulgently at two young men ‘having fun!’ I ignored the vast amount of water and sustained water fight I guessed] and entered the pool.

After showering, when I entered my cubicle nearby, I could see that someone had tipped my bag upside down then stuffed everything back in; my shirt was on the floor, the jeans were still hanging in place but the Fitbit was missing. The men had gone; I had seen one briefly when he had dived in, swum two lengths then left and had noticed, mid-water as he turned, near me, that he was perhaps in his twenties, Indian, with a beginning beard. I was stunned that someone who could afford to stay in a decent hotel in Brugge was also a determined thief.



 Grand Café Craenenburg, Markt

A further surprise awaited. The manager informed me, basically, that it was my problem and I could inform the police if I wished. He would not. Eventually after a phone conversation, the police came [lovely men!]. The two predators, towels around waists signalling a hasty exit, had been caught on camera leaving the Fitness area but this was not enough to try to find them. The hotel was full and busy, the images weren't great … etc! There were issues of privacy to prevent my seeing the images on the reception camera etc. At least, I am now bang up-to-date on procedures after theft in a hotel; where responsibilities lie; the ease of disclaimers and the perils of ignoring the safety of lockers in Fitness areas. I have fleeting daydreams featuring a chance encounter [I did, in fact, sit for nearly an hour scanning guests bound for breakfast!], superhuman strength and agility on my part, [totally unreal given that I am 83 next week!] resulting in capture of the two thieves followed perhaps, [this is the Ultimate Fantasy] by cojones on toast to celebrate!

 Terrace, normally used for leisure; occasionally
for consolation!

After a desultory morning with much consolation from enjoying the terrace while reading The New York Times, I made myself go out into the throng; walked to the Groeninge Museum to see the Flemish Primitives, the Surrealists and the Flemish Impressionists which did, in fact, distract and nurture. Afterwards I had a look en passant at the bric-a-brac stalls on the Dijver, and wandered to the Markt where a stage had been erected and an Oompah band was beginning to encourage some crowd-singing. I noticed a spare table at the Craenenburg, next to the pavement in the Markt itself, so cheered myself up with a Leffe Blond, enjoying the music and the pageantry of passing tourists.  Suddenly I saw a friend from the Thursday group, hailed him and he joined me, succeeding pretty quickly in Cheering Me Up with interesting talk. So a reasonably upbeat end to a trying day!


The Call of The Night
Paul Delvaux; Surrealist.