Robin Hood in Italy?

Went, as part of the Dutch course I am attending, to see Brabanconne, on Wednesday evening. It is a 'feel good' kind of film, not a great one but funny, slightly laughing at the Belgians [ the eternal Flemish v Walloon rivalry] and with a light-hearted script which slopes off into song from time to time. Charming. SNT, the educational group which organises lots of different language courses, plus special interests like photography, funds an annual week's film festival at the Lumiere cinema in town and a visit to one film is part of the Dutch course. Tried to understand the almost impenetrable Dutch dialogue but the French, spoken by the Walloon characters, plus sub-titles in both languages, were a great help.


While standing around waiting for the group to assemble to walk to the cinema some distance away, I was totally amused to spot a flyer labelled Robin Hood. As I was born in Robin Hood country and indeed, lived in Notts for about the first 34 years of my life, I have a certain proprietorial attitude towards this noble outlaw.  The flyer was entitled: Una Leggenda Veneziana: Robin Hood. I didn't recognise many of the cast but yes, there were Marianna, Frate Tuck and Zanni il Piccolo who, just possibly, might be Little John. A magical evening to remember is promised with ironia, gioia and musicalita. In the narrative on the reverse side of the publicity material, I see that Robin is described as 'nacque a Venezia' [born in Venice] and as Principe dei Ladri [Chief of the Robbers] but also as Il Salvatore dei Poveri, the Saviour of the Poor. The show [Lo Spettacolo], by Teatroimmagine will be in the Commedia dell'Arte style. Possibly this production is the result of some Italian course at SNT because its name is on the publicity but there are also the names of L'Incontro [the meeting], a group of 'amici dell'Italia a Bruges' plus 'Teatro Immagine'. I love the idea of the whole thing; so many little Italian eccentricities are endearingly dotty and it is a bonusissimo to find this in Beloved Bruges of all places! The images above show the Italian interpretation and the statue outside Nottingham Castle which depicts the more traditional view of the Outlaw in Lincoln Green who Did Good unto the Poor and frequently did battle with Alan Rickman, the evil Sheriff of Nottingham.

I went to see Brussels Jazz Orchestra on Friday evening not knowing what to expect. Was stunned by the size of the outfit; I don't think ALL the members of the orchestra were on stage but there must have been between 80 and 90 musicians; there were, for instance, at least eight of the listed ten cellists playing. The energy and expertise were impressive and the music, by

Ades, Ravel and Peter Maxwell Davies, was vigorous but [ did you feel a 'but' coming on?] it was just too overwhelmingly loud and not my [conservative] idea of Jazz. The music was described as being between Klassiek and Jazz and the audience certainly loved it. For the first time ever, I left in the interval, feeling a bit of a
Philistine.

The photograph above from the BJO website is chosen, not for its close-up clarity but in an endeavour to suggest the sheer size of the outfit!

The following evening, back to the super Concertgebouw to hear Le Banquet Celeste, unknown to me but impeccably Early Music. The leader of the group, Damian Guillon, is a counter-tenor and he and the guest soprano, Celine Scheen, were delightful. There was Vivaldi and Scarlatti and in the second half came Pergolesi's Stabat Mater which was exquisite. The Pergolesi was recently voted top of the
 favourites list by the audience of Radio Klara pushing aside Bach, the perennial choice.

It was a wonderful performance and my evening was made when I bumped into friends in the interval who also gave me a lift home. Rare treat to be in a car these days and able to escape the longish walk home in the cold and rain. I had done that the previous evening, thoroughly enjoying the Christmas lights and stopping off in the Markt, to buy a Gluhwein. The Markt was crowded but less than normal as sadly, many tourists have cancelled bookings for late November and December because of the Paris attacks and the strong Brussels connection and subsequent four day lock-down there. A friend who rang this week from Wye said the British papers all say how dangerous Belgium is. Such absurdity; it is no more dangerous than the UK and less so than London of course. Bruges in particular always feels so intimate a space and so safe; nothing has changed since the dreadful carnage in Paris.

Many thanks for this lovely photograph sent by my grandson Dan, taken when he was here last weekend. The three of us had been wandering among stalls of the Christmas market and were having a drink of Gluhwein I think, when he spotted an impeccable gentleman walking his equally dazzlingly sartorial dogs in the rain. He quickly photographed them with the ever-ready phone, my efforts with camera being much too slow. The dainty doglets were dressed with superb colour co-ordination and care and were quite unaware of the impact they had on the observer!

Turkey; the country not the Christmas

Lovely, just great, to be back home again; such a pleasure to enter the apartment last Thursday Nov 12th after the journey back from Antalya. Unlike the rest of the holiday group it took me longer to return. An overnighter in London where I found a modest but really good hotel near Paddington, traditional area for the weary traveller, dipping in and out of the metropolis. The price was reasonable for London and the breakfast was extravagantly generous; the one drawback was no lift and I was on the top floor. I was so tired on arrival that when I realised, I had a mini-strop and fell back [this is a first!] on my great age. Really could not have carried the small case up three flights. Result! Charming Chinese boy on reception took it up for me thus enabling me to retain enough energy to go out to the nearby Mughals, an Indian restaurant on London Road where I ate food fit for a nabob.

I just loved Turkey with all its differences and must go back. As other people's holiday stories and photographs are always, as a matter of principle, best avoided, I will only foist two pics on you; both taken on a memorable balloon flight above Cappadocia.

To the left, sunrise over Cappadocia and below, dozens of balloons blooming in the Cappadocian sky-garden. Both were unforgettable sights and the flowering of the numerous hot air balloons reminded one that the man-made visual spectacles which occur without an aesthetic intention can be superb in their choreography and impact.

More than one third of our travelling group did not take up this hot air invitation; perhaps the 4.30 alarm call was too much; perhaps the thought of ascending to 1500 metres with no parachute or engine or joystick as it were, was uncomfortable. Whatever, those who did go up, perhaps with limited imaginations, or carefully controlled fears, were repaid a hundredfold for their mid-night efforts. One of the best bits was to be in the wicker basket below the huge balloon as it landed, ever so carefully, on the back of a truck! Impressive or what?!

It is about a week since I rhapsodised above about balloons and alarm calls and I have just not finished this post. Cannot believe my tardiness but somehow I have been either too tired or too busy. Dutch klas test for me on the Monday after my return as I had missed  an exam because of Turkey. Another tomorrow for us all so must spend precious time learning irregular perfect participles. And I now know that I have become sloooooow in the memorising department. Sat next to Arieta last week, a super Albanian girl who defies all the Western stereotypes about her country; she is slender, beautiful, happily married with a toddler and a baby girl due to emerge in April; clever; conscientious; kind. My complaint about her is that she learns new grammar effortlessly thus pointing up my deficiencies which I am reluctant to accept. I forgive her as she is so delightful and thoughtful. Meanwhile my Monday must be spent largely in whipping the brain into activity. Cheering note is that this sort of language-learning is Good For The Aged Brain, [ I read it somewhere] though it doesn't feel like that!!

I noticed with a shock as I approached the Crowne Plaza hotel earlier this week, that its large terrace of smart black and red tables and chairs had disappeared. Concerned enquiry elicited the news that by City diktat, all terraces in the centre must go by November 15th. Astounding but true as I gradually observed in the Markt, at Tom Pouce in the Burg etc. All stripped of their inviting terraces, many under awnings. The Christmas Market has opened this weekend and certainly space is needed in the Markt for the dozens of little shed-like structures housing commercial enterprises selling cheese, Gluhwein, beer, sweetmeats, sausages and so on. My middle grandson and his girl are here this weekend and we were exploring yesterday in spite of cold and rain. The Gluhwein was great and I was astonished to discover a new little ice rink in the Markt, almost at the foot of the Belfort tower. There are stalls filling Simon Stevinplein too and, as yet unexplored, a display of ice sculptures in front of the station I hear. This is my first time here in the Christmas season and it looks great fun.
To the right, an example of the ice sculpture show, this year entitled Land of the Hobbits with over 40 artists involved. As I mentioned, as yet unvisited by me, but the fact that the ambient temperature is kept at -5 Celsius, does not invite. The Ice Sculpture Festival is obviously timed to coincide with the Christmas Market but appears to be completely separate from it. It is, I hear, really, really popular so I will be braving the temperature, despite aged disinclination, to explore!


Dan, Emily and I went to see the Michelangelo in Onze Lieve Vrouw, at Dan's request. I was delighted and intrigued that a 21 year old, not, I think, especially into art, should suggest that. Turns out it is thanks to the George Clooney film, Monuments Man, in which the Bruges Madonna and Child featured as stolen by the Nazis etc. Great, and also yet another tick in the G. Clooney box though presumably he didn't write the script! Nice too for me to be able to swan into the museums here, free of charge now that I have my ID card. Definitely each time I produce my card, there is a tiny frisson of satisfaction at this state of affairs.

Just this moment, Sunday 21st November, have seen through the glass door to the terrace; it is covered with snow I think. The square in front of the building is just wet with sniw on top of some cars but definitely the terrace on the third floor has visible snow cloaking it. And it's still November. I heard somewhere it was to be a hard winter!

European culture and Belgian beer and canals!

Marvellous skies from my windows and I do try NOT to keep photographing them compulsively as they are so delicious. Instead, an image of a lovely Renoir seen at the Picasso exhibition; see below!

Another busy week but a free weekend in which to catch up though this morning, Saturday 31st October, a member of the English-speaking group which meets nearby on a Thursday evening for a few Bruggelings taking the opportunity to practise their English while drinking the occasional Belgian beer, did me a great favour. One of the the group had recounted details of a new beer he had tried and which he warmly recommended; a map was drawn for me as a dedicated beer lover, especially of the Belgian kind. The only sale point he knew was in the garden and pet shop belonging to the mother of the boy wonder who had created the beer and really, a car was needed if one were to purchase the box of 24 bottles. And why would one make the effort to go there [to Sint Kruis, a suburb of Brugge] just to buy six? So John did the great favour by offering to run me there this morning.

I found the whole experience delightful; John commented on various parts of the city en route, often pointing to boyhood houses, and scenes, and the shop proved to be really large and full of garden, pet and household stuff so that we wondered if this were the right place for a beer outlet. Indeed it was and the proud mother pointed to the large display near the entrance. Her son designs brewery installations and is passionate about beer; his aunt suggested he think of creating one for her to sell in her B & B and voila, after some long months in the act of creation, the blonde Spijker bier [ pronounced Speyka beer] was born. Bless him, there is even a Spijker bier glass, in the honourable Belgian tradition. Most impressive and the beer I had, in the special glass, with lunch, later, proved to be excellent. I just love these unexpected little trails which lead to good things!

With friends who were staying, yesterday to my favourite chocolate shop in Simon Stevinplein, Dumon, which combines its chocolate sales with four smart tables and chic stools where customers can order a hot chocolate from a number of chocolate varieties, or, indeed, coffee. A made-in-Heaven combination and incidentally, good commercial practice because it is difficult indeed to resist buying something from the sumptuous chocolates on display after having sampled the free chocolates that accompanies the drinks.

And this was after a lovely hour or two at the permanent Picasso exhibition which boasts 100 wonderful Picasso drawings, engravings, lithographs and some ceramics. There is one early room with a continuous loop showing a film of Picasso at work. The huge exhibition begins with a pleasing display of Impressionist prints, engravings,  drawings, letters and photos by Corot, Renoir, Degas, Rodin, Toulouse-Lautrec and goes on to display works by Chagall, Braque and Matisse with a large corridor of work by the Surrealist artist, Joan Miro before the splendid richness of the Picasso section which deals with Picasso’s beginnings, the Spanish tradition, cubism, the African influence, surrealism, ceramics, portraits, simplicity and his commitment to Peace.

 As one left, exhausted, but also exhilarated, the feeling of delight underlined a feeling of being part of Europe, with these marvellous artists, of different nationalities, all belonging to the greater Europe. Their works were highly individual and their nationalities had shaped their development but as artists, they were, and are, also important pieces in the European cultural patchwork. The wonderful Picasso drawing to the right, is somewhat marred by the reflection of light blighting one eye. One could no doubt airbrush that imperfection out if one only knew how to use Photoshop!

Today, Sunday, a blissful 'do nothing' day which took in a visit to Sint Paulus, the bakery, coffee and a pink grapefruit pastry break at the newly-reopened patisserie on Vlamingstraat nearby; e-mailing; and a long walk to take advantage of the wonderful warm weather this afternoon. I followed the canals from Jan Van Eyckplein and walked for an hour and a half, enjoying being part of the throng, on foot and bike, doing the same. The Autumn leaves carpeting the paths and grass along the route enhanced the beauty of the day and the experience. I finished by returning home to sit on the terrace and read yesterday's Telegraph. Perfection!

I think I must also try to stop photographing reflections in canals; surely a world-wide cliche of Brugge. But, hard to desist from so doing when the results are seriously enchanting.!

A short blog this time; I leave for a holiday in Turkey in a couple of days and lots to do before then!

Music is the solace

After a busy and lovely weekend with friends over from Kent, am reminded of a little jewel of a free performance that visitors and residents alike can enjoy in Brugge. I write of Luc Vanlaere and his harps. Luc gives three free concerts several days a week in the area behind Sint Janshospitaal Museum, and the Pharmacy. He is obviously well-known to many tourists from entries on Trip Advisor and the audience is usually to capacity in the intimate concert room. His current concert is amazing; he plays a variety of instruments; the grand Concert Harp, the Celtic harp, a traditional Japanese harp, Steelharp inspired by the Trinidadian steel drums, and an instrument, built by Luc, which he has christened, the Chromachord, in a series of boxes with the most marvellous resonance. All this and a brass gong from Wuhan in China and several singing bowls. The music is composed by Luc and my friends judged the concert 'magical'. I have heard it several times now and agree!

In fact, quite a musical week to follow the Luc Vanlaere experience. Friday evening [23 rd Oct] to the Concertgebouw to hear the Orchestre des Champs-Elysees and the Collegium Vocale Gent play Schumann to a full and appreciative house. I understood hardly any of the Dutch electronic summary displayed but knew it was described as an oriental folk tale. It showed Schumann's love of literature allied to his narrative skills and in a form which was operatic and often thrilling. I saw Lebanon and Syria  appear on the display board and I think there was a fallen angel and Paradise was mentioned! Quite a magesterial theme and the standard of the Collegium Vocale Gent was superb as were the soloists. The Orchestre des Champs-Elysees and the conductor, Philippe Herreweghe produced the most lyrical and often stirring music. It was a night to remember.

But before that, to Brussels to find .... Marks and Spencers. Unexpected but true. I need to find jeans that will look right with the orthopaedic walking shoes I now have to wear and suddenly I remembered the virtues of M&S which opened in Brussels in May. It was located, situated alongside high fashion shops on the Boulevard Waterloo, and looking more chic than any branch in the UK. Discovered that my faith had not been misplaced; there were nine jeans styles, each in three lengths. Impressive, as was the wonderful girl who helped me track down what I needed. The fatigue of the chase meant no energy to find somewhere else for lunch so the escalator bore me aloft to the delights of fish and chips [in dainty portion!] in the M&S restaurant. A first. 

En route to the next item on my list, saw a splendid Apple Store abuzz with mainly young men in animated discussions and at least one young assistant who  said how much he loved working there; his dream job. Really admire the mixture of pzazz and mercantile cunning of Apple; haven't seen such collective male eager enthusiasm since the attack on the birthday spread at five years old parties. Only the huge, lightest of light, chicest of spaces was new.

After which to locate Bozar on, I think, the  Rue Ravenstein, to sample the fab exhibition, Imagine Istanbul,  with photos by the Turkish–Armenian Magnum photographer Ara Güler -the ‘Eye of Istanbul’.There are also works by Henri Cartier-Bresson and the Turkish-Dutch ‘Photographer of the Fatherlands’ Ahmet Polat. Europalia sent the Belgian Magnum photographer Bieke Depoorter to Istanbul. She returned with powerful images of the legendary city on the Bosporus. The exhibition itself is laid out in the form of a photographic circuit, with new compositions by the French musician Débruit, films, interviews with, amongst others, Orhan Pamuk and installations by contemporary artists such as Ayşe Erkmen, Sophie Calle and Kasper Bosmans. The photographs were wonderfully evocative, especially those of Ara Guler; works of black and white art.

 Two of the numerous works of black and white art by Ara Guler.


Oh dear, have abandoned this entry because of time pressures so now it is rather out of date. No matter; will close with a photo of one of the marvellous Art Deco buildings in Brussels which I passed en route to the Gare Central and home. Loved it; Brussels is really worth time spent in looking; so different from Brugge  but a handsome international city.

Autumn in Everything

Took this photograph from the guest bedroom a couple of days ago; it signals the gradual entry of a favourite season; Autumn grows, Autumn in everything. In the cold nip in the darkness as I walk to go for an early swim and when I return an hour later; for the sunny but coooool inhospitality of the terrace; for the sudden need for a quick shot of heated radiators around 18.00. But, as this picture shows, the smiles of autumnal weather are warm indeed and glorious to receive. I'm busy retrieving gloves and boots and sweaters to exchange for the linens and the short-sleeved T shirts. Time to think 'quilted jackets' and scarves and put away summer fripperies. I look forward to Autumn in Brugge, never personally experienced before. Perhaps little difference from the UK but there must be local diversions and small disparities.

Walking near the Beguinage on Sunday, two days ago, with my son and his wife. we saw a majestic leaf turn flaming among a group of still verdant trees. And in my sitting room, voila, a splendid gourd from the local florist which cost all of two euros recently and which seems to contain all the colours and promise of this season. It reminds me of the friends who bought it for me as we walked wearily home, when I exclaimed with delight at the sight. So this is a gourd to herald cooler days and remind of warmer friendships.


.

And, looking around the apartment, I saw an Autumnal display from the bright Chinese lanterns I bought a couple of weeks ago, and dried simply by hanging in the warm utility room. Plus, the plate of ripening Persimmon fruits just on the Brugge market. When this photo is on the computer screen, the foliage of the three trees beyond can be seen beginning to turn. Indeed, Autumn in everything, including the last two days' temperatures.

On Sunday, 18th October, this Sunday, the eighteen or so exhibits in the Triennale 2015 will be deemed to be over. A pity; I have enjoyed passing many of them, become almost part of the landscape, wondering at the philosophy of each; tourists have clearly been intrigued and entertained; many of the local residents have not appreciated these modern interlopers. I hear that the nuns in the Beguinage really don't like the dozen or so complicated tree houses perched high above the grass and the numerous visitors. One can see the abrupt interruption of modernity in the time-worn rhythms of the religious life and the incongruity of the little aerial houses [built without nails or screws not to harm the tree hosts] which no one can reach or enter, in direct contrast to the modest, traditional rows of Beguine cottages and the mediaeval architecture of the soaring church. Such things challenge and offend: strange houses out of reach to the passers-by, some of whom may be homeless, set among the beauty and the traditions of ecclesiastical retreat. The Japanese artist who designed and installed these little houses, was thinking of serenity, imagination, private spaces, private sanctuary.

Oh dear, still not published because of other things pressing. Now a week after it was begun so time to go!

Of Things Mundane But Nectar Too

Oh dear; I am temporarily confined to barracks with a heavy cold on top of ten day old conjunctivitis. After around eight months of excellent health and vitality, this is a bit of a blow! However, looking around the apartment I can see that life could be worse. 

Farrow and Ball-coloured walls, lots of space, seven huge front windows with the sun streaming through; pretty sunlit terrace the other side of the glass door; a sufficient stock of Duvel and Leffe Blond, the current beer favourites, to indulge, perhaps ... But a drop in energy is not welcome. Missed a concert [Scarlatti]; drinks at someone's house on Sunday [first invitation in Brugge]; Dutch class Monday and Wednesday evenings;. While the latter is welcome in one way, I don't want to miss next steps as it were, the present ones being precarious. I still cannot understand virtually any spoken Dutch though the written is progressing. Fingers are still crossed for a visit with a girl friend to Brussels. [Aborted!]

I cannot remember if I have mentioned an annoying health development; I have had, since May, LisFranc arthritis in the left foot which has already progressed in pain volume, to causing a limp. After seeing an orthopaedic surgeon I am having nine sessions of physio which are marvellous and by UK standards, marvellously cheap. In addition I have to wear MBT shoes which, if any reader is so inclined, can be seen online; they are ugly and expensive. The  wearer has, furthermore, to learn to walk a little differently in them as the soles are curved and I shall go to Ghent to investigate. In the meantime, to an orthopaedic shop on the outskirts of Brugge where only two pairs of shoes were appropriate for my problem. Result, bought one pair for 200 euros and they are walking shoes. 

Fab for the Yorkshire Dales and the Lakes but obviously, as the only shoes suitable for me at present, they obviate about 90% on my wardrobe!! The sunny side of this scenario is that ..... my walking is strong, confident and pain-free. The photo to the left  however, underlines the aesthetic pain I continue to feel!

I was amused as I walked across the Burg the other day, to see the nth bride and groom having wedding pictures taken with a lovely backdrop in situ. I think these bridal photographs are taken, as in China, before the wedding day itself. Bride and groom get togged up and trip off with photographer to a scenic spot, of which there is a multitude in Brugge. I must check; it may be done on The Day but the relaxed approach suggests otherwise and there is never a bridal party. 

The couple I saw were soon enjoying the occasion and a small crowd gathered in time to see the groom Struggling to Pick up Bride and Pose. I was toooooo slow to catch a super shot of her hooped underskirt but did take a picture of the mutual high spirits and enjoyment of an hilarious moment.

I had the unexpected offer of a lift to Lissewege where I had wanted to look at a place selling South African wine, a bottle of which I had bought from the Cheese Market [Kaasmarkt] in August or September. It was unexpected; outside the prettiest village on a commercial estate perhaps. Met the owner by appointment and dived immediately into an extended tasting of Eerste Hoop wines, even though I stressed that I wasn't a restaurant owner. Restaurants in West Flanders form the bulk of his customers.

The owner, Lodewijk , spends around eight months of the year in South Africa and the rest in West Flanders where he has a house and restaurant in Dudzele. Amiable, generous, unpretentious, obviously brilliant at wine-making but to my amazement, with very little English. I had supposed that all South Africans spoke English almost automatically, but what the English always refer to as the Boers [not knowing the word means Farmers] obviously do not.  So the Dutch-speaking South Africans must live, to an extent, separate lives or is much of life conducted in Dutch [Afrikaans] in present-day South Africa. This is an interesting and challenging discovery and I must research further! The wines were marvellous.

Rommelmarkt and Kookeet

Had a lovely Saturday morning, wandelen, as the Flemish say, in the warm September sun. But it was nothing compared to a super sunny Sunday when there was just too much to do. A cold start it was, on the stretch beyond 't Zand where the main Rommelmarkt always is. I strolled down Hauwerstraat towards the Beurshalle to check out the countless stalls on this, the third and final major Flea Market for Brugge in 2015. I think it was the best and largest yet; so many interesting antiques and flea market finds just waiting to be found. The crowds were quite thin at this end of the fair, at 8.30 am, [see photo left] and I resisted much but had to buy two Leffe goblets as I have to drink my Leffe beer from a Duvel glass; a Belgian solecism if ever there was one. So I bought them, loved a small Studio bowl for 45 euros but left it, unwillingly but virtuously. One of my nieces, a collector, would have bought it!

I was meeting a friend at 11.30 for coffee so worked my way down half of the mass of stalls on the actual, main 't Zand toward the Concertgebouw, then stopped, bewitched by a display of mixed Oriental and African items. There were three beautiful Buddhist hangings at the back over which two young Tibetans were agonising when I arrived, and who were still at it when I left. 50 euros is a Lot to pay for something even if it would have been much more expensive in a shop. I saw two wooden masks, from the Congo apparently, and eventually decided to buy both because they are so lovely and primitive. Not ancient; about 50/60 years old, but simple and beautifully peeled and aged. The price might just possibly have come down more than the 10 euros I managed but the old boy selling was re-arranging stuff in his house where the two masks had hung for years and he so clearly loved the items on his stall. I keep in mind, when buying antiques and junk, an admonition from a collector friend years ago. 'Always leave something in it for the other person.' In other words, don't grind the price down to the lowest because you can; leave a little profit for the seller and enhance his accompanying good feelings that come from a sale to someone who clearly loves, and wants to buy, your erstwhile object. Whatever, I left with good feelings too!

We found a table nearby in the sun, the day being still cool, and gradually thawed as we talked until another friend unexpectedly popped up with a German friend who had left his husband nearby guarding a tall column which I would have loved to have examined and will at some point. The two young Germans were flushed with that particular pride which comes to the authentic Rommelmarkt enthusiast who has made A Satisfying Purchase. The feeling is thrilling, quite different from the joy experienced when buying a shirt in a regular shop, for example. It is a mixed sensation of conquest, re the price and the resistance to the lowering of the same; delight at the beauty purchased and, I suppose, the ultimate pleasure of possession! It is the authentication, the validation, the affirmation of one's taste. Ooer, and you thought it was just people buying rubbish!

After that, friend and I wandered towards the station, looking at goods on stalls and grass as we passed, pouncing occasionally when something of real interest was noticed. She tried on several period [Thirties] hats, several of which looked bewitching on her. I dithered, then bought a black wire basket on feet beneath a black and white tiled top. Ostensibly for the terrace but it will stay inside to be used as it looks great on the black tiled dining area floor. Ten euros worth of heaven in fact!

We were on our way to beyond the station to a large area at the back, the beginning of Sint Michiels, for Kookeet, the third, and judging by the huge crowds, popular celebration of food, cooked by named excellent local chefs and restaurants. [Peter Goosens, right, guest chef from Hof Van Cleve restaurant] It was a Tasting Bonanza and it was utterly delicious. One could choose where to spend the tokens purchased on entry so we bought wine then small dishes of food to sample from several well-known restaurants. It was delightful to see the many, many hundreds of people, catching the late Autumn sun, chatting in family and friendship groups and relishing the gourmet fare offered. The workers sustained a rapid processing of eager customers in long queues while managing to stay calm and  friendly; customers seemed to reciprocate; the communal good humour was palpable and the whole affair seemed to be the embodiment of Good Capitalism At Work for the employers/sellers and A Great Day Out for everyone else.

On the wander back from the station, we re-joined the crowd of eagle-eyed bargain hunters nearby; [the flea market stretches down virtually to the train station] and I felt we had finished shopping but were 'just looking'. Contrary to expectations, Katie bought a gorgeous Art Deco decanter and glass set, and I acquired a set of five wine glasses with black 'feet' and design plus a sixth, almost the same! Also a large, austere large brown jug for which I had to borrow ten euros as my entire war chest had mysteriously disappeared. Such a Good Day was had by all, or at least, by Us Two though everyone else also appeared to be coasting happily along, looking and purchasing and dithering.

I now have to show off the other mask as it is SO elegant. I had originally thought of them for the terrace which I am slowly, and often tentatively, decorating with beautiful furniture and some plants. I am unused to a garden with only pots and on the third floor of a building; quite different from the small shady garden and courtyard in Wye which I knew well. So, one pot of a beautiful grass died within three weeks of the effects of heat and wind. Thus, after examining the two Congolese masks, I have decided to keep them indoors for the winter at least; they are of a light-weight wood, quite frail and weather-worn already so think they must be treasured inside the apartment for now. I am now considering how one displays them. I could do with a small, heavy base of metal or wood, with a thin column like a stick on which to perch the face/mask. That would work but where to find?

Before I close, Luc has enquired and told me where I should find small display stands from a shop in Sint Andries so off I go to catch the No 15 bus on Saturday morning, to explore Sint Andries which I don't know at all.