Tuesday 1 May - Banneux
I left Liege at 8 sharp with my new friend, Michel. On the flat he maintained a steady 5 kilos per which I just managed to match. He was using a little GPS to navigate with and took us through the cobbled streets of the old town. A companiable smoker leaned out of a second floor window. He was bare chested and I imagined he had just risen from his lover's bed to enjoy the first smoke of the day. He called down to us. "Where are you from?" " Where are you going?" Michel told him and introduced me as an Australian. "You must be crazy" he called and gave us a friendly wave. We are now officially in the Ardennes, the forested hills that run between southern Belgium, Luxembourg and France. Michel was informative. In Belgium, failure to face oncoming traffic when walking is punishable by a fine of 25 euros, but a group of ten or more must walk on the right and the leader and the last walker must carry a sign or wear a fluoro jacket. Dandelions are called pisbloeme, from the smell of the sap.
I met the first hills of my trip, one short but as steep as is possible to climb without scrambling. We reached Banneux 25 kilometres and 5 hours later. Michel wasn't exaggerating his pace. He thanked me for my company, gave me his address and invited me to stay before going off to meet his wife in the carpark.
Banneux is a place of pilgrimage and its single street was crowded with the old, the halt and the lame and well fed expensively dressed nuns, with an admixture of extras from
The Night of the Living Dead. I found a pleasing inexpensive hotel (Hotel la Chapelle, 36 euros)
and settled down to watch the pilgrims with a few glasses of Westmalle.
Wednesday 2 May - Spa
I left the pilgrims of Tanneux at a leisurely hour, not forgetting to fill a bottle with holy water at the spring of St Clare. It was a pleasant walk along footpaths and country lanes although the last part, downhill and in the rain, was on a narrow, winding road with some traffic. I passed a little memorial to two RAAF flyers - Rear Gnr WJ Lemin and Flg Off LK Landridge. I was pleased they are remembered.
Spa was not very inviting in the drizzle. I got an overpriced hotel room in the centre of town and sick of restaurant food bought a can of beans and a baguette to eat in. I also managed to buy a decent map but my heart is set on a GPS like Michel's.
Thursday 3 May - Stavelot
I woke early to a depressing sight. I could see from my bed that the surrounding hills were obscured by a thick mist. How could I find my way in that? The television weather forecast was rain and showers. What was the difference? When I got out of bed I discovered the mist was an illusion caused by net curtains over the window and the view was clear if overcast. I started walking at 10am at a Michel-inspired 5 km per. I was interrogated by several large black Belgian dogs. Where are you going? What are you doing here? This inspired me to take out my Swiss army knife (gift from Godini thirty years ago) and saw down a beech (or was it birch? ) sapling for a walking/dog stick. Then a bit of sun came out and there followed a beautiful walk through native forest to a forest museum which served the admirable purpose of relieving the hoi polloi of the need to visit the real forest which I had to myself. A lot of the path was little more than a stream and I was slowed down by the necessity of mincing from tussock to tussock and bank to bank. I skidded a few times where the cows had been before me. No point complaining about shiite if you choose to walk in a barnyard. The signposts were excellent but after coming down a particularly steep slope I found a signpost pointing into what looked like a drain. There was a dark tunnel, irregularly paved at the side of the stream. Was this a joke? No. All at once I emerged in the centre of Stavelot. I had walked about 17km.
I had booked a beautiful little hotel in the equally beautiful town square. The square was perfectly square but the ankle-breaking cobblestones appeared to have been laid by a platoon of drunks. There was a lovely, plain 18c church, deserted and unlocked, as all churches seem to be. The only embarrassment was that I was unsure which country I was in. The map seemed to indicate I had crossed a border. France, Germany, Luxembourg?
I had a cheap and pleasant roast chicken dinner in a cafe in the company of some friendly drinkers. Back at the hotel I discovered I had picked up a tick which I manage to extract from my calf with the aid of some chuff'n'chafe cream and the tweezers from my Swiss army knife (SAK). I performed as thorough an inspection of my person as a single traveller can and found no more. Luckily I was carrying a little mirror (for signalling aircraft when lost in the desert) which helped. I took a picture of my parasitical pal through the magnifying glass of SAK.
Friday 4 May - Vielsalm
I made a late start from Stavelot. I nearly poisoned myself by drinking some highly recommended spring water in the forest. It was "ferrugineuse" and quite disgusting. To imagine that people pay to drink the stuff and sit in it. The British and the people of Spa have a lot to answer for. Beautiful walking but so muddy I nearly lost a shoe. Managed to find it, however. I saw no-one on the path the whole 15km to Vielsalm.
Saturday 5 May - Burg Reuland
It bucketed down during the night but was not actually raining when I started walking, but started soon after. It was not driving rain, however, and I was quite happy under Brolly. I had learned yesterday that Winston Churchill got the idea of green berets for the Commandos from the Ardennes Forresters. Or so the locals claim. I imagined myself a commando, marching through the rain with rifle (sorry, Stick) at the trail. Brolly is a lifesaver. Did commandos have forrest green brollies as well? I dreaded swamps and lakes along the forest path but none eventuated. It rained most of the day but there was no wind and I enjoyed the walk. I covered the 25 km to Burg Reuland in 5 hours. The hotel was imposing but inexpensive. As soon as I walked through the door a thuggish looking character headed me off. "Voll. Complet. No room." I told him I had a booking. He pretended to look in a register. No record. I took out my diary. Is this the Burg Reuland Hotel? I had a street number. A single room is 45 euros with breakfast? I spoke to a woman, in French. Still no record. Anyway, he could see I was going nowhere. It was nearly a day's walk to the next accommodation and I HAD A BOOKING. It turned out the place wasn't full, merely busy, and he was clearly overstaffed and overworked. He showed me a pleasant single room and I later enjoyed a very good dinner.
Sunday 6 - Monday 7 May - Dasburg (Germany)
It rained all night and was still drizzling after breakfast.I had thought of getting a bus to Luxembourg the city and hiding from the rain there but when faced with the choice of a medium length walk in the rain to the nearest town with only the possibility of finding a bus on a Sunday or a long walk in the rain to my original destination, I chose the latter. As soon as I started the rain stopped and I had a happy stroll through rolling farmland to the Our river. The path was over a series of short, sharp hills all the way, through native woodland along muddy tracks and sometimes on precarious cliff tracks. It was beautiful but tiring. I saw a woodpecker and various small mammals. Then - disaster! I had somehow lost my commando's brolly! I would be drummed out of the regiment. But at least it didn't rain again. I had walked 30 kilometers. I crossed the river into Germany and found myself at the heavenly Daytona Hotel, 38 euros b & b, charming Dutch hosts Hilly and Jan. It was a Harley Davidson themed hangout for bikers. There was free internet and Hilly offered to do my laundry. Excellent German beer. I asked Hilly who did the cooking. She did. What did she recommend? Nothing. Nonetheless, I was hungry and could have eaten a .... And there it was on the menu - horse goulash. I decided to stay a second night. Next day I spent the morning stuffing around on the Internet. In the afternoon I retraced yesterday's steps in search of Brolly. Walking in the dry without a pack was very pleasant. The woods were very Middle Earth, trees and boulders covered in moss, streams running everywhere. I was overjoyed to find Brolly after an hour or so. It was muddy but undamaged. Beanie, Brolly and Stick united again. I must watch this anthropomorphising. That way madness lies. I lost the path on the way back and had to retrace my steps until I found signs, which I followed to the river. Mysteriously it had reversed its direction of flow. Had someone been tampering with the signs? There was a loud roar from across the river. Orcs! No, it was a cow. I made it back to the Daytona after three hours. All that for an umbrella. There was a duty free shop on the Luxembourg side of the river. Vodka was 9 euros, rolling tobacco in 5 litre buckets, umbrellas 12 euros.
Tuesday 8 May - Vianden ( Luxembourg)
I took a fond farewell of the Daytona Hotel. The bill was microscopic. I walked the N10 along the banks of the Our (20 km in 5 easy hours). I stopped briefly in Stolzenburg. I couldn't find an open bar in either Germany or Luxembourg but found a plaque on the bridge commemorating the first entry into Germany by the Americans, 96 days after the Normandy landings. Struck lucky again at the Hentz Hotel in Vianden and found Ricky's Bar where the local cool dudes hang out. Smoking seemed to be mandatory.
I had a few beers in Ricky's and then walked up the hill to the castle, a much restored Disneylandish sort of place. The most impressive feature was a hilarious exhibition of cartoons. I wore the trousers Sue gave me for the first time. They were comfortable but the same colour as my second shirt and my raincoat. Perhaps I looked like a commando. Pity my brolly wasn't the same shade.
Wednesday 9 May - Diekirche
I made a bad choice for my short cut to Diekirche. The road was not unattracive but there was no footpath and I was forced to dodge on and off a muddy verge. I powermarched the 13 km in the rain and arrived in two and a half hours. Diekirche proved to be a smallish working town, home to the largest brewery in Luxembourg. The centre was attractive enough and I took a picture of a statue of a donkey shitting gold coins. I spent two hours in the military museum. Lots of guns and a good historical account of the Battle of the Bulge of which the heaviest fighting was around Diekirche. Madame at the hotel was a very severe sort who made me feel as if she was doing me a big favour by taking my money for a room. I left Stick outside a shop. It didn't matter: there were plenty of trees in the Ardennes.
I had the local speciality for dinner, smoked ham from the neck of the beast.
Thursday 10 May - Beaufort
I said goodbye to Madame. I got a nod. I walked along the banks of the Sauer and retraced yesterday's steps for a half a kilometre in search of Stick. Joy! There it was in the bus shelter where I'd stopped for a fag out of the rain. The old firm united again: Beanie, Brolly and Stick
Friday 11 May
Saturday 12- Monday 14 May
Tuesday 15 May
24 May Metz
