But next day my feet felt fine and I set off at nine. An hour later I crossed the Albert Canal and stopped for breakfast at Bouwel. Bacon and egg sandwich. Coffee came accompanied with a Snickers bar, a little biscuit and a shot glass of Avocaat topped with whipped cream. Is this usual?
The path took off into fields behind the cafe. A man and his dog stopped to talk. He spoke English, also Spanish, Portuguese, French and German, having been in the transport business. "Then a very bad thing happened. My son died. He was 38. I go every day to visit his grave over there, to talk to him. It's been a terrible time. My father and sister died too." "You must be happy sometimes." "Yes, when the sun is shining." I hadn't seen 10 minutes sunshine for a week. After a while we shook hands and parted but I thought about him all day. Took my mind off my feet on the 30km hike to Westerlo.
By mid-afternoon I had of course daydreamed off the path. I asked a man in his garden the way to Westerlo. "This is Westerlo." Didn't look like a town. Where was the Abdij? He pointed to a tower on the horizon. Shuffled down oak avenues for another hour. The secret police had been doing their work on my feet with the iron bars again. Found the youth hostel. Full up with youth. I called up the Hotel Geerts, best and only hotel in town. Pricey at 116 euros but it was a seller's market. Another half hour's walk into the centre. Lovely room. Long bath! I was going to use that. Cleaned my ears with the complementary cotton buds. Moisteurised my face with the complementary moisteuriser. Dove! Checked my email on the complementary internet. Checked out the complementary garden and attached forest. I was practically making a profit on this place. I booked in for a second night. Needed a rest. 120 km in 4 days. Too much. Had a cuppel of dunkels and a pork stew in a cafe opposite the hotel. My face was stinging. You can get burnt even when it's overcast.
Back at Geerts Hotel another of those "we don't see many strangers round here'' moments. An elderly party engaged me in conversation. He was a GP, studied medicine at Louvain. Every year he comes here for a reunion. The club is 120 years old. He is too old to work but his patients are even older and refuse to let him retire. "Perhaps you could hurry them along a little?" He didn't understand. "And you are walking for pleasure?" "Well, it's not a penance." Ho, ho, ho. But the way my feet are feeling...
Later got in the bath with all my dirty clothes and a bottle of dunkel. (3.60 euros from the minibar but at 10% a bargain. "Like an angel pissing down your throat.") I went to the moisteuriser again. It wasn't moisteuriser, it was soap. I was digging yellow gunk out of my laughter lines for the next two days.
Sunday 22 April
Complementary breakfast. All my dreams fulfilled. Silver service, fruit, yoghurt, stewed stuff, bacon & eggs. Didn't know what to do with the chocolate sprinkles. No Avocaat.
Ambled a couple of km north to Norbertitijnabdij in Tongerlo. Red brick buildings surrounding a lawn the size of a soccer pitch. Deserted, not even a monk. The church was the size of a small cathedral, C19 neo-Gothic. Absolutely empty and amazing acoustics, my smoker''s cough echoing for seconds. Lit a candle for the man in Bouwel.
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