Kalmthout to Grobbendonk

Friday 20 April

An hour to get clear of the suburbs of Brecht. An easy walk along the canal and farmland with usual inhabitants - cows, horses, geese but no humans until I got lost in a large oak and beech forest. I was overtaken by three horsedrawn wagons full of schoolkids. Was invited to jump up but like a fool declined (the sound of schoolkids sent a shiver up my spine). Watched them disappear into the distance and resolved never again to decline a ride in a horsedrawn cart.

Later met up with two rasta carthorses, placid and friendly brutes. Was only mildly lost - a passing jogger pointed out the Westmalle Abbey. Large, walled estate - "privaat domein."

The restaurant across the road was large and modern and, like all things Belgian, of exquisite taste. Bliss. A bottle of Westmalle Dubbel (7.2%) and a Trappist club sandwich (Club sandwich met Trappistenkaas, gerookt spek, sla en tomaten - aka BLT). I promise not to post any more pictures of meals. No separate billing here - "Graag 1 rekening  per tafel." I wonder what those monks get up to when they're not brewing or cheesemaking.

Put on my thongs to air my feet and flipflopped along the leafy lanes to to the youth hostel. I planned to check in and maybe flipflop back to the Trappists for supper. A sign in English announced the place would open in June. I thought unkind thoughts but choose not to publish them. Next place where I could find a bed was Grobbendonk, another 16km or 4 hours away. Poxy little country. Who would call a place Grobbendonk? An hour late I looked up a shortcut on the map. My feet were hurting and my pack felt heavy. Do I really need 2 shirts? It started to rain and I left the forest and started down the road. I had a DUH moment. I stuck out my thumb and the second car stopped. A young mum with her daughters. They were sweet and going to Grobbendonk. She stopped for a minute at the baker's (he roasted chickens on Fridays.) What a place! What people! I asked if they had many tourists in summer. Not that she'd noticed. Small town Flanders doesn't do tourists. There's a tourist guide, but it's only in Dutch (which is what the Belgians speak when they're not speaking French.)

I had the phone number of the only B & B in town. In fact it was a garage converted into a nice little apartment. 35€. The luck of the Wisemans! Dinner at an ordinary looking bistro in the beautiful town square. Lamskroon - perfect. Outside the restaurant a man engaged me in English. "You sound very English." "I'm afraid so." "Ho, ho. Don't be afraid. It's good." He agreed Grobbendonk was a lovely place. Peaceful and law-abiding, too. "We don't have your English criminality." I was again tempted to take a day off, and see more of this area.