Tinker's photos

My only friend at Maredsous, this black cat (how ironic). Outside the back entry where I went to smoke, there was a cat house (with a flappy door and comfy bedding) and a feeding area. Two tabbies ran away when I approached, but this black cat came over and purred and rolled over to offer his belly. I was so grateful for the warm welcome.

I booked into Mardsous Abbey for a three day retreat. Their website is in four langauges: French, Dutch, English and German. It says "For St Benedict, hospitality is a special concern for monks. All guests to the monastery should be welcomed as Christ". My welcoming word were "you're early". Although I had told them in advance that I did not speak French but did speak Dutch (one of the official languages of Belgium) and English, they seemed not only totally unprepared that I was not francophone, but positively shocked and upset by it. There was a double paged sheet of information in my room laying out the rules, but it was only in French. The monk in charge of the hôtellerie spoke a little English, but only gave me the briefest of information. I asked where I could go, could not go, and from what I understood I could only go to my room, the dining room, the common room, and the church. Nowhere else within the abbey, nor the inner courtyard, nor the gardens. I kept making clear faux pas (from their reactions) but I had no idea what I was supposed to do or not do. They seemed borderline hostile towards me, once they realised I could not speak French. Not at all what I was expecting. Outside the abbey itself, in the grounds, all the signs and info were in Dutch and French, possibly in accordance with Belgian law. Within the abbey, I found nothing in anything but French.

The view from my window at the abbey

My room, 215, at Maredsous. Clearly a former monk's cell, as were all the rooms on my floor. It was roomier than I expected, and had wifi, also unexpected. I was not allowed to make any noise, including phone conversations. Fortunately, I could text. That saved me

I still get a kick out of seeing road signs with multiple countries on them. Never in Australia

Rubbish day in Liège. Instead of bins, the residents of the apartments use special bags - can't just use usual garbage bags. There are no stray dogs or possums, so they don't get busted open in the night.

Bakery in Liège preparing tomorrow's bread. I can't believe how neat it is!

Another Belgian beer (there are 1600 of them, so I am not going to make it through all of them on this trip, no matter how hard I try.) This time Leffe Royale Whitbread Golding

Boulets liégeoise - a classic local dish. Tender meatballs served with a salad and fat chips

Another menu that I did not "liberate"

So Belgian! A sex shop next to the Maison du prière eglise université (literally "Prayer House Church University")

François inherited this "V-mail" from his grandfather. He has tried to track down the family to send it to them but has had no luck. It's not awfully clear with the thick ink

The war memorial towering in the distance

Me and Eugénie with our gelati. One of the few advantages of my PTSD is I can eat as much as I want and still don't put on any weight so I got three scoops

Me and Eugénie with our gelati. One of the few advantages of my PTSD is I can eat as much as I want and still don't put on any weight so I got three scoops

Gelateria A Cortina near François & Eugénie's place

Gelateria A Cortina near François & Eugénie's place

street tulips in grass - couldn't do this in Australia - the grass would be over the flowers in no time