Spring in Wallonia

Spring is a bit late this year, so all Belgian media made clear to everyone that this was going to be the first warm weekend of the year. 

And it was indeed. 

While half of Belgium went north towards the coast, we went all the way south, to the Ardennes, to a beautiful B&B on the river Semois owned by a very chatty Frenchman who eventually acknowledged that in Italy you could even find *some* good wines. 


The triangle Florenville, Martue and Lacuisine is the starting point for a little Walloon circuit. Not before tasting the local pride going by the name of Orval beer.

Almost too obvious, the first stop needs to be the Orval Abbey, probably the star attraction of the region. Tourists are buying beer there, but we, the locals, know better, don't we?

Hence, time to move on and venture into France to discover Avioth, a small village of a few dozen souls, endowed with an oversized Basilica, a historical mystery probably due to some miracle appearance.

I could not resist taking a photo of the bucolic postcard view of Chassepierre, before heading to Buillon and close the circle with fortress, Godefroy and all the other memories from childhood history classes.

Primo agosto

E cosi' il primo agosto c'era il sole a Bruxelles.

C'era persino qualcuno in giro, macchine nei tunnel, ausiliari del traffico a Flagey, cercatori di Pokemon e nonni con bimbi nei parchi. C'era la lentezza dei movimenti e delle decisioni, in risposta all'urgenza di fermare il mondo durante le vacanze. C'erano matasse da dipanare grandi quanto piramidi egizie, a settembre però.

Tu non c'eri, eri su un altro pianeta a fare lunghe camminate nei boschi o ragionevoli riflessioni in riva a un mare estraneo.

E c'ero pure io a Bruxelles. A salvare il mondo, una briciola alla volta, piano piano. Forse troppo.

Il due agosto ricominciò a piovere, il traffico tornò nel tunnel Cinquantenaire.

Io me ne andai.

Are we strangers?

There are times when the Bible saying "aliens and strangers in this world" comes to my mind.

Sometimes it is a political statement. If we (cristians) are aliens and strangers, simple pilgrims in this world, why should we impose our laws into the codes of a country? If you believe and divorce, you will go to hell, but not to jail.

Sometimes, it is about life. A twist of logic makes someone's mistake become your fault.

Sometimes it is about Belgium.
In my home town, we say "little blond heads" and we mean a bunch of children from some remote north- or east- European country.
In my country of adoption, they say "little blond heads" and they mean their own children playing in the backyard.