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A Trip to the Ardennes

7 July, 2025 2 Comments
Posted in: Belgium, Travel, Work

While I have been away from my desk, I have not been idle. I have been away many times. Are you going to hear about all these trips? Yes, yes you are.

Nearly 20 years ago I worked with a lovely group of people in Brussels and we have stayed in touch intermittently over the years despite the obvious geographical obstacles. We have gone on weekends away a number of times since we stopped working together but not since Covid and this year we decided to go again. I felt mild trepidation as the Brussels gang had stayed in better touch but I bit the bullet. This turned out to be an excellent decision.

Friday – May 2, 2025

Given the preponderance of our number still in Brussels, we went to the Ardennes. I have never been (Mr. Waffle to me: you have, we have been together more than once) that I can recall. It’s the hilly part of Belgium; though the photographs you will enjoy in the course of this post may make you question that assertion.

The advantage of going to somewhere many people are based is that it is pretty seamless. I was picked up at the airport by one friend and her partner (object of much interest to me as although a long standing fixture for her he was new to me and I had the whole trip to the Ardennes to cross-question him; I enjoyed, he bore up). Brussels airport appears to only allow set down not collection so I was instructed to follow the arrows backwards to the set down area. This worked much more efficiently than I had expected. It had a delightfully Belgian surrealist touch which I enjoyed.

When we got down to the village where we were staying it was evening. This was not a problem as fairy hands had made dinner (one of our number was once a chef, should be a pre-requisite for every friend group) and picked up bedlinen (more of which anon) and opened up the house. It was so much fun to catch up with everyone. I was delighted with myself.

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The house was really cheap so I wasn’t expecting much but it was absolutely lovely. Slightly “L’empire des lumières” vibes below, appropriately.

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Two of the group were staying about 45 minutes walk away and they had to put on head torches at the end of the night and head off into the pitch dark (uber has not made it to the Ardennes, it appears). It seemed a bit unfair that they were the ones who had made dinner but life is a vale of tears etc.

Saturday – May 3, 2025

We went for a walk. Walking is what you do in the Ardennes. The weather forecast was not great. Our prudent Northern Ireland Protestant (you think these things are not sectarian? so wrong) was appalled to find that I had apparently left my coat at the airport; our English friend had forgotten his coat on the train; and our Anglo-Dutch friend had left hers behind. The Pole basically said, “I don’t care about rain so I haven’t got a coat.” “You couldn’t make it up,” said our Northern friend in despair. She and her French partner were fully kitted up. I was glad that they had been largely in charge of importing our food for the weekend. The rest of us were clearly not to be trusted. Might I mention that she also brought tupperware and dishwasher tablets in a tupperware box (if that’s not meeting my stereotype needs, then what is?). All of these items proved extremely useful.

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We started out and the weather was grand actually. Our Anglo-Dutch partner in crime had a spare sun hat (normally she is very well organised as you would stereotypically expect, I must point out, but the coat was a lapse) and I slapped it on and off we went.

We walked to the scenic little town of Durbuy. I have never seen so many Dutch tourists in my life. But it was pretty adorable. Would 100% go back.

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Our Northern Irish French couple had been there a couple of years ago with her parents. Her partner had inadvertently closed the convertible roof of their car on her father’s hand just as they were setting off from Brussels. Mr. French smoothly turned off the motorway and drove straight to the hospital nearby showing great presence of mind. This was particularly so as Ms. Northern Ireland said she had never before in her life heard her stoic Northern father make a sound like that – a kind of continuous keening moan as described to her riveted audience. It was hardly an auspicious beginning to their weekend away. I can’t help feeling that her father was thinking “This would never have happened, if she’d met a nice man from the local rugby club at home.” Not least because no one in their right mind would own a convertible anywhere on the island of Ireland. However it was a bit of a triumph for Belgium, as the hospital fixed him up in no time; sent him on his way; and he and Mr. French were having a beer at this very spot by late afternoon.

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All was well until we were returning to the house when the heavens opened. It was the kind of torrential rain that gets you coming down and then hits you again as it bounces off the pavement. We were in the middle of the country but as extraordinary good luck would have it we were beside the only cafe for miles around. It was more of a truck and some large canopies but any port in a storm. It was kind of alarming when the rain sloshed in sheets to the ground but we remained dry and cozy with the truck owner doling out blankets.

There was talk of sending one of the two people with coats to the house to pick up the car and ferry us back when, miraculously, the rain eased and we scuttled back to the house. Delighted with ourselves.

Dinner that evening was a barbecue. You see our difficulty. The people with the rain gear bore the brunt of the outside work. This prudence lark has its downsides.

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Dinner was great and, obviously, pretty dry for me. We had so much fun chatting. I really like this group singly and together which is a great formula for going away. I often think you never know whether you are really friends with people you meet at work until you leave a job and see whether you want to see people again.

I don’t know how this came up in the course of conversation but my Polish friend referred to when Jesus was in the Olive Garden. I was somewhat startled and then said, “Oh you mean the Mountain of Olives – the garden of Gethsemane”. “Isn’t it the same?” he asked. Well, it is and it isn’t.

Sunday – May 4, 2025

Again we enjoyed a very elaborate breakfast – brought to the Ardennes by the kindly Brussels contingent.

We went to have a look at some dolmens. The area abounds in megaliths. Honestly, who knew?

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On the way to our megaliths we were serenaded by lorries playing hits – it sounded like from their horns? – some kind of protest perhaps? It was somehow a very Belgian experience.

Two of the group had to leave as work beckoned. Alas. The rest of us went to seek an elaborate lunch in a nice restaurant but were cruelly refused by the owners and ended up having a toasted sandwich in the “Maison des Megaliths” interpretative centre. I mean, ok, I guess. At least we had each other. And the setting was scenic.

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We went back to the main house via the smaller place where two of the group were staying. It was in a kind of holiday chalet park; not terrible but not at all as nice as the main house, I fear. The boys in the chalet seemed resigned to their fate which also involved traipsing up to the main house where all the action was. I have to say they were extremely noble.

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Monday – May 5, 2025

My Anglo-Dutch friend and I remained in the big house to shut it up. This entire holiday weekend seemed designed to shield me from any hassle and so it was in this regard too as my friend had booked and paid the deposit so she was, understandably, the most concerned about the ludicrous instructions on cleaning and packing up the house. Behold price list for same. We were never going to be bringing the bedding back (which we had already paid to hire) as we were miles from head office and our only car was back in Brussels. I was not feeling the love. Though overall, even allowing for charges, in terms of quality/value ratio it’s one of the best places I’ve ever stayed, I somehow found this pretty off-putting.

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As I packed my bag and double checked I had everything, I noticed that there was a zipped compartment I had not opened earlier. Well, well, well, what have we here? An idiot, that’s what.

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After we packed we took ourselves off to the train station and the remaining four of us went to Brussels to together. One of the things I had forgotten about Belgium is how excellent the train service is. We were in the middle of nowhere on a bank holiday Monday and it was literally no trouble at all to get a train back to Brussels.

We changed trains in Liège, a city about the size of Cork. Can I tell you that Kent station Cork is very much not like the train station in Liège? I mean, not everything is perfect but still.

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When we got to Brussels, I stopped off in the city centre for a couple of hours before going to the airport. I haven’t been to Brussels in ages and I had forgotten how fond of it I am.

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Since I was last there, they have pedestrianised Boulevard Anspach and Place De Brouckère which used to be a wide traffic choked road with four lanes of cars. I thought it was amazing and deeply improbable. I am thrilled to see that Dublin city council are using it for inspiration for its work on pedestrianising College Green in the centre of the city (long promised but still not with us). We will see.

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Many years ago, when I lived in Brussels in my 20s and my father was still coming to Brussels for work, he would take me to dinner. We would go for a drink in the Metropole hotel on Place De Brouckère (currently shrouded in scaffolding) and dinner in a very down at heel steak chain nearby called the Western Steak which he loved. I was pleased to see that amidst all the new developments, its successor in title survives right beside that legendary establishment “Hector Chicken” formerly Hector Poulet but I guess he’s gone international now.

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I am keen to repeat the dose of a weekend away with this gang next year. Let us hope that they are equally enthusiastic.

Celebrations (Various)

8 April, 2025
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

I forgot to cover Valentine’s Day. We don’t usually do much but we had dinner out this year. And Mr. Waffle bought me roses. I was slightly discombobulated.

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Proof of love, of course, but not as much proof as this cheeseboard that he put together for me one evening when I was exhausted. Tea and cheese, the perfect combination. Fight me.

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Hot on the heels of my birthday comes Mr. Waffle’s. Everyone’s a bit exhausted from the celebration of mine but we rally. He seemed reasonably pleased with his presents (an enormous pile of books) and I took him out to dinner.

Mr. Waffle and I went to England for the St. Patrick’s Day weekend to visit herself. Low levels of celebration of the national saint but a good time had by all.

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After all that goes before, Mother’s Day (where should that apostrophe go? an abiding problem) is generally a bit of a damp squib. As Mr. Waffle put it – there are only a certain number of chips to go around and I have definitely cashed mine in on my birthday. Noble Mr. Waffle bought me flowers and chocolates all the same. A better show than the priest at mass; it was the parable of the prodigal son and he said, “There’s a lot of talk about the father in this gospel reading but no mention of the mother.” Thanks Father. I thought of my own mother who died in 2019; it seems a long time ago in some ways but in others not so long at all. Time is funny that way. I do miss her.

Nach Berlin!

12 March, 2025
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Travel

At the start of February to celebrate the new St Brigid’s Day long weekend (a Covid dividend, finally) Mr. Waffle and I went to Berlin to visit friends who moved there from Ireland last year.

Day 1 – Friday, January 31, 2025

Our friends live in the beautiful Grunewald a very genteel suburban part of town in the forest which we had never visited when we were in Berlin in the baking hot summer a couple of years ago. In retrospect, that might have been a good idea.

After admiring our friends’ very luxurious house where (oh my goodness yes) we felt we would be very comfortable for the weekend, we all went out to a local pub for dinner admiring some charming and many large houses as we walked to our destination.

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Day 2 – Saturday February 1, 2025

February 1 is my mother’s birthday and it was nice to be with a friend from childhood who had known her very well. We had a nice chat about her over breakfast. My friend’s husband is a bit of a breakfast guru and made us all a delightfully elaborate breakfast.

Then off we went to the station to get the S-Bahn into the city. On the way we passed Judith Kerr‘s house.

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There’s a plaque about her father but, sadly, no reference to her. I think it is time to trot out one of my favourite Judith Kerr stories. When she wrote the first Mog story her German publisher insisted on making Mog a male cat despite her objections. In the next book Mog was pregnant. I don’t know, if this is true but I really hope so.

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The train station in the Grunewald has a memorial to all the Jewish deportees. It’s sad and really well done.

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It seems almost unbelievable that they deported more than 50,000 people from here to the camps and almost certain death. The last deportees went in February 1945.

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The cute little station is, I imagine, largely unchanged since then and it is incredible to think of such vast numbers of people being herded through here to their deaths not so very long ago.

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We pushed on into town. We were keen to revisit our Place Savigny stomping grounds from when we were last in Berlin. What a really lovely part of town. Just outside the airbnb where we had stayed, we noticed for the first time Stolperstein with details of some people who had fled to Ireland. In fairness to the Irish Times, they had a great article about the family.

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We had lunch in town. Then, we decided to go to the Gemäldegalerie. Honestly, it is impossible to find. Even though I forget everything, I vividly remembered how hard it is to get there as I nearly died in the attempt in 2022 trekking miles across a soulless, sign-less concrete desert in 40 degree heat. It’s absolutely excellent when you get there. A really superb collection and you have it to yourself because, obviously, no other tourists will be able to find it.

There was a temporary exhibition there with paintings from Odessa and, no shade to Odessa which I would love to visit and which is obviously having a tough time at present, it is the collection of a regional museum with all the limitations that implies. However the main collection was, as ever, superb.

I enjoyed this picture painted by the subject’s husband, a man called Lampi, who honestly, I expect got a piece of her mind as soon as the sitting was over.

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I am a big fan of the quiet charm of Chardin and I loved this beautiful little portrait which is typical of his work.

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Who isn’t a fan of Botticelli? Nobody, that’s who.

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This picture by Joshua Reynolds of an East India company grandee and his family has faded rather badly but it’s interesting for lots of reasons – you know, Joshua Reynolds, always good value; the Indian maid and also, the mother who was née Austen and an aunt of the more famous Jane.

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This guy was a former governor of Ireland – 1st Marquis of Camden from whom I presume we get Camden street in Dublin where the young people like to go of an evening – by Hoppner. It may well be a flattering work but I wouldn’t really be delighted if I were him.

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I’m not a massive fan of Rembrandt myself but a Rembrandt self-portrait is always interesting.

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All I can say about this one is you would have to feel sorry for the inbred Hapsburgs. Even my children instantly recognised this picture as being a Hapsburg due to the extraordinary chin. I bet it was even worse in real life. It’s King Charles V by Christoph Amberger in case you’re wondering.

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There was lots and lots more – amazing paintings in a nearly deserted gallery. I cannot recommend it highly enough provided you can get there.

We were a bit exhausted after all the culture but fortunately our hosts had a voucher for dinner in a lovely restaurant which they chose to spend on us so we were all picked up by this. Incredibly, our waitress was from Kuldiga the tiny town in Latvia that we had visited over the summer. It was like meeting someone from Leitrim: so unlikely because almost no one is from there.

Day 3 – Sunday, February 2, 2025

The following day we went to Potsdam. Poor Mr. Waffle who bought train tickets for us both made some terrible error with the ticketing and ended up spending €50 rather than about €10 due to some difficulties with automatic ticketing. We move on.

Potsdam is very pretty but somehow feels quite Eastern European though, I am pleased to report that Berlin specialty Curry Wurst is available there. A classic.

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We’d gone to Potsdam to check out Sans Souci the summer palace of Frederick the Great. It’s impressive. Great grounds but, just so as you know, the palace closes at 4.30 in winter.

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We had a rather hurried inspection of the interior of the principal palace but, honestly, pretty good for our needs. Many more palaces are available for inspection on a future visit but I believe we saw the main one. Pretty luxe for a summer palace, I can tell you. We had it pretty much to ourselves except for the security guards who followed us from room to room locking each door after us. It felt a bit…pointed but I suppose they were keen to finish up work for the day like the rest of us.

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After our cultural experience we went for a reviving cup of tea and a wander around Potsdam. We got a bit lost on our way to the station and Mr. Waffle asked two German ladies whether they knew the way to the station and one of them said grumpily, “Haben Sie kein Google maps?” Definitely not feeling the love from the locals. But the centre of the town, doubtless reconstructed by the East Germans because they did a lot of that, is very attractive. Though kind of weirdly empty.

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We found the station eventually with the aid of google maps and took ourselves back to the Grunewald where our hosts gave us dinner.

The next morning we were up at cock crow to get back to Dublin. Our hosts warned us that security was really slow in the airport. Never was a truer word spoken and myself and another Irish woman in the queue bonded about how they made Dublin airport security look like paragons of efficiency. Anyway despite waiting an unnervingly long time, we made our flight no bother.

My friend will, I’m sure, be delighted to learn that I’m contemplating an annual trip to Berlin. It’s so nice there, lads, and there’s lots more to see.

The Schedule

30 November, 2024
Posted in: Princess, Travel

When the Princess was at Oxford, I used to visit occasionally and at some point in this process, herself introduced the schedule.

This has been the best thing for our relationship and everyone’s sanity. Term is busy at college and she would always have lots of things on and need to write essays and study as well. Before the schedule, these things would arise at short notice for me anyway (there is no point expecting me to remember details of a social or academic engagement conveyed to me some time ago) and it was a bit unsatisfactory for both of us. Part of the problem was that I was coming for a relatively long time. I was visiting from Ireland so always came for a couple of nights at least rather than a day or even an afternoon which was much more feasible for parents based in London, say.

The schedule changed all this. I knew when she was available and when not. I was able to get dropped off at the lovely little art museum in Christ Church (recommended) or go to the shops or some other fun thing suggested by herself while she went to her tutorials or whatever. It was, as the annoying expression goes, a game changer.

I am visiting her this weekend (bringing this to you live from a glamorous airport bus station) and the schedule has just dropped and it looks amazing. I am v excited.

The schedule is now a fixture. For example, in summer 2023 I was supposed to join her in Florence for the weekend after she finished her art history course and below is the schedule she prepared. Alas, neither of us got to enjoy it. My favourite aunt died and we went to her funeral instead. But maybe we will live the Florentine adventure another time. As my London sister-in-law says, “Life is long”.

Thursday 20th DOWNTOWN

1pm Arrival 

1:17pm Il Santo Bevitore for lunch

3:30pm Uffizi 

7:30pm Osteria Antica Mescita San Niccolo 

9:45 pm Romeo and Juliet at the Uffizi

Friday 21st SANTO SPIRITO 

Brancacci chapel

8:15pm Loggia rooftop

Saturday 22nd NORTH

Museo di San Marco

8pm L’Ortone

Sunday 23rd DOWNTOWN

Market

2pm departure 

It’s a lot of work for her but honestly I think she thinks it’s worth it. It’s an opportunity for her to show off a place she knows to me and both of us know what to expect. The effort she puts in to planning and booking things she knows I will like fills me with joy. In some ways no one knows me better than her and she can always judge what I will enjoy so in addition to the warm feeling I get from all her effort, I really look forward to doing the things proposed and they always deliver.

I say all this in case anyone else out there thinks spontaneity can be a bit overrated sometimes.

Also it’s the last day of Nablopomo. Posts next month will be more…spontaneous.

You Gotta Hoooold on for One More Day*

29 November, 2024
Posted in: Ireland, Travel

I am nearly at the end of November. Content is very limited indeed. I played tennis last night and woke up this morning with a sore shoulder, a sore wrist and a sore lower back. I recovered over the course of the day but I would describe this as an ominous development.

Today is the general election. I voted.

A man came and cut back everything in our garden. I am simultaneously delighted and horrified. I suppose the weeds will all grow back in due course. I took a before picture but it’s too dark for an after picture. Something for you to look forward to next week.

Tomorrow at the crack of dawn (10.00), I fly to England to visit herself.

*Just in case you need the reference. Unlikely I feel but you never know.

Home Again, Home Again

10 November, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings, Travel

And I’m back from the fleshpots of Cork.

I had an exciting day. I went to the Glucksman for my breakfast (a gallery cafe – not bad but not at all as good as the old Crawford Gallery cafe for which I will probably grieve forever). They only had seats outside where I went with some trepidation but despite slight drizzle towards the end of breakfast, it was actually fine even though there were no outdoor heaters.

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Thrillingly, the Christmas craft fair was on in the Glucksman. I mean, I love any old craft fair but this one is really good. All the people manning the stalls had made the stuff themselves, which I really enjoy. I bought a Christmas decoration from a potter and a tea towel from a lovely man who draws lighthouses. We had a little chat, he’s originally from Antwerp. Not so many lighthouses in that neck of the woods. Honestly, I could have stayed for hours but I did not because I was already running late for my next event.

My sister had a spare ticket to an interview with some director from Cork I’d never heard of and I agreed to go with her. It was in the Triskel, Cork’s premier arts venue once a church and, still boasting the slightly uncomfortable benches which are part of any church experience. There were about 50 people there.

The director appeared, a guy called John Crowley. He was really interesting, a genuinely fascinating man; he was about the same age as me and a year behind me in college (I learn from Wikipedia but this is not quite how it describes his college career) and a stalwart of the Dramat but I can’t say I remember any productions in which he was involved. He talked about the films he had made (loads) and then I realised he was the director of Brooklyn and the Goldfinch (as he said, “one of those much more successful than the other, kind of you not to mention it”) and Life After Life and the second season of True Detective and tons and tons of stuff. He was super-understated and just very pleasant as well as knowledgeable. It was a revelation, he has a new film out which screened as part of the Cork film festival (We Live in Time) which I will definitely be going to see when it comes out. It struck me that if he were from Dublin I would definitely have read about him in the Irish Times and indeed this event but the Irish Times does have a tendency to gloss over people who don’t live in or come from Dublin. Is it any wonder Cork people are, I don’t want to say bitter, but bitter adjacent.

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And one final, thing as Columbo would say, a very famous chipper in Cork called Jackie Lennox’s closed down. It was such big news that it was even covered in the Irish Times. My brother queued for about three hours for fish and chips on its last day of operation.

Anyhow, when I was visiting my parents’ cemetery on Tory Top road (Cork word for a pine cone, unknown anywhere else), I passed the establishment in the photograph below. It has (you will have to take my word for it) the same lettering as the closed down chipper. It has obviously been here for some time. What is going on? A real mystery.

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