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.
The house was really cheap so I wasn’t expecting much but it was absolutely lovely. Slightly “L’empire des lumières” vibes below, appropriately.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I am keen to repeat the dose of a weekend away with this gang next year. Let us hope that they are equally enthusiastic.
