Belgium

A Lot On

24 July, 2026 5 Comments
Posted in: Belgium, Ireland, Reading etc.

It’s been a busy week lads. We were out not once but twice for dinner. The second time was last night with friends from Brussels who we have seen over the years but not as much as we would like as they are that wonderful thing: a couple where both of us like both partners. Hard to find. They’re on a three week holiday in Ireland with their dog. I hope the rain holds off for them but I doubt it. They’re starting in Donegal and working their way down the west coast. They had just been in England for their daughter’s graduation. My strongest memory of her is of a short haired forceful toddler so seeing the photos of the graduation gave me a land as Cissie who used to mind me when I was little would say. They are the nicest couple and it was really lovely to see them.

Today, overwhelmed by the hype I bought myself the last ticket to see the Odyssey in the IMAX at 11.30. The woman who took my ticket told me that it has sold out every showing. It’s quite long. Not bad or anything but I probably wouldn’t have gone were it not for the hype and I would have been right. Though it did give me some mild extra insights into James Joyce’s version of the same story so there’s that. And I found myself reflecting again on my friend’s daughter who has a perfectly normal name but had a narrow escape from her mother’s early determination to call her Calypso; ultimately she was saved by her father. If you like Christopher Nolan and swords and sandals, go for it. Even hardhearted me shed a tear when he finally made it back to Ithaca.

And also, the painter has been here all week painting the railings and the front door and the upstairs bathroom. It’s trying, there’s no two ways about it though he does an excellent job. His personality is gloomy and with me working from home a couple of days we saw quite a bit of each other; I’m not sure either of us was delighted by this development. But I am delighted by my newly painted front door, so there’s that.

Liège

21 February, 2026
Posted in: Belgium, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

Can I tell you how surprised I am that my youngest child decided he wanted to go on an Erasmus trip? He was adamant that he wanted to go to Belgium where he was born and francophone Belgium to boot. I would have loved if he had gone to Brussels but the only university his faculty had an arrangement with was Liège so he decided to go there.

The preparatory period was not without its alarms. He discovered quite late in the process that he would be having a lot of lectures in French and he needed a certificate confirming his level of French was sufficient. This certificate was available from the Alliance Française at considerable expense and the test was after the date he was due to arrive in Belgium. His university authorities gave him a cert with a stamp. “How did they know you spoke French?” I asked. “They didn’t,” he said. I am very grateful to them for their flexibility; not a distinguishing characteristic of university administrators when I was in college.

Anyway, he got there and the day rolled round at last for his departure.

Thursday, January 29

I was working from home and took a half day only as we were travelling in the afternoon. If I have learnt anything from this experience it is that it is a terrible idea to try to work the morning you are travelling. You’re welcome.

I left the house in a state of some anxiety. We had a late lunch in the airport at this place called Fallow which I know to be vile yet I keep falling for its menu descriptions. I had the worst burger I have every had in my life and I dropped ketchup on the only pair of trousers I had brought for the weekend. A great start.

When we arrived in the airport, the car hire man said that he had upgraded us to a jeep. I am not the biggest jeep fan but this was not the biggest jeep. It was also canary yellow. I noticed that everyone treated me with a lot more caution than when I drive my ancient station wagon at home. There is something about a canary yellow jeep that says don’t mess with me.

Saintly Mr. Waffle drove us to Liège which is about an hour from the airport. We had agonised quite a bit about where to stay in Liège. The main university campus is a 15/20 minute drive outside the city and in the end we thought that it would be good to stay near there so the Erasmus student could acclimatise to his new surroundings. Huge mistake. We were in the middle of nowhere. Which is also where the campus is. It’s basically out in the woods.

The airbnb when we got there was lovely. And delightfully cosy. But actually trying to find it nearly sent us to an early grave.

“Who stays here?” said Mr. Waffle when we got in. Who indeed?

I signed up to uber eats something I had resisted to then but when the devil drives etc. I have to say, it was extremely efficient if not totally delicious.

Friday, January 30, 2026

First things first, we went in to the city for breakfast in the Pain Quotidien and very satisfactory it was too.

Himself went off to a welcome day (highlight was a tour of the opera house – whatever floats your boat, I guess) and Mr. Waffle and I had the day to explore.

Liège is a curious place. It was run by a prince bishop for about eight hundred years. It has all of the infrastructure you might imagine for such a place including a truly spectacular bishop’s palace. After 1795, there was no prince bishop but the area and the city became an industrial power house. An English guy called Cockerill seems to have been the main mover in the industrial revolution and there are still ample signs of his presence in street names and so on. In the industrial 19th century they built an opera house and the like. The city still reflects the money that was there in the past but like many another industrial region the post-World War II era has been one of long slow decline and Liège is left with the grandeur of another era and not a lot of money at present as far as I can see. Beside the river are acres and acres of rusting factory buildings from its heyday which is not the most attractive riverside feature.

I am developing a theory that the more affluent a place, the more likely it is to have good cycling provision. I will tell you, you would take your life in your hands cycling in Liège and the car is king with parking spaces everywhere.

As it was a prince-bishopric, churches are big in Liège. The biggest of all, the cathedral was knocked down in the revolution. It was replaced by the next best church which is now the cathedral and quite impressive all the same.

There are seven collegiate churches and all, I am sure, are well worth a visit but we only visited one. It looked a bit down at heel but we had it ourselves. Please admire St. Denis and a positively disturbing Curé of Ars.

Damp seems to be a bit of a problem.

Although there was some spectacular woodwork.

There was an absolutely terrifying confession box. What kind of psychopath installed this?

We went to the tourist office which was large, well-staffed and well-stocked and empty except for ourselves (to be fair the end of January is not perhaps the best time to visit). The man behind the desk seemed genuinely delighted to see us and was very helpful. Their guidebooks and maps were extremely useful so off we went to explore further.

I took us to the Curtius museum which was large but a bit dull. Mr Curtius supplied weapons for the Spanish army so munitions were big. The art collection was limited but there were a couple of examples of the lactation of St. Bernard. You were not aware of that? Well, here’s a treat for you.

Separately, I quite enjoyed the tranquil expression on the woman’s face in this offering.

There was also a very sad memorial to the Jewish population of Liège who were murdered during World War II.

The big thing to see is 374 steps known as the Montagne de Buren. It gives a good view and is not as hard to climb as you might expect.

Better than that is the way back down the scenic narrow roads.

These lead to the extraordinarily vast bishop’s palace complex which is across from where the cathedral once stood and is still the administrative centre for the province of Liège and the seat of the courts. We poked around a bit. I was unsurprised to see that the authorities in their wisdom had set aside one of the courtyards for parking.

We also had a look at the city hall.

Simenon was a local boy and apparently he liked this part of town. I suppose I should have brought one of his books to read on his home turf but I was not able for a French novel on top of the logistical challenge of installing a child in another country.

We went for a sustaining cup of tea and had this slightly intimidating cat glare balefully at us.

After Michael finished up, we went hunting for dinner. We had neglected to book for dinner believing we could stroll in anywhere. Apparently the burghers of Liège are good at booking ahead; we could not stroll in anywhere. We had a quite revolting dinner in a Danish tavern. I do not want to speak of it.

Saturday, January 31

We had a late start which Mr. Waffle did not enjoy. Is it my fault that he is always up and about at the crack of dawn?

He and I went for a nice walk in the nearby wood while our child slept on. God almighty this place is in the middle of nowhere.

We went to the supermarket and laid in stocks for the youngest child to survive in a foreign land. We checked out the Sart Tilman campus and we found where his faculty was. The area was full of young scouts in shorts; I had forgotten this aspect of Belgian life but scouts are very prevalent in Belgium. Millions of young children supervised by a couple of supremely laid back teenagers. It works for them, I guess.

We went to inspect the newly built and newly opened accommodation. When we arrived there both of those adjectives seemed inaccurate. The young man on reception in the old building confirmed he had our student’s name on the list but when asked whether the new accommodation would be open on Monday when he was due to move in, the student receptionist laughed and said laconically, “I doubt it.” This was not calculated to reassure the student and his parents.

We went into the local (one horse) town to recuperate. Pleasant enough in its way but not exactly hopping with life.

We pushed on and went into Liège to find dinner. It wasn’t as bad as the night before but it was hardly a triumph. It was a matter of some regret to me that despite Belgium being the home to really excellent food we had mostly mediocre meals. Alas.

Sunday, February 1

I made us all go to a long and quite early mass in the cathedral. The mass was described as “Irlandais” but all of the hymns were new to us and mostly French (some Latin). I just am unsure that this makes it an Irish mass.

Anyhow it was St. Bridget’s day and my mother’s birthday so it was nice to get an Irish mass, however served.

The closing hymn was Prince of Egypt by Hans Zimmer. Again I have some questions about the designation of this mass as Irish.

After a sustaining breakfast at the Pain Quotidien (eat what you know) we took our beloved child for an obligatory visit to the Bishop’s Palace. He was exhausted after this cultural adventure and we took ourselves back to our accommodation to regroup.

Mr. Waffle and I being gluttons for punishment went back into town to go to the art gallery to see a Doisneau exhibition. This was really great though heaving. Mr. Waffle actually met Doisneau when he (Mr. Waffle) lived in Paris and has one of his pictures signed by him. I had his picture “Les Locataires” on my bedroom wall for years. I hadn’t realised but Doisneau had taken lots of photos in working class Parisian suburbs and industrial towns. Really interesting. And all of the rest of the stuff you might expect.

I loved loads of the photos.

After a sustaining cup of tea we tackled the permanent collection. This was charming and, mercifully, small.

The picture they seemed proudest of was of Napoleon in Liège by Ingres and why wouldn’t they be?

But there were loads of other very enjoyable pictures. Paul Delvaux is big.

And there was also a Picasso.

There was a big picture by Constantin Meunier – another Belgian artist – who specialises in men doing hard physical work.

We had dinner in a pizzeria. Again, to be honest, a bit of a disappointment but look dinner is dinner. And as Liège is under touristed everyone was very excited to hear we were Irish, something other European destinations have become distressingly jaded by.

Monday, February 2

With some trepidation we brought Michael to his accommodation. The builders were on the same corridor as he was, fixing stuff. A woman was frantically cleaning in their wake. But his room was available. We rejoiced.

There was no wifi for the room and no electricity for the appliances in the communal kitchen. The washing machine was coming. This hilarious message came from the authorities the day after he moved in.

Within two weeks he had wifi (2 days later), kitchen appliances (1 day later) and washing machines (full two weeks he had to go into Liège to a launderette something not rendered easier by the ongoing bus strike).

I have to say that I did not feel fantastic leaving him with these rather meagre resources in a small dark room (which he, rather tactlessly, pointed out was bigger than the box room he has at home- he is to move to the firstborn’s room on his return from Liège as I have, with great reluctance, accepted that she’s unlikely to live at home again).

On the way to the airport Mr Waffle and I stopped in the small hamlet near his rooms where I had identified a supermarket which he might use. It dealt exclusively in luxury goods – you know the kind of thing, one perfect carrot on a silk cushion. Shortly after we left he had to buy toothpaste there. I was a bit surprised they had toothpaste but not at all surprised to hear it cost him a tenner. Teething problems, I guess (ha!).

Mr. Waffle and I headed off gloomily to the airport; however, for reasons which are not entirely clear we had lounge access. I would recommend. We discussed our worries in quiet with vast quantities of free food and drink. Could have been worse.

Let’s hope the student loves it in the end.

Saint Nicolas

6 December, 2025
Posted in: Belgium, Family, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

He came – after all these years. As I write one of the Dublin based children is still in bed, so possibly excitement levels are not what they once were. But look, it’s the thought that counts!

I guess it’s a long time since 2006.

A Trip to the Ardennes

7 July, 2025
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.

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.

Did I Not Dance With You in Brabant Once?*

2 March, 2024
Posted in: Belgium, Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Work

I was at a round table event during the week. I was introduced to the chair and we looked at each other for a bit and I said, “Did I last meet you in an escape room?” I had. He is a buddy of my sister’s partner and we all went to an escape room for his (sister’s partner’s) birthday last year (look, it takes all kinds).

As I looked around the room there was another man who looked familiar. During a break in proceedings I asked him, “Were you by any chance working in [place] in Brussels in November 1998?” He confirmed – looking a bit puzzled, I have to say – that he was. “You were sitting beside me at dinner the night I met my husband,” I said to him. He was surprised. We both knew the birthday girl – a friend in common – but he had no recollection of the dinner. Look, more important to me than to him. We hadn’t met since but I recognised him because he was unchanged. He was a perfectly normal looking 50ish year old but he was a very old looking 30ish year old. He was bald as an egg then and very slender and, obviously, he’s still bald now and also, less obviously, still very slender.

As I was scuttling away after the event , I ran into the next group coming into the venue. One of them looked a bit familiar. I pressed on. She called out to me, “Don’t I know you?” I turned back. She is a friend of a friend who had twins last year. My friend suggested we meet to give her some advice – although as my twins are not 18 my advice was a bit…dated. When I gave out my advice, she was 7 months pregnant but she had had her babies since and was able to show me a photo of them on her phone and very cute they were too – they looked great and she looked great; obviously my advice was excellent.

Even by Irish standards where everybody knows everybody, this was a lot.

*The title for this post was suggested by my first born. It’s from “Love’s Labour’s Lost” apparently.

Pre-Christmas Round Up

20 December, 2022
Posted in: Belgium, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Herself is home. Rejoice. Michael has returned from his school trip to Brussels. I think it was a good, if not always enjoyable experience for him.

I have been re-inventing myself. I went for my annual haircut and the hairdresser gave me layers. I now have the exact same haircut I had when I started college in 1986. I went on a very enjoyable shopping trip with herself looking for something for me to wear to our Christmas party. We were unsuccessful but I did get a striped chunky jumper which together with the haircut is giving strong 17 year old me energy. All I need is a pair of Docs.

Herself and myself went to the Messiah in St Patrick’s Cathedral It was nice but, it is long. Also we drove in which was extremely stressful. Christmas traffic is definitely back.

My brother has moved to France for a a couple of months. He is still alive after the drive down to the Alps, so good. He says that I should come skiing. The physio who is treating my wretched knee says that is something to aim for. I was hoping for better, more like “Of course!”

I had afternoon tea in the Westbury Hotel with my Sunday book club which is an experience I would truly recommend. However, I would not recommend it on the day that you yourself are having Christmas drinks in your house from 4.30 to 6.30. I also would not recommend having those drinks on the day of the World Cup final which goes to extra time and penalties. However.

The party – our first post-Covid – was reasonably successful. We had hoped that the young French student (who does conversation with the children) and his friends who live nearby would come and give out drinks and take coats. Sadly, due to the inability of Morocco to defeat France in the World Cup semis, they were not available (if France had not been in the final they would have been, try to keep up). We managed between the five of us but it was a bit stressful. Michael was particularly bitter having essentially spent the afternoon running up and down the stairs with coats. Dan had made a playlist for the party on Spotify which worked really well and we all cleaned like mad in advance and prepped cocktail sausages, mince pies, mulled wine and lots of beer. We encouraged people to bring their children. This worked pretty well when everyone’s children were primary school age but now that most of them are teenagers it’s a bit less successful. I felt particularly sorry for the 13 year old daughter of friends who moped on the sofa throughout. More successful was a friend’s 10 year old who ruled the roost over the assembled smaller children who had been sent to the utility room with the x-box and a large tub of sweets. Positively the best compliment I got all afternoon was from the adorable six year old daughter of a colleague of Mr. Waffle’s who told me that it was the best grown-up party she had ever been to. The children really enjoyed talking to the guests and, in particular, a gentle and charming friend of Mr Waffle’s who they found very entertaining. I am glad we went to the trouble of having it when they could all be there which was not easy. We’ll see if we can improve on the timing for next year.

Last night Mr. Waffle and I went to a carol service in the local church. Somewhat to my surprise, Michael joined us; the other two firmly refused – as Dan said in horror “What now, on a Monday?” I thought it was lovely and the church choir were really good. Mr. Waffle couldn’t get over, however, the amateur strings who joined them and were, um, less than perfect though greeted with great enthusiasm by the punters.

I have bought all the Christmas presents I am going to buy. I still have to buy food for Christmas dinner (and, curve ball, get a new inner tube for the back wheel of my bicycle which punctured on my epic trip to the physio this morning) but I am broadly ready. And yourself?