Holiday with a hurdle

It's been exactly a month to the day that we exchanged Dove Cottage for our home away from home in Poperinge on Sunday the 21st of June.

However, as my blog title suggests, it was definitely a holiday with a hurdle. In fact, what with Jos's fall earlier that week, it was nothing short of a miracle that we even made it to the cottage which first captured our hearts back in 2012.

As a result of some gentle exercise and the benefits of the cortisone-like tablets he'd been prescribed, Jos's knee had healed sufficiently by Sunday, so that he was able to drive without any pain and walk short distances with the aid of his walking stick.

He was even able to climb and descend the eleven stairs leading up to the studio apartment above owner Marino's carport, albeit slowly, taking it one step at a time.

A hurdle in quite a different form would be the impending heatwave. With the temperature expected to steadily climb into the 30s, this would rather limit our options.

After our luggage was lugged upstairs by yours truly, we made ourselves at home and sat downstairs in the shade with a cool drink and a view of the flat-as-a-pancake landscape beyond the domain's duckweed covered pond.

Serenaded by a chorus of frogs, we'd slept like the proverbial logs, waking up still sleepy-headed around 8-ish on Monday morning. 

A glimpse through the cottage's French windows made me grab for my camera to catch the landscape beyond the pond veiled in a thick layer of fog. In front of the pond, three of the domain's four lawnmowers were already hard at work. Once the midday sun made it too hot for any living creature to bear, they retreated to their den under the trees and wouldn't be seen or heard of until she'd made her slow descend towards the horizon.

Not having made any plans whatsoever, we decided to take the short drive to the nearest of the Commonwealth cemeteries to our cottage. 

Only 5 minutes up the road, we would actually have been able to catch sight of Nine Elms British Cemetery from our cottage's balcony if that weeping willow wouldn't have blocked our view.

Entrance to the rectangularly shaped cemetery is through an archway with the Cross of Sacrifice visible in a central position at the far end. 

The cemetery contains 1556 Commonwealth burials of the First World War and 37 German war graves from this period. There are also 22 Second World War burials, all dating from the Allied retreat to Dunkirk in 1940.

The cemetery, which was begun in September 1917, was designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield.

Having walked the length of the cemetery, Jos was in need of a sit-down, offering the perfect opportunity to have a look at my outfit.

- Black and white diagonally striped max skirt: C&A Summer sales 2025

- King Louie t-shirt, necklace, belt and fake snake bag: charity shopped

- Butterfly brooch: AKotee (gift shop near my office)

- Hat: flea market

Leaving the cemetery, we continued to a small local supermarket to stock up on food and drink, after which we returned to the cottage for lunch.

The afternoon was spent having a lengthy siësta and reading. Note how my literature of choice matches my skirt!

On Tuesday morning, we were rudely awoken by a single thunderbolt followed by the pitter-pattering of rain against our windows. The rain lasted all the way through breakfast after which the mercury had dropped to a refreshing 21°C. 

Breakfast, by the way, consisted of softly boiled local eggs, obviously eaten with the obligatory soldiers!

With the last of the raindrops evaporated into thin air, it didn't take long for the temperature to reach 30°C (and beyond) again. 

Before it became too hot, though, we drove down to the one of the local woods for a walk.  The so-called Sixtusbossen (or Sixtus woods) are a 300 hectares complex of woods, which is cared for by Natuurpunt, the largest Belgian nature conservation organization.

There, I left Jos sitting on a shady bench while I went for walk based on the area's numbered walking map. 

Although signposted, I was a bit reluctant to take the overgrown path on the top right, which looked like it hadn't been walked on in ages. Still, I persevered, accompanied by the fierce barking of a dog who seemed to live behind the hedge on the right. I met the creature in question at the end of the path, where it turned out that the gate for the garden it was in stood widely open. Probably sensing my fear, it bared its teeth and continued its barking, which had turned quite menacing. I tried to remain cool headed and slowly proceeded along the tree-lined path on the bottom left, quite relieved that it didn't decide to follow me. Phew!

Back at the bench where Jos was waiting for me, I discovered that I'd lost my walking map somewhere along the way. Knowing the final numbers by heart, I hadn't made use of it for some time, so I had no idea where exactly it had made its escape. Nevertheless, I'm blaming the dog!

As the loss of the map would even further limit our options, we drove down to Poperinge in the afternoon to acquire a replacement from the tourist office in the town's buttery yellow neo-Gothic style town hall. 

Just look at that deep blue sky!

Before returning home, we stocked up on ice cream and cold drinks at the local supermarket.

Back at the cottage, we sought out that shady spot in front of the pond again, where we sat and sampled some refreshing alcohol free beers.

I was wearing the skirt I officially declared as my most worn this Summer in my previous post. It made no less than two appearance during our holiday.

- Skirt: Think Twice, March 2025

- Retro style naive flower print t-shirt: pre-blog high street sales bargain 

- Cat brooch: Katshop

- Spanish fan: charity shopped

That evening, we sat and watched the sun go down on our balcony before calling it a day and enjoying another night, its soundtrack once more provided by the resident frogs. 

 

With ever increasing temperatures of around 34°C forecasted for Wednesday, it was cool cottons to the rescue. 

I was wearing the tropical print tiered C&A skirt (a C&A Summer sales bargain in 2019) I'd worn to travel in on Sunday, its companion a green peasant style broderie anglaise blouse, picked up in the New Look sales several years ago. I was still in my slippers, which obviously I exchanged for sturdier footwear for the walk we'd planned that morning.

Armed with our new map, which we made sure not to leave out of our sights, we drove down to another wooded area, the Galgebossen, which lies about 8 kilometer to the Northeast of Poperinge.

Once arrived and parked, we left our car in the care of the local band of chickens, one of which seemed to have taken a shine to it.

We did a wonderful 6,5 kilometer walk here back in September 2022 but, although Jos declared himself ready to join me, we limited ourselves to a shorter version of just over 2 kilometer.

It was absolutely heavenly to walk on a succession of sun-dappled woodland paths, although the regular patches of sticky mud and puddles rather took us by surprise.

After a rest and refuelling at a little brick barn turned shelter with a view of a dew pond ringed by ancient pollarded willows, we embarked upon the return route.

Having guarded our car so diligently, we were ever so sorry that we'd come empty handed and were unable to reward the chicken with some tasty bites.

Thursday - and our last full day at the cottage - dawned all too soon.

Another scorcher with highs of 34°C, I was glad I'd packed my bag with lightweight heatwave proof clothes only. My fuchsia crinkly tiered skirt came out to play again, this time worn with a butterfly sleeved Zara blouse I'd charity shopped a couple of years ago. My string of multi-coloured beads was picked up from the charity shop here in Poperinge in September 2019.

With the temperature becoming more and more unbearable, we were at a bit of a loss what to do that day. That is, until Jos suggested another visit Talbot House in Poperinge.

It wouldn't be our first visit here. Our penultimate visit was back in September 2024, while I first introduced you to this wonderful place in September 2016.

Here's some potted history. 

Talbot House was opened in 1915 by British army chaplain Philip Clayton as a soldiers' club. During the Great War, Poperinge was part of unoccupied Belgium. Away from the turmoil of battle in the Ypres Salient, the town became the nerve centre of the British sector. Talbot House provided rest and recreation to all soldiers coming in, regardless of their rank.

It is still run by British wardens, aided by volunteers, and all visitors are offered a cup of tea or coffee, included in the ticket price. 

We got talking to that week's group of volunteers, who came from Bruges and whom we delighted with our knowledge of their home town. While I briefly explored upstairs, one of them accompanied Jos to an exhibition space in the garden where, courtesy of aircon, it was mercifully cool. He then came to look for me telling me where he'd left my husband.

We spent the afternoon lounging around the cottage once more and spent a very sweaty and uncomfortable final night before loading our car and driving back home in the morning.

With our UK holiday fastly approaching, I hope I'll find some time for another catch-up before we leave. If not, thank you for reading and see you on the other side!

Sunny days in the West(hoek)

It's the final installment of my September travelogue. And about time too, as it's now more than six weeks ago that we woke up to sunshine streaming in through our window on Friday the 5th of September. 

The weather forecast for the day ahead looked very promising, with highs of 22°C, which felt positively balmy now that the wind had finally taken a backseat. We had thrown open the cottage's French window while having breakfast and were enjoying the antics of the resident sheep (a.k.a. the lawnmowers), when a telltale sound coming from across the road made us leap up from our seats and walk over to the cottage's front door. Yes, it was that time of year again: hop picking had finally commenced!

We decided to make the most of the fact that the weather gods were on their best behaviour by going for a walk and enjoy the bounty nature has to offer. Not wanting to stray too far that day, we'd selected Helleketelbos (bos is the Flemish word for wood), which, in theory, would involve a drive of less than 15 minutes.

However, as there were roadworks along the route which would normally take us there, we decided to catch two birds with one stone and take the road we could see in the far distance when looking towards the Franco-Flemish hills from our balcony. 

A couple of houses on said road had been catching our attention for years, so we were wondering if we would be able spot our cottage if we'd seek these out. And we could! As it was in the shade, however, it wasn't exactly straightforward to pick it out among the surrounding trees, so I've added a helpful pink arrow for you!

From there, finding Helleketelbos should have been a doddle. After all, the road we were now on was called Helleketelweg (weg being the Flemish word for road), so we presumed that this was where it led to. So, we refrained from entering our destination in our Satnav, deciding to rely on our - admittedly shaky - sense of direction and a rudimentary map. 

Well, what can I say? Those winding country lanes did get the better of us so that, after literally driving around in circles, we finally admitted defeat and tasked Truus, our Satnav with the Dutch accent, with pointing us into the right direction.

By the time we finally made it there, our shattered nerves were sorely in need of a spot of Shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing. It was then that we remembered that, in spite of the existence of numbered markers which correspond with the handy map we were carrying, we always seem to end up getting lost here.

So, why not throw caution to the wind and start our walk the other way around, taking the path we usually - and eventually - arrive back on?

This seemed to have done the trick, as we finished our walk without any hiccups whatsoever. Or perhaps we have finally learned from our past mistakes?

Helleketelbos covers an area of around 56 hectares. The name Helleketel, which literally translates as Hell's Cauldron, is not as ominous as it sounds. In old Flemish the word helle means hillside and ketel refers to a depression at the bottom of a slope. 

Helleketelbos is a remnant of an early medieval forest. The current wood consists of plots of deciduous, coniferous and mixed woodland and is surrounded by agricultural land. 

At the edge of the wood is a small half-timbered farm labourer's cottage, which used to be part of a large farmstead. It is locally known as the Witches Cottage. The cottage, which is in an enclosure with a picnic area, has been restored in recent years. Sadly, however, signs of vandalism are already apparent, with one of the windows giving access to the basement having been smashed to smithereens.

We rested here for a while, but as we hadn't brought a picnic and it was getting late, our faintly rumbling stomachs demanded that we drive back to our cottage for lunch. This was followed by a siësta, after which we drove down to Poperinge.

Here, we started with a visit to the local charity shop, which turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. Although I've found many a treasure here over the years, the stock wasn't up to scratch at all this time around and prices were considerably higher than where we live. I mean, € 11,50 for a dress, that's almost double what we're generally paying here.

We then continued to St. Jan's Kerk (St. John's Church), which has its origins in the 13th Century. The church is a well-known place of pilgrimage, connected with the nearby Mirakelhuisje (Miracle House) where it is said a stillborn child was brought back to life by Our Lady of St. John in 1479.

About 400 meters from the Market Place it is a little bit out of our way, so that it was only our second visit to the church in the 14 years we've been coming here.

But it was the Market Place we'd come for, and more specifically, the terrace of well-known establishment La Poupée, for an afternoon treat of waffles and cups of cappuccino.

Although we were already salivating at the mere thought, we stopped to photograph the magnificent neo-Gothic town hall for the umpteenth time. 

Our last day, Saturday the 6th of September, dawned sunny with some light clouds, which the sun would soon make short shrift of. With highs of 25°C forecasted for the day, there was no need for a jacket, so I made do with my faithful haori style cover-up to protect my arms from the sun.

This time, we stayed even closer to the cottage for our morning walk. 

A short stroll along a bumpy unsurfaced path, the whitewashed chapel of Ons Heerens Boompje (literally translated as Our Lord's little Tree) would have been visible from our balcony if only some trees hadn't been in the way. 

The top of our cottage was visible from the path we were walking on, basking in sunshine across a field of cabbages (above, top right).

Harvest was in full swing as we walked along the maize fields, until we came to a sign nailed to a fence post and pointing us towards the chapel, which, as you have probably gathered, is kapel in Flemish.

Quite why there were two signs, if even one would have been superfluous as at that point the chapel in its copse of trees was clearly visible, we'll never know. 

It is a so-called "fever chapel", where people come to pray for the relief of fever and pain as well as miracles in general.

The bushes and trees surrounding the chapel are hung with ribbons, handkerchiefs and other pieces of fabric - indeed in some cases whole garments - since legend has it that this would make fever or pain go away.

We usually burn a small candle here, for whatever it's worth. Last time we were here, though, in September 2020, we only had a € 5 note on us. In order get our money's worth, we lighted both a small candle and votive candle, and took a spare votive candle back with us as a souvenir.

If we were hoping of invoking the odd little miracle, we could never have guessed that it would actually work. As it was, exactly nine months later Jos's youngest grandson was born, although his parents had long ago given up hope.

Again, we had lunch at the cottage followed by a little siësta, after which I went to post a letter at the post office. 

Only joking! The post office I am about to enter in the above photo is part of an open air museum called Bachten de Kupe, about 20 kilometers from Poperinge.

The museum introduces you to the fascinating traditions of yesteryear.

It is a reconstructed farming village from the Westhoek region and consists of 46 authentic buildings, the oldest of which dates back to 1650, as well as thousands of objects that bring the past back to life. 

Old cobbled streets lead you through a village with shops, an inn, a farmhouse, and much more. Too much really, as every available nook and cranny is crammed full of stuff, which makes the interiors of the shops and other buildings a bit confusing and unrealistic.

Whether this is down to a lack of funds to properly display all the objects the museum is being donated, I have no idea, but somehow I can't help feeling that it's a bit of a missed opportunity.

It didn't really help that our visit coincided with that of a coachload of slightly inebriated folk, who were talking and laughing too loud and were making fun of some of the exhibits. A couple even attempted to ride the bicycles which were on display! Trying to keep one step ahead of them was our main object, but in the end they were literally everywhere.

Still, my camera kept working overtime, so here are some snapshots of the things which caught my eye.

After our rounds of the village, we finished our visit with a drink on the terrace of the inn on the village square. Service here was quite confusing as well, but we managed to get our order of non-alcoholic beers in the end!

So, that was it, our September holiday 2025. 

We spent our last night wistfully staring out of our window, and noting the progress made by the hop pickers in just one day, leaving a huge chunk of the hop poles bare.

It will be business as usual in my next post, starting with a massive round-up of September outfits.

See you soon!

A little French adventure

Hello friends and readers! I'm delighted that you are joining me again for the second installment of my latest travelogue. To refresh your minds: we were staying at the little cottage in Belgium's west country which has been our home away from home for many years.

One of the advantages of staying in Poperinge, in the far west of Belgium commonly known as the Westhoek, is that it is just a stone's throw from the French border. In fact, the road which passes our cottage leads all the way to border town Watou, a matter of just under 6 kilometers away.

And so it was that on Monday the 1st of September - the first day of school after the long Summer break - saw us driving to Cassel, a charming little hilltop town in the north-eastern corner of France.

With the weather forecast for the week ahead speaking of stormy weather, we were pleased to notice that on this day at least the weather gods were showing us some mercy. In fact, our 30-minute journey under a bright blue sky dotted with cotton wool clouds couldn't have been more delightful.

Driving on a succession of quiet country roads through fields of green, we suddenly spotted Cassel hill on the horizon. It might look like a mere bump on the horizon here, but the hill the town is perched on is about 176 meters above the Flanders plain.

The final stretch of our journey was on a bumpy cobbled road which zig-zags up the hill, until finally the town centre is reached. On our two previous visits, in 2017 and 2021, we were able to snag a rare free parking spot at the edge of the Grand'Place, so we were hoping to do the same this time around.

However, our hopes were dashed and we had to drive around in circles and part of the way back down the hill until we finally found a spot on the Rue de Bergues, a quiet back street with a view! Having been there before, I instantly recognized the octagonal Horne chapel we'd passed when following the town trail which starts at the Grand'Place. After leaving our car, making sure with a local that there was no charge, we tried our luck at the chapel, but unfortunately found its doors firmly locked. Still, I managed to capture some of its interior through the grilles before making our way to the town centre.

This meant either walking back up the road we'd driven down on, or proceeding into the direction of the Place Vandamme, where a cobbled footpath leads uphill to the top of Mont Cassel.  Although this would involve a more strenuous walk by far, it would also be the most picturesque, so that it was actually a no-brainer!

Apart from the panoramic views of Flanders stretching as far as the eye can see, the hill is worth climbing for the Casteelmeulen (transl. Castle Mill), a post mill situated on the highest point of the hill on the site of a former castle. The present mill dates from the 18th century and is a listed building. Meulen, by the way, is the old-fashioned Flemish word for mill, while the modern word, which we use on the other side of the border, is molen.

We've been told that the people of French Flanders are proud of their Flemish heritage and that there are still evening classes teaching the language, which, confusingly, is a little bit different from the Flemish we speak on our side of the border.

Having to share its limelight with the mill is the equestrian monument of Marshall Foch, who had his headquarters in Cassel from October 1914 to June 1915, during the Battle of Ypres. 

Ferdinand Foch (1851-1929) was a marshal of France and commander of the Allied forces during the closing months of World War I, and generally considered the leader most responsible for the Allied victory.

We descended the hill by way of the Rue du Château, passing a couple of examples of what I'm euphemistically calling delightful dilapidation, with their peeling paint and rusty hinges. I loved the contrast of the pink geraniums with the flaky green paint of the window frames and, in one of the immaculately maintained houses on the other side of the street, the lace curtains which paid homage to the mill on the hill.

Having finally made it to the Grand' Place, our faintly rumbling stomachs told us the time of day. With Monday being the closing day of the majority of eating places here, we'd taken our precautions and packed a picnic. This turned out to have been the best decision as the only decent place which was in business was chock-a-block. The day's highs of 22°C being tempered by a fierce wind, sitting outside wasn't an option so that most people had fled inside.

We took shelter on a bench in front of l'Hôtel de la Noble Cour, a 16th-century Flemish mansion which is home to the Musée Départemental de Flandre, where we enjoyed the cheese and ham sandwiches we'd made that morning.

Feet rested and stomachs filled, we admired the 16th-century Renaissance façade with its abundance of stone carvings.

Classified as a Historic Monument, l'Hôtel de la Noble Cour is considered one of the most beautiful Flemish buildings in the Hauts-de-France region.

We then continued our explorations by walking around the corner and underneath the Porte d'Aire, one of Cassel's four remaining medieval town gates.

At the end of the Rue d'Aire lies one of the access points to the Chemin de Remparts, which skirts the town walls and consists of old cobblestone paths and narrow alleys.

The final stretch leads through an alley between houses, at some point only 70 centimeters wide, and eventually emerging onto a road leading back to the Grand'Place.

Still far too early to call it a day, we walked the length of the Grand' Place until we arrived in front of Cassel's recently restored main church, Collégiale Notre Dame de la Crypte, a listed monument since 1981.

While Jos took a breather on one of the church chairs, I explored its lavishly decorated interior, which included stained glass windows, wall paintings of various saints and ... a statue of St. Jeanne d'Arc which apparantly was only discovered in 2020. 

The crowned girl who is reclining below the altarpiece is St. Philomena (291-304), the patron saint of a wide variety of people and causes. Among these are babies and children, those trying to conceive, desperate or forgotten causes, prisoners, virgins, and youth. Little is known about her life, but it is believed she was a Greek princess who became a virgin martyr and died at 13-years-old. In 1961, a decree was issued by Rome stating that due to a lack of historical evidence to support the traditional story of St. Philomena’s life, her feast day was to be removed from the Roman Calendar. In doing so, many Catholics mistakenly took this to mean that St. Philomena was somehow no longer a saint, and devotion to her faded. Not here in Cassel, though ....

Oh, and look, here's St. Francis of Assisi, who was the first to receive the stigmata.

And no, I'm not knowledgeable about saints at all, I just love their at times gaudy statues. I was intrigued by poor St. Philomena's, so I just had to google her ... and then I came across St. Francis as well.

Having finished our explorations, we walked back up the Grand' Place, where we had a restorative petit café - which came with the tiniest of Madeleine cakes I'd ever seen - before girding our loins for the trek back to where we'd parked our car.

Of course, I couldn't help stopping to photograph some more charming little details along the way!

The sun had done a disappearing act by the time we were back at the cottage, with the sky holding the promise of imminent rain. 

However, there was still time to pose for outfit photos on our little balcony.

I found the black floral maxi skirt at Think Twice during a lunch-time rummage with my friend Inez in August, while the peasant-style denim blouse was a charity shop find back in April. Both were united in their first outing which took them abroad :-)

But the day still had a little surprise up its sleeve. 

Looking down from the balcony, we spotted this gorgeous furry creature, who was watching us with a  look of recognition in her eyes. It was none other than the tiny kitten we'd secretly fed and made friends with last year! She started mewing pitifully, so of course we had to go down and pet her. And yes, she got a little treat from us as well. But shh, don't tell!