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!

Of frogs and towers

Hello friends and readers, and welcome to the third and final episode of my mini-travelogue. Thank you for bearing with me while I've spent the past week recovering from last Sunday's flea market - which went well, by the way! - and - yes, I admit - honing my procrastination habits! I had Monday off which meant a lot of catching up at the office on Tuesday. And then I had to go into the office for a couple of hours on my usual Friday off as my colleague is currently on holiday. 

But it's time I get my skates on, as my blog has only just passed the month of June's half-way point, with our week away slowly but surely receding into the mists of time.

Wednesday - we were the 18th of June by now - promised to be another day during which the sun would be working overtime and on which the temperature would easily reach the forecasted highs of 25°C.

Our view towards the Franco-Flemish hills was bathed in a veil of haze and much to our surprise the resident heron wasn't joining us for breakfast at its usual hour. In its place on the tangle of dead branches a cormorant sat drying its wings after its morning catch of fish (above, top left). Its toilette completed, the majestic bird flew off, its place swiftly taken over by the heron, with whom it must have had some sort of agreement.

Both our breakfast and toilette completed, we were ready for the day's adventure! Armed with another picnic and a walking map of the area we got into our car and drove to De Palingbeek. At over 230 hectares, this is the largest Provincial Domain in the West of Flanders, situated on the outskirts of Ypres, and just over 20 kilometers from Poperinge.

There are several car parks to start one's walk from but, just like we did on our previous visit in September 2023, we opted for the easy-to-find one near the domain's visitor centre. After finding a shady spot for our car, we confidently set off on our intended walk. But not before having a nosey in the Bijenhal (bee hall), an educational apiary comprising of five hives maintained by the local beekeepers' association. With the ecological kitchen gardens on their doorstep, the bees are definitely living their best lives!

After leaving the bee hall, we had our first hurdle at the first numbered marker we came across: the number 62 it was directing us to seemed to be missing on our map! With our tendency of getting lost even with the aid of a map this would have been a recipe for disaster! Thankfully, the visitor centre came to our rescue with a more recent version of our hopelessly outdated map.

That settled, we started walking into the direction of the now no longer elusive number 62, when we were  temporarily distracted by the deafening sound of loudly croaking frogs emanating from a duckweed covered pool. Any attempts to try and catch some of the creatures on camera was futile, so I made a little video for you to enjoy! Make sure to crank up the volume!

De Palingbeek is a patchwork of pools and marshes, old and young woodlands, orchards and flower meadows, lawns and playgrounds. Obviously we were keen to avoid the latter, so we mainly kept to the woodland paths, where we encountered plenty of wildlife which, apart from the noisy gang of frogs and a plethora of songbirds, were mostly of the carved wood variety.

Apparently, there are 3000 different species of animals who have made the Palingbeek their habitat. Each year one of these is picked as "animal of the year", the lucky one in 2025 being the frog!

As lunchtime was fastly approaching we were desperate for a sit-down and a bite to eat, so we started looking for a suitable bench to have our picnic on, our only condition being that it was in a quiet and shady spot. 

Consulting our map, we saw that we were nearing Astrolab Iris, an observatory located within the domain, the map showing a small area with picnic tables opposite the building itself. Much to our dismay, though, the only table in the shade was taken up by a French couple playing a game of cards. But then we found a completely deserted table, which could easily accomodate a dozen people, in the observatory building's courtyard. We were just about to unpack our picnic when one of the domain's gardeners turned up, soon to be followed by his colleagues. Not wanting to rob them of their designated spot for lunch, we packed up and continued our search.

We finally found our shady bench opposite Hedge Row Trench Cemetery, one of the Commonwealth War Cemeteries within the domain. We'd been here before, in September 2023, when we approached it from a different direction. Back then, there was a row of haversacks displayed on pedestals next to the cemetery, each containing the personal belongings of a fallen soldier buried here. The items were preserved behind plastic: a white handkerchief, a field shovel, a water bottle, a tin of corned beef and a torch to name but a few. These were now gone, so that at first I thought this was a different cemetery altogether.

There is indeed yet another military cemetery a hundred meters or so down a grassy path from Hedge Row Trench. This is First DCLI Cemetery, The Bluff, which takes its name from the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. 

The narrow ridge known as The Bluff was one of the few places where the Allies held higher ground than their opponents. For this reason, at the end of 1915 and throughout 1916, the Germans attempted to capture the position.  As a result, it was the scene of several underground explosions and heavy fighting, culminating on 25 July 1916 in a massive explosion which blew away the top of the mound and replied by the British in December 1916 with mines of their own. 

The burials here, a total of 76, with 13 of them unidentified, date from April-July 1915.

A quick look at my outfit before we continue our walk. My beloved chambray skirt came out to play again, this time paired with a zig-zag patterned top charity shopped last Summer. The green stretchy belt with its bamboo buckle was a high street shop sales bargain a year earlier.

Emerging from the woods, we were faced with a patchwork of fields which offered a view of the towers of Ypres (above, top right). A sandy path meandered along the fields until, shortly before reaching our final destination at the infamous number 62, we came across a grassy area presided over by a rather splendid wooden owl sculpture.

While Jos was resting his feet on a conveniently placed - and shady - bench, I decided to keep the owl company by reclining on the grass.

Our walk completed without any further hiccups - miracles do happen! - we returned to the cottage for a well-deserved siesta. 

By then, we still hadn't heard back from my brother and his girlfriend. But then it suddenly dawned on me that one of my brother's friends had once supplied me with his girlfriend's phone number. Just as notorious as my brother for her aversion to mobile phones, I nevertheless decided to take my chances and sent her a message ...

Our evening meal that day was a delicious cold platter we'd picked up at a small local supermarket, consisting of baked salmon, hard boiled eggs, potato salad and plenty of veggies. Yummy! 

The weather gods had cranked up the thermostat to 27°C on Thursday. We had plans of a different kind that day, for which we drove down (or rather, up) to the Kemmelberg, at 156 meters the highest hill in Flanders. Courtesy of another batch of diversion caused by roadworks, our Satnav finally managed to get us to our destination in a roundabout way. I decided I would be able to do better on our return journey, and I actually did!

Our destination was the Belvédère  observation tower, which is the undisputed eye-catcher at the top of the hill. A previous attempt to visit the tower a couple of years ago was thwarted by the fact that it was closed at the time because the restaurant it belonged to was declared bankrupt. 

I was happy to read that last year the owner of the property and the municipality of Heuvelland (the collective name of the eight villages lying in the hilly country south of Poperinge) had come to an agreement so that the tower could once again be opened to the public.

Climbing the enclosed winding concrete staircase wasn't a problem for vertigo-suffering yours truly, but I instantly experienced the tell-tale wobbly legs even as we emerged on the loggia beneath the actual platform on top. Still, I forced myself to get my act together and climb on.

170 metres above sea level, the views are breathtaking.  You can see as far as 40 km and even further with the binoculars supplied, although it was a tad too hazy for a clear view.

Reading that the restaurant has recently been taken over and re-opened, and that the owners have plans to restore the tower to its former glory, we were glad to have made the effort, as it might well be closed for the duration next time we're here.

Before we descend to ground level once more, here's a potted history of the tower. From the late 19th century onwards, the West Flemish hill country became popular as a tourist region. The area was mainly visited by the bourgeoisie from northern France - we are just a stone's throw from the border here - and in 1889, a picturesque observation tower was built on top of the Kemmelberg.  This was a brick tower topped with a wooden platform and a bear cage built into its base as an additional attraction. 

After being destroyed during the First World War, the tower was rebuilt in 1924, together with an adjoining house and taproom. The Belvédère observation tower was listed as a monument in 2004.

My outfit, consisting of my fast fashion turned slow jumpsuit which has been going strong since its purchase in 2018, was selected especially to climb those stairs!

Back on safe ground, we paid a brief visit to the 18 metre-high column, popularly known as "The Angel", a French memorial erected in 1932 to commemorate the heavy fighting which took place here in April 1918. 

 

Then we retrieved our picnic from the car and embarked on a short numbered walk of just over one kilometre. Well, short it may very well have been, but we're talking about Flanders' highest hill here, and what goes down must come up! And there wasn't a single bench to have our picnic on either ...

We did make a slight detour to the row of bunkers below the Lettenberg - a spur of the Kemmelberg - which was the most important British observation post in the sector. Towards the end of 1916, British engineers and tunnellers started excavating an underground headquarters complex here. The concrete bunkers which gave access to these have now been restored. There are four shelters built in reinforced concrete. 

Back at the car, we decided against having a car picnic and drove back to the cottage instead, installing ourselves on the rustic wooden chairs beneath the balcony. The perfect place for a picnic in the shade!

It was while we were having our usual siesta that I finally heard back from my brother's girlfriend. Apparently they were no longer at the brewery complex, having found a place in the south of France where they will be staying until November. Donna, you were right! And no, I've no idea why my brother never told me. Even my sister, whom he is much closer to in age, wasn't aware of his whereabouts ...

Suitably restored after our siesta, we drove down to Poperinge as we both had a craving for waffles!

And then our final day dawned! With temperatures nudging 30°C, which unfortunately triggered one of my migraines, it was to be a day of indolence. After stocking up on more of those delicious cold platters - the baked salmon substituted by smoked salmon and fresh asparagus rolled in ham respectively - we didn't leave the cottage again until mid-afternoon, having another picnic beneath the balcony (above, top left and centre). 

After a leisurely stroll through Poperinge's Dirk Frimout park (named after a local astronaut who was the first Belgian in space), we plonked ourselves down on the terrace of one of the cafés lining the market square, where we enjoyed a dish of cheese cubes and some alcohol free beers.

As we will be back here in the first week of September - at that time just under two and a half months away - we weren't feeling as wistful as we usually do when watching the world go by on our little balcony that evening.

Goodbye, lawnmowers, we will be back soon!

Natural healing

I know, I know: it's been a week since I last posted and I'm sure you're all waiting impatiently for episode # 2 of my mini-travelogue. It's been a busy week, as most of my spare time has been spent preparing for tomorrow's flea market. At the time of writing, everything is priced and labelled and our dining room has temporarily morphed into a vintage shop, with not one but two rails full of colourful attire. Fingers crossed that people will be seduced into buying at least some of it.

But that is now, and this was then: the morning of our first full day at our lakeside cottage in Belgium's west country. My diligently kept diary tells me that this was Monday the 16th of June which - eek - is just under a month ago already.

We woke up to glorious sunshine and a bright blue sky which greeted us upon drawing our curtains. Stepping onto the balcony, we breathed in lungfuls of delicious Summer air and watched the antics of the resident moorhens and their young who were frolicking in the duckweed covered pond. I instantly spotted the heron, who is a regular visitor here. You can see him waiting for his breakfast to float by while sitting quite regally on a tangle of dead branches halfway across the pond (above,top right). 

We'd only made the vaguest of plans for our last-minute holiday, apart from letting nature heal our battered souls. This being our first day, we decided to ease ourselves into things gently by going for a stroll around the castle domain in Zonnebeke, a 20-minute drive from the cottage. Established on the site of a former Augustinian abbey (1072-1796), it incorporates the Passchendaele Museum which tells the harrowing history of the Battle of Passchendaele, fought between July and November 1917. The battle is known as one of the most horrific ones from the First World War, with almost 600.000 casualties for a movement of the frontline of only eight kilometres.

After parking our car, we made our way into the heart of the domain, passing the 8-metre-tall pou maumahara (memorial carving) honouring the role of New Zealand’s Māori in the First World War. 

The museum and information centre are located in a lake-fronted Normandy-style mansion which was built in 1922 to replace a castle bombarded into rubble during the war. Here, Jos rested his feet on a bench on the verandah, while I wandered inside to pick up a map of the domain. 

In spite of this only being a smallish domain and we were carrying a map, I'm sure that you won't be all that surprised that we succeeded in getting ever so slightly lost the first time we were here in September 2021. Vowing to do better this time, we confidently took the path skirting the pond, passing a posse of sunbathing ducks along the way. 

Faced with a choice of woodland paths, we selected one at will, which soon brought us to a grassy clearing dotted with random pools of red picket fences. These are the Passchendaele Memorial Gardens, a series of eight poppy-shaped remembrance gardens created for the Battle of Passchendaele's centenary in 2017, each one designed by one of the nations that took part in the battle.

Set somewhat aside from the others is the New Zealand garden (above), its centre piece a hollow concrete column, the scale of the door requiring visitors to bend low to enter, echoing the physical confinement of the battlefield trenches. The entrance was so low that even vertically challenged yours truly managed to bump her head on the door's concrete lintel on her way out ...

With its abundant planting of pale pink roses and bright yellow Verbascum thapsus (commonly known as great mullein) towering above me, the United Kingdom's garden offered the perfect backdrop to show you my outfit. My beloved zig-zag patterned skirt, charity shopped in the Summer of 2021, has been a faithful travelling companion ever since. This time I combined it with a parrot-patterned top from the Belgian Sweet Soda label, which was a charity shop find back in October. You can see a close-up of its pattern below. The stretchy belt, which is the latest of such belts to join my collection, was a € 3 Think Twice sales bargain on my final working day before the holiday.

The haori-style cover-up, yet another charity shop find from a couple of years ago, is a firm favourite. I only recently found out that its origins lie in a fast fashion shop I wouldn't be seen dead in ...

The UK garden, being the only one in possession of a bench, also offered the perfect place to have our picnic of cheese sandwiches with an accompaniment of crisps. The poppy napkins - which we found in a drawer in the cottage - couldn't have been a better choice for the job. 

Although we briefly visited all of the gardens, we couldn't help noticing that some of them were looking quite untended and overgrown, particularly when compared to our previous visit.

The only remaining one worth photographing was the Belgian garden, which has artwork by the artist-sculptor Rik Ryon from Poperinge (°1950) who mainly works with debris of war.  Absolutely striking is the incorporation of some Belgian military gravestones. Designed by Brussels architect Fernand Simons, they have never been used for any military burials. They are containing messages of peace in all three of Belgium's national languages (Flemish, French and German).

There's also the final stanza of the poem Pozières and Passchendaele by the Australian war poet Oscar Walters (1889-1948). 

After visiting the poppy gardens, we made our way back to the car park, passing a rather sinister looking pond. The castle grounds being in the middle of the former battlefield, this is not a natural feature of the landscape, but a crater which owes its existence to detonated mines.

After stopping at the supermarket to pick up the ingredients of our evening meal, we drove back to the cottage where we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening reading and relaxing. We ended our day as it began, sitting on the balcony, and watching the sun go down over our own private and peaceful pond.

Tuesday the 17th of June promised to be another day on which the mercury would climb to the mid-twenties. After a restful night and a leisurely breakfast, we were ready for another dose of natural healing. This we found in a cluster of woods collectively known as the Sixtusbossen, about 5 kilometers from where we were staying.

There's a convenient car park which is the starting point for a number of walks based on one of the famous numbered walking maps of the area. This of course offers no guarantee that we won't get lost at least once. Au contraire!

In spite of the fact that the car park was inundated with road workers and their infernal machinery, we managed to grab a spot in the shade of a small tree. Armed with a map and our picnic, we set off, stubbornly refusing to follow any numbers at all by selecting the shadiest path of all. Soon we came across some delightful wood carvings, which made us realize we'd been here before (in September 2020, or so my blog tells me). 

And look, here's the  giant swing set in the middle of the woods I just had to have a go on back then. 

Long-forgotten childhood moments were once again revived by swinging blissfully to and fro.

I was wearing the chambray maxi skirt picked up from Think Twice in May 2023, another one which always accompanies me on my travels. My cotton Mer du Nord blouse was charity shopped one year earlier, while my haori-style cover-up (yes, I've got more than one!) was a gift from my friend Inneke last year.

Still stubbornly insisting on following our noses rather than the numbered markers, we soon passed this shady bench in a grassy clearing (above, bottom right), which would have been perfect for our picnic if it hadn't been far too early for lunch. On the top left, Jos is fruitlessly looking for a four-leaf clover. In case you were wondering :-)

Shortly afterwards, we came to a minor tarmacked road, which we crossed, following a sign to Dozinghem Military Cemetery which lies at the end of a single track lane. The cemetery, which was designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield (1856-1942), contains 3174 Commonwealth as well as 65 German war graves from the First World War.

In preparation for the Third Battle of Ypres in 1917, the British army set up a number of extra field hospitals behind the lines. There were three such hospitals in this area, and the soldiers who died of their wounds were buried here. The place Dozinghem does not actually exist. It is the name given to one of the casualty clearing stations by the troops, the others being called Mendinghem and Bandaghem.

Visiting these military cemeteries - which are par for the course here in Flanders Fields - is always a sobering experience. 

Leaving the cemetery, we finally saw sense and followed a couple of numbered markers until we arrived back at our starting point where we had our picnic sitting on a bench in the woods. Then we drove back to the cottage for a little siesta and spending some time with my current read.

Ernt Allbright, a former POW, comes home from the Vietnam war a changed and volatile man. When he loses yet another job, he makes an impulsive decision: he will move his family north, to Alaska, where they will live off the grid in America’s last true frontier. The novel primarily focused on thirteen-year-old daughter Leni. 

But the day wasn't finished just yet. As some of you may remember, my brother and his girlfriend moved to a cottage on an old brewery estate less than 10 minutes from our holiday cottage back in 2023. We visited them and had a tour of the brewery and their ecological vegetable garden in September of that year. Not being very communicative and hardly ever switching on his phone, we hadn't been able to contact him and tell him we would be in the area so, on the off-chance they would be at home, we set out. The cottage looked strangely deserted and as we got no response after knocking repeatedly on their front door, we dropped a note through their letter box, expecting to hear from them when they got home eventually.

We waited and waited some more, but no message from them was forthcoming.  How strange! Would they have missed our note? Or were they on a holiday of their own, perhaps?

I'm leaving you with a cliffhanger here, so be sure to come back for episode # 3!