A tiny slice of normal life

Although the month of October certainly had its fair share of sunny days, the weather gods weren't averse to sending solid grey skies and rainy all-dayers our way. 

Case in point was this very weekend, when daylight was sparse and the rain kept coming down in buckets.

Seeing me posed here against the white brick wall, you'd be forgiven for thinking that we were once again reduced to taking outfit photos in our garage, if it weren't for the sizeable amount of Autumn leaves gathered at my feet.

It was Saturday, the 16th of October - aargh, that's two weeks ago already! - and in continuation of my previous post, which ended on the Friday, I still had to tell you all about what we'd been up to during the rest of that weekend.

For starters, it wasn't one of those rainy days which kept us hostage at home. On the contrary, it was an utterly gorgeous one, the minor clouds we'd woken up to soon dispersing and leaving a bright sunny day in their wake. 

We only got highs of about 15°C, though, so dressing up warmly for our intended walk was a necessity.

My plaid jacket in delicious Autumnal hues was a Think Twice find in February 2018. It's belted quite low on the hips and the belt loops are hidden under the pocket flaps. which for once aren't just purely decorative, they are actual pockets!

To further combat the chill, I wore a burnt orange, flower appliquéd crushed velvet scarf and an orange beret, both of which were old charity shop finds.

As we realized we hadn't been there since June, our walk took us to our beloved Middelheim Sculpture Park, where the emerging Autumn colours and its unmistakable scents added an extra dimension to the works of art on display.

If the seasonal sensory delights were making me feel quite giddy and - if only mentally - jump for joy, I was in good company. The Mad Maiden (or in Flemish, Het Zotte Geweld) by Belgian artist Rik Wouters, has been dancing her giddy dance since 1912. Modelled by his wife Nel, the inspiration for this sculpture was a performance by the American dancer, Isadora Duncan.

In spite of this being a sunny Saturday, there weren't all too many people about, so that we could wander and meander at will and have some close encounters with the art. We never pass up the opportunity to contemplate Antony Gormley's Firmament III (top and bottom left), which - and I'm quoting the museum guide here - offers a constant invitation to visitors to think about our place in the bigger order of things. 

Dotted around the park are silver and gold painted chairs for visitors to use at will. We marvelled at the artfully displayed Autumn leave on this particular one, wondering if nature did have a helping hand here.

Having visited the park countless times before - after all, it is a mere 15 minute drive from Dove Cottage - it is only natural that some of the sculptures have become like old friends. There's the enigmatic Tempest (1956) by Italian sculptor Carmelo Coppello (bottom left), which has featured a number of times on my blog. But however many times we roam the park's paths, there's always a sculpture that has previously escaped our attention. By Giacomo Manzù, also Italian, and dating from the same period, the sculpture on the top left and right is called She-Skater (1957).

Regular readers might by now have deducted the origin of the white brick wall. Indeed, it belongs to the park's Organic Brutalist exhibition space, the stunning Braem Pavillion, designed by architect Renaat Braem and completed in 1971.

With no exhibition taking place inside, there was no access to the pavillion. At the same time, the absence of people coming and going created the perfect opportunity to show you what I was wearing underneath that jacket!

My long-sleeved cobalt blue dress with its striking  Art Deco style print is modern, a King Louie found at Oxfam back in June. 

For its first wearing, I accessorized it with a sage green plastic woven belt, a pink butterfly brooch, a red perspex ring and a recently charity shopped necklace in shades of red and brown.

My outfit was completed by a pair of burgundy opaques and my chocolate brown walking boots.

From the Braem Pavillion we made our way to another old favourite, the polished metal column (bottom left) by Belgian artist Felix Roulin (1975), its endless reflecting possibilities never failing to intrigue us. On the bottom right you can see its proximity to the pavillion.

Crossing the Bridge Without a Name by Chinese artist Ai Weiwei, we paid a visit to the mad professor, a.k.a. Professeur (1969) by Hungarian sculpture Imre Varga (top right and bottom left).

From here, we had an excellent view of the museum café, noting with delight that there were a handful of empty tables, a most unusual sight on a sunny weekend afternoon.

Our cappuccinos and shared pieces of apple cake and brownie have seldomly tasted this good as it almost felt like normal times again.

On our way back to the car, we took a different route and passed this installation representing the house of a traditional Congolese chieftain.

The Mokonzi’s house by the KinAct Collective (founded in Kinshasa in 2015) is built from the waste that the West dumps in Africa. This refers to the colonists who visited the chieftains in their homes bringing gifts (mirrors, alcohol or guns) in exchange for the rights to their land. Just as the waste today is toxic to people and the environment, the gifts offered then were also poisoned, and it's KinAct's intentions to re-enact the exchange.

After this life-affirming Saturday, Sunday could have been quite a letdown. Except that it wasn't.

In fact, we were up early and eager to go. Go where, you might wonder, but I'll keep you in suspense just that little bit longer to show you what I was wearing.

With green being my favourite colour, choosing this dress for this momentous occasion was actually a no-brainer. Indeed, few of my dresses even come close to this glorious 1970s does 1940s one with its blowsy flower pattern.

I added more flowers by way of my brooch, and paid tribute to the pattern's colours by adding a tan leather belt, orange beaded necklace and blue ring and opaques. Finally, I added easy flat-heeled ankle boots into the equation as we had a lot of ground to cover. 

After a 19-month hiatus due to you-know-what, it was finally time for our favourite monthly indoor flea market to start up again. Apart from the obvious reason for this period of drought, for the last six months or so the venue had been roped in as a vaccination centre, which finally closed its doors and moved to smaller premises end of September.

Going back after all this time felt simultaneously strange and familiar. It was as if my eyes couldn't focus faced with stall after stall of possible treasures, and I have to admit that it took some time to get into my stride. 

I told Jos I would only be persuaded to buy things which made my heart beat faster, and it most definitely did when I spotted this vintage Lloyd Loom style cabinet. It was our final find, but as we had two more aisles to go, we paid for it and asked the stallholder to put it aside until we were done.

The cabinet now graces our hallway, where it is roped in to hold shopping bags, Jos's man bag and a couple of folding umbrellas. As you can see, it has been Bess-approved!

Our first buy was the pale green Art Deco alarm clock, made in some kind of early plastic, which we were happy to find is still in full working order.

The tiles were € 1 each and although we haven't figured out what we'll do with them, we spent € 6 on the lot, including 3 slightly damaged ones which the seller - a lovely 80+ year old lady - threw in for free.

I was very restrained and only bought one brooch. Not just any old brooch though, this one consists of  a hand-painted basket of flowers contained within a galalithe frame.

I was tempted by others, obviously, but wasn't prepared to pay the often exorbitant asking prices.

All in all, not bad at all for our first foray into flea marketing ...

That's it from me for now, but I can't possibly leave without a Bess update, can I?

Remember her fascination with the kitchen tap? Well, some googling revealed the existence of a tap-shaped drinking fountain and, what's more, I found out that the wonderful Katshop, which is just a stone's throw from my office, was selling them. 

Guess what I did during Monday's lunchbreak and guess who's now got her very own perpetual tap?

Here lives a very spoiled cat indeed!

Come walk with me

Hello, and welcome to Episode Two of my tiny travelogue!

After a restful and refreshing night's sleep, we jolted awake just after eight on Tuesday morning. We allowed ourselves no lazy lie-in as obviously we wanted to make the most of the handful of days at our disposal. Which is why, although breakfast was being served between 8.30 and 10, we'd told Veronique to expect us first thing. 

With no time to lose, we jumped out of bed and, spurred along by the early morning sunshine which winked at us from a bright blue cloudless sky when we drew our curtains, we got ready in no time. 

 

One of the privileges of our luxury room was that it is in a kind of annex rather than in the main building, our only neighbours being the horses in the stable facing us, half-hidden by a luscious bank of bright pink Hydrangeas. 

Fully awake and with rumbling stomachs, we made our way along the garden path to the breakfast room. 

Ever thoughtful, Veronique had equipped our room with an umbrella in case of rain. We still can't believe our luck, as we would certainly have needed it if we'd been there just a matter of days earlier.

Although we were running a bit late, we were still the first of the guests to arrive, which allowed us to lay claim to the sunniest spot in the room. Having been starved of a decent dose of sunshine for a while we were trying to make every ray count!

Breakfast was as plentiful and delicious as it was on our previous visits, the only difference being that instead of the pre-Covid buffet, each table was now supplied with a basket offering a choice of breads and a very clever etagère with a selection of cheeses, meats and smoked salmon.

As before, there was freshly made apple juice and coffee or tea aplenty, as well as fruit and yogurt and Veronique's homemade jams.

Hunger pangs more than stilled, we were ready for whatever the day would bring us. Rather than walk the crowded streets of  Bruges, we took advantage of the marvellous weather to explore the rural area around Bruges, our destination for the day being Lissewege, a picturesque village a stone's throw from Zeebrugge.

Catering for the many tourists who flock here all year around, there's a large car park just outside the village, from where a mere 5-minute walk will take you to its heart.

The street which backs onto the car park was lined by a grass verge with a couple of benches and some delightful artwork produced by the residents, tying in the Sculpture Trail which is being held here each Summer. The hot air balloons with their crochet jackets on the top left were part of an installation called 99 Luftballons, which duly supplied me with an all-day earworm!

From the car park, we made our way into the village, admiring the picturesque white washed houses and the charming little canal known as "het Lisseweegs Vaartje", which is part of an old natural waterway connecting Bruges with the North Sea.

Aptly nicknamed "the white village", it has been voted as one of Flanders' most charming villages, so it isn't at all surprising that is a honey pot for tourists wanting a taste of its nostalgic flavour.

In the window of a small art gallery, Jos was mesmerized by the vintage camera on display (top right). An Agfa Click I, it was Jos's first camera, and one which is still in our collection. 

Next stop was the old- fashioned candy shop called "De Soete Paepe" (transl. the sweet pastor, bottom right), which derived its name from the 19th century village priest Servatius Meerseman who used to distribute homemade marshmallows (known as spekken) to the poor.

Arriving at the canal, we passed a restaurant called De Valckenaere (bottom left), where a waiter was setting the terrace tables. Stopping to make inquiries, we were advised to pre-book a table if we wanted to have lunch there.

With that out of the way, we were able to continue our explorations in the safe knowledge that we wouldn't have to go hungry later.

Soon we arrived at the brick Church of Our Lady of Visitation which, built between 1225 and 1275, is a textbook example of so-called "coastal Gothic".

According to legend, the church was built on the site where fishermen once found a miraculous statue of the Virgin Mary in a creek. Although the village was of modest size, the 13th century church was not. Lissewege was a stop for pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostella, so the construction of the monumental church may have been funded by donations from these pilgrims. 

Lissewege has a soft spot for art and culture, culminating in the already mentioned Sculpture Trail which is celebrating its 27th edition this Summer. 

Along the trail, which takes one all over the village and beyond, 120 sculptures by 89 different artists are exhibited. A sizeable chunk of these can be admired in the garden of the old presbytery - now the tourist office - situated on a narrow cobbled street behind the church.

Our initial intention was to buy the instruction leaflet for a walk we'd intended to do in the afternoon, but alas, the tourist office's opening hours were from 2 pm onwards only, so we spent time in the garden instead.

Time to stand and contemplate the art on display and take photographs of those which caught our eye.

I had a particular soft spot for the girl reading her book on a circular perch (bottom right) but I'm afraid I didn't take note of its creator, nor could I find it pictured in the official on-line brochure.

Returning to the square in front of the church, we could see that the terraces of the cafés were slowly but surely filling up with people, the amassed bicycles parked all over the square indicating that these were groups of cycling tourists, the most annoying of these being commonly known as cycling terrorists! Suffice to say that they're not my favourite kind of people!

We couldn't get away fast enough and continued our walk through quiet back streets, where a huge sculpture of dandelion clocks in a tiny front garden caught my attention. 

Lissewege is a typical "polder village" surrounded by fertile green polders that were often reclaimed from the sea, and it feels as if you are walking around in a time capsule. Or rather, it does if you factor out the cars parked at the side of the roads and the ubiquitous tourists.

These particular tourists were getting quite thirsty by now, so we turned into a leafy footpath alongside the canal, which would eventually take us back to all the hubbub and to the restaurant.

We counted ourselves lucky for being early birds, as while we were having lunch, lots of people were being turned away as it was fully booked by now.

Before ordering, we quenched our thirst with a glass of alcohol free lager. I just want to make clear that Jos's silly grin had nothing whatsoever to do with the consumption of alcohol!

While Jos ordered steak with mushrooms and Belgian (not French!) fries, I opted for pasta with a smoked salmon sauce.

Our first meal out together since February 2020, although Jos already had lunch with his son once or twice in the meantime.

Afterwards, we made a brief return to the car so that I could change out of my Clarks Cloudsteppers and into a pair of proper walking shoes. 

Then, armed with only a map I'd printed off the Internet, we attempted to find the start of our intended walk. Way-marked with the typical hexagonal signs, it was a question of finding the start, which eventually we did after walking around the church and through the tourist throng twice!

Unsurfaced country lanes lined with pollarded willows, the gaps between the trees offering glimpses of the polders and a row of wind turbines gaily waving at us in the distance, ultimately brought us to a wide and shimmering blue canal, with glimpses of the port of Zeebrugge on the horizon to our left.

Scrutinizing the map while sat on a conveniently placed bench, a freighter, its stern proclaiming its home port as Antwerp, came chugging along, leaving frothy waves in its wake.

The stretch along the canal's towpath being a bit boring, we were glad to reach a path leading away from it, although we were disappointed to see that we had to walk along the main road for a stretch. No mean feat with both cars and cyclists to dodge.

It was a relief to turn into a quiet lane once more, where a charming little chapel was standing guard. This is the Ter Doest chapel, built in 1687 by the eponymous Cistercian monastery.

Our return journey took us over a stile and into a meadow leading to a path next to a railway line. If we'd thought the canal path boring, this was even worse, the only redeeming features being the occasional uninterrupted views across the polders towards the village.

  

Back in Lissewege, we found that the Tourist Office had now opened its doors. No longer in need of walking instructions, we decided to pay a visit to the on-site Museum of Saints. 

This tiny museum displays a magnificent collection of colourfully painted statues of Saints. Being the proud owners of some plaster statues inherited from Jos's grandparents, we were keen to find out the identity of one of them, a saintly chap handing a loaf of bread to a little boy. And here is is, on the top right: Saint Gerardus Majella.  

And look, isn't that the little chapel in that painting? Quite a large turnout for such a tiny chapel, don't you think? 

After this overdose of saintliness we returned to our car and drove the short distance to one of  Flanders' most impressive medieval monuments: the tithe barn belonging to the former abbey of Ter Doest. 

Built in the 13th century, the monumental barn, 50 metres long and over 30 metres high, is all that is left of the once prosperous Cistercian abbey.  The blind Gothic windows at the top sides are of special note, as is the lofty interior which consists of three aisles with oak pillars and beams.

In order to get there, we had to drive past the chapel which, weirdly reminiscent of the painting, was inundated with people. No pilgrims, though, as instead of being lead by a priest, they were listening intently to the ramblings of a guide.

Upon leaving the barn, unfortunately the group of tourists had reached the site as well, making it impossible for me to take a decent photograph of the building. I was just lamenting this fact when the guide blew his whistle, and, like rats responding to the pied piper, they came running from all directions. Huzzah!

There were sculptures on display here as well, the one on the top right representing a giant Coronavirus surrounded by desperate health care workers. 

On that note, we have reached the end of the day and of this post, leaving only the day's outfit to show you in more detail. 

Both the short-sleeved green sailor style jumper and the wide-legged trousers with its mix of flowers and stripes were charity shop finds, and I'm sure it's not the first time they were worn together. Both pieces are frequent travelling companions. As you can see, I only added minimal accessories, a charity shopped necklace and a flower bouquet brooch from a small independent shop in Antwerp.

I hope you'll join me again for the final episode in a couple of days. Until then, do stay safe, my friends.

Down the rabbit hole

Although the date above this post mentions Wednesday, 28 August, its subject is actually what we did more than two weeks ago, on Sunday, 11 August.

Now that I have finished my travelogue, I can finally catch up on what else has been happening in my life and - obviously - what I have been wearing. I have to be quick though, as by the end of this week it'll be September and we'll be off on a another little trip, gathering a fresh batch of stories to tell.

So, without further ado, let's dive in and see what we have been up to that Sunday!

"Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!"

And while I wasn't about to follow the White Rabbit down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, I checked my watch before tiptoeing along this avenue of clock-sporting trees.

The clocks are part of an exhibition in Antwerp's Middelheim museum by artist Ria Pacquée, called “They are looking at us, we are looking at them”.

This particular installation is called "The sun is moving, the clock ticking, the earth sinking". The message is that nobody can escape time, not even in the woods!

Now that is a subject that has been occupying my mind. I'm forever trying to shake off that cloak of nostalgia which like a birth mark has become part of me. 

Alice: "How long is forever?"

White Rabbit: "Sometimes, just one second."

No matter how hard I keep trying to escape time, it is obvious that I never will. But I can at least look reasonably stylish while I'm doing so.

Here's a closer look at the vintage skirt suit I'm wearing and which has been a wardrobe stalwart ever since I picked it up in a charity shop in 2015. I pinned my peacock brooch from Llangollen to it and wore two bracelets to compliment the suit's colour scheme.

My outfit was completed by a red belt and my red Clarks Cloudsteppers. On my arm, my blue crocheted handbag, whch is actually made of some kind of plastic. I had also brought my flower sprinkled denim jacket, but it turned out to be too warm for it.

Accidentally, I already divulged our destination for the day, Middelheim, which is an amazing open-air museum of sculpture and art set within a 30-acre park on the outskirts of Antwerp.

Our visit was a last minute decision made in the early afternoon, when it was safe to surmise that the weather gods would be holding off any threat of rain for the day.

Due to the lateness of the hour, there were no nearby parking spaces available, so we had to park our car a bit further away, around the corner. Walking back towards the park, we took the first entrance we came across, which actually took us to the western reaches of the park, where the museum has gathered some of its painted metal sculptures from the 1960s and 1970s.

The art installation behind me is a later one, dating from 2009. It is called "Beam Drop Antwerp" and is by US performance artist Chris Burden. You can see it in full in the above collage. Apparently, it was created by pouring liquid concrete into a pit, after which 100 steel beams were dropped into the ground from a height of 45 metres using cranes and the force of gravity. 

Jos looks quite at home between the two sections of "Double Progression Vert et Blanc". Dating from 1969, its creator is Venezuelan artist Jésus Rafael Soto.

Consisting of eight separate elements in black, green, orange and yellow, this group of sculptures by Jorge Dubon (Mexico), and dating from 1971, is called Bosque Metalica (or Wood of Metal).

The orange and green elements matched my outfit almost exactly, so that for one moment I became part of this work of art.

This part of the museum also houses its open-air storage, where some of the sculptures needing restorations or awaiting a new destinatiosn are on display. 

Here I drew up a chair for a brief chat with Mozart, Rosetti and Beethoven, who all seemed to have some minor injuries.

Was it a bird or a bullet which disfigured this important looking figure, whom I'm afraid I forgot to ask for his name?

This construction is a mobile container workspace for Compagnie Marius, which has been developing theatre productions since 1991, specializing in outdoor performances.

Entering the main part of the park, some of the sculptures seem to blend organically into the landscape. 

Here, it felt as if I had really fallen down the rabbit hole, meeting all kinds of mad creatures and the odd enigma.

All was peaceful and quiet, apart from the eternal Pokémon hunters colonizing the park, blind for the beauty of art while singling out their virtual prey.

But then we happened to look back, our hearts skipping a beat upon spying a group of menacing figures advancing upon us through the trees.

We took flight into the direction of a mirage on the horizon, the dazzling white wonder of the Braem Pavillion. 

I have waxed lyrical about this stunning building, in which temporary exhibitions are being held, many times before, so I'm just letting my camera do the talking this time.

Opened in 1971, it was designed by Renaat Braem, one of Belgium’s best-known 20th century architects.

Fleeing into the same direction was this rather bewildered looking Running Girl. She seemed a little out of breath, but then again she has been running on the spot since 1977. Turned into bronze, her creator was Czech sculptor Kurt Gebauer.

I forgot to ask her name as well, but I bet she was called Alice. 

Unlike the girl, we managed to escape by crossing The Bridge Without a Name, a work by Chinese artist Ai Weiwei.

In Alice's words, it was getting curiouser and curiouser, so before continuing our journey, we took a breather on the terrace of the museum café.

Will this biscuit make me grow or shrink, that is the question. Neither, it seemed, as we crossed the road into the second part of the park unscathed and passed in front of Het Huis (The House), a second exhibition pavillion, which was opened in 2012. 

The formal Hortiflora garden, which used to be part of the neighbouring Nachtegalen Park (Nightingale Park) was also incorporated into the Middelheim museum in 2012.

Finally finding an escape route out of the park, we ended up opposite the entrance of yet another park, Den Brandt, with its romantic castle. Although originally built in 1790, it was renovated in the late classical style in the 1870s.

Although we've been here many times before, this must have been the first time we were able to photograph the castle, and the enchanting fountain in front of it, without groups of people milling about or a car parked in front of it.

And with that, our adventure in Wonderland had come to an end.