Seaside nostalgia

I have a bone to pick with the weathermen!

In the week before our holiday, they all raved about the gorgeous late Summer weather we would be having, and I'd already mentally packed a suitcase full of Summer frocks. By the end of the week, however, things had quite literally cooled down considerably. They even managed to squeeze in a rainy day in the middle of our holiday!

Now, what to pack? Even if we were only going for a week, I needed to consider all options, including the fact that they might easily have got it wrong again. Panicking, I chucked in all kinds of everything, including lots of cardigans and a variety of things to layer underneath. For good measure, I packed not one but two raincoats!

The sky we woke up to on our first morning held a definite promise of rain, and indeed, even before we finished breakfast we could see the first raindrops making tiny concentric circles in the pond.

In spite of the inconclusive forecast, it looked set to be an utterly miserable, grey day, the kind that drains everything of colour.

Not to be deterred, we decided to go to the seaside as planned, so I provided some colour of my own by wearing a sky blue patterned dress and orange cardigan. As a nod to our destination, I added a sailing boat brooch.

It rained on an off while we were on our way to the small seaside resort of Westende. Parking our car in a free car park in De Panne, the seaside town nearest to us, we continued our journey on the coast tram, which travels all along the Belgian coastline, getting off at Westende-Bad about 40 minutes later.

Hemmed in by an encroaching army of ugly high rise apartment buildings - the curse of the Belgian seaside - this delightful villa on a busy road in Westende is a throwback to a bygone era.

Built in 1922 by architect Oscar Van de Voorde for a doctor's family from Ghent, Villa les Zéphyrs gives us a taste of how a well-to-do family would have spent their summer holidays on the Belgian coast in the 1930s.

Entering the house from the adjacent modern extension housing the town's tourist office, the first room you see is the amazing bathroom, with its sunken marble bath, terrazzo floor and tiles featuring the popular thistle motif of the era.

I think I may have gasped upon entering the dining room with adjacent fumoir (smoking room) which could be closed off with a pair of plush rose red curtains.

Turquoise tiles and brass adorn the splendid fireplace, complementing the original wood panelling and sideboards.

All of these are much older than the house, as they were designed by renowned Art Nouveau architect and designer Henri Van de Velde in 1889. They were only attributed to him in 2006 after the director of the design museum in Ghent found the designs in the catalogue of the furniture workshop ran by Van de Velde in the late 19th century.

This to-die-for Art Nouveau cabinet caught my eye in one of the other downstairs rooms, as did the two fabulous light fittings.

More treasures were to be found in the basement kitchen, the domain of the family's personnel.

The framed January page of a 1934 calendar was advertising some of the soaps we have on display in Dove Cottage's kitchen!

Upstairs there was an array of seaside holiday related items, including some fine costumes and a poster advertising a sandcastle competition complete with its rules.

Another eye-catching feature are the highly decorative stained glass windows with their floral motifs.

After leaving the villa, it was time for lunch, so we walked into the direction of the promenade.

Soon, the light but consistent drizzle had blurred my glasses but although we were carrying umbrellas, we were reluctant to open them, thinking we'd soon be inside.  So, we plodded on, walking the length of the rather forlorn and deserted promenade in search of place to eat, in the end settling for the only decent looking restaurant, which by then we'd walked past twice already.

The windswept beach was empty apart from some seagulls huddling together after a meal of mussels left behind by the retreating waves.

Making use of the restaurant's facilities, I almost did a double take when I noticed this strange, wild haired creature staring back at me in the mirror. The wind and drizzle had conspired with the salty sea air in providing me with a unwanted new hairdo. No amount of patting would get it to lay down, and as I didn't have a brush or comb in my bag, this is how my hair would look like for the rest of the day.

I'm sure it wasn't just my colourful attire which made people stare at me!

The rain had thankfully, if only temporarily, stopped by the time we left the restaurant, so we briefly walked along the beach, taking in lungfuls of bracing sea air. We still had the place almost to ourselves, with only the gulls and a handful of other people foolhardy enough to venture outside for company.

Apart from the two of us, some welcome colour was provided by a lonely yellow striped beach hut rather uselessly advertising deckchairs and windshields for hire and a shop displaying a garish array of buckets and spades, which nobody in their right mind would be buying on a day like this.

After our exhilarating walk, we retraced our steps to the tram stop for our return journey, but before returning to our car, we made another stop along the way.

Near the seaside resort of Koksijde are the ruins of a Cistercian monastery. The so-called Abbey of the Dunes dates back to the 12th century and was abandoned in around 1600.

From 1949 onwards, excavations and painstaking restoration campaigns have unearthed the abbey's foundations.

A separate, modern museum, with scale models, dummies and multimedia presentations is doing its best to bring the past back to life. This wasn't so much our cup of tea, especially the many waxwork tableaux of monks, some of them looking creepily lifelike. 

Dotted around the domain, there were several of these forbidding looking giant red monks. Apparently they are by an artist called William Sweetlove and made of plastic.

Children of all ages could be entertained with the various games laid out along the approach to the ruins.

We decided to try our hand at a game of skittles. It took Jos only one attempt to knock them all over. Look at that action photo! Needless to say, clumsy me was totally crap at the game!

And with that, I am leaving you for now, hoping that you will join me again on for the next installment of our holiday.

I'm linking my seaside outfit with Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style. Do go and check out the other visible ladies!

These things take time

On Monday last week, we set out on our yearly sojourn to the Westhoek, the most westerly part of Belgium.

For seven years now, we have spent the first week of September in this area, which is sandwiched between the North Sea coast and the French borders.

This is the landscape where the battles of the Great War were once fought, its panoramic views and its gently rolling hills, silent witnesses.

Our journey coincided with the first day of school, so we set out after rush hour but, as it is only a two-hour drive, we still managed to arrive at our destination shortly after midday.

Our cottage, a studio apartment in a thatched wooden building, was as delightful as ever, and so was the unprecedented view from its little balcony. Still, all was not as it as it should have been.

When we waved goodbye to owner Johanna last year, little did we know that it would be for the last time. When we tried to contact her back in May to make arrangements, we were saddened to learn from her daughter that Johanna had passed away. She was only in her early 50s.

Even if we didn't know her all that well, as we only saw each other once a year, there was a certain connection: we kept in touch by email, and I know she sometimes read my blog.

The news had somewhat knocked us for six and, although we'd gotten used to the idea by now, her absence still cast a bit of a shadow on our holiday, especially when we were in the cottage and contemplating the landscape around it, where Johanna's presence seemed to be poignantly tangible.

The empty poles in the hop fields opposite the cottage were a case in point, as they managed to look even more barren than usual.

There were reminders even in the streets of nearby Poperinge, where a strange heaviness seemed to be lingering. 

For once, the square in front of the yellow bricked town hall was empty, and one of the gargoyles hiding in a corner of the stonework seemed to be playing a sad song for further emphasis. 

We always gravitate towards Poperinge on our first day, sampling the atmosphere of this deceptively quiet little town, and taking in the familiar sights like the Hop Museum (top left) and Talbot House (bottom left), which we visited back in 2016 and 2017.

Our visits usually end with a walk in Poperinge's enchanting Burggraaf Frimoutpark.

The park, covering 3 hectares, is the town's green lung, affording views of its skyline. Unfortunately, this view has been marred by one or two cranes for the past couple of years. Thankfully these can be photographically erased with some careful framing.

A new artwork has popped up, and no, it hasn't toppled over, this is the way it is meant to be.

The hollow, bronze sculpture, which is six metres long, is called "Shot at Dawn" and its creator, Anno Dijkstra, who was inspired by Poperinge's War Memorial in the Market Square, is issuing an invitation for reflection.

In his words: In my imagination I carefully tilt the monument. It is now lying on its back. The bottom of the pedestal has become a gigantic black hole. I can just about see the starting point of the soldier, the soles of his shoes, his legs. And then it gets really dark. Do I see his chest, his neck? Can I look inside his head? The darkness is impenetrable. The pedestal lying down looks like a funnel. Through the funnel the present slinks in: it brings some clarity to that darkness. Or is the funnel a horn through which the past tries to shout out something at us? An oracle? Do we hear the enthusiasm of the first weeks of the war, the homesickness, the pride, the doubt, the blood lust, the rattle of death, the cries of victory? Or do we mainly hear a rustle? The rustle of our own blood?

The park is named after Dirk Frimout who was born in Poperinge and who, in 1992, was the first Belgian in space. He is now an honorary citizen.

We walked the length of the park, with its many water features. This one is looking a bit like a miniature flying saucer, which has just landed in one of the ponds.

We are on the cusp of Autumn, a delightful juxtaposition of seasons. The beginning of the end of a never-ending process. A reminder, both of nature's fragility and strength, and the passing of time. 

These things, like all things, take time.

A black cat was about to cross our path. At first all we could see was its two pointy ears. Its interest piqued, it emerged from the grassy verge. But, keeping in mind that curiosity killed the cat and all that, it then  seemed to think it was better to be safe than to be sorry, with one backward glance slinking off the way it had come.

While admiring the imaginative planting near the main pond, we were accosted by a gaggle of ducks.

Jos magicked some biscuits from his inside pocket, which he proceeded to distribute among the gang, making him look like a kind of pied piper. Aren't they the most funny creatures? At one point, the most forward of the white ones were trying to eat Jos's shoe-laces. My favourite was the one with the punky hairdo on the bottom right.

We returned along a boardwalk leading us over the ponds and through a marshy area.

The statuesque figure of a blue heron was patiently waiting for its evening meal at the other side of the pond.

Here I am posing for one more photograph before returning to the town in search of our own evening meal.

We sat down outside on the terrace of Hotel de la Paix in the Market Square, sampling glasses of Palm Green, a deliciously punchy non-alcoholic beer, while waiting for our meal to arrive.

Then it was back to our cottage, where we watched the sun go down from our little balcony and retired to our comfortable bed for a good night's sleep.

Watch out for the continuation of my travelogue in my next post!

Meanwhile, I'm taking my travel outfit, including flying saucer, to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style!

As time goes by

Can you believe it's September already? Well, neither can I!

I wonder if time is playing tricks with my mind, as it seems as if only yesterday we were welcoming Summer, and then, after a blink or two of the eye, the season's time is slowly but surely running out.

So, where did the time go? Did I let it slip through my fingers, allowing it to vanish into thin air?

Typically, though, the past week time seemed to go just that little bit slower, as if it was taunting me, and keeping the weekend, and my subsequent holiday, tantalizingly out of reach.

But we've finally made it to the weekend and we're all set to go away for a week tomorrow. We'll be storing a whole new set of memories to get us through Winter, and gathering stories to tell.

Before I leave, however, there are some things left to share with you, starting with the promised charity shop finds.

True vintage finds are a rare commodity at the charity shops these days. Nevertheless, I was able to pluck this amazing mint green floral frock from the rails.

It was only in the fitting room that I noticed that one of the ribbons gathering the sleeves was missing.  The one that was still in place was tied with a bow, which wasn't much to my liking so, when I got home I untied the bow, removed the ribbon and cut it in half. I then re-threaded and gathered each sleeve until it was a perfect fit, then sewed the ribbons in place and snipped off the excess. Et voilà! I keep surprising myself with my sewing skills!

The floral print offers a range of colour to choose from, but I took my lead from the one shining the brightest, adding accessories in shades of magenta to give it more pizzazz. 

My bamboo handbag is another one which hardly sees the light of day, as it is rather delicate, but isn't it a beauty? It was a flea market find back in November 2016.

The summer stuff has all but gone from the charity shop rails and the first of the long sleeved dresses, jumpers and heavy wool skirts are making an appearance, with the overall colour palette getting darker.

Now, I don't wear black as often as I used to, preferring bright colours whatever the season, but I'm always prepared to make an exception for a great print.

The ankle-length dress on the left, with its Paisley-esque print, originally came from a high street shop. The fabric is light enough for those late Summer days merging into Autumn, and I can see myself wearing it for a stroll in the park, with a sturdy pair of boots.

The other dress is King Louie, and its original retail price must have been around the € 80 mark. It looks brand new and, although I'm obviously not complaining, it always boggles my mind that someone would pay good money for a dress and then donate it to charity after only a couple of wears. Oh, I know fashion is fickle and all that, but still!

This cap-sleeved cowl neck frock is King Louie as well, again in pristine condition. I succumbed to its funky pop-art print!

Not a charity shop find, but I've just realized I haven't shown you this citrusy sleeveless Trevira frock yet. It's from Think Twice and the fabric reminds me of terry cloth. No chance of Jos losing me in a crowd when I'm wearing this!

This dress might look familiar as it's the one I bought at Ashmans Antiques and Old Lace in Welshpool on the last day of our holiday. Prompted by the turquoise bits in the print, but not wanting it to be too matchy-matchy, I accessorized it with a bright blue belt, necklace and bracelet.

The ivory coloured Bakelite bangle carved with Edelweiss finds its companion in the celluloid Edelweiss brooch I'm wearing.

Although you've seen some of my holiday finds in my travelogue, there are still quite a few things which escaped my attention, so now is as good a time as any for a round-up.

The charity shops in Welshpool came up trumps with a new-to-me frock printed with birds, which I already wore for our return journey, and a vintage long-sleeved crimplene dress in a hard to photograph shade of blue.

Not as many brooches as last year, but still a good haul. They were picked up from charity shops in various locations, including Welshpool, where I found no less than four of them!

The shell necklace was waiting for me in a charity shop in Ludlow and it proved to be a good year for bangles and bracelets.

Let's make a little jump to last weekend now.

Saturday's weather forecast was pretty dire which, as Jos's eldest daughter and her husband were having a garden party for their 20th wedding anniversary, had me rack my brain on what to wear.

There turned out to be no sign of the forecasted rain, but it was still quite chilly, so I opted for a floral maxi skirt, conveniently hiding the pair of tights I felt the need to wear. I was also wearing booties, although you cannot see much of them either. 

My lightweight, long-sleeved blouse was layered over a short-sleeved tee, which was cozy enough with my turquoise lined jacket on top.

The fact that I wasn't wearing any bracelets or bangles (forgot!) was soon remedied when upon arrival at the party we were supplied with a festival-worthy wrist tag mentioning the happy couple's names and the occasion.

The blouse actually started life as a mini dress, which I used to wear over leggings many years ago. Although it hadn't been worn in ages, I was reluctant to let it go as I loved the print, so I shortened it into a blouse. Yes, you have read that right: no-sewing-skills-whatsoever-Ann actually did this herself! Maybe I did inherit some of my great-grandmother Angelica's seamstress genes after all ...

I'm ending this post with Sunday's flea market finds. We only found out at a very late hour that there was a flea market in our village, but obviously we couldn't let it pass without having a look.

My first find was a snakeskin Jane Shilton clutch, which was hiding under a pile of gloves.

I am not sure how politically correct the brooch on the top left is, but isn't she gorgeous? She is 1950s, and both she and the marvellous celluloid dragonfly brooch were only € 2 each.

Finally, I was in need of a new case for my reading glasses and thought this one with its be-hatted lady and tortoiseshell clasp fit the bill nicely.

That's it, our bags our packed for tomorrow. No stress, as it's only a two hour drive to our destination. Here's to hoping the weather gods are with us again.

See you next week!

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style before I go!