But first the story of my travels. I last left you at a different lake, by the refugee camp. Having exhausted my cake decorating skills and leaving behind me a trail of sticky fingered grinning people, Skyla and I opened up the map and headed east towards Brugges. Without an intinerary we really do just go wherever feels right. My motivation to go there was purely due to my love of the film "In Brugges" and partly because there was the possibility of a leafy wide street to park in close to town (heaven if you are driving a 7 tonne lorry.. they are conspicuous at best!)
So off we trundled. Little did I imagine the pickle we would be soon getting into! It turns out that Belgium is shockingly poor at giving height restriction warnings for its bridges. Not wanting to scalp the truck and not having a detailed road map of the region we took what could generously be described as a scenic tour of the outskirts of town. Hot, bothered, anxious and wanting to find somewhere to walk Skyla, we parked up outside an unsuspecting persons house and borrowed their wifi (from the truck cab!) to load a map and seek out a quiet refuge. Ah! Amazing! There was a lovely looking campsite beside a small wood only a 40 minute walk into town. Ideal. Off we went. For an eye watering 28€ we were offered a small patch of grass and access to wifi (how you got my first blog!). Without many other choices we swallowed the cost, rolled up into our little patch, lowered the balcony and put on a brew. It was truly laughable how in the middle of EVERYTHING we were! The entrance and reception 20 yards one way, the balcony ending right on the main path through to the rest of the camp.. not at all the secluded idyll my romantic imagination had conjured. But as with everything in life, there was great benefit to my position, I just didn't yet know it.
Returning late from an explore and stick throwing session in the woods my immediate neighbours Annalie and Matt had arrived. To be more accurate, they were half sitting, half reclined, seemingly scrumpled up in the boot of their Land Rover. Overjoyed at being able to offer them a spacious area to chill in I invited them up for tea and cake (homemade.. of course!). It didn't take much persuasion and soon the three of us were making supper plans and along with Skyla we headed into town for the evening. Now most of you know I'm not a city person, so exploring Brugges on a Sunday night is my idea of heaven. It was empty and beautiful. Though the two very strong Belgian beers might have impacted my judgement slightly ;)
Lying in bed wondering where to head to next, I texted home and received a completely random suggestion (thanks Puggy!) to head to Bouillon, the Jewel of the Semois valley.. why not?! It was south, and promised beautiful scenery and waterways. Hours and hours of Tarmac later we followed the HGV route into town and to my horror found ourselves turning down into a steep potholed ever-narrowing lane where the houses seemed to sway as I rolled by. 'Oh dear god! I have had it now!' I thought. Without much choice I proceeded, every inch forward raising my blood pressure until finally the road cornered and opened up into a mangnificent riverside promenade. Phew! And breathe. Now just time to find somewhere inconspicuous to park for the night. Central town was obviously not an option, and with my recent heart stopping arrival I was reticent to explore by truck too much. So out of town we went, following the river. Not long later we happened upon a wide parking spot under a high road bridge. Not enamoured with the location (it was a dual carriageway above) but without any knowledge about other places, we parked up and stretched out legs. A very obliging fisherman, the owner of the local petrol station as it turns out, chatted with me in my pidgeon French and gave me some good tips on where to go dog walking. So happy to be finally out exercising Skyla bounded around gleefully and we trip trapped down a country lane. After about 500 yards I couldn't believe my eyes nor my luck. There was, on the left, a small farm house and a long thin strip of field that hugged the river. The setting was so beautiful, the ground hard and the hay already cut and bailed. Somewhat tentatively I knocked at the door and asked if we might park up there for the night. A little surprised but very willing, the farmer gave his permission and we whooped and ran back to the sorry looking underpass and relocated to our secret slice of heaven.
And so it goes, I spend the morning with a coffee, perusing the map for interesting places to head to, knowing my general direction is Croatia. We had a bit of a hiccup last night, got tired and ended up tucked away on the side of a field, not having the energy to make it any further. Sleepily this morning, before the farmer discovered us, we moved on and have parked up by a huge natural lake, out the back of a teeny hamlet. We really are in the middle of nowhere. Which is where Alfons the ex-priest comes in.
I've become quite used to people's faces popping up around the side of the truck as they look on in wonder. Alfons was no different! I went out to greet him and we sat chatting for an hour or so, covering topics from the local region to Brexit to the state of stigma surrounding HIV in modern Europe. Having come here from Stuttgart, he is here exploring as he and his husband have just purchased a small house in a nearby town. Revealing to him that I hoped to visit Stuttgart and asking if he thought there were suitable places for me to park the truck he kindly offered his front driveway! Any time, from now to whenever.. so sweet. Ten minutes or so after bidding him farewell I heard a rat-a-tat at my door, it was Alfons again, proffering a key to his house, offering for me to stay even if he wasn't going to be there.
I know the security conscious amongst you would be aghast at this. Paranoid that he was a murderer luring me to his lair. Well, perhaps you will get to say 'told you so' but I really imagine not. I saw a wise, kind person sharing generously. But don't worry, I'm not going to be as foolish as to accept this offer without being safe, though I wish I lived in a world where I could. He has trusted me as much as I am trusting him - I have keys to his house!
Anyway, I thought that it was an interesting and very touching interaction. One to ponder, one that brings up many things to think about in this world of increasing isolationism we are building in the UK.
As for now, the rain has stopped (a spectacular thunder storm has just washed through) so Skyla and I are off to go and look at the stalks nest perched high above us in a tree in the next field.
More tales from the road next time :)
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