october 10

This is a day for reacquainting myself with Antwerp. During the day I take two long walks through the streets. I have a primary and a secondary goal for each of the two walks. They are: primarily, I do not want to get lost; secondarily, I would like to find the Stadhuis (City Hall) which is decorated with frescos by Hendrik Leys. It also contains the Leys Chamber and the Minor Leys Chamber. What could be better than that? I am not much of a touring person, but I would like to take a tour of the Stadhuis before I leave Antwerp. But not today. I just think it would be cool to see it while I am walking. But, primarily, my mission today is: I do not want to get lost.

I head out before lunch.

I look at a map in my room. I have a reasonably precise route and I am going to head along it.

When I am in the street in front of my hotel, I still see a row of cars parked along the sidewalk. I'm not sure if they are always the same cars, I haven't been taking notes. But there are always cars parked there. None of them ever have what seems to be a citation. I suppose the police could have them towed away... But my room is on the fourth floor on the street side, and I never hear that kind of activity. If a car is towed, someone must rush in right away to fill the gap. There is a small police outpost at the end of the street, it looks roughly like a somewhat enlarged theater ticket booth. I'm not sure what the policeman inside does there, but he doesn't seem to call tow trucks.

Heading out isn't bad at all, I pick a major thoroughfare to walk along, note a few landmarks, and am walking at a good clip through Antwerp. Occasionally it drizzles. My observation is that it's always threatening rain around here. The only time it isn't threatening is because it is already raining. But anyone who knows me knows that this kind of weather is exactly my element. I think I begin to see where I get it from.

The walk is going pretty well when I see a sign that says "Stadhuis" with a pointing arrow. Of course, I decide to go off in that direction.

Some city planners have developed streets that are straight lines, that meet at right angles, maybe have concise but meaningful names like "A", "B", "C", ... 1st Street, 2nd Street, .... Those planners were never invited to Antwerp. Antwerp was a very powerful city at one time in its history. Streets were likely laid down when someone thought they needed a quicker route somewhere. And likely that someone could just call the right people and have a street built. Maybe to keep their shoes dry.

Now, I've got to say that I really like the concept of Antwerpian street layout. I'd love to have them all memorized the way that residents probably need to. But I'm not there yet.

I didn't find the Stadhuis. But I saw quite a few interesting streets. And since I was able to find my way back to the hotel in time for lunch, I technically wasn't lost. The fact that I was able to find the hotel again at all, means I wasn't lost.

A very brief digression on eating in the hotel...

The very first time I went into the dining room for my breakfast I saw a bottle of Tobasco sauce on the buffet table. That made me quite happy. At lunch on the second day I made at least as exciting a discovery. There was a bowl of anchovies in with the other salad toppings. Now, virtually everyone in my immediate family likes anchovies. A lot. When I go into a restaurant, I typically ask for a Caesar salad just for the opportunity to eat anchovies. I always ask if the Caesar salad has anchovies on it and I am usually told "There's a little bit in the dressing, you won't taste it at all." Of course, that's not really what I want to hear. At that point I ask if I can have anchovies on my salad and they usually bring out the salad with anchovies on it. Except in seafood restaurants. In seafood restaurants, the waiter usually says "I don't think we have anchovies." But they always go back into the kitchen to check. Between five and ten minutes later, they reappear and confirm "We don't have any anchovies."

Here, they're just waiting in a bowl. Ready to be put on a salad or anything else a person wants. And when you ask for "coffee", and it's after breakfast, you are brought espresso. I was told that if I ask for espresso for breakfast, it will be brought to me. I've learned to do that.

When I go for my extended walk after lunch, I am no more successful in locating the Stadhuis. And even though I drift in and out of knowing where I am on the way back, I find the hotel once again. I have to be on the alert for overconfidence.

A brief digression on people here...

I haven't had an awful lot of direct dealings with people here, mostly hotel employees, the policeman I asked for directions, perhaps a few others. When I ask someone something, they respond as if I have just given them the sublime opportunity to do what they are supposed to be doing. True, in a sense, these are generally service people. But, away from here, I've met many, many people in similar situations who act as if I am interrupting what they should be doing, or want to be doing.

After the day's walks, I'm reasonably exhausted. I decide to go the the Hotel Carlton for dinner. The Hotel Carlton is the sister hotel to mine and is just around the corner. The Carlton is a four-star hotel while mine is a mere three-star hotel. But I feel like doing something just a little bit different. The restaurant in the Carlton is elegant looking and small, with no more than twenty tables. There is only one person visibly staffing the restaurant, though I know that there is cooking going on behind the scenes. I watch him. He reminds me of, somewhat looks like, Hercule Poirot on PBS (if I have it right, played by David Suchet). If Hercule Poirot were a waiter, not a master detective, he would be this man. He bustles around, talks to the customers, occasionally sings to himself "Bim - bim - bim - bim" (that's pretty much the tune, too). He seems to truly love what he is happily allowed to do.

I ask for the grilled North-Sea fish for my dinner. I never ask what the North-Sea fish are, it doesn't really matter terribly much to me. But when they come, I am happy to see that one-third of them are salmon. And all of them are good.

When the waiter brings me my bill, he explains that he has to put his glasses on. I gesture towards mine on the table and say that I have taken mine off while I am eating.

"Ah, my friend!", he says.

Things I saw during my walks:

Not really sure what this is, but it's impressive...