To be lost wandering down endless warrens of old-world Europe is an experience not easily forgettable. Such was today’s itinerary of a late morning train from Ghent to Bruges. The routine is getting customary: first walk from the station to the city walls, see the ancient town square, the market, the belfry, the cathedral, or the castle, perhaps a museum of note; finally, finish off by sampling local foods or wandering off to more pedestrian quarters for a perspective of local life. And yet, it is never a dull affair.
No matter how tired the feet, one presses on a bit further hoping for a surprising encounter, or occasionally as luck would present, a small marvel of some quaint courtyard with spring buds vying for the slanting sun, or perhaps nothing more unusual than some random schoolgirl astride her bicycle, rounding a curve, riding homewards over the uneven cobblestones; and in that wondrous moment a gentle breeze will catch a tuft of her shining hair and imprint it into my memory.
