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Oct. 14th, 2010

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Our landlord, Guido, welcomed us into our temporary home- which seemed to be a converted garage or tractor house (but beautifully done) with a gift of three bottles of beer. Beer is what they drink in Flanders, so we did too. There are hundreds of varieties- perhaps thousands. What we mostly drank was Jeffe Blonde. In Bruges, on the Burg Square I ate a huge dish of mussels cooked in beer with a side order of frites. It was really good.

Our apartment came with a shedful of bikes. I hadn't ridden one in decades, but I'd been told you never lose the skill, so I hopped on one- the very first evening- a lady's bike with only the basic gears-  and was off and away, flying like a bird. That bike you can see, propped up against a tree in the picture of the wayside shrine- that's mine. 

In Flanders pedestrians and cyclists own the road- with cars and other motor traffic having to fit in around them. Though it can be annoying to have to pull up sharply for jay-walkers and free spirited cyclists- who don't pay attention to motor traffic because they know they're the bosses- I believe this is the right way round. The meek shall inherit the earth. Because it's so flat, cycling in Flanders is a joy. I didn't do as much of it as I'd have liked because we had so much else on the schedule, but I suppose I must have covered something like ten miles in a couple of days. Frankly, I didn't think I had it in me.
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These landscapes a little to the north of the area that got fought over in the Great War, but they're comparably flat and loamy. It's not hard to imagine the state they'd be reduced to if you pounded them with heavy artillery for a few days.

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