Ghentish Town

One of the many things I like about Belgium is that the towns there are so photogentically grungy once you wander off the tourist offices' map.

Central Brussels and Ghent feel like cities as lived by their citizens. Graffiti, litter and in Brussels' case - the stench of urine (yes, I know we have all these in London too, but that doesn't count). These images were taken within a stones-throw of Ghent's visitor honeypots. As I clicked away, I was conscious of being watched. Old ladies peeping at me from behind slightly tatty net curtains and grubby art-nouveau windows. A codger in a trilby putting on glasses and squinting down from his dormer window. This is something you'd never see in the West End and seldom in the central arrondissements of Paris. The British and French capitals are becoming cities where huge areas are given over solely for the gratification of tourists and global chain stores; the central zones are increasingly lived in only by the rich.

Ghentrification

Just back from a short trip to Ghent. Castles, trapgevel, bicycles, chocolate, bells, canals, frites, stoverij, beer. Nice town - unlike Brussels, which seems to get filthier with every visit. We weren't in Ghent long enough to really investigate the pubs, though we did have a couple of hours in the excellent Dulle Griet, squinting at the beer menu through the tobacco fug.


Another stop was the astounding Hopduvel, a ten minute walk outside the old city on the left bank of the Coupure canal. There are something like 1,200 different beers brewed in Belgium - and most of them are available in this barn of an off-licence. This selection is all I could physically carry - a curse of being a photographer is that my camera gear takes up space of at least six bottles.


Hiding at the back there is the most expensive beer I've ever bought - a Westvleteren 12, probably the most hyped brew of recent times. I'm sure you know the story - tiny batches, no labels, hard to find, yadda yadda. The beer is only officially available from the St Sixtus monastery, with its slightly bonkers reservation system. If you buy it anywhere else, it's a sort of 'grey export'.

WV12 is considered by some (not least Ratebeer) as the best beer in the world. How much of this opinion is formed by the exclusivity of it is hard to tell - but i've been looking for a bottle to try for two or three years. I picked this up at De Bier Tempel - researched by Mrs TIW as our best bet - in central Brussels along with a Westvleteren Blond and Westvleteren 8, the only three beers the monks brew commercially. I have no idea when i'll try it - i'm almost scared of it.

On our walk back to Midi station we were shadowed by the world's most obvious bag snatcher, culminating in a staring match before we got to the sanctuary of the Eurostar terminal. This is the third or fourth time we've been to the Belgian capital, and if anything Midi station is getting worse - reminding us of the stygian terminals we encountered on our rail journeys in China a few years back. Midi is certainly incomparable to the high Victorian glory of St Pancras that welcomes you back to London. Sort it out, Mr Van Rompuy.

Not In Bruges

Last weekend my parents and brother were down for the Skyride - as good a reason as any to try the bottle of Brouwerij Strubbe's Leireken Wilde Vruchten that's been lurking at the back of our fridge for months. I picked it up on our last visit to Paris, when Strubbe's brewer was giving tastings at Cave á Bulles. His intent, he said, was to create a 'fruit beer which appeals to those that don't like fruit beer'. Well, that's me alright. At the time the brewer looked a bit puzzled when I said it was 'peppery' but some tastings on Ratebeer seem to back me up.

Half a year in storage seems to have changed the flavours markedly - after a sweet, clean nose there were distinct hits of bubblegum, strawberry, cherry and sherbert. Somebody said "moon dust", the popping candy which was once rumoured to give you brain damage. Another gulp brought herbs and even a bit of beetroot and asparagus, all terminating in a slightly sour finish with a backdrop of that original, but fainter, peppery-ness. Odd stuff this - Belgian eccentricity which brought to mind Mary Poppins' magic sweets with a different taste in every suck.

Would I have it again? Probably. But not for a while, eh?