Aaah, la Picardie...

Derelict fishing boats at the end of the harbour of Le Crotoy

When Mrs.B carried a plant indoors to protect it from the first winter chills, she succeeded in getting a branch in her left eye, it swung right underneath her glasses. It stung like hell, but she put on a brave face (read: whined about it the whole evening) and went to bed.

The next morning, it was still hurting a lot, and I must confess that I was really worried. Her eyesight is not getting better anyway. So we decided she had to go and see a doctor. That was Friday morning. A couple of hours later, she called me at work. The doctor was very worried about her eye, because that branch had made a scratch right on her pupil. She had patched up her eye (literally) but refused to put Mrs.B on sick leave.

So my wife had left the car behind at the hospital for me to pick up in the evening, and had ventured on an adventurous trip by bus to work. There her boss cast one look at her and sent her home. ‘You’re in no state to work’, he’d said, and he was right.

So later that evening I swam from the bus to our car – it was raining cats and dogs, until I got in the damn car of course – and drove home. There I found my Piratess of the Caribbean listening to the TV – watching was too painful for her and not just because we have such crappy shows on every single Belgian TV station.

So we spent the whole weekend smearing ointment in her eye, then patching it up again; and running to and from the hospital to get daily checks. We also went to two birthday parties, although Mrs.B had to rest-rest-rest. And birthday parties are no fun when your eye either itches or hurts like hell and you MUST’NT TOUCH IT!

But luckily, yesterday the doctor told us that the eye is healing well and as from today, Mrs.B’s days of plundering innocent vessels at the high sees are over. She doesn’t have to wear the patch anymore during the day, although she has to keep the parrot and the patch for when she sleeps. I must confess I tend to prefer the wooden leg in bed, because although it’s harder when she kicks, it doesn’t have a cold foot attached to it. I will be glad to see that hook go, though.

During all this ordeal Wolf and I tried to be supportive as possible. I washed the dishes – no single dish or pot had been washed since my departure to Congo – and we sang a song to cheer her up. Belgian readers may know the Pete the Pirate-song (Piet Piraat):

Pete the Pirate

Pete the Pirate

Ship Ahoy – hoy – hoy

He is my

Comrade

Ship Ahoy – hoy – hoy

With his ship

The Crooked Tub

He sails out

Every day

Pete the Pirate

Pete the Pirate

Pete the Pirate

(x 1000)

Tomorrow morning, I'll take the 7:45 bus to Uganda. Via the airports of Brussels-Zaventem and Kigali, that is. And Wednessday, I'll hop on a small plane that will take me from Entebbe to Arua, a town on the western border not far from East Congo. There my colleagues will pick me up with their brand new Toyota Landcruiser and together we'll cross the border to Mahagi, the eastern most outpost of Congo.

I'll be gone for ten days, so you all behave and I'll bring you a small present, like I do for Wolf.

After a series of early autumn days, summer has made a short come-back here. Last weekend we enjoyed a couple of warm sunny days, and what better way to spend them than in the company of friends in a beautiful 'gite' in the Ardennes. This time, we went to the easternmost part of Belgium, to the small town of Malmedy. It's a beautiful green region with the typical bulges of the Ardennes – you can't really call them mountains. It's also the part of Belgium where a couple of thousands of people speak German, a consequence of two World Wars.

We enjoyed a gourmet grill, a barbecue and a spaghetti festival, with plenty of hors d'oeuvres and aperitif before, deserts after and snacks in between meals. In the morning we made long walks, which turned out to be quite the exercise – pushing a buggy with a 25 pound toddler over dirt tracks and up steep hills is not for the weak and meek.

Unfortunately, Wolf had caught a bad little bug which sprang into action on the first evening. When we heard him crying we went up to check him out, and found him all covered in chunks of breakfast, lunch and dinner. His little bed was covered in half digested food, not to mention the little guy himself. An hour of scrubbing and bathing later, Wolf was clean, refreshed and calmed down again. We improvised new bedding with a large towel and luckily we had a spare cuddly bear to replace his ever faithful Booh.

Later that evening, when we went to bed, I went into his room to check on him. I knew something was seriously wrong when my sock-covered foot went 'splitch'.

His bed was Armageddon. A giant puddle of puke, even larger than the first time, covered about one third of his bed. He had vomited right trough the mesh that makes up one side of his bed, creating that bloody puddle I just had stepped in. He was covered in mucus from head to toe.

So we went to alarm phase three, gave him a bath again and then I spent until 1AM trying to clean out the towel, his bed linen, his mattress, his Pjs, his teddy bear, etc.etc. with nothing more than a small bar of hand soap.

When I finally went to bed, I found Wolf taking up most of my place. So I made do with about six inches of bed and tried to sleep. At 3:30 AM I was still awake, dozing off occasionally until Wolf would kick me in the back again. So I left my place to the ungrateful little brat and went to sleep in the next room in a spare bed, right next to his cleaned but still very smelly bed.

But the rest of the weekend was actually very nice!

Not only did we have plenty of grapes this year, our first experiment in cultivating raspberries turned out better than expected.

And we had plenty of apples too. And some gooseberries, but not nearly as many as we had raspberries. So sweet and delicious, mmmmmmmh.

When I was involved in peace-work in Eastern Croatia, September was definitely the month to visit the region. Berba Grozda is the harvest of the grapes, and during that times grapes are consumed in large quantities. Fresh grapes, but also by-products such as... oh, let's see... wine?

I don't know how many times I was invited to visit the three big wine producing companies of the region (and various privately owned cellars). I'm not much of a connaisseur, but I did like the white wines of the Croatian Danube region.

It's been five years since I last participated in the traditional celebrations of Berba Grozda. But now I can have a party of my own. After years of careful pruning – nothing short of slash and burn agriculture – our grapevines have produces an excellent harvest this year. Small but very sweet grapes in the thousands!

There are so many grapes that I've been carrying whole baskets to all the neighbours, my family, friends and anyone that happened to pass by, while gorging myself in the process. Wolf too is fond of the grapes and likes to munch them away with me in the shadow of the vines. If I had any kind of commercial feeling I could have set up a small shop in the front garden to sell them. I could probably start my own export business.

And of course, I'll have to start my own wine cellar!

On the second day of our holiday, we tooka historical train ride around part of the Bay of the Somme. There are two main lines, from Saint-Valéry sur Somme to Cayeux (to the south at the coast) and back and the other one from Saint-Valéry (on the South side of the bay) to Le Crotoy (on the North side), with a stop at Noyelles-sur-Mer. We opted for that second tour, because it's with a real steam train whereas the trip to Cayeux is with an old Diesel locomotive.

However, when we'd bought our tickets we only found the Diesel train. So thinking that it replaced the normal steam train ride, we boarded. It was only when we left the train station that we say the steam train leave from another station, just 500 meters from where we hopped on our Diesel train.

I blame the French for being absolutely incapable of giving clear indications. They put one arrow in the general direction, then another and then you're left to your own devises, until you see an arrow pointing completely in the opposite direction (so at least you know you're too far).

My wife blames me, of course.

So it was with red cheeks that I handed over the tickets to the train conductor, who claimed again that their directions were perfectly clear. Luckily, he didn't kick us off the train. And besides, that old diesel locomotive was at least as charming as the steam train, wasn't it?

You can't take pictures like these on a steam train, you know

Arrival at Cayeux. Forty-five minutes later the train returned to Saint-Valéry sur Somme.

And we're off again!

We smuggled Booh, Wolf's favourite cuddle, into the passenger compartment. She really didn't want to travel with the cargo because there were no windows.

It was very hot that day (28°C!), so Wolf made sure that Booh drank regularly.

That's what you get for trying to scare me and my cuddly cow!

When we got back to Saint-Valéry, we heard a steam whistle. This is the train to Crotoy and Noyelles (where we were supposed to go). See, it's not half as nice as our little diesel train!

Although I admit that the cars do look more comfortable than the ones we travelled in. But then again, we could see the tracks through the cracks between the floor boards.

Ok, it IS a nice train.

Seen on a garage door in Antwerp today:

Witches' parking only

All others will be toad

Damn you, J.K. Rowling

He did it! Wolfy made a big poopoo on his potty! The first time it was not entirely voluntary, as we pressed him down on his potty until he made a rabbit's dropping. But then we rewarded him with a piece of chocolate while praising him above the clouds.

Fifteen minutes later (after he finished the chocolate), he made his big work of art, this time completely out of free will. So more praise was bestowed upon him and a round of chocolate bars for everyone!

It's a small crap for man
But a giant heap for a toddler!