Beloeil to Ath

Sunday 11 October 2015

Intending to ride to the castle at first light and be back well in time to be up and running and at the lock gate precisely on time so that Mr Rude had no excuses to disrupt our journey any further, I peered out of the window at a quarter to eight – thick fog and gloom.

Eight o’ clock not much better.

Eight fifteen – possibly just acceptable but would I have enough time to enjoy the anticipated outing and be back in time? Doubtfully so it was back to updating the blog.

Five minutes to the appointed time Mr Rude pitched up with an unkempt accomplice and, with not even a gesture of acknowledgement (until Lynn pointedly said “BONJOUR MESSIEURS” whereupon the accomplice mumbled “Bonjour.”), locked us in. With no offer of assistance with lines despite having had to walk within two meters of Lynn to get to the top of the lock, the doors were banged shut and the front sluices swung open as quickly as possible leaving water to pour out, rocking us and rolling us and banging us and sliding us. Fun it was not!

And so it went on for another seven locks and a similar number of lifting bridges

with Mr Rude and scruffy Master Sulky not acknowledging our existence either by word or gesture and trying to make this a most uncomfortable experience for us. It was with some relief that the last bridge was opened for us just before the Port Plaisance at Ath and, to Lynn’s ‘Merci’ and ‘Au revoir’, Master Sulky suddenly said goodbye, pointed out the direction where we could find restaurants and said that lock service would be provided at 10h00 the next day – and he and another colleague would be on duty. Nothing from Mr Rude…these two youngsters really need to learn some manners and to understand their part in the global fight for tourist-spend. Or, preferably, be fired.

Mr Rude and Master Sulky

After tying up at the somewhat bleak, station-side visitors mooring which was equipped with adequate bollards and free water and electricity,

we unloaded the bikes and rode into the main square.

Ath (pronounced At in French and Aath in Flemish) is a strange city and I’m still ambivalent about it. Known as the "City of Giants" after the "Ducasse" festivities which take place every year on the fourth weekend in August. Huge figures representing Goliath, Samson, and other allegoric figures are paraded through the streets, and Goliath's wedding and his famous fight with David are re-enacted – but this was not August and the square was almost deserted.

Eventually we found a restaurant which served lunch (yes, on the main square on a Sunday in a virtual French city we could not find a restaurant open for lunch! Very odd.) and enjoyed braised ox tongue with croquetten and salads and a ‘Trio of Croquettes’, one filled with minced (pureed?) pork, one with seafood and the last with what tasted like sweetbreads – very good and served on a bed of salad, no frites! And by a waiter who spoke, and was prepared to speak, English. Hallelujahs! We must be getting near to Flanders.

Getting Silly in Ath

Looks smart but definitely well worn.

But good, wholesome food.

Later that afternoon I went a different way into the city and there were some intriguing aspects; according to Wiki, Ath was founded around 1160 and by 1416 counted a population of 5,000. There is more of the history here https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ath but somehow the city of today seems to lack heart – or maybe it was just because it was Sunday.

On my way back to Elle there was an interesting looking converted barge turned bar/night club so I popped in to confirm that it was indeed open, and went back to pick up Lynn.

On board The Lounge Boat Café we met the owner and settled down with a Mojito for Lynn and a glass of bubbles for me and a chat. Seems like he is from somewhere in South America and was fascinated that were South Africans travelling Belgium with our own boat.