Day 10 - Wezemaal: Biking, Trappist Beer, and Ice Cream

Day 10. This was a day that I was looking forward to since the beginning of my trip: a bike ride though the Belgian country side.

And was it ever gorgeous.

After going to pick up the bikes we rented from the train station, we travelled in a pack of 12 (some others went to Ghent), with Dr. Brooks taking the lead. Having lived just outside Leuven in the small town of Wezemaal for a year while he was teaching at the Universitet Katholiek Leuven, he knew his way through the narrow dirt paths in the fields and along the river.

It was breathtaking to look out over the swaying fields and see the skyline dotted with trees, cottages, and the occasional church steeple, signifying the centre of a village.

While biking along the train tracks and the cobblestone sidewalks of the villages we passed through, I was struck with awe at the number of poppies that seemed to grow like scarlet weeds.

It was hauntingly just like John McCrae said in his poem, In Flanders Fields: the poppies grew everywhere.

I think back to my great-grandfather, who was a World War II vet, and to the Canadian tradition of wearing a poppy on Remembrance Day. To be in the place that those poppies represent was something that took me completely by surprise. I felt instantly (and oddly) patriotic--my country helped liberate this place and my compatriots' blood was spilled on this land to keep them free (how very stars and stripes of me...).

But to see and understand what the 11th of November is all about--the freedom and prosperity of a country under its own self-determined government and the sacrifices that Canadians made for people on the other side of the world is truly enchanting.

As we cycled through the paths lined with the pride-inspiring poppies, we were all joking and taking pictures. Nicole and Yas were very busy video blogging the trip (I'll post all the links to that later--they are EXTREMELY educational, I assure you.)

Yas also declared herself the group megaphone. Whenever there was a potential obstacle up ahead, she made sure that everyone knew (for example, "OLD LADY WITH CHILD AND TOY!"). I would like to thank her for making sure we didn't have any obstacle issues (unless your name happens to be Nicole and you happen to be video blogging while biking--you can fill in the blanks).

When we finally arrived in Wezemaal on a quiet cobblestone street, lined with small, narrow town houses, each with red window gardens contrasting the light blue sky and green of the fields in the distance, we pulled up to a cafe which the former mayor of the village owns (we didn't get to meet him like previous years have). Many of us were feeling quite peckish after the 12 km bike ride (yes Mom, it's nothing compared to the 225km bike ride you completed this weekend--proud of you!).

I decided to go for traditional Belgian food and drink. I ordered an Orval which is a trappist beer made by monks in a monastery. While it was refreshingly clean and floral, I wasn't a big fan.

For lunch, I ordered sausage with applesauce. And I had two choices of sausage: white or black. not really understanding what the difference would be, I ordered one of each. After I had taken my first bite of the "black" sausage, Dr. Brooks asked if I would like to know exactly what I was eating.

"Well it sorta has a liver-y texture..." I said.

He chuckled and responded: "That's because they didn't drain the blood out of the meat. It's blood sausage."

Now, looking back, I'm surprised I didn't gag and throw up. I'm not into Twilight or True Blood so eating blood doesn't really rub me the right way. But instead I nodded in interest and kept chewing. It was actually very good. The texture was unexpected but the apples complimented the blood sausage very nicely. Will I order it again? Probably not.

After lunch, we hopped back on our bikes for the return journey, bellies full of traditional Belgian fare and trappist beer.

For desert, Dr. Brooks treated us to some homemade ice cream (actually made in their home--i asked to use the bathroom and they let me in their front door and I had to walk through their living room). It was a refreshing treat on a hot day (when I got a little sun burnt).

The rest of the day was spent relaxing and schmoozing.

Our first cultural day was a great success and a pleasure. Riding through the fields of Belgium was a relaxing break from the political talk and me plotting how to rule the world.