Sometimes I even surprise myself

Re where I can sleep, and how well. It was by no means a warm or a comfortable night, but I woke up again at dawn and didn't feel too bad for it. I guess I have done a lot worse. Once again, all things considered, I was hardly going to complain.

Belgian dawn: Chilly

I cracked on and made my way around some key points in the area I wanted to look at. Which again involved finding some random and seemingly unremarkable spots in the local farmland. As always there is nothing quite like being on the ground in those spots to see what they saw and understand how it all worked and why. Someone asked if I had thought about describing more around the places I visited and what actually happened there but I don't really want to turn this into a history lecture at this point, I can only really encourage people to pick up some of the recent and really good books that have come out for the WW1 centenary and actually take the time to learn a little, in memory of the amazing things these young boys did.

The Great War as its worst - the mire of Passchendaele

I ended up at the Passchendaele museum which was in a lovely little spot in a park, and worth the trip, as in fact was the Somme museum in Albert. At this one they have some nice exhibits as well as a very good reproduction of a British bunker and trench system that you can walk through.

Gas - one of the terrible legacies of the WW1 battlefield

German Krupp howitzer

The irony of reading about the valour of the Belgians in driving the Germans out of their country, with a little help from some friends, was not lost. I recall a story I have heard a couple of times of an Allied officer arriving at the front lines in Belgium and telling the Belgian officer in command that he was here to help him hold the line... The Belgian officer was indignant, and told him in no uncertain terms that he was a servant of the Belgian King and he had been tasked with defending Belgium, and he and his Valiant Belgian soldiers would protect their country without any help from some British interlopers... The British officer shrugged and went back and got his men set up in their sector next door and though little of the Belgian's arrogance. When he got up the next morning he went back to find the Belgian to coordinate their activity but found his bunker empty... In fact he couldn't even find a subordinate to ask where he was. Or anyone. He asked one of his own men on sentry duty where the Belgians had gone and was told the officer and his entire unit had packed up and disappeared overnight. They never saw them again, and were left to hold the line themselves. Obviously I am sure this does not reflect the behavior of all the Belgian troops though.

From the museum  I went to the adjacent cafe where they told me the kitchen didn't open till noon (what the hell, Europe???) but did manage to make me a semi decent coffee, or two in fact, which were much needed and most enjoyed, sitting in the sun by a lake.

From there is was on to Polygon Wood and a variety of other Allied sites in the vicinity with a bunch more walking, photo taking, history reading, and a bit more kicking around in paddocks.

Polygon Wood - huge Australian obelisk and cemetery visible through trees

Finally by mid afternoon it was time to check into my hotel room and stop imitating a homeless person, so I headed back to Best Western where a room was now available and waiting for me... Ah the luxury... Shower and nap. On a bed even. The downside of course being that by sleeping in the car I was saving essentially €100 a night, which is not inconsiderable. But I did need that shower. Suitably refreshed I headed back into the heaving mass of people in the city.

Ieper (Ypres) town square

With the sunny restaurants in the square packed out I managed to find a little bar just around a corner where I could get a couple of generous handles of some nondescript Belgian lager... Jupiler I think. I wandered the square a bit and got some photos, looked in some shops packed with uber tacky WW1 souvenirs... Poppies printed on every brand of merchandise you can think of, lots of things featuring Britah soldiers.

Looking toward Menin Gate from the Square

The guy at the hotel had suggested I get to Menin gate at least 45 minutes early to get a decent spot under the arch for a view of the nightly proceedings, but given the crowds I decided to make it earlier. I went and got some shots of the really super impressive monument, which is a massive archway spanning the main road where the bridge crosses over the ancient moat, engraved with the names of many thousands of British and Commonwealth troops who died in battle in the area. I got a good spot against the cordon ropes in the middle of the arch just as the crowds began to build.

The Gate looking out from the inside the walls. Impressive.

Standing next to me was yet another Canadian guy in his 50s who I assumed was another of the thousands of coach tour customers, but who turned out like me to be travelling solo in a rental car finding things for himself. We had a good yarn as we waited, about history and travel and all manner of things. We stood shoulder to shoulder with an American guy and a couple of guys who were part of a camera crew to block all the usual latecomers to these events who try to push to the front. Before long it was well packed under the arch.

On cue just before 8pm a voice told us to please pay due respect and not clap the performers as this was a memorial service not a show... Gah. Shortly thereafter a visiting Canadian pipe band cranked up and marched past through the arch, stopping at the town end. As always the wail of pipes stirred something very deep inside.. The sound as it echoed and reverbed under the archway was something superb.

With the pipers in place at one end, a lone piper played another tune, and then three Belgian buglers in dress uniform with swords marched into the other end of the arch, halted, and proceeded to play the Last Post, as they do every night to honour the liberators of their town. It was quite a thing. The cry of the bugles filled the giant arch with a bittersweet lament that seemed to suddenly almost drain the air from the lungs of the massed crowd, and before the sound faded there was many an undry eye. The emotion of the moment I think caught many people off guard. Once the buglers had done their thing they marched off and the pipers cranked back up and followed them. I turned to the Canadian chap who was wiping tears from his face and we shook hands and wished each other good travels.

Conscious of having to drive and already being a couple of beers down I went back to the car and proceeded to drive around fruitlessly looking for a place to get takeaways - also not a thing you can do easily in Belgium apparently. No McD's here folks. GPS lady told me there was, of all things, a Chinese takeaway on the outskirts. I figured hey, why not, Belgian Chinese. When I got there it wasn't even a Chinese restaurant. It wasn't even a restaurant. Reluctant to give up, realising I had only had two actual meals in three days supplemented by one sandwich and some Pringles, I drove back through town and found a pizza place on a side street. The Turkish bloke who ran the place talked about Gallipoli in broken English. I noted he gave the (probably eleven year old) kid before me a free bottle of wine for ordering three pizzas. I asked if they sold takeaway wine.. Initially he said no because he thought I was asking if I got a free bottle with my one pizza.. Eventually he understood and said "Yes, of course you can take! Is a restaurant!!!"... Bless you Belgium. I retired to my hotel victorious with pizza and red wine. It was good.