Summer Holiday, Pt.2

The Belgian coast is an odd thing: a mere sixty-five kilometres of beach to serve a population of eleven million has forced a kind of Skegness-on-steroids seaside development which has resulted in a literal wall of apartment blocks along the entire coastline (see above).

You all know how much I can wax lyrical about the wonders of Europe, but even I can't skirt around the fact that, frankly, it looks like shit. After being bombed to smithereens twice in as many decades, the Belgians apparently gave up on beautification and went for a pile-'em-high approach on their seaside. It's sad, but the benefit is that almost everyone can affordably manage a simple family holiday on the beach, and what the Belgian coast lacks in aesthetics it makes up for in down-to-earth personality - much like the seaside towns back home. The Belgians seem more and more like the Brits every day, and the limitless stretch of waffle cafés, slot machines and bucket-and-spade shops do little to dispel the impression.

The handsome stranger's family has a holiday flat here which the various family members can pop into at will for a couple of days sur mer, and this weekend was our turn. After the trip to Canterbury, pottering around on a beach and playing mini-golf added to the holiday spirit, and the hubbub of Brussels began to feel like a million miles away.

Before heading back to the capital, we stopped in Ypres to engage in a little bit of war tourism. After being razed by the Germans during WWI, the town was rebuilt to its previous Flemish splendour, with almost nothing to suggest that the ornate guildhouses and Gothic cathedral are actually less than a century old. The main attractions these days are the "In Flanders' Fields" museum and the Menin Gate, both sombre and moving tributes to the horrors of a war which this little town felt more than most.

A reflective end to a lovely weekend of Channel-hopping. To the boys who made the journey before me and never came home, my utmost respect and gratitude.