THE BELGIAN COAST

I was born in Belgium, probably the most surreal country I have ever been in. Living in Ireland for the last forty years or so, the coast at the sea evokes the wildness of cliffs, the roars of waves crashing upon the rocks, and a myriad of seagulls, terns, gannets, kittiwakes, and countless other species of birds circling overhead, searching for food or chasing each other for the sheer fun of it.

Not so in waffle country, where grey, boring concrete buildings line the straight 67 km of coastal sea road, towering over the odd turn-of-the-century stylish villas — reminders of a period when property developers, concrete mixers, and ever-so-uniquely boring architects were not directing that unglamorous scene, yet. Repeated endlessly in perfect order, you will find in each of the wee towns a succession of quick-tax-cum-bicycle rental places, followed by luna park arcades, followed by cafe-restaurants, followed by plastic bucket-and-spade shops... ad vitam aeternam...

When you reach the end of one lot of constructions, you have a kilometre or so of often-fenced sand dunes before you get to the next lot of constructions that marks the beginning of the next hamlet by the sea... By chance, Belgium offers dozens of delicious beers, aromatic hot waffles, and the delicacy of shrimp croquettes, waterzooi, and a great variety of Belgian dishes... Their chips, cooked in beef fat, are probably the best I’ve tasted in the world.