USA, HERE WE COME! BELGIUM, AU REVOIR!

 

BELGIUM

September 1

Discovering Bruges

“This is the last city for us to visit.”

Mario’s words carried a sense of anticipation as if urging Cher and me to savor every moment of this final leg of our journey. It reminded me of the popular song’s title, Save the Best for Last. While Bruges might not boast the iconic allure of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, it certainly has held its unique charm.

From the moment we set foot in Bruges, it felt like we had been transported back in time. Often referred to as the Venice of the North, Bruges unfolded before us like a storybook, each chapter filled with the enchantment of centuries gone by. As a first-time visitor, I was immediately captivated by the charm of this medieval city. The cobblestone streets, winding canals, and ancient brick buildings seemed to whisper tales of history deeply etched into every corner.

Our exploration began in the heart of Bruges, at the bustling Market Square. Standing amidst this grand plaza, we were enveloped by magnificent Gothic architecture, including the iconic Belfry Tower that loomed above, casting a long shadow over the lively marketplace below. The tower’s melodic chimes filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the rhythmic clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages.

Fairy-Tale Town

We meandered toward the canals, where Mario decided we should take a boat tour. The gentle sway of the boat and the soothing sound of water lapping against the stone embankments were calming. As we glided through the canals, our guide painted vivid pictures with his words, recounting stories of Bruges’ illustrious past as a thriving trading hub in the Middle Ages.

We floated beneath low-arched stone bridges, their surfaces smoothed by centuries of passage. The reflections of the gabled houses danced on the water’s surface, their vibrant hues and intricate facades blending seamlessly with the clear blue sky above. It was easy to see why this place is often described as a fairy-tale town.

Mario then led us to the Basilica of the Holy Blood. Inside, dim light filtered through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floors. In a small chapel to the side, a line of devout visitors waited to venerate a crystal vial said to contain a few drops of Christ’s blood. The atmosphere was thick with reverence, and I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe I marveled at the intricacy of the church’s décor – the vibrant paintings, the golden altarpiece – each element telling a story of deep devotion and unwavering faith.

We later found ourselves in a quaint, family-owned café tucked away on a side street. While sipping cola, I was caught off guard when a man at a nearby table struck up a conversation with me. “Philippines?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. He then spoke in a language I couldn’t understand, so I quickly introduced him to Mario, who fluently spoke Dutch.

Mario later recounted the man’s story to me. His parents had separated when he was just a child. He had a Belgian father and, as he was led to believe, a Vietnamese mother. At 36, while serving in the army, he found out that his mother was, in fact, Filipina. He embarked on a journey to the Philippines, seeking the truth, and there he found his mother’s roots – relatives, friends, and a community. Sadly, he never came upon his Filipino mother. Since then, he has harbored a special fondness for any Filipino he meets. His unusual eagerness to speak with me made perfect sense.

Our visit to Bruges was more than a sightseeing tour; it was a journey through time, a deep dive into a rich tapestry of history, culture, and beauty. As we drove out of the city, we carried with us memories of a place where time seems to stand still, where every corner holds a story waiting to be discovered, and where the past and present exist in perfect harmony.

September 3

A Poem Of Gratitude

(Dedicated to our hosts, Mario and Merlita)

From distant shores of the Philippines we came,

Drawn by your kindness, your love’s bright flame.

To Belgium’s heart, with open arms,

You welcomed us, with endless charms.

Avelgem’s old farmhouse, four centuries grand,

Became our home, in a foreign land,

A private room, a warm, soft bed,

Sumptuous meals with which we're fed.

Through Brussels’ streets and Ghent’s old walls,

To Bruges’ canals and Frankenberge’s shore,

You guided us through places old and new,

With a heart so generous, and spirit true.

To Lourdes, France, you took us far,

In your trusty Captiva, our guiding star.

Through a thousand kilometers, without a rest,

You showed us sights, the world’s very best.

And when the time came for an utmost glee,

To Paris we went, to the tower so stately

You gave us a moment, timeless and sweet,

A grand adventure, our eager heart’s beats.

Dear Mario, dear Merlita, your gift was vast,

A treasure of memories, forever to last.

In every journey, in every view,

We found a piece of joy, thank to both of you.

So here we stand, with hearts full of praise,

Grateful for your love, your generous ways.

May God bless you always, free of strife,

For all the joy you brought to our life.

Epilogue

This is the last travel article I put together here in Belgium. My next ATABAY article I will piece together, by God’s grace, in Texas, where Cher and I will fly on Friday, September 6, to see our daughter, Jan Kristy and her family.

Belgium, au revoir!

US of A, here we come!

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Head collage photos courtesy of Depositphotos, Pexels, Shutterstock, & istock.

A DAY AT FLEA MARKET AND UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL ENCOUNTERS

 

Avelgem BELGIUM

August 31

A Day At The Avelgem Flea Market

Cher and I were fortunate to experience two remarkable events during our over three-week vacation in Belgium. One was the Flower Carpet -- a biennial celebration in Brussels that takes place every other August lasting for three to four days. The other one was the Avelgem flea market, a charming community event we attended today.

As stalls lined the streets, the air buzzed with the excitement of discovery. We wandered past tables laden with vintage clothing -- delicate lace dresses and tailored suits whispering secrets of past owners -- their elegance, timeless. Handmade crafts beckoned from the next stalls: intricate jewelry, hand-carved wooden toys, and vibrant potteries. Pastries, cakes, cheese, chocolates, and confections showcased the talent and creativity of local artisans. I marveled at the skill involved in each piece, appreciating the hours of labor and love poured into them.

One thrilling attraction was a seatbelt safety demonstration. Secured by a seatbelt, an enthusiast was invited to sit in the driver’s seat of an elevated car. The vehicle was rotated multiple times. After several rotations, it stopped, and the volunteer passenger emerged safe and sound. I was invited to participate but declined due to my innate motion sickness – especially after seeing the volunteer passenger’s disconcerted face.

I caught a glimpse of home appliances such as TVs, as well as electric bikes, put on display on the street fronting the business establishments along the block.

In the late afternoon, a live concert featuring a local celebrity kicked off while tables and chairs on the street were filled with locals and visitors sipping coffee or drinking beers.

As we continued exploring the market, the aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, leading us to an ice cream kiosk. Savoring the pistachio flavor, I watched the bustling crowd around us -- families strolling together, children’s laughter mingling with the hum of conversation. It was a scene of simple joy and community.

"Nothing spectacular," Mario commented at the end of the day in the light of our recent trip to Paris.

But, more than just a place to buy and sell, the Avelgem flea market was a celebration of craftsmanship and human connection. As we drove home, I knew I would carry the memories of this day with me -- a reminder of the beauty found in the heart of Avelgem.

Unexpected Visitors

I was typing away on my laptop at the dining table when Mario opened the main door and invited two visitors inside. He introduced them to me as Joshua, thirty-two, and Liam, sixteen, both Jehovah’s Witnesses missionaries. They handed me a card as I introduced Cher and myself as Catholics visiting Belgium, invited by Mario.

Given my recent encounters with numerous demolished Catholic churches in Belgium, I was surprised and delighted by the presence and mission of these young God’s workers. We found common spiritual ground despite our different religious beliefs.

As we concluded our conversation, I challenged the young duo with a parting thought: “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few.” There are many houses to visit and people to talk to about God. I pointed them, with a smile, to Mario, who happened to have no religion.

Up Close And Personal

What lingered in my mind, however, was a recent conversation with Paul, a typical senior in Belgian society, during one of our rare stopovers with Mario’s circle of friends. I recall and reflect on part of that extraordinary conversation below:

ME: “Paul, do you believe in God?”

PAUL: “No. I don’t believe in God…”

Paul elaborated that he rejected the belief in a God who created the universe but did not interfere with it. He criticized traditional religious views that portray God as an authoritarian figure, far removed from human concerns and daily life. Mario echoed Paul’s views during our tour of historic and grand, but empty cathedrals, saying, “In those times, the church was too rich and grand, while the people were very needy. Why, Raymond?”

PAUL: “I believe in what is written in the Bible. I believe in Jesus Christ as a good man.”

ME: “I’m glad to hear that, Paul. It is also written in the Bible that Jesus claimed he is the Son of God…”

I then shared, in a gentle and conversational tone, the essence of C.S. Lewis classic quote:

“Either [Jesus Christ] was, and is, the son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher [or a good man]. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

ME: “Paul, 1 in 3 people, or roughly 2.4 billion worldwide, believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God.”

PAUL: “A large group of people can believe in something wrong, like in Hitler’s case.”

ME: “God is so great He gives us the freedom to think and act, not just to be like robots. We call it ‘free will’…”

I explained that God grants us the ability to make our own choices – a freedom that allows us to choose to love and follow God voluntarily, rather than being compelled to do so. This emphasizes a relationship based on love and choice rather than coercion.

I added that free will clarifies the presence of evil and suffering in the world. Since we can choose our actions, we can also choose to do wrong, like in Hitler’s case.

ME: “Paul, I’m glad you believe what is written in the Bible.”

I paraphrased Jesus’ promise in the Bible: “My Father’s house has many rooms… And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” (John 14:2-3)

ME: “The afterlife differentiates those who believe in God from those who don’t. And this difference shapes our lives here and now on earth – we hope in eternal life.”

At this point, our discussion amicably ended.

Content and editing put together in collaboration with Microsoft Bing AI-powered Co-pilot

Head photo courtesy of Alamy

LOST IN PARIS: A JOURNEY TO EIFFEL TOWER AND BEYOND

 

Paris FRANCE

August 29

As we turned the corner onto the Champ de Mars, the grand public park unfurling before us like an emerald carpet, we were filled with anticipation. Suddenly, we stopped in our tracks. There it was. Mario quickly raised his Samsung to capture the moment, and I couldn’t help but stand in awe. Rising above the skyline like a guardian of dreams was the Eiffel Tower, a lattice-worked masterpiece that seemed to defy gravity and expectation.

Seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time is an experience that cannot be adequately described without invoking a sense of enchantment. For years, I had admired its image on postcards and travel books, but those pale in comparison to reality. The Tower stood majestic against a backdrop of pale blue, with wisps of white clouds painting the sky. It was both massive and delicate, a paradox of iron that seemed to make perfect sense in the heart of this city known for its light and romance.

As we drew closer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the Tower’s engineering brilliance. As a civil engineer myself, I found the structure fascinating. Each step brought me nearer to the intricate details – the crisscross of beams, the artful symmetry amidst the seeming chaos of metal, and the way the sunlight cast playful shadows that danced upon the ground. It was as if the Tower was alive, each beam pulsing like a vein in a century. I stood in awe of its strength and elegance, a perfect marriage of art and science.

“Raymond and Cherrie, stay right there. Don’t move. Look at me. Perfect.”

Mario’s directions were as precise as they were persistent. Merlita, Cher, and I posed now and then at the strategic spots he chose around the base of the Eiffel Tower. After an hour of capturing our presence against this iconic backdrop, we decided to head home. Or so we thought.

We soon realized we had a problem. None of us could recall exactly where Mario had parked his SUV. All we had was a screenshot of a restaurant named Casa Luca, which was adjacent to the entrance of an elevator leading to the fourth level of an underground parking garage. Worse, there were three Casa Luca in the area. Armed with this scant information, we began our search.

Mario, who had driven to Paris several times before, took the lead. He walked block after  block, street after street, yet the elusive parking spot remained hidden. Asking a local waiter yielded no results, and even a woman who tried to help by Googling the location couldn’t pinpoint it.

After some negotiation, Mario secured a cab, and we were finally on our way. The driver expertly navigated the narrow Parisian streets, and within minutes, we arrived. The fare? A hefty 50 euros, but worth every cent to resolve our confusion. In my college production management class, we called this the “value of perfect information” – a fitting term for the price we paid to find our way back after over two hours of search.

Yet, this unexpected detour didn’t mar our spirits. It added an adventurous twist to our day. Driving back, I couldn’t help but reflect on the unforeseen joys of our trip. The smooth ride on the six-lane highways leading in and out of Paris was a thrill in itself. Back home in the Philippines, my Toyota Vios never had the luxury of such expansive roads; the fastest I could push it safely was 100 kph, limited by the short stretches of decent highway.

Here, Mario comfortably cruised at 130 kph with his 14-year-old Chevrolet Captiva, yet we were still being overtaken by faster cars zooming past us. Mario offered me the wheel several times, tempting me with the thrill of driving on these magnificent roads. But, aware of Cher’s apprehension about my speed-loving nature, I reluctantly declined.

The French highways impressed me with their organization and drivers’ discipline. Trucks, restricted on weekends, stuck to the rightmost lane at a maximum speed of 90 kph, while most cars occupied the middle lanes, leaving the left lane for those in a hurry. Nearer to Paris, a special lane was reserved for emergencies, police, and taxis – a testament to the city’s thoughtful infrastructure planning.

I was equally impressed by the Aires de service, or service areas, strategically placed along the highways. These stops offered a variety of amenities – fuel stations, restaurants, cafes, restrooms, and even showers. Some even featured picnic spots with tables and chairs, perfect for travelers looking to relax and refresh. For senior travelers with history of prostate issues, the conveniences, especially the toilets, were more than just welcome, they were essential.

By the time we finally returned home, tired but exhilarated, Merlita and Cher couldn’t help but laugh as they suggested a fitting title for this adventure: Lost in Paris. And indeed, we were – lost in the city’s charm, in its surprises, and in its lessons on the joy of wandering.

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BELGIUM'S SECRETS: GENT, BLANKENBERGE, & A SAVED CHURCH

 

Gent BELGIUM

August 26

As we strolled through the beautifully preserved cobblestone streets of Gent, Mario turned to me with a smile and said, “This is the city where my two daughters went to school.” I could hear the pride in his voice as he spoke of Sofia, now a teacher, and Lisa, a corporate manager, both of whom had completed their schooling in this enchanting place.

Gent, with its blend of old-world charm and modern vibrancy, felt like a city where time had graciously decided to stand still. The historic buildings and charming boutiques whispered stories of a bygone era, making me feel like I had stepped into a hidden gem – Belgium’s best-kept secret.

As we settled into a café in the university district, I reminisced about my college years. Sipping on a steaming cup of coffee, I watched the lively groups of students treading down the streets. At a nearby table, a trio caught my eye: a father, mother, and their kid, all sipping drinks and sharing quiet laughter. Mario guessed they were probably visiting their kid’s school, exploring the familiar hangouts.

The sight of them sparked a memory of my kids when they were still in school, years ago – an era that seemed both distant and yet, at moments like this, strikingly close.

Blankenberge

August 27

“Today, we go to the sea,” Mario announced with a twinkle in his eye. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea, considering our home in the Philippines is just a stone’s throw from the beach – a view that I wake up to every day. Yet, as we arrived in Blankenberge, I realized this wasn’t just any ordinary seaside.

Blankenberge sparkled like a jewel along Belgium’s coast, its sun-drenched sands and lively promenade offering a fresh perspective on a beachside escape. The colorful beach huts, the elegant pier extending into the sea, and the energetic ambiance created a vibrant tableau that was more than just picturesque – it was invigorating. We strolled along the famous beach promenade, taking in the sights and sounds of this lively town, where history and modernity blend seamlessly along the breathtaking North Sea.

By lunchtime, our senses were ready to explore the local culinary scene. Mario, ever the thoughtful host, took charge of ordering and soon enough, our table was laden with 80-euro plates of Videe vol-au-vent, a delightful Belgian specialty featuring a puff pastry filled with tender chicken, meatballs, mushrooms in a creamy hollandaise sauce, accompanied by French fries and fresh vegetables. And of course, there was Belgian beer for me.

Rewinding a few hours, Mario had prepared a hearty Belgian breakfast at home that left me feeling satisfyingly full. Now, faced with this generous lunch, I found myself in a unique predicament – a feasting dilemma in a foreign land. (Social situations like this, I would always recall Mario's whimsical guilt-ridden prompting: "Remember the poor in the Philippines, Raymond." Ouch.)

How could I convey my appreciation for this delicious spread without offending our hosts by leaving too much on my plate?

The solution, I decided, lay in strategy. First, I ate all the vegetables, then half the French fries, followed by a careful portion of the Videe vol-au-vent. Finally, I polished off the beer, figuring that it would be wiser to disappoint the Indian restaurateur than to offend any Belgian beer enthusiast.

Merlita, Cher, and I all ended up with similarly half-eaten plates. I noticed the Indian waiters casting curious glances our way, and before long, they discreetly whisked away our dishes, perhaps to spare us from the perceived embarrassment of unfinished meals.

In the end, it felt like a win-win situation. We had savored the best of Belgian cuisine without overstaying our welcome at the table. A small victory, perhaps, but one that added another layer to our rich tapestry of experience in this beautiful country.

August 28

Flashback: The Saved Church

“As we drove home, wandering through the picturesque towns of Belgium, we caught sight of a striking scene – a dilapidated Catholic church. Its once-majestic walls stood bare, stripped of their roof, open to the sky like a hollow shell of its former self. Weeds crept through the cracks in the stone, and the wind whispered through the broken windows, carrying with it an eerie silence that spoke volumes.

This scene, both sad and haunting, felt like more than just the inevitable decay of an old building; it felt like a powerful symbol, a poignant reflection of the broader secularization sweeping across not only Belgium but much of the western world.” (Excerpted from ATABAY’s A Tale Of Two Images: The Atomium & The Ruined Church)

“[M]ario shared an extraordinary tale about a local Catholic Church slated for demolition. ‘My wealthy friend Phillip bought the church because his devout Catholic mother wanted to preserve it,’ Mario explained.

“Now privately owned, the church has become an adoration sanctuary without a Mass or priest, open to visitors from nine in the morning until six in the evening, maintained weekly by hired caretakers.” (Excerpted from ATABAY’s Exploring Faith In Belgium: A Farmhouse Story)

This afternoon, we had the rare privilege of meeting Phillip, the man who purchased the dilapidated, empty church and spared it from demolition. We owe this remarkable opportunity to Mario, whose earnest efforts made this meeting possible and who also captured our photos with Phillip in front of the beautifully restored Catholic Church.

It’s an intriguing reversal of roles: rather than the church saving a man, in this instance, it was a man who saved the church – at a cost of 1.2 million euros (77.2 million pesos).

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Head collage photos courtesy of iStock and Wikipedia

LOURDES: A BUNDLE OF SERENDIPITOUS ENCOUNTERS

 

Lourdes FRANCE

AUGUST 22

We stumbled upon an unexpected gem in Lourdes – a cozy Asian and Filipino restaurant owned by an Italian family. As we stepped inside, the warm, familiar aroma of home-cooked meals enveloped us, immediately sparking a sense of nostalgia. “Ilan kayo?” (How many of you?) greeted the Italian waiter, the owner’s son, in fluent Filipino caught me off guard. I responded with a smile, “Apat kami.” (Four of us) His Chinese wife, the restaurant’s chef, brought a delightful fusion of cultures to the place. We eagerly ordered grilled salmon with rice and vegetables, pork adobo with steaming white rice, pancit palabok, and arroz caldo – Filipino dishes we had not tasted since we arrived in Belgium over two weeks ago.

Walang Anuman

The evening was filled with the comforting buzz of Filipino chatter. We exchanged friendly greetings with two groups of Filipino customers, sharing snippets of our journeys that brought us all to this small town in France. After a satisfying dinner, I thanked the owner’s son with a heartfelt, “Maraming salamat.” (Thank you very much) He responded warmly, “Walang anuman.” (You are welcome) It was a simple exchange, yet it felt like a hug from home.

AUGUST 23

The next morning, on our way to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, we encountered an elderly European couple in the elevator. Noticing our distinct features, they asked with a knowing smile, “Philippines?” We nodded, and as I saw their luggage, I inquired, “Home?” “Yes, Italy,” the man replied. “God bless,” I uttered. “Thank you,” he said.

They Speak English

It amazed me how easily people recognize a Filipino face; there seems to be something unique about the features that has made us instantly recognizable, even in a crowd. I recalled one instance in Belgium. We were having our lunch in one restaurant when I overheard someone in a group at another table muttering, “They speak English.” It’s a feather in our cap that we ought to treasure, nurture, and build up.

Mario had particularly enjoyed the arroz caldo from the previous night so much that we thought of returning to the same restaurant for lunch. As we sat down to eat, Cher commented that the arroz caldo lacked the distinctive ginger bite we Filipinos are so fond of. But still, there was comfort in the familiar taste, even if it was not quite the same.

Holy Nap

We spent our last day leisurely strolling downtown, engaging in a favorite European pastime: people-watching. We indulged in ice cream from a street kiosk, sipped on Perrier at a sidewalk cafe, and enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the city. Later, we wandered the expansive, green grounds of the Lourdes Basilica. I even found a moment of peace to take a rare “holy” nap on a bench under the shade of towering trees – a small luxury amidst our travels.

However, travel isn’t without its surprises. Cher experienced a sudden flare-up of an old minor medical issue, likely brought on by the travel stress. With no French skill between us, Mario’s Samsung smartphone came to the rescue, translating our needs and helping us order the required topical cream at a local pharmacy. It was quite a sight – a transaction between two humans – the pharmacist and me – facilitated by a digital intermediary – a cellphone. Is this the future already unfolding before us?

Bistek, Lechon Kawale, Arroz Caldo, Atbp

Determined to savor every bit of Filipino cuisine we could, we dined again at the restaurant in Lourdes. We ordered a spread we could barely find in Belgium – bistek, lechon kawale, chopsuey, all served with rice, and another helping of arroz caldo.

AUGUST 24

During our hotel breakfast, we met a family of four from Madrid, Spain. The husband, originally from Quezon City, and his wife, from Butuan, shared their stories with us – another reminder of how small the world feels when you meet compatriots abroad.

Refiner’s Fire

We left Lourdes at 9 a.m., bracing for the 10-hour drive to Belgium. The journey to Lourdes had felt almost spiritual, like the slow ascent described in Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Our drive back, however, was a different story altogether – it was more of a Refiner’s Fire, a biblical metaphor describing God’s way of purifying His people, burning away impurities until only the purest silver remains.

Four “refining” episodes seemed to have marked our return journey. First, Mario made a wrong turn that added 100 extra kilometers to our route, an extra hour of travel, and about P4,200 in additional gas and toll fees. Then, Mario drove into a malfunctioning toll gate barrier, and the boom arm fell on the hood of his SUV. Next, we were caught in an unforeseen weekend traffic jam. Finally, for the first time, I saw Mario lose his temper when another car cut him off, causing him to honk his horn in frustration – a rare display of anger that momentarily threw him off balance.

We finally arrived home in Avelgem, Belgium at 2 a.m., seven hours behind schedule. Exhausted and utterly drained, we were ready to collapse into our beds.

Be Patient

Later, Merlita and Cher sensed that such four challenging episodes carried a message from Lourdes for Mario and his Type A personality – always organized, often impatient, and perpetually in pursuit of achievement.

As if in quiet contemplation, I found myself reflecting on a verse from the Bible: “Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love.” (Ephesians 4:2), Perhaps our journey was about more than just reaching a destination.

Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words nail it: “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.”

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LOURDES: A JOURNEY OF FAITH AND HUMANITY - DAY 1

 

FRANCE Lourdes

August 21

This trip to Lourdes had been a long-held dream for Merlita and Cher, one they had been planning for quite some time. It was finally happening.

We were packed into Mario’s 12-year-old Chevrolet Captiva SUV, driving more than a thousand kilometers from Avelgem, Belgium, to Lourdes, France. Mario was behind the steering wheel, guiding us along the long stretch of concrete highway. Merlita, Cher, and I filled the other seats, excitement mingling with anticipation as we began our journey at 7 a.m. The hours ticked by slowly, the rhythm of the road becoming a steady companion.

Along the way, the roadside scenery unfolded like a painted canvas, each view more breathtaking than the last. The rolling valleys captivated us, blanketed with fields of vibrant green plants – sunflowers turning their faces to the sun, tall maize swaying in the breeze, and other lush vegetation stretching endlessly. In the distance, the blue silhouettes of mountain ranges provided a dramatic backdrop, their majestic peaks rising against the sky, a perfect contrast to the sprawling green below.

As we finally entered Lourdes, the first sight that caught our eyes was a gathering of white mobile homes, assembled in an open, wide flat area. They looked almost like toys scattered across a giant playground. Families were outside, enjoying picnics around portable tables, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Children ran freely across the open ground, their play uninhibited by the day’s headlines.

We finally arrived at our hotel around 7 p.m., our bodies weary but our spirits high. We checked in at Hotel Panorama, one of the many hotels crammed into the busy downtown area. Mario had wisely booked our rooms days in advance, knowing how quickly the hotels filled up with eager pilgrims.

After settling in, we wandered around the vicinity of our hotel, looking for a place to have dinner. Our footsteps led us to a small Indian restaurant on a quiet street corner. It wasn’t what we had expected for our first meal in Lourdes, but the warm spices and the familiar comfort of good food were the perfect end to our first evening in this sacred town.

August 22

After breakfast, we stepped off the hotel and into our first crisp morning air of Lourdes. We were struck by a palpable sense of anticipation and reverence that hung over the town. Nestled in the rolling foothills, this small French town seems almost hidden away, a sacred enclave that quietly invites the world to come closer, to believing in the extraordinary. We found ourselves drawn to the sound of distant bells chiming from the basilica, guiding us like a gentle hand toward the heart of this holy place – the Grotto of Massabielle.

The first thing I noticed was people coming from all corners of the globe, their varied faces reflected a mixed bag of culture and languages, yet all here for a singular purpose. A family from Italy walked beside us, the mother clutching a rosary tightly in her hand, her lips moving silently in prayer. Nearby, a group of Indian pilgrims gathered, the bright colors of their traditional dress, a stark yet beautiful contrast against the muted stone walls of the sanctuary. A hum of different tongues filled the air – English, Spanish, Polish, Korean – a living, breathing testament to the universality of the Catholic faith.

We attended the outdoor Holy Mass conducted in French. Even though the words were foreign to our ears, the universal form of the Mass made it easy to follow. The unity was profound; regardless of language, we knew where we were in the liturgy. When the baskets were passed around, we recognized it as the Offertory, a moment shared by every Catholic around the world, a shared ritual that transcends language barriers.

Three Masses were taking place – one outdoors, one in front of the Lourdes Grotto, and another inside the grand cathedral. Each setting carried its own atmosphere, but all were unified in their reverence and devotion.

As we moved through the town, I observed the familiar scenes of Lourdes. Buses lined up, their doors open, releasing groups of pilgrims – most of them elderly. Many of these visitors were in wheelchairs, pushed by caregivers in uniforms, each gently guiding their charge through the holy grounds. It was a touching sight, a testament to the enduring faith that brought them here despite their physical frailties.

Throughout the day, I noticed people carrying plastic containers of all shapes and sizes, bought from the many shops catering to this particular need. These pilgrims carefully filled their containers with the miraculous water from the springs, believing in its healing properties. The water flowed freely from designated outlets, a constant stream of hope for those who sought it. The Shrines of Europe chronicles:

“Near the cavern, there are special fountains and water intakes, where you can drink or draw water into special containers. The sick also use special baths. Water from Lourdes is credited with miraculous healing properties.

“Already in 1883, after the first healings with water from the holy spring, a permanent medical center was established, which scientifically examines individual cases of recovery. Although almost 7,000 miraculous healings have been recorded in Lourdes since 1884, only 60 have been officially recognized by the Church.”

Merlita shared her story. She had suffered from a painful kidney stone affliction and, after consulting a doctor, was advised to undergo surgery. Instead, she chose a different path – drinking the healing waters of Lourdes regularly. She spoke of how the pain had vanished. There was a conviction in her eyes that meant more than just a relief, it talked of faith rewarded.

At one point, I caught sight of someone praying the Station of the Cross barefoot. It struck me as a powerful act of devotion -- the entire place was sacred ground. Each step they took seemed to carry a deep, personal penance, a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage.

Later, near the Grotto, I noticed a very young couple wrapped in a tight embrace, whispering prayers to each other after receiving Holy Communion. It was a rare and moving sight – a new generation finding their way to connect with the divine, bridging the gap between the ancient traditions of the Church and their modern lives. Watching them, I felt a shiver run down my spine. In their embrace, I saw a testament to the enduring power of faith, a belief in the divine that has persisted even in our rapidly changing world.

In the evening, we joined the candlelit procession, where hundreds of pilgrims gathered to pray the Rosary together. It was a breathtaking sight – a sea of flickering lights moving in unison, the faces illuminated by the warm glow of candles. The crowd seemed endless, a stream of people arriving from every corner of the world, their diverse features reflecting a mosaic of cultures and backgrounds.

As the rosary was recited in various languages, a poignant moment struck me. I heard a familiar line spoken in Filipino, voiced by a young girl. It touched a tender chord within me, a reminder of home amid the vast, shared faith of strangers.

I remembered Mario’s playful remark in Belgium: “Where are the people, Raymond?” – a wry observation about the empty streets, a subtle metaphor for the fading Catholic faith there. On this journey to Lourdes, his question took on a deeper significance. It seemed to echo the larger uncertainty facing Catholicism today amid cultural and spiritual upheavals worldwide.

As I looked around at the multitude of pilgrims gathered in prayer and devotion, the answer came to me with quiet clarity:

“They are here, Mario. They are in Lourdes.”

Content and editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

A TALE OF TWO IMAGES: THE ATOMIUM & THE RUINED CHURCH

 

BELGIUM Avelgem

“Prepare a good pair of walking shoes and brace yourself with that bad knee of yours, Raymond. We’re heading to Brussels,” Mario warned. I recalled Bro Vic’s advice: “Just be ready for long walks. Wear comfortable shoes as rides are rare and taxis are expensive.”

The journey from Mario’s farmhouse to Brussels took over an hour on the expressway. Speaking of driving, I once joked with Mario, who teasingly offered me the steering wheels, that I’d struggle to drive his SUV due to their unique driving etiquette.

Here, cars slow down and stop before the pedestrian crossings, allowing people to cross before proceeding, even in the absence of the traffic lights. I frequently witnessed drivers yielding to one another at intersections. On one occasion, Mario patiently followed two elderly cyclists down a long stretch of a narrow, single-lane road, devoid of a dedicated bike lane, without once honking – an uncommon display of courtesy.

Mario’s daughter Lisa and her fiancée, Thomas, both corporate professionals, were our guides for our tour of Brussels.

The Heart of Europe

Standing at the center of Brussels, the magnificent Grand Place, we were enveloped by a scene that felt like a living postcard. The ornate facades of the guildhalls, with their golden details gleaming in the sunlight, rose majestically around us, each telling a story of a bygone era. The town Hall’s spire reached toward the sky, a beacon of history watching over the square.

Tourists from all corners of the globe ambled across the cobblestones, their cameras capturing the grandeur of the square. I got an earful of a blend of languages, merging into a harmonious buzz.

“Filipina ka?” I overheard someone say. It was a voice from a company of three, asking Merlita, who replied, “Oo, Filipina, pero Bisaya.” A quick chat followed with those Tagalogs who drove from Amsterdam. Then they split all at once vanishing into the crowd.

A street trumpeter played, adding a touch of romance to the air, while laughter from nearby café terraces filled the space, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet scent of waffles.

At a nearby table, a group of friends clinked glasses of amber-hued Belgian beer, their conversation lively and full of warmth. Not far away, a couple paused to admire a chocolatier’s window, where pralines (sugary, nutty candies) were displayed like precious jewels, each a small work of art.

Flower Carpet

Cher and I struck poses as Mario captured strategic shots of us with his Samsung cellphone, set against the stunning 70-meter-long by 24-meter-wide expanse of begonias, dahlias, grass, and bark. This vibrant tapestry had been meticulously assembled by a hundred volunteers in under six hours, marking the 3-4 day celebration of the Brussels Flower Carpet that has graced the city every two years.

Atomium

Our group drove to the most prominent tourist attraction that symbolizes Brussels – the Atomium. Originally, built for the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair (Expo 58), it has represented not just Brussels, but also Belgium’s forward-looking spirit and its embrace of modernity.

Its nine interconnected spheres and towering height of 102 meters, have represented an iron crystal magnified 165 billion times. A striking blend of art, architecture, and science, it has symbolized Brussels’ role as a hub of international cooperation, progress, and unity – values that have been central to Brussels’ identity as the heart of Europe.

Ruined Church

As we drove home, wandering through the picturesque towns of Belgium, we caught sight of a striking scene – a dilapidated Catholic church. Its once-majestic walls stood bare, stripped of their roof, open to the sky like a hollow shell of its former self. Weeds crept through the cracks in the stone, and the wind whispered through the broken windows, carrying with it an eerie silence that spoke volumes. This scene, both sad and haunting, felt like more than just the inevitable decay of an old building; it felt like a powerful symbol, a poignant reflection of the broader secularization sweeping across not only Belgium but much of the Western world.

The crumbling church, with its empty pews, has encapsulated the challenges facing Christendom today. It has stood as a silent witness to the decline in religious attendance that has marked much of the past century. In a land where church bells once called the faithful to worship every Sunday, such calls often have gone unanswered. The congregation that once filled this church, with prayers and hymns reverberating off its walls, has dwindled, leaving behind only echoes of a past era.

Cultural Shifts

This decline is not merely a matter of changing habits but reflects deeper cultural shifts. Belgium, like much of Western Europe, has embraced modernization with open arms, and with it has come a gradual shift away from traditional religious practices. As society has advanced, with increased education, technological innovation, and a focus on individual autonomy, the role of the church has become less central in the daily lives of many. The once-dominant influence of the church on public and private life has been replaced by secular values and institutions that better align with the complexities of the modern world.

I found myself drawn to two images that seemed to embody the contrasting spirits of Belgium: the Atomium, a gleaming monument of modernity, and a dilapidated church, standing quietly as a relic of a bygone era.

The Atomium has reflected the secularization of Belgium. It has stood as a monument to a new kind of faith – faith in human progress, in reason, and in the power of collective effort to shape the world. Yet in the shadow of this gleaming structure, an image has lingered – a dilapidated church, its roof caved in, its walls crumbling.

I was struck by the contrast: where the Atomium was bold and triumphant, the church was quiet, almost forlorn. Once, the church would have been the heart of its community, a place of worship, solace, and gathering. Now, it has stood as a poignant reminder of what has been lost in the march toward modernity.

Call To Renewal

Perhaps, this ruined church is not just a symbol of decline but also a call to renewal. It challenges us to consider what we, as a society, have lost in the process of secularization, and what we might need to reclaim – not necessarily in the form of a return to the past, but in finding new ways to connect with the spiritual, the sacred, and the communal aspects of life that religion once nurtured. It invites us to think about how the church, or any institution that seeks to guide and inspire, can evolve to meet the needs of a changing world without losing its essence.

As we left the ruined church behind, with the image of Atomium still flashing in my mind, I felt a deep sense of sadness. Belgium, like much of the world, has stood at a crossroads, where the old and the new must find ways to coexist.

The challenge, I discerned, is not to choose between the two, but to create a future where the brilliance of modernity can shine alongside the quiet wisdom of the past – a future where both the Atomium and the Church, in all their contrasting glory, can stand as testaments to the rich and complex tapestry of human experience.

Content put together in collaboration with ChatGPT

Head Atomium & Vatican photos courtesy of Shutterstock

BELGIAN DELIGHTS: OUR SERENDIPITOUS TRAVEL & A NEWBORN JOY

 

BELGIUM Avelgem

August 13

This is the “karaan apan maanyag” (enduring but charming) farmhouse of Mario and Merlita, where my wife Cher and I have been graciously invited to enjoy a 26-day vacation in Belgium.

The farm and house are currently for sale, with new owners expected to take possession by September. Mario and Merlita plan to migrate to the Philippines by the end of this year. The house features three cozy bedrooms and a kitchen where our hosts have delighted us with various exquisite Belgian dishes since our arrival.

August 14

Mario and Merlita elegantly hosted us for a delightful lunch at Maddox Tapasbar & Restaurant in the bustling Grote Markt of Kortrijk.  There, we savored an array of exquisite Belgian dishes, each beautifully described in English by Bing, my AI-powered Co-pilot.

Gegrilde lamskoteletten met verse tijm saus (for Merlita, Cher, and me)

”Grilled lamb (restaurant uses beef) chops with fresh thyme sauce, this Belgian dish typically features tender lamb chops that are grilled to perfection and served with a flavorful sauce made from fresh thyme. It’s a delightful combination of savory and aromatic flavors, often enjoyed with a side of potatoes.”

Vole au vent (for Mario)

Mario's meal was specially recommended by none other than the restaurant's chef himself. Currently, Mario is undergoing an extensive dental implantation, valued at over a million in pesos, which is subsidized by the government. He has seized this opportunity before he and Merlita relocate to the Philippines.

“This is a classic Belgian dish consisting of a creamy chicken stew made with a whole boiled chicken, a roux (a mixture of butter and flour), chicken stock, a bit of cream, small meatballs, and mushrooms.”

Mojito (drinks for Mario, Merlita, and Cher)

“Mojito, not a Belgian drink but a classic Cuban cocktail, is made with five key ingredients: white rum (base spirit), sugar cane juice (adds sweetness to balance lime’s acidity), lime juice (offers tangy and fresh flavor), soda water (adds a bit of fizz), and mint (gives a refreshing aroma and taste). Combining these ingredients creates a refreshing and invigorating drink, perfect for hot weather.”

Kwaremont Blond (beer for me)

“A Belgian ale, named after the Oude Kwaremont, a famous cobbled climb in the Tour of Flanders cycling race, is brewed by Brouweri De Brabandere. With an alcohol content of 6.6%, it has a deep golden color with a large frothy head. Moderately sweet with spicy and hoppy notes, it has aromas of Belgian ale yeast, white kandij, sugar syrup, stewed yellow plume, and mild spices.”

Total bill: € 132 or P8,334

August 15

“Where are the people, Raymond?”

This has become Mario’s catchphrase each time we drive through a deserted downtown street. It’s his way of highlighting the stark contrast between the Philippines’ challenges of overpopulation and underemployment. Having visited the Philippines many times, Mario is always struck by the throng of people that line the streets on any given day in a typical city.

To be fair, today is Belgium’s national holiday – the Catholic observance of the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Mother of God (though ironically, Catholic churches here are being demolished). But holiday or not, the streets always seem eerily empty – a striking spiritual metaphor.

On holidays or weekends, people either stay home or head out of town for a break. (Just the other day, Mario’s closest neighbor went on a weekend getaway and left him a key to their house so he could feed their pets while they were away.) On workdays, the streets are deserted because everyone is indoors, working in offices, businesses, or factories.

As of 2024, the Philippines has a population of 119,106,224, with three babies born every minute, according to the Philippine Statistics Authority. In contrast, Belgium counted 11,763,650 inhabitants as of January 1, 2024, a modest 0.57 percent increase over the year, according to Statbel, Belgium’s statistics office. The growth is driven by immigration, as the number of deaths outpaces births.

On the topic of births, I’ll conclude this travelogue by congratulating Mario, now a proud grandfather, on the arrival of his first granddaughter. This morning, we visited a four-storey building clinic (incomparable vis-a-vis our typical local hospital; Mario stressed it's just a clinic) to meet baby Inara. Though underweight, she is the only newborn in the large neonatal intensive care unit – a telling sign of Belgium’s low birth rate.

Inara, this poem is for you.

To Inara, Our Little Star

Inara, a tiny beacon of light, born under the softest night,

Though your start was frail and slight, you shine with a spirit so bright.

In the warmth of the NICU’s embrace, you gather strength, find your place,

With each breath, a gentle grace, a miracle in this sacred place.

Sofia, your mother, so tender and true, her heart overflows with love for you,

Her first baby girl, a dream come true, in her eyes, the world anew.

Mario, your granddad, with joy in his eyes, sees in you the future, the skies,

His first granddaughter, a precious prize, in your presence, his spirit flies.

Inara, little star, so brave and strong, in our hearts, you belong,

With love and faith, we hope and pray, together we’ll journey, lifelong.