Low Flight of Angels in the Benelux

by Ed Hurst

  Preston remembered a warning he read in one review: Somewhere beyond the halfway point was a dam with a sluice. When riding down the sluice, it was critical to line up straight and off on the right side, and then stay to the right and paddle quickly to avoid getting caught in the folks dawdling at the bottom to watch others. The right side was a little deeper and most of those who hung around drifted toward the left where it was shallow.

  They managed to clear the sluice without getting overturned. It had become quite warm and they removed their light jackets. At the end, the worker on the reception dock directed them to reverse the kayak, point the bow back upstream, and then sidle over to the quay. Strong hands helped them climb out and took control of the kayak. All they had to do was walk away.

  It was impossible to avoid getting pretty wet during the run downstream, both from splashing by others and by water running off their paddles. But after glancing into the shower facility and seeing it was unisex with both genders running around nude, Preston glanced at Angie. “Not my scene, Babe.”

  “Mine neither,” she assured him as they strolled toward the main street. They had already begun to dry and were quite hungry for lunch. Angie suggested they not grab the first one near the kayak endpoint, but walk out toward the gorgeous cathedral on the main road. The tourists were already out in force, and they drifted across the bridge eastward over La Lesse and along the street until they spotted a cafe with signs suggesting it was a baker-butcher shop. It seemed the right place at the right time, so they turned in there and picked out some sandwiches and a pair of what Belgians called “chocobollen” – a flaky light popover filled with a rich pudding-like cream that wasn’t too sweet, then dipped in chocolate icing. The coffee was superb, as it usually was in these parts.

  Preston was describing a few volksmarches he had made in the area during his first stay in the Benelux. Dinant had become one of his favorite destinations, especially the Two Forts March that took walkers upriver on one bank to Givet, France, and then back down the other bank. He mentioned there were lots of trails in the area not on the bike maps.

  “Show me,” Angie challenged him.

  Chapter 38

  While the kayak trip had made their shoulders and arms sore, their legs were itching for a workout.

  After lunch and a potty break, they struck out for some exploration. Backtracking a short distance, Preston turned off to the left up a steep ramp. It was an established walking path with railings and asphalt paving. Atop the ridge, the paths went in several directions, but after glancing at the map, Preston led the way up higher on the ridge. The small country lane opened onto ordinary open farm fields, but rather well kept. Instead, it was the road that was rough. Still, it was a pleasant view.

  Preston pointed to the cell tower on the right. “Might get a good signal up here,” he clowned. Cell service was notoriously bad in the Walloon highlands. Ahead a ways was a sharp left. They could hear the sound of heavy highway traffic nearby, and Preston showed her on the map where they were going to cross just under the N97 autobahn. Within a half-kilometer, the path ran past a farm house and into the woods. A short distance later took them under the autobahn and into a recreational area. There were trails and stony open areas all over the place.

  They managed to pick out a few thin trails that led them down into the next valley northward. Preston stopped at the road and pondered a bit, scanning up and down the road to orient himself. “I can’t remember that well, but from the terrain, I’m guessing it’s uphill there.” He pointed up the valley. On their left was a long row of townhouses with no break for quite some distance, aside from tiny narrow passageways.

  Eventually it opened to reveal some really ancient houses and well kept gardens, nestled up against the trees that concealed a very steep hillside. On the right the dense forest and brush barely hid an even steeper rise. Eventually a few shallow buildings managed to squeeze themselves into the narrow space along the road on that side. Some of the structures were ancient stonework with tiny shrubs growing from the interstices between the stones. Preston kept scanning to the left and eventually stopped where the road turned hard right. There was a break between a small yard with a wooden fence on one side, and a gravel drive running up to an opulent house behind some trees on the other side. A track ran up the hill where some recent tree harvest had left the ground bare.

  After walking around a bit in the inevitable mud left by the logging, Preston spotted a thin trail running up one side of a narrow draw. The trail rambled upward in more or less the same direction until it hit the rocky brow of the hill. There were signs where other feet had sought a break, and they eventually found it. Passing between two rocks they scrambled up some thickly layered decaying vegetation onto another, fairly solid but narrow trail running behind the rocky lip. Preston turned left, back toward the Meuse valley.

  There was still a good bit of picking their way among the rocks, but they found a place where the tree line opened onto an unfenced field. There was a broad track running along the narrow opening in the trees back toward some houses and agricultural structures. Eventually they were ushered into a narrow lane running among some very nice houses, some new and some ancient, but all every well kept. On their left was a rare barbed-wire fence backed by a row of very tall pine trees. This continued straight up the hill and to a crossing at the crest.

  They turned left and headed down-slope between a stonewalled barn on the left and a more ancient stone fence along the right. The walls gave way to high hedges and newer structures, after which they turned right and headed down an increasingly narrowed lane that ended at stone gate posts. To the right was a rugged walking trail. After a short run through some trees, they found themselves in a mixed rocky and wooded area that had seen a lot of hikers. The primary path wound down onto one of the few streets dropping off the ridge into the backside of Dinant. Preston turned back uphill a few meters to yet another path.

  It was coming back to him in bits and pieces, but with the help of the map, they following the narrow rocky tree line between the open private farmland and the bluff. They ended up just above the ancient citadel.

  Angie turned and asked in a childish tone, “Are we there yet?” Then she laughed.

  Preston turned and said, “One more little goody, then we take a break and go back to our vacation quarters.” After looking over the fancy garden at the citadel entrance, they went back out past the hotel and turned left down into the woods. “I promise you, this journey is almost through,” he offered.

  “Nobody’s whining,” she answered tartly, then grinned.

  The trail dumped them out onto a long winding street headed back down into town. It was pretty easy and at the bottom they encountered one of the giant saxophone monuments to its inventor, Adolphe Sax, whose house was nearby. Just beyond this, they turned left down a narrow street named after Sax, running between tall buildings. The houses quickly turned into shops, and then a few cafes began appearing. They decided it had been a long enough hike to justify another meal. They passed a tiny Sicilian cafe and the aroma was too much. Heaping plates of pasta made them forget some of their soreness.

  They loitered and emptied a bottle of wine between them. Though tired, there was one more stop they wanted to make, and it required a hike back north along the riverfront. Dinant had restaurants and cafes aplenty, but actual grocery stores were thinly spread. They were growing tired of restaurant food. The nearest grocer from where they were was just over a half-kilometer.

  Angie picked out some items that needed no cooking. Upon leaving the grocery market, they decided to cross the Meuse on the walking bridge atop the lock. It wasn’t much of a drop in the river, but barge traffic demanded such controls at long intervals on this part of the Meuse. A little over a half-kilometer south and upriver on the west bank brought them to the transportation hub. The wait for a bus was long, and they decided to spring for the expense of a taxi.

  The driver was chatty, but Preston and Angie preferred to le
t him rattle on with minimal response. They were thinking hard about their hardest assignment yet.

  Chapter 39

  They entered their hideaway and Preston took off his fanny pack, turned and dropped sideways across the hammock. Angie removed her pack and took his from the floor, moving to the desk to open them.

  “Darlin’, I really love sleeping on this thing but it narrows our choices for other activities.” He turned his head back around and grinned at her.

  She leaned over and put her finger on his lips, shushing him. Then she replaced her finger with her own lips, kissing him upside down. “We have work before pleasure. Come help me catalog these images.”

  The cell signal was poor that evening, so nothing got shipped. They planned to carry the laptop down to see if the city offered enough wifi signal for the necessary traffic. Preston was quite sure there would be something in the dropbox, since they had nothing to indicate any schedule of events for the confab starting the day after next.

  The next morning bright and early they walked down into the village, and then followed the small road straight east toward Dinant. It was just over ninety minutes of brisk hiking to where the road began seriously descending down over the lip of the Meuse Valley. There were a couple of hairpin turns, bringing them right in front of the boarding school that Francophones referred to as “collége” before it offered a turn back down toward the main bridge. Preston decided to follow a hunch and chased the road farther south to the N936. He turned sharply left back down the hill a bit, then right at the overpass for the railroad tracks. Where the road sloped up toward the lip of the valley, about halfway to the converted monastery that was now a hotel, he stopped.

  Preston pointed out they had direct line of sight across the river, down the narrow lane to the front of the Hall of Justice. That building was built tightly against the gray stone bluff. He checked it through the newer camera and zoomed in for a good, clear view of the entrance. He looked up behind him and noticed it was possible to climb up on the rocky embankment that had been cut for the road. Farther up near the hotel the slope was easy enough to clamber up. From there it was a simple matter of walking back along the higher point of view to the same line of sight. It was a beautiful shot, and Angie took a turn looking at it through the camera.

  They went back down the road into town and crossed the bridge. This placed them back in the open square next to the cathedral, and at the foot of the stairs up to the citadel. A couple of the cafes were offering a decent breakfast, and they decided it would give Preston a chance to begin scanning some of the hotels and other places likely to offer wifi. His hand held wifi channel receiver hadn’t offered much so far.

  One cafe not yet open had a signal too weak from that distance. After breakfast, they wandered south along the river. Most of the signals were encrypted, but up near the Ibis Hotel it got strong. The casino next door had a great open signal. Sitting on the walkway along the river was possible, but there was terrace cafe service there for coffee, so Preston felt it was only fair. Besides, the coffee smelled too good.

  Once connected to the Net, they managed to exchange the images and videos taken so far. And sure enough, the dropbox contained a PDF with the itinerary for the three-day conference. There was also an appendix:

  Don’t worry about the château where they are staying. We have a couple of friends there. Try to catch the limousines where they park and who hangs around them, and be sure to catch the river ride.

  They noticed the schedule started with meeting the first day in the Hall of Justice, then a private hotel conference room on the outskirts of the city. The second day was a deluxe barge ride upriver and back, projected to run until mid-afternoon. In his mind, Preston saw lots of police and paparazzi boats escorting them.

  Angie asked him, “Are we going to use that spot on the hillside to watch them unload the limos?”

  “That would be cool only if we need to catch the big shots with telephoto, but I’d rather be in place to see where the limos go from there. Can’t be that many places to park a bunch of big cars all in one spot.”

  They studied a detailed city map they found and noticed the streets were almost all one-way in that part of town. Preston noted, “If we can bank on the cops sticking with the simplest plan, that would mean pulling up in front of the Hall of Justice up that narrow street, unloading, and then turning left toward the cathedral. So when they start arriving, we’ll post ourselves on the plaza and see where the first one goes and take it from there. I rather doubt they’ll all come at once, for security reasons. If they are staggered out enough, we’ll have some time to get an idea where to start looking. I’ll bet they don’t go far.”

  For the next few hours, they referred to the agenda and walked around, trying to estimate where the paparazzi and other onlookers would cluster. They found out the citadel would still be open, and expected a few to use that high angle view. Preston doubted there would be any helicopters or other aircraft, though. He joked about camera drones with the private and police ones crashing into each other or dog fighting.

  As they stood on the bridge, leaning on the railing and gazing upriver, Angie asked seriously, “What if someone figures out what we are doing and takes exception. Could we be arrested?”

  Preston thought for a moment. Turning his head, he met her eyes. “Somehow, I doubt it. We’ll be two out of hundreds of people using cameras. Even if someone gets upset at our behavior, they would have a hard time convincing the police to come after us. It’s more likely they’ll try to come after us themselves.”

  She wrinkled up her mouth, twisting one side up without amusement. “I was afraid you would say that.”

  Chapter 40

  By lunchtime the spectators began showing up.

  That is, lots of cameramen were scattering across the city looking for advantageous locations, lots of people in expensive suits despite the late summer heat and a few extra policemen in groups talking and pointing. Angie and Preston agreed they would now miss having their bikes. Up to this moment, things had been fine, but with so few crossing bridges and the long stretches between landmarks, the bikes could be really useful. On the other hand, this was setting up to be an even more crowded place than even the worst of normal tourist traffic.

  So the next morning they put on their business casual attire and left early so they could take their time. The regular bus schedule was disrupted and they decided to simply walk back into town while it was still relatively cool. A cluster of photographers already setting things up and competing for the best spot occupied the hillside with a good view that Preston had found. Preston pretended to do a slow panorama but only recorded while aimed at the cameramen and their activity.

  At the bottom of the hill on the traffic circle stood, of all things, a shawarma cart. Angie and Preston agreed it was the perfect quick breakfast, and they weren’t alone. The river was extra busy with small motor boats all over the place. A few had cameras mounted on poles or small towers. Meanwhile, a flat bed truck was dropping temporary traffic control equipment to groups of workers and the occasional policeman. Preston and Angie decided to hide in the throng already gathering on and around the bridge.

  They had plenty to do working to spot and shoot various people too well dressed for ordinary work or tourism. From time to time they would trade the cameras back and forth for one purpose or another. As the buzz of police motorcycles and patrol cars increased upriver near the gauntlet running into the Hall of Justice, they watched closely to see mostly local officials and opulent cars, but no limos. Preston and Angie worked their way slowly toward the east end of the bridge.

  It was two hours before the first limo came. In the lead were the motor officers forcing serious impediments off the N95, followed by the actual motorcycle escort just in front of the oversize car, zipping along and up to the entrance of the gauntlet. Barriers were moved to allow smooth passing, and then quickly put back in place. This got the crowd’s attention and bodies everywhere surged a bit in
renewed activity, yet strangely having no real effect on the actual crowding itself. Preston and Angie positioned themselves to watch the departure, which they expected to run back out heading north along the one-way street pattern because of the movable barricades on the plaza. The N95 was split: Southbound was along the water’s edge, while northbound was a block inland. The open plaza at the west end of the bridge afforded a good view from a wide range of locations. They stood against the northern bridge railing, where the southbound half of the highway ran under the bridge and along the quay on the eastern bank of the Meuse.

  The first limo delayed longer than they expected at the Hall of Justice, making them wonder if their guessing was all wrong. Eventually it was led slowly past on the northbound lane as police struggled to clear the pedestrians. Preston and Angie crossed the open area to watch where the limo went. A ways down it turned right, at what should have been the long climbing N936. They decided to start moving in that direction. It was a long interval before the next limo whizzed by, so they had already begun the long climb that they had come down just two days ago. Before they managed to get as far as the small trail they had taken down from the citadel, another pair of limos passed together. Preston noted, “I have a hunch they’re parking somewhere near the citadel.” So when they came to the path climbing up through the woods, it seemed a natural choice.

  They stopped where the path turned to give them a clear view across the open field, leaving them still rather obscured in the woods. A couple of batches of hikers passed, one group in each direction. The limos came into view just seconds later, heading down the drive to the citadel parking area. Preston backed up a bit and found a track running through the woods, keeping them in the tree line while winding around to the backside of the parking lot. They eventually got where they could see that the police had cordoned off the section of the gravel parking area just along the trees. The limos were being lined up rather like a funeral cortege. They decided to continue watching from the woods for awhile, recording video of the activity around the big cars.