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Country Air Cows grazed placidly on the plateau above us going about their eating duty with the persistence of a military operation denuding the landscape. I could hear the grass rip as they chomped it. Besides that it was a silent operation -- the cows had no bells and were not in the lowing mood. We heard the farmer's tractor start. Other than that it had been a peaceful sleep. I didn't even hear the church bells during the night. Did they turn them off at nine and then back on at six? If they could shut the fountains off in Spain for noon siesta I guessed anything was possible. Sharon spied a paved bicycle path alongside the railroad tracks. We skidded down a steep bank to it. Being away from traffic gave me a feeling of freedom. I could look around and enjoy the scenery with more ease. Sharon and I could ride beside each other a chat. Only a few morning dog walkers were out and an old guy on a mountain bike. Approaching a bridge we saw a crowd. A local television camera crew arrived. On the other side a semi tractor with a fuel tanker laid partially submerged in the river. The tanker poked out of the water at an obtuse angle like some abandoned Tonka toy. A large portion of the bridge had been taken out where the truck made its untimely exit. A crane on the bridge dangled giant cables through the gap like a fisherman angling from the bridge deck. Diver's air tanks laid on the bank. We followed the bike path to a park in Liège and pushed our bikes to a bench. There was a pond in the middle of the park and our bench sat facing the geese, ducks, rabbits, pigeons and some bird that had a red mask making it look like it got up that morning and said, "Okay, today I'm going to be a turkey." Not many people were around to enjoy the setting. I couldn't blame anyone for seeking warmer habitation -- it felt like it was going to snow. The not-so-faint smell of cow manure tainted the air. I constantly checked the bottom of my shoes and under my fenders to see where that smell was coming from. All to no avail. The permanent aroma filled the air and the wind made sure it was spread far and wide. Sharon called it Eau de Cow. I called it Pee-yoo de Cow. We rode to the center of town to look at the squares and pedestrian area Our guide book promised one of the largest in Europe. What we found instead was one of the largest construction zones in Europe. The square was fenced and barricaded. Pedestrian traffic was routed through a tiny opening that didn't even allow two-way walkers let alone us with our unwieldy bikes. We crossed the street and locked our bikes to a chain link construction fence after asking the workers if it would be all right. Most of the city was boring gray buildings. They were cold and uninspiring. Numerous bronze statues had oxidized to their familiar green tinge. My favourite was a gruesome chap clenching a severed head by its hair. We walked around the pedestrian area but I wasn't impressed. Italian towns had been far better. In Liège the shops looked modern and didn't have any mystique to them. We visited the enormous Romanesque church. An art student sat at the back of one impressive hallway of arches and meticulously sketched the numerous triptychs. A vibrant crimson stained glass window accentuated the hall. Across the church were deep blue stained glass windows. The colour saturation of the glass was striking. A huge pulpit was carved from dark wood. A tapestry was on the ceiling. The best thing in Liège were the Belgian waffles. They came with a variety of coatings and fillings. We sampled a chocolate filled one and quickly pronounced it "more." After buying a few food supplies we wandered back to our bikes. As we unlocked them the workmen asked, "Everything okay?" I gave them a thumbs up and we were on our way. The road leaving town was busy with commuters anxious to leave the gray buildings. The road in the countryside was relaxed. A bus stop appeared in front of a growth of trees. We pushed our bikes up the small embankment and back into the forest of pines and crunchy rotten sticks. Sharon spotted a clearing near a fence. Peering through the woods she noticed a cabin and an outhouse and made a closer reconnoitre. She came back unsure of whether the cabin was inhabited or not. There were no lights. I asked her if she had checked the outhouse. Buttermilk pancakes for supper once again. |
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