Before we left Belgium, there was one more stop we had to make. Lyana had found out about a neat little village built between a steep rockface and the river: Dinant. It was a bit out of the way, but based on the pictures we had seen (and the fact that we drove OVER it on the expressway the other day), we just had to go there.
As we came into the town, the first things to greet us were these gigantic rock cliffs. This picture is taken from the boat tour (later) of the the split in the rock that the road goes straight through. Our big minivan (oxymoron?) barely fit.
First step: find the boat docks. Second step: find a place to park. Neither took a terribly long time (not a big town). It was just a bit tricky navigating the narrow streets, most of which were either one-ways or should be.
Once on the tour boat, we could rest a while. I could easily of fallen asleep except for the fact that I paid for the boat ride, and I wasn’t about to waste my hard-earned euros on a nap.
We went under several bridges during the river ride. Tell me, who doesn’t enjoy seeing the underside of a bridge once in a while? This behemoth is the expressway viaduct that we drove over two days prior where we could look down on this little village. Certainly is a different perspective looking up.
Saxaphones on display along this bridge. Why? Because the musician who invented the saxophone (Adolphe Sax) was born in Dinant, Belgium.
More of the stunning river view.
On top of the rockface there is the citadel, most famous (or infamous I guess) for the multiple times it has been destroyed and rebuilt throughout the centuries. One of the scariest was when the attackers tossed over 200 men, bound together in pairs, over the cliffs into the river. The city itself was the site of several German attacks during both World Wars, and it is a wonder that the town still exists.
Our lunch consisted of . . . fries. That’s it. Just fries.
The Collegiate Church of Notre-Dame, one of the main landmarks of the town – rebuilt after rocks from the cliff fell and destroyed it in 1227.
The cable car from behind the church to the citadel. Lasts less than 5 minutes, but who’s counting.
The view from the top was stunning.
Most adults: “Wow, look at the cannons!”
My kids’ parents: “Go get in the cannons guys!”
Okay, this is where the fun began for us at the Citadel. Let’s see, how should I tell the story. Oh, I have an idea. Here’s an excerpt from the email I sent the tour director regarding our most memorable experience. I apologize for the strong language.
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“As you may recall, my family and I arrived a few minutes before a large tour group was to start at 1:30. The tour guide (I do not know his name, but he was old, short and slightly bent) was speaking in French and then he said something in Dutch. We did not know what he said at the time, but now we realize he must have been asking who speaks which language in the group. He did not say anything in English, so we didn't think he spoke English. We decided to just follow along with the tour group, as there were signs in English along the way.
“I think we were on the third stop (at the end of the long hallway) when it happened. A kind Dutch couple next to us also spoke English, so they were quietly translating to us a few things he said, and then the tour guide loudly said "Shhhhhhh!!". We apologized, though we thought we were being quiet enough. Then the Dutch couple explained to the tour guide that they were translating into English for us,. The tour guide offered to translate into English for us (though he sounded unhappy about it), but we worried that if he had to translate everything into three languages, the tour would take a very long time, and we did not have much time to visit. So we asked him if we could just walk around by ourselves. Without explanation, he said something to us in an angry tone, in another language, and turned away from us. The couple told us with a shocked look on their faces that the tour guide told us to "piss off!"
“We turned around and left the tour. That is when we went to the souvenir shop and found the young lady there who helped us. She was so kind to listen to us and then she worked so hard to help make the situation better. I do not know her name, but please tell her how wonderful she was that day, and how much we appreciated her. She got us in touch with you, Julie, and of course you were so kind to help us too, allowing us to visit the rest of the citadel on our own, even when it is not normal to allow tourists to walk around there alone.
”As for the tour guide, there is no excuse for his rude behavior. Maybe he's just a grumpy old man and he was just having a bad day. But that doesn't mean he can be so rude. It was even more offensive that he was too cowardly to say it in English, and we had to ask the other people to translate for us. If he had just told us something like, "No, I'm sorry. That is not permitted," we would have understood fine. Instead, I will remember him as the worst example of customer service I have ever seen.
“I am sad to say, that despite my wonderful visit to Belgium, and all the wonderful people (including you and the other lady who helped me) that I met in your beautiful country, this one man's rude and immature behavior will always be part of my memory of our visit to the Citadel, to Dinant, and to Belgium.”
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If you managed to read through all that, I’m sorry. Don’t think that our vacation was ruined just because of one crotchety, old tour guide. It just stinks that it was right at the end of our time in Belgium. We still had fun. In fact, though he didn’t realize it, his actions paved the way for us to find a way to walk around the citadel on our own, at our own pace.
We jumped ahead of the tour guide, and we made sure we kept moving so that the tour group didn’t catch up to us.
We still got to have fun and see some cool things.
Like plastic people in a fake kitchen skinning a fake boar.
These hats were real though.
Spoiler Alert!!! The last part of the citadel ‘tour’ was a recreated WWI trench which is under attack, and part of it was caved in. The kids loved this part here where the whole room was tilted. They are actually standing up straight (or trying to do so) because the floor was slanted toward one side. Almost got vertigo trying to walk through.
We eventually found our way out of the crooked room, the citadel (with the nasty tour guide but the at least the view was amazing), out of Belgium and to Calais. Then onto the ferry (after taking Mark to the restroom, then returning and finding that all the cars around ours in line had already loaded).
The view of the white cliffs of Dover was much better this time around. I’d never really seen them before. They really are white.
Oh, this picture. Yeah, petrol was not our friend this trip. We have a card that lets us get 100L of petrol (that’s gasoline, for you non-British folks) per month, but at American prices. Otherwise, the British price is at least three times the price in the States. So you might understand why we would do all that we could to use that card (in Britain only). The only thing is, it’s just for Texaco. And there were no Texacos in Dover, or anywhere near Dover as we found out. Well, we purposefully filled up only just enough in France to get us to the ferry, thinking that we’d find a Texaco within 30 miles. Not the case. We were reduced to petrol-hopping, filling up just enough at one station to get the light to stop blinking, in hopes of making it to a Texaco. In the end, Lyana found one, albeit a bit out of the way, near London by using the Google Maps feature on her phone. Next time, I’ll plan that one out better, mapping out AHEAD of time where the Texacos are along our route.
In the end, we made it home. And that’s all that matters when you really think about it.
Rob
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