- I quit smoking.
- Eating food labelled “organic” will ensure my kids’ good health.
- Cyndi Lauper is an amazing song writer.
- True love conquers all.
does anyone have any recipes that require a gallon of buttermilk?
I put too much milk in my coffee, and then it tastes like milk.
and we weren’t all that impressed. The trip to the Geldautomaat yielded nothing but Belgian francs, of which we’d become accustomed to spending.
A walk up a street lined with trees. Some store fronts, nothing impressive. We were hungry, but did not know where to eat. It was Sunday, and much was closed.
We continued walking. The weather was clear and crisp, sunny. We both had our sunglasses on, and were happily without our packs. We passed houses, vacant deli’s. They didn’t want our francs, and we acknowledged out loud that we did not know where the town center was.
Deciding that aimlessly wandering was not going to fill our stomachs, we retreated toward the train station. We turned left, heading away from the station. G. spied the yellow umbrellas advertising beer-a sure sign that the restaurant catered to tourists, and thus would be open late on a Sunday afternoon.
We each had a fairly mediocre croque monsieur, a Stella Artois and we shared a bowl of American ice cream. The sun was in our eyes, but it was nice to sit outside. We had another Stella and smoked cigarettes, complacent in our acceptance that this was what Luxembourg had to offer.
We headed back to the train station, and bought some fruit and beer at the train station store for our ride back to Oostende. We sat outside the station in the sun to wait for our train. G. went inside to use the W.C.. We knew almost everything about each other right then.
I sat, leaning against a wall, stretching my legs in front of me. I read my Henry Miller novel and waited for G.. A man approached, and spoke to me in broken English. My nationality must have been obvious, for him to assume that he should speak English. He let me know that they could see my underwear beneath my skirt. He assured me that it was very sexy, he just wanted me to know.
My face burned, and I thanked him, crossing my legs and tucking my skirt under them as to end their peep show. G. came back right then, and asked what that was about. I shrugged, dodging the question, and we went inside the station to catch our train.