He decided to walk around and explore after he went out. He was using
the bridge near the hostel as a landmark to find his way back. The bridge
had several statues on it, where the other bridges in the vicinity didn't.
After walking a way he was approached by a young black man who bumped into
him and tried to pick his pocket. Zeke punched him and he ran away. This was
the only instance of criminal activity we experienced on the trip. Unless
you count some of the restaurant prices in the large cities. So he presses
on walking past a concert hall letting out a crowd of well dressed patrons.
Deciding to come back, he headed to the river, the Ourthe I believe it is,
and found a bridge with statues. It was the wrong bridge however, not seeing
any other statue laden bridges in the vicinity, he asked a couple of guys if
they knew the way to the hostel. They said they would drive him there but
they had to make just one stop first.

     They had to stop at a party. A birthday party specifically, for a
friend of theirs at a college dorm. When they arrived, it was late, the
party was in full swing. The birthday boy's mom had brought a whole mess of
food including a french onion soup she had made herself and of course there
was plenty of beer. Zeke said they stayed about 3 hours, the soup was the
best french onion he ever had, and all the students there who were learning
English wanted to talk to him to try out what they had learned, and probably
to learn some slang and curse words along the way. After things wound down
the two guys drove Zeke back to the hostel, a good time being had by all.

     So, we dropped off Isabel took 45 minutes to find the road we came into
town on, and headed back to Bokrik. When we got to the hostel there no one
was around, so we left the key but didn't get back the deposit. Oh well, it
was just a couple of bucks. Took the road to Hasselt and stopped for diesel
fuel. It was a pump it yourself, so I did. After the pump handle clicked
off, I started pumping again to round off the amount I had to pay. Zeke,
sitting in the car, told me he heard splashing. I looked down and saw I was
spilling fuel all over the pavement. Apparently their pumps only cut off
once to warn you that you are full and then keep pumping merrily away as
long as some fool squeezes the handle. So I bought a little more diesel than
we needed, got a weird look from the attendant, and we were on our way.

     We took back roads from Hasselt in Limburg provence all the way to Meer,
near the border of Netherlands in Antwerp Province. It was a beautiful ride
through many small villages and the Flemish countryside coming alive with
greenery in spring. Many fields were just plowed or being plowed mostly with
old fashioned equipment, the furrows rough and uneven, but at least the bank
doesn't own the equipment. It was an altogether religious experience for a
Sunday morning, but being Americans we have a ritual for Sunday afternoon.
Drink and watch sports.

     We got to Meer, found the Sterkins brewery and although there were cars
parked there, no one answered the bell. So we drove up the street, found a
bar at a fork in the road and went inside. This was a real local bar. The
bartender spoke English (we were back in Dutch speaking Belgium now where
many people spoke some English), was covered in tattoos, friendly but with a
very limited beer selection. Zeke and I had Primus from the tap, Tony
something in a bottle, Palm, I think. There were a bunch of young guys
shooting electronic darts and watching football (soccer), aah, almost like
home. We were hungry by now but all they had were 3 hot dogs left. So we
ordered them. They asked if we wanted mustard and ketchup on them. Just
mustard, please. Tony didn't want a hot dog so Zeke and I had 1-1/2 each.
After a while we went down the street to a store to find food for Tony.

     It was a corner market just like in America with the exception of all
the different beers they sold. A large corner of the store was devoted to
beer with at least 35 varieties in all kinds of packaging. Large bottles,
small bottles, gift packs with the proper glasses included, cans, you name
it. It was cool. We wandered to the back where they had a deli counter. A
girl was manning, or womanning, the counter and when we asked her about the
various meats, she gave us all a taste first. We bought a couple of pounds
of meat and cheese, the cheese made with Westmalle beer, a half dozen rolls
and some beer. We were set for a while, lunch wise. It was still a little
cool so stuffed in the trunk, we didn't have to worry about spoilage for the
food, or the beer.

     Driving back south to Antwerp city we decide to go past Westmalle to
check it out, as we are returning tomorrow to see the brewery there, we
hope, as well as a return to Meer to see Sterkins. We pass the
bar/restaurant at Westmalle (just west of Oostmalle) and it is a very large
establishment and on a Sunday afternoon it is packed to the gills.
Eventually we arrive at Antwerp City and after circling the place on the
outer ring road we head to Centrum. We went around the ring to spot the
hostel as it is supposed to be right at the ring according to the map. After
wandering around Antwerp for a while we found one of those "you are here"
signs. Tracked a route to the hostel and found it. It was in a park at the
edge of town with a pond around 2/3rds. of it, very nice, lots of birds and
all, a real peaceful setting out front and the ring road out back. You know
which way our room faced, monoxide anyone.

Next up - Antwerp, Westmalle, Sterkins

Pictures - Antwerp views - our hostel, one end of the town square