As we neared Achouffe, billboards announced the way to the
brewery/restaurant of La Chouffe. Driving through town we were aware of a
feeling of being watched. Hundreds of pairs of beady little eyes focused on
us as we wound through the village. We thought we had found La Chouffe twice
before we actually got there as a couple of other places were virtually
crawling with gnomes. The name of the town, Achouffe means "Gnome", and it's
evident why, as the little critters outnumber the humans there by about 50
to 1. Everywhere you go, they are watching you.

     We found the real deal because of the large grain silo with a picture
of certainly the largest gnome in town on it with the words "Brasserie
D'Achouffe". The place was nice and rustic with a lot of wood, but not dark,
light and airy. We sat at the bar and were served by a young girl who could
bridge the language gap just enough for us to get by. They had three of
their beers on tap, La Chouffe, Mc Chouffe, and Achouffe. Of course we got
one of each, but then settled on the Achouffe, not only the better of the
three, in our humble estimation, but a beer we were unlikely to encounter on
this side of the pond.

     The La Chouffe is their standard ale, the Mc Chouffe, a scotch ale, and
the Achouffe a specialty ale, different in character than the La Chouffe and
more suited to our tastes that particular Friday afternoon. After a couple
of glasses we adjourned to the dining room, away from prying little eyes in
the bar, and had a meal. Turkey steak (imported?) with a salad for Zeke,
chicken and frites in a sauce made with beer for Tony and I. Pretty good.

     As we ate we discussed our arrangements for a bed for the night.
Although we had reserved beds at the hostel at Champlon, Tony wanted to
press on back to Liege because he had made a rendezvous for Saturday with
Isabel, another German he had met on one of his frequent journeys around the
world. She was much younger than Gerda though. Isabel was to meet us in
Liege on Saturday and Tony wanted to scout out the city, especially around
the train station, so that he could find an easy landmark for her and us to
join up. It meant a longer ride but I agreed if we could reserve a spot in a
hostel on the phone before leaving. We decided to stay in Tilf, a small town
about 25 miles south of Liege, because the guidebook to European hostels
that we were using stated that there was no parking (not uncommon) at the
hostel in Liege. Tony called on the phone, no problems calling in the
country as I had purchased a phone card when we were first in Brussels
picking up the car, and was successful in reserving a room. We thought. As
we were getting into the car we took an empty plastic beer case, it's what
they use over here, returnable, because we needed something to hold our
growing collection of beers we are going to try to bring home. Are you
looking at me, gnome?

     We took a back road to Liege and enjoyed the beautiful Ardennes
scenery. Upon arrival we found a young guy waiting for a bus and we engaged
him in our favorite activity, getting directions. This one spoke English and
gave perfect directions to the train station. We found it and a meeting spot
quickly and were soon on our way to Tilf. It's a good thing too because I
was getting tired of all the driving we had done.

     Upon arrival we found the hostel. It was closed. There was no one
around. It was getting dark. We were tired, cranky, and I still had the
feeling of beady little eyes watching our every move. What was that! Sounds
like gnomes laughing.

     I'll spare you all the boring details, but we found out that we were at
the right place, it was closed, and when Tony thought he had talked to them
he was unaware that his call had been forwarded to the hostel in Liege. The
hostel in Liege was unaware that his call had been forwarded as well, so
they didn't bother to tell him where to go, they assumed that he had meant
to call them. Some system, huh? Tony figured this all out after asking a cop
on foot patrol for help. He understood little English but he lent Tony his
cell phone to call the hostel. Try that one in America.

     So it was dark by now, we didn't want to try to find our way around
Liege at night so we started looking around and spotted a small hotel a half
block from the river in the quaint little town of Tilf. It was called the
Hotel del'Ourthe. The proprietor, Umberto (in Espanol), spoke a little
English, but Spanish as well as French as he has grown up in Cuba. He was
real friendly. He gave us a complimentary glass of wine as we checked in,
$54. for the three of us for the night, not bad for being desperate. The
room had a double bed (Zeke and Tony) and a cot (me), a sink, and a bidet.
The toilet was next door, the douche (shower) upstairs. When I asked if I
could leave the car parked in the narrow street he replied, "forbidden, but
tonight, OK". That's good enough for me, I haven't seen a tow truck yet.

     We brought our stuff into the room and I crashed on the cot. Tony and
Zeke, having 25 years on me went looking for whatever passes as a good time
on a Friday night in a small Belgian town. I had just one request for them
before they left. I asked them, if they should encounter any English
speaking Belgians to have them write down some translations of some key
phrases not found in our French phrase book. Upon leaving the room, they
turned out the light and I swore I could see the whites of their tiny eyes,
staring.

     You looking at me, gnome?

Next time - Liege

Pictures - La Chouffe bar - Hotel del'Ourthe