Finding poorly marked roads in Belgium is a challenge for the most
seasoned navigator. It befuddled us a few times. The trip to Orval was no
exception. Unable to find the route which stays in Belgium we were forced to
travel internationally. There is a wiggle is the border where Belgium meets
France which makes the most direct route from Chimay to Orval driving
through a bit of French forest in the Ardennes again. The roads are winding
and hilly. You go up, down and around. It was a nice ride but not the
highway that we couldn't find. I just had to forget about schedules and
relax and enjoy the drive, even though I did push it a little. The car
handled the turns beautifully so why slow down when you come to one?

     A while after we had crossed the border we were passed on the two lane
road by another small car with a couple of young guys in it. They were
making better time than us so I figured, what the hell, picked up speed and
followed them. After a couple of kilometers we come up to a truck. The guys
in front of us made a couple of attempts to pass it but the twisting roads
would not allow them to. Then at the bottom of a hill we came to the
intersection. Complete with two French police cars,  their occupants
disgorged onto the street stopping traffic. The truck was waved through. The
car in front of us was waved over to the side. At this point several
thoughts raced through my mind. Did they have aircraft monitoring our
speeding? (don't know). Did we have any French money? (no). What French
speaking bureaucratic hell awaited the speeding American tourist with no
francs? (don't even want to think about it).

     Keeping my best poker face firmly attached I watched the menacing
gendarme for the verdict. His hard stare at me was a warning. He was like a
man with his foot raised over an ant. I was totally insignificant and at his
mercy, as he raised his arm and waived us through. We all exhaled gratefully
after we moved passed the checkpoint. In a few more kilometers we were back
in Belgium.

     After a bit we arrived at a village located not far from the abbey. I
did a little window shopping as Zeke made a pit stop and Tony slept. A
display of sausages caught my eye in a butcher's window. I went in and
bought two different kinds. One was made with Orval beer. The other was very
red and the shopkeeper couldn't understand my inquiries as to whether the
sausage was fresh or smoked, so I had to pantomime the actions of putting
the sausage in a hot frying pan complete with sound effects (sssss). The
woman laughed and shook her head no and indicated to just break off and eat.
Got back in the car and in no time at all arrived at the abbey Notre-Dame
d'Orval.

     This place is beautiful, not in the old fashioned, pastoral sense like
Westmalle or Chimay but in a modern, flat out gorgeous design. It was built
between 1929 and 1936 by an architect named Henry Vaes, who also designed
the distinctive Orval glass. The old abbey was destroyed in the French
Revolution and the ruins are available to tour. I guess it took them a
couple of hundred years to raise the money for the reconstruction. It was
worth the wait.

     After a small delay we were met by the director of the brewery, Francois de
Harenne, who had just finished taking some people from Seattle on a tour. He told
us that they had returned after several years to see the place again as Orval was
their favorite beer in the world. Then he took us on an hour long journey
through beer heaven. Apologizing that he could not show us one room that was
under construction, he gave us the most comprehensive tour we got all trip.
He answered all of our questions except on the pitching rate of yeast (trade
secret.)  I had spent some time the night before reading Michael Jackson on
the abbey at Orval and after remarking on some of the facts that I had
learned there he looked at me suspiciously and said, "You are remarkably
well informed." I explained from where the knowledge had come and he grunted
in appreciation. After seeing the entire brewery he called up the road to
the bar/restauant that revolve around these abbeys like the moon around the
earth and told them to give us a complimentary beer. Thanking him we
adjourned for a repast of Orval green (the reduced alcohol brew for the
monks), the standard Orval (I just can't call it regular), and cheese, with
celery salt this time.

     I got to tell you those people from Seattle may just be right. This
could be the best beer in the world. Only one strength, bottle conditioned,
this beer undergoes metamorphosis as it ages. Never the same, always a
treat. It is also the most hoppy of abbey beers which balances out the
sweetness they all possess. Buy a case, drink a couple, wait a month, drink
a couple, wait a month, well you get it. Oh, keep it a cellar temp 53
degrees Fahrenheit. If any of you have a cellar with that temperature, let
me know. I got some carboys to lager.

     Leaving Orval we drove to Arlon. After passing four guys standing by
the curb, drinkin' cans of beer and sayin' yup we got on the highway soon to
be Autobahn and headed through the clouds of insects to that comfy bed just
waiting in Germany. God bless you Gerda!

Next time - Wine country

Pictures - Oval inside and out


 


 Last      Main       Next