Much appreciated sunshine awaited us on Monday morning when we awoke. The city of Dinant in the Walloon Region of the Belgian Ardennes was our destination today and on our way to the train station we spent a little time taking in some more sights around Brussels that we hadn’t wanted to do in the dreary weather the day before. The area of the city that we were in was absolutely sparkling with color that we hadn’t been able to fully appreciate without the sun. We found a “Scott’s Bar & Kitchen” so of course had to have the requisite photoshoot with Scott posing by its “Scott’s” signage. The Royal Quarter was near the train station that we were departing from so we made a stop by it again for better views and sunnier pictures which was well worth it.
Dinant had been recommended to me by a German client of mine. She and her family had visited it a few years ago on a trip to Europe and they liked its small town nature and off the beaten path location as well as its history and landmarks. She painted a pretty compelling and charming portrait of the town and we thought it would be worth checking out.
The city is located on the banks of the Meuse River and its most notable feature is the ancient stone Citadel that is perched on a steep cliff overlooking the city and river. The city has been inhabited since the 10th century and has WW1 significance. Its most notable citizen was Adolphe Sax, 19th century inventor of the saxophone, and the city devotes homage to him and his now famous instrument on the bridge over the Meuse with 28 larger than life saxophone statues, each uniquely colored, decorated, and themed, and each representing a country in the European Union. 
Our train travel went smoothly, and as usual now that Scott had the benefit of live Google maps and cell service, he figured out all the necessary train transfers and stops without any trouble. The only thing of note during our travel was that when we crossed into the Walloon region of Belgium, the primary language spoken turned to French instead of Dutch.
After reaching the small train station in Dinant, it was a short stroll across the charming Sax bridge spanning the Meuse to the main part of the town where our hotel/apartment was located. It was quite easy to find as it was located on the main street in the tiny town and by its distinct mural of Adolphe Sax on the outside. The city center was small enough that we could pick out our bright blue hotel from any pictures of Dinant that we saw. Once we made it inside Les Voisins De Mr Sax and into our appointed room, we decided that this might have been our favorite housing so far. Our room, although plainly appointed, overlooked the river and steep green hillside and was separated from the waterfront by only the narrow road that passed in front of the buildings. Plus, not to be outdone by the themed saxophones on the bridge with their elaborate murals and wrap around graphics, the toilet seat in our bathroom was Times Square themed. That’s pretty hard to beat. 
Now that we were a little over halfway through our trip at this point, Scott had learned that I am happier if I get fed regular meals. So lunch was in order. We picked a little cafe/bakery just a few doors down from our apartment and enjoyed a lunch that I ordered in my stilted and mangled French. The waitress was thankfully cheerful and patient with me. Despite taking three years of French in high school, I was even worse at speaking it now than I had been then, scraping by with C’s and D’s. (Also, for the record, I was disappointed that I never got the opportunity to use the two vocab terms that I did remember: lapin (rabbit), and moutard (mustard). Although, maybe that is a good thing because I certainly would not want to eat mustard rabbit.)
Subsequently fed and satiated, we were now ready to tackle the Citadel. We bought our tickets and stood in line waiting to board the cable car that would hoist us up to the top of the mountain, bypassing the 408 steps. While in line, and nearly on cue, Scott started eyeing up the 408 steps and informed me that while he would accompany me up to the top in the cable car and we would do the tour of the fortress, but that when we were finished, he was planning on climbing the steps back up. The cable car ascent reminded me of the one that we had done in Palm Springs and I got the similar butterflies-in-the-tummy feeling that I get from looking out and seeing how high up we were and feeling the swaying of the car.
Once up top of the Dinant Rock we enjoyed looking out over the city and seeing the Meuse river valley that spread out below. It was obvious to see why this location was chosen centuries ago as a defense outpost because the sentries stationed here would see potential invaders from miles away and the city would have ample time to prepare. We were able to look down onto the iconic 13th century cathedral at the base of the mountain, Notre-Dame de Dinant. It has a very distinct bulb shaped bell tower that gives it a Russian look and lends a recognizable and notable silhouette to the city. We saw the historical exhibits that explained the 1914 WW1 attack by the Germans, toured the models of WW1 trenches (one was modeled to mimic a damaged and bomb stricken trench and it was tricky and disorienting to navigate), and saw a few other war related exhibits. 
It was now the stair phase of the tour. I (carefully) followed Scott down the 408 narrow and unevenly pitched and spaced steps so that he could return back up them. I suggested he take a timelapse video of his climb which he did. Not to be completely outdone by him and have him accuse me of being a couch potato I started to climb too, although I was content to just do about ⅔ of the climb and met him on his descent.
The tickets that we had bought for the Citadel tour also included a Meuse river boat tour so we went to inquire about that. We decided to wait until the next day for that tour and went off in search of the famous Leffe Abbey Brewery for some historic Belgian libations. Belgian monks have been brewing beer here since 1240 and I, as always, was excited about drinking Belgian beer, especially in Belgium.
It was a short walk although quite hilly and when we arrived I was excited to see hundreds of hydrangea bushes surrounding the old building. We were happy to see that the serving area for the brewery was located outside on a manicured lawn with lots of outdoor seating overlooking the Meuse river valley and happily sipped our Leffe while enjoying the views. We coined the brewery “Belgian Community Tap” as a shout out to my favorite taproom back home. Scott quickly spied “castely shit” on the opposite hillside and was intrigued. 
After a few beers we mosied back down the hill to the town and decided to look for a spot for dinner. We found a place right on the river with outdoor seating and clumsily navigated our way through the menu and ordering. Our poor young server didn’t speak as much English as many of the others we had encountered so far but we finally were able to communicate enough through my broken French and his small grasp of English, as well as with some assistance from a neighboring restaurant patron, to put in our order. This same neighboring patron asked me where I was from and I told him that I was American. He told me that I spoke very quickly and I laughed and told him that I am from the South and we speak… very… very… slowly. He laughed at this. Dinner was enjoyable (there were frites) and we enjoyed our walk back to Les Voisins De Mr Sax in the setting sun. We had one last task for the day and that was to go check out the Sax bridge and see the city in the dark with everything all lit up. It was well worth it and Scott got some pictures that were worthy of being featured in promotional material for the city.
Tuesday morning I went on a pastry mission and found some fresh croissants just a few doors down from our apartment. We ate them with coffee in the little kitchen that overlooked the river and we were entertained by the morning activity alongside the riverbank. The town was a popular stop for cabin cruisers and one of the boaters that was docked beneath our apartment had a kitty and we enjoyed watching her stroll confidently around the decks of her boat as her owner went about his business of cleaning the boat. The river was bustling with electric boat rental traffic as well and it was amusing watching the slow boats go up and down the waterway and even more amusing watching the amateur captains trying to eventually dock them.
After breakfast we made our way a few blocks down river to where our tour boat was docked. We were on the upper deck and the morning was still cool. The boat went a few kilometers down the Meuse before turning around and an audio recording informed us about points of interest along the banks and pertinent historical facts about the ancient city of Dinant as we went. Scott once again spied the “castley shit” from the day before and the boat had barely docked back in town before he jumped off of it announcing to me over his shoulder that he was going to bushwhack up the hillside to go check it out and he would meet me back at the apartment after lunch.
So I was on my own for lunch. I found a cool spot called Le Cerf Vert right on the “Croisette” (the street alongside the river) and had lasagne and Chouffe beer this time which is brewed nearby in the Belgian Ardennes. I tried not to worry about Scott venturing into the Dinant wilderness on his own- I figured he had done things like this his whole life and thus far had lived to tell the tale. I checked out the ancient cathedral at the base of the Citadel on my way back to the apartment.
He rendezvoused at the appointed time thankfully and excitedly told me about his adventure. The “castley shit” hidden on the opposite hillside that we had seen from the day before turned out to be part of an abandoned theme park and he was able to make his way up through the woods to its perimeter fence. He was deterred by the appearance of some locals who were working on their broken down car at the closed front gate and didn’t make his way into the derelict park to explore further. I am grateful for this because otherwise he might not have ever come back… Our last “must do” in Dinant was to get some of the famous Dinant cookies (couque de Dinant) before we made our way to the train station and onto Paris that night. Luggage in tow we stopped at the same bakery I had visited that morning. I had admired the intricate and quite elaborate designs of the gingerbread-like cookies when I was there earlier. Some of them more closely resembled artwork than baked goods. When we placed our order in broken French, the clerk gave us a warning in her broken English, the gist of which was do NOT bite into these cookies because you’d break all your damn teeth off. We were to suck on them, like candy, and not chomp into them like they were a run of the mill Chips Ahoy. Warning in mind we tentatively nibbled the cookies once we were out of the bakery. They were just as she had advised and were more like hockey puck than cookie but had a nice gingery flavor. Local legend states that the cookies date back to the 15th century and after the Liege Wars the citizens had hardly anything to eat and cobbled together honey and flour to concoct them. The dough was so stiff that they made patterns in it. We decided that we liked them for their designs more so than for their flavor but it was still fun to have eaten the thing you’re supposed to eat in the place you’re supposed to eat it. (See: Janna’s travel motto) 
We said goodbye to Adolphe Sax’s hometown and the sax’s along the bridge and made the short stroll back to the train station. We were bound for Paris tonight!
