An adventure yesterday, south-west of Bruxelles for around 30 minutes. A train with Gala, past a town called Silly. No, really. To a town called Ath.
d’Ath Death Ath. A choice. As curious as I am about the woman who was my grandmother and was Muslim and Turkish – from Turkey, via Turkey, left Turkey, what kind of Muslim? Questions that are deferred until I go to Istanbul… my family name d’Ath gives much entertainment, linguistic, etymological, historical.
A town called Ath. I thought of The Jam singing A Town Called Malice. I expected with my homecoming there would be a procession of some sort, perhaps some slaughter of locals, entrails and what have you, and glaciers would be most appreciated. Palm trees. At the station.
Walking down old streets, empty shops, many with posters for Ducasse d’Ath, and also… haha… oh… much amusement around the 11th Century castle… Institut Saint François Ath, the Ath Promenade de la Culture, the Ath Jardin des Artes et Lettres… A beautiful small town, reminding me a little of Vevey in places, or towns out of Adelaide, and…
Much cheese and sausage, apertifs drunk, and a quick shuffle back to civilisation. Bruxelles. Oh, a beautiful city, and yes, my choice of Berlin or Brussels I think were good first picks. I shall wander over again, especially when flights are €17, though unsure if another visit to Ath will ensue.