Yvoir

Since it was on the way back to the hostel in Namur, where she had a reservation for the night, Caroline gave me a ride to my accommodation in Yvoir, my “Y” place. The hotel is right next to the train station and sits across from Yvoir Island. It’s like a version of Fawlty Towers, minus all the staff except Cybil, and even she’s now about 90 years old and cannot accompany guests up to their rooms upon arrival. Neither does she speak English. Just points and babbles.

A very bizarre experience. Extremely high ceilings, creaky floorboards, flowered wallpaper on the walls and doors, and Scottish tartan curtains. The king-sized bed was two single beds pushed together. The only other guests in the establishment were three men all sharing one room.

I didn’t fancy sitting by myself all evening so Caroline and I went for drinks (and another game of Scrabble–English, this time), and then I snuck her into my huge room with mis-match oversized furniture for a slumber party. Getting her out the next morning was a little tricky but since the landlady was too old to run after us and we weren’t able to understand what she was saying, it wasn’t too difficult to get away with it.

The weather has been so bad the last couple of days, it makes everything look depressed.  The huge houses that sit along the river and nestle up in the surrounding trees surrounding are like something from the Amityville Horror movie.
 

   

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