Bright and early...ish, after breakfast had stopped being served, I woke up in my amazing hotel room. I got ready and made my way downstairs in due time before off on my trek to the Achel monastery, whose actual entire name is far too long and hard to pronounce to put here. Upon coming downstairs a very friendly woman (I would later find out she was the wife of the very nice man that welcomed me to the hotel, both of whom are the owners) greeted me and said she was sorry that breakfast was already over. I told her it was no problem, since it was perhaps now 11 AM, and she offered to make me some tea. How nice!
Over tea the woman brought me a map of the area and told me how to get to the Achel monastery, explaining that this was a small town and the few buses in the area were not even running that day. Fair enough, it looked to only be about five miles or so.
I thanked the woman (I never did get her name) for the tea and began my trek, immediately coming back in to get my umbrella since there was a bit of light rain. I would have rented a bike, except I couldn't figure out where one does that (and am not entirely convinced it actually existed) nor would I have done well biking in the rain, holding an umbrella.
In due time I circled back again, remembering I had no cash at the time and would likely need to only pay in cash once at the monastery. Fortunately I was near a bank and had no trouble getting some money and soon resumed my journey. I walked and enjoyed the day in spite of the rain, and took some pictures and video along the way for later reference.
When in France in 2008 I biked with my family through many small villages, some fairly similar to this one in size and feel. One thing I noticed that I had not seen outside of France in Europe were signs saying that one is entering and leaving a town. A white sign with a black picture of a town, perhaps of the town you are entering, and the name awaits you as you come in. As you leave the same sign is there but with a red stripe through it. I saw these signs here in Hamont and Achel, the two little joined towns in the area.
Eventually I made my way to the monastery, and saw two somewhat distinct halves. A part that looked like a church, with its steeple and stained-glass windows and such, as well as presumed buildings for the monks in which to house themselves or something. I did not visit this part, it did not seem terribly open. The other half, the one I went into, was more or less a long rectangle of buildings, all connected, and decidedly brown in color scheme. Barrels and beer kegs were in a garage on the right and a long shop on the left. At the end was a small courtyard with plenty of tables and chairs and umbrellas stacked against the wall to keep out of the rain. I knew and had later reaffirmed for me that this was not exactly the ideal season for tourists. The brewery, which I could see just past the courtyard, was attached to the cafe, which I entered. Inside was a fairly unassuming row for sliding trays down to grab foods and order at different stations, a cooler with drinks, and a cash register at one end. I ordered a spicy meat sandwich, being told it was very good, and the blonde beer. Two beers were available here, both brewed here and not readily available elsewhere. The only other place I saw a beer from here, and only the blonde, was in a 6-pack of Trappist beers for sale later in Brugge.
My sandwich came soon, and I was taken back by its appearance. Imagine, if you will, a patty with three raised ridges going across the shorter of the two lengths of the meat. It was strange-looking, but I dove in. And boy was I glad the look didn't stop me, it was really good. The beer went wonderfully with it, and after finishing I had the dunkel (dark) beer, this one only available here and nowhere else.
Another very very good beer, both of them were amazing really. Yet despite the Trappist claim (substantiated by others!) for the beer being world-class, I would say this was perhaps only a step or two above a “good” beer one can get back in the states. Undeniably good, yes, but not so good as to be good enough reason to travel hundreds of miles from the other cities I visited to walk for miles in the rain and sit in a nearly-empty cafe just to try these beers. Which, actually, made it even more worth it. I went a distance that so very few have and indeed even would. All for the story and the beer and the experience. And I loved it, all of it.
After finishing my meal I left and walked around the parking lot, seeing a big sign. I went over and looked closer and it was a map of the monastery, of course. It showed the various buildings and nearby paths and such, and showed that the Belgium/Netherlands border actually crossed through part of the monastery! I went walking down a road in the opposite direction of town for perhaps two minutes before coming across a dotted line in the middle of the road, on a diagonal. It was the border, clearly marked with a BE on one side and NL on the other. So, of course, I danced on the border and hopped from one side to the other and stood straddling the line. Of course. One must do these things when one has the opportunity.
I really enjoyed my time there despite this being a town with so little to “do” there. I walked back to town and got a ride to the train station from the guy that welcomed me the night before after checking out, and hopped on a train to Brugge. While waiting for the train there was a girl at the station with whom I spoke before and during the train ride, and she knew the guy that brought me there, because it's such a small town. I love that, where everyone knows everyone else. She was concerned for the man because he had a black eye and looked like he'd been in a fight. I didn't ask him about it nor was it mentioned, but the girl knew him and wanted to know. I bet by asking her mom and asking around she will have found out how soon enough.
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