The venue, de Warande, was also a cool modern arts complex, complete with cafe and Bib (library). The backstage spoils were delicious: fresh meats and cheeses, rustic multi-grain bread, fruit, fancy chocolate with ginger, kombucha, all manner of juices and of course plenty of wine, beer and coffee. We ate dinner in the cafe and I had a delicious pot pie with a side of something like polenta balls and a salad with no dressing. This time, coffee was served with baby chocolate croissants rather than the requisite cookies. The next morning I did get my cookie with coffee, which bore an uncanny resemblance to my hand. (P.S. Look how giant my hand looks next to Andrew and Jesca!)
After the show we all went out for a drink when Josh turned 33 at midnight. We tried a melange of Belgium beers, my favorite being Leffe Blonde over Corsendonk, our hotel's namesake and made by a Priory in Turnhout from 1398 until it was closed in 1784. (Now it is apparently made elsewhere.) I wish I remembered the name of the bar we were at since it was a Monday night and well past midnight in a pretty small town 26 miles from Antwerp. The barmaid was a crazy lady with a smoker's voice who was spinning obscure European records from a vault in the back. The bar was empty save for the five of us and three lecherous older men, one of which kept saying to me, "Drink for Englishwoman." I respectfully declined.
The next day I took a train to Brussels where I then caught a flight to Berlin. The guys drove to Ghent for a show and then flew out of Brussels to go play in Poland. So far, the Belgian people in general not my favorite. They were cold and a little weird. Maybe they were scared of my yellow tights. All I'm sayin' is that there were an awful lot of baby shops in this town, but no babies in sight. Hmmm... Suspect. And this sign at the airport raised a red flag:
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