From Ghent to Aix

Sept. 29-Oct. 1

This leg of the journey is the core from which the whole idea for the trip developed.

It started with a Robert Browning poem, “How They Brought the Good News From Ghent to Aix.” I read it years ago, maybe when I was in high school, and found it rousing and hilarious good fun.

“I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we gallop’d all three …”

That’s right up there with “Green Eggs and Ham” and “The Lobster Quadrille.”

The galloping rhythm continues as the three messengers ride through the night and pass landmarks on the way. Two horses give out, but the narrator and his horse finish the mission, where he gets a beer and the horse hay.

The reward would have been even better if they had ridden the other way. The beer is OK in Germany, but it’s a hell of a lot better in Belgium.

Aix, I learned much later, is Aix la Chapelle. It’s a city in Germany, but the French and English call it by its French name.

In German, it’s Aachen, and it was Charlemagne’s capital. 

As my fascination with Charlemagne has grown, so has my interest in seeing the place.

He ordered the building of a church, and I had read that a part of it still exists. That would be one of the oldest churches Joanna and I have visited. I think the only older ones we’ve seen are in Rome, where pagan sites like the Baths of Diocletian and the Pantheon were appropriated when the Christians took over and started to get even.

We didn’t ride horses to get to Aachen. We took the train. 

The ride isn’t bad, a little under three hours. We passed through a lot of flat country and then, toward the end of the ride, we were both surprised to find that Belgium actually has some hills. 

They’re a bit like the western Catskills, not towering, but often steep with streams running through deeply cut channels. The country is dotted with farms and villages.

The only challenge was the change near the end of the trip at a small station called Welkenraedt. We had to change platforms by lugging our bags down one long flight of stairs and then back up another. 

We had a six-minute window to make the change. The conductor saw the geriatrics coming and sacrificed the national on-time performance long enough to let me toss the bags and my ass on board.

Once we were at the hotel, the Best Western Plus Regence on Peterstrasse, I looked for promising places for dinner and turned up the Goldenen Einhorn, across from the city hall at the Central Market, less than a kilometer from the hotel. 

The directions seemed straightforward enough, so of course I got us lost. Joanna asked a man on the street. He told us to use the crosswalk and follow the road uphill.

It brought us to the Rathaus, the city hall, which is built on the foundation of Charlemagne’s palace.

We couldn’t make up our minds about dinner, so we went for the Golden Unicorn combination: sausages, black pudding, and ham with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes.

I had Frankenheim Alt, a dark old-style beer that seemed a little thin and watery after all the strong Belgian selections of the previous week or so.

Monday we found a bakery, Backerei Kaussen, where we could have a light breakfast. 

Then we headed back toward the Rathaus because it’s a few meters from the Aachen cathedral, which is generally referred to as the Dom. It’s the chapelle of Aix la Chapelle.

The large plaza between City Hall and the Dom had been given over to what appeared to be a bonding exercise for university students. They were arranged in apparent teams to play various games and seemed to be having a good time at it.

The guy in the beer hat was some kind of referee.

The current church preserves much of Charlemagne’s original. It is an octagon with a soaring dome surrounded by a larger, 16-sided structure with Romanesque vaults. The interior walls and ceilings of both structures are covered with mosaics.

There are several side chapels that are all later additions.

A 13th century Gothic quire extends in one direction. It is only open to tour groups. The highlight there is the Charlemagne shrine, a gold coffin in an elevated glass case that holds the remains of Charlemagne.

It’s not the original burial site, which may have been in the crypt of the church. The quire didn’t exist until the 13th century and the shrine was created then.

A similar coffin in the quire is called the Shrine of Mary. It’s also from the 13th century. 

It holds four relics that are displayed once every seven years. According to Google, they are Jesus’s swaddling clothes and loin cloth, Mary’s dress, and John the Baptist’s decapitation cloth.

It was fascinating to sit in this place and try to imagine activity 1200 years ago. It was also strange, after years of gathering Charlemagne lore, legends, and exaggerations, to sit so close to the man’s real bones.

We stopped at a table outside the Golden Swan. A lot of gold in this town. The place is a few doors down from the Golden Unicorn.

I had a beer and shared a waffle with Joanna while we watched the world go by.

Much later, after a rest at the hotel, we went out for a late supper. Most of the kitchens had closed because it was nearly 10.

We stopped at a bar called called Kolnthor, a block up Peterstraat from the hotel. They don’t serve food, but one of the customers recommended the Greek joint, Alexander’s, next door. 

Not my first choice, but what the hell. 

It was surprisingly good. We had some stuffed grape leaves, a small Greek salad, and a plate of tomatoes with onion. All very good.

We stopped back at the Kolnthor for a beer. I had an Oktoberfest, which was also surprisingly good—bitter, lots of flavor for a German beer—so one beer stretched into three.

It turns out that the man who recommended Alexander’s to us is a cook from another restaurant who was relaxing after work.

We got into a conversation with another patron who told us that Aachen was originally a spa in Roman times because it has thermal springs.

Next day, Tuesday and our last full day in Aachen, we did a load of laundry in the Wasch Salon next to Backerei Kaussen.

We couldn’t see how to get the detergent dispenser to work, so a couple who came in let us use some of their detergent. 

We took a short walk through the neighborhood while the washer churned. We were in a newer part of town but many of the blocks were 19th century or earlier. 

We stopped at the Golden Swan for lunch. I have developed a fondness for black pudding. This one came with a savory brown gravy and applesauce. 

I had it with Benediktiner Hell, a lager. I think in this instance “hell” means pale. It was all right, better than an American lager, but still clearly not a Belgian product. 

We went to a small museum, the Centre Charlemagne, near the Dom. It contains some artifacts and many images relating to Charlemagne and the city of Aachen. 

The audio tour made the visit worthwhile. One object in particular, near the start of the tour, was a case in point. It’s a stone carving from an old building known as the Hungarian Bath.

It shows a hunter restraining his horse by a bubbling stream and the remains of stone work. According to the audio guide, the hunter is Charlemagne.

Frederick Barbarossa visited Aachen sometime in the 13th century. Monks at the cathedral forged a document, supposedly a report by Charlemagne that he had been separated from his retinue and rediscovered a Roman bath at one of Aachen’s hot springs.

The document talks about how Charlemagne granted special rights and dispensation on the town because of its exalted past. In the document Charlemagne asked his successor to continue those rights and privileges. 

One wall of the museum has a phrase, shining in red neon, that is attributed to Napoleon. To justify his claim to be emperor, he wrote to the Pope: “Je suis Charlemagne.”

Everybody who wanted to be anybody of importance had to link himself to Charlemagne. 

We stopped for dinner at Verano, an Italian restaurant on Peterstraat not far from the hotel. 

We had a couple of salads and a sampler of appetizers. We also shared a mild Chianti that was very pleasant.

We’re in Liege now, just a short trip from Aachen by train. 

Stay well and happy, everyone.

I’m going to open a bottle of Ventoux that I found in a little deli around the corner.

Love to all.

Harry