do you ever just want to give it all up, buy a falling down house to fix up and move to belgium? me neither. though this house near gosselies was rather tempting. tucked in the undergrowth along a cobblestone street, windows open, quietly falling into disrepair, yet strangely appealing. i peeked in a window. it was like the people left it from one day to the next, taking nothing with them. i so found myself wanting to know the story. what happened? was it elderly family members who died and the family didn't want the house? was there a murder? have i been listening to too many true crime podcasts? could i learn to speak french?
i don't really know what to make of belgium. i've been in brussels a few times and also to ghent. this was my first trip to the french-speaking part. it felt like entering a pocket in time. quiet, slow, and maybe a bit abandoned and forgotten, like this house.
You speak Danish and Russian. You could learn French. I used to speak French but the old adage use it or lose it, well it's true.
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