I leave Ghent to make my way to Strasbourg via Brussels and Paris, arriving to a tiny room on the 5th floor without an opening window that is so claustrophobic, I go back down and ask if another room is available. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by the beauty of my room in Ghent. The girl at the desk is Pre-Raphaelite, all red waves and alabaster skin, blue eyes; as she looks to see if there’s another room, she rubs her stomach which is slightly rounded. I don’t usually notice these little details, I am always on my way to and fro but now I have the time. Is she pregnant, does she not feel well? Maybe I will find in myself a different persona, one that observes. She has found me another room, small but with a window I can open onto Kleber square. I look out, it’s a strange square, there seems only a couple of cafes, one of which is a Starbucks. In Italy and France, the squares were made for dining and drinking. It’s late afternoon and I haven’t eaten but there are few places open at this hour. The soft light of dusk makes everything glow. I’m given a map and head off to the old centre along the River Lye, I quickly find the Instagrammable medieval houses, gelato coloured, cross hatched with darkened tudor beams; the water is perfectly still, the light is dusty mauve now above the golden sunset, lights are twinkling and everything is reflected without a wrinkle in the river.
By this time I’m starving and finally find a restaurant that is open. It’s chilly now, and I love that the restaurant is old and warmed with a large emerald green tiled heater, checked tablecloths and a couple of old men already eating. This is a place for solo travellers and residents. I order wine which comes in the typical green stemmed glasses I find everywhere in this region, it arrives with a bowl of pretzels. Under the Bridges of Paris is playing, I think it’s Dean Martin. I feel like I’m back in the 1950’s. The waiter doesn’t question my solo status and I order chicken in riesling sauce with mushrooms and it arrives with a side of multi coloured carrots glistening in butter. My day is almost My day is almost done. Just have to talk to my partner about our respective days and then sleep.
I awaken thinking that I’ve booked one too many days in Strasbourg. Maybe I’ll make it a day of food, feed my inner child who, because of the insecurity of her life and the constant changing of houses and schools, became very controlling about her diet, it was the only thing I could have power over. I find Le Petit Venise cafe. So many towns like to label themselves - Little Venice, none are remotely like that fabled city but it probably beckons tourists. The cafe is gorgeous, there’s a little gondola swinging at the front, teapots and cups hang from the ceiling, plates adorn the ruby red walls, there’s a voluptuous nude painting, boobs pointed and perky. I order a ginger hot chocolate which arrives accompanied by a huge meringue and nestled in the sugar cubes is a couple of candied violets. More photos, more food and I am reevaluating Strasbourg’s attraction. Even more so in the afternoon, after listening to a brass band in the main square, I eventually decide to follow a crowd of people, past a flower shop with a wagon full of scented mimosa and suddenly I am in another part of the city that boasts more medieval buildings sitting in between newer ones and I hear the sound of a double bass, Following the music, I come across the Cathedral Notre Dame de Strasbourg; I am absolutely astonished. I look up and up, it is so high! A gloriously gothic pink and beige marbled stone creation, lacy and full of statues of women, it's exquisite. I linger, I wander and I come back to stare. It's dusk and everything is turning a rosy quartz glow. The double bass is playing a modernist piece that is edgy and is echoing through the old town eerily. I am so intrigued I look up the history of the cathedral. It was built on the site of a Roman temple in 1015 but that was later destroyed by fire. The second coming was in the 12th century and was completed in the Gothic style in 1439. Up until the 19th century, the cathedral was the highest building in the whole of the Christian world. I am surrounded by medieval taverns and restaurants aglow in the dusky light, the windows letting out a gold glow through leadlight windows. I chose one and have the famous flambe tartlette, a thin crispy disc with cream, onions and bacon of course. I feel like a busty wench should be serving me a pitcher of beer but the waitress in tiny, slim and friendly. They must stay healthy by walking or cycling everywhere because the menus at most places I've looked at are heavy on carbs, especially the famed spaetzle which is like think gnocchi and is often fried. Everything comes with bread and a serving of chips. I walk out into the cold night and call my partner so I can talk on the way home and then have an early night. I realise that my anxiety, which has been following a few paces behind me, steps back a bit.
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