Outside of some religious art in the dark confines of centuries old cathedrals, Mechelen struck me as one big outdoor café. That’s where most everyone seemed to be, sitting at tables with sweaters tied around their necks drinking beer and wine. Duck in a church to glimpse a Rubens and you’d most likely be alone. But step into the street, any street, and the café never stopped. It’s like the somebody woke up that day in Brussels and asked his friend, “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” And his friend said, “Let’s go out and have a drink.” “Okay.” “Mechelen sound good?” “Let’s go!” After all, it’s only a few train stops away…
Perhaps all these people spending the afternoon lounging at a café were on the same train or similar trains and needed more than a refresher. I mean, why hurry back? Who knows how many tracks are still in use?
I guess we didn’t want to get stuck on an evening train getting stuck, so after a quick lunch we didn’t linger and only halted long enough to capture the facades of three colorful houses that have been preserved.
The black is interesting. “Hey, Pieter, I need to drop by and give you your shako. I’ve fluffed up the plume. Where do you live again?” “You can’t miss it. It’s by the canal, black as death.”