Bon appetit...?

While I hold Britain's culinary masterpieces close to my heart - Angel Delight, bread and butter pudding, Marmite - there's no denying that our biggest contribution to world cuisine is demonstrating how many different vegetables can be boiled for a long time.

Now of course I live in continental Europe, and French-speaking Europe at that! The French, as we know, gave the world all the meals, and the Belgians followed this up by inventing chocolate. Or, at least, stealing it from Africa. The gastronomique delights awaiting me here would surely be endless.

Two such marvels entered my consciousness and then my mouth this week. The first was a packet of crisps. Like all right-thinking people, salt and vinegar has always been the best, closely followed by prawn cocktail and the more left-field tomato ketchup. But as Pete and I stood at the tram stop today, our eyes were drawn to a billboard for frites-flavoured crisps! Yes, crisps that taste like chips! Or chips that taste like fries, for my American readers.

What's more, they come in two varieties - frites with mayo, and frites with Andalouse (a classic Belgian spicy mayo). What's even more, Pete and I picked up packets of both at our local supermarket!

A special tasting was arranged, around the kitchen table. Results were...intriguing. The mayo one did taste like mayo, in that comfortingly fatty way, but given both a crisp and a chip share the common progenitor of a potato, it's hard to tell whether one tastes like the other or simply is the other. A question for the philosophers there.

To wash down these sauteed sensations I was lucky enough to see a bottle of Belgian beer I fancied (those supermarket geniuses placing beer opposite crisps on the same aisle). Made by a local brewery called Brewksel, this was a fine, crisp, unfiltered wheat beer apparently improved by the addition of brussels sprouts. Sprouts have been in Europe since the 5th Century (see comment about boiling vegetables to death, above) but started being produced around here in the 13th, hence the geographical name (though, naturally, within city limits we just call them sprouts). Could someone have actually turned this long-despised mini cabbage into a delicious brew?

No, not really. If it didn't have it on the label I'd not have guessed brussels had come anywhere near this Brussels beer. Perhaps there was slightly more farting than usual after I'd consumed it, but other than that - or because of it - I won't be returning for a second bottle.

So that's one hit and one miss for Belgian high cuisine so far! Next on the Davies tasting menu: the Lunchwaf.

The promise.

The reality!

They look like ordinary crisps! Or chips.

Whatever they tasted like, there was no question about whether Pete would finish them.

How could you walk past that on the shelf? Next time, quite easily.

A lot of fizz. Brussels sprouts always create gas, you see?

Hmm...no.

And some things are just too awful to contemplate.

The Lord's game

Many of the social ills facing modern America could be solved with one simple thing: more cricket. Given the chance to contemplate the ebbs and flows of a match over five days, life gains a new, better perspective. The things that are truly important (i.e. beating Australia) stand out, while the ephemera of modern living fades away.

It's a long time since I was able to go to a cricket match, and my spiritual health has suffered terribly. Luckily, the home of cricket - both the country and the actual ground - is but a short underwater train ride away now, as is my friend Ellen who enjoys the game almost as much as me.

When I mentioned we could attend the first day of the summer Tests at Lord's, she jumped at the chance. Ebay made sure we were suitably attired, and so we crushed onto the underground with thousands of others to witness New Zealand take on the unstoppable English. Unstoppable in our ability to lose, given we haven't been too successful for around 20 Tests.

Lord's is actually a terrible place, with all the sickening trappings of the British class system on full display. But the fuddy-duddies who run it did make one good move, which is allowing you to bring in your own alcohol. Apparently the aristocracy wasn't happy with the selection at the Lord's bar.

Over in the cheap seats we had a great time. It was, in fact, a little too exciting, with 17 wickets falling in a day! A can of ready-mixed gin and tonic took the edge off that. Not even walking past David Cameron - and remaining very restrained - could spoil my mood. We went back to Ellen's afterwards, where my poor Goddaughter Meg had been revising all day mid-GCSEs. Then we watched the highlights, to cheer her up, but also because there's no such thing as too much cricket.

Who could we be supporting?

They say British people aren't very friendly, but look how we enjoy hugging each other on the tube!

Only a little further and we can breathe again.

By the hallowed turf.

Cheers!

 Get your hands off our Ashes.

Ellen and I made it into the highlights package!!

De luxe

"Imagine there's no countries," sang John Lennon, referring to the ease of cross border train travel in continental Europe. It turns out that, after the madness of our Brexit-fueled visa bureaucracy, its easy to jump on a train in Brussels and go anywhere you want.

Taking advantage, we stuck a pin into a map. It landed in the middle of the ocean, which wasn't much help. After several more attempts, it stuck in Luxembourg!

I've never been to Luxembourg, but it's conveniently south of Belgium and - more importantly - a return train ticket is only €20. They speak French, and also Luxembourgish which amazingly is available on Google Translate. It's a country that has always punched above its weight, even ruling the Holy Roman Empire for a bit, and it now houses several EU institutions. In short, the capital Luxembourg City is the perfect destination for a weekend jaunt.

First impressions were of a compact but standard European capital: old buildings, free trams, nice food, clean streets, clueless tourists wandering around taking photos. But further exploration revealed that the place has some crazy geography, the city built around a vertiginous ravine full of staircases, bridges, and ancient fortifications. It's like wandering around an Escher painting; you can see where you want to go, but have no idea how to get there. They also have various lifts and funiculars to help out and further confuse the weary.

Of more interest to Pete was the best donut shop he's encountered outside of Houston, and a cat cafe where semi-feral felines beg for the crumbs off your plate. One vomited on Pete, so he got his hot chocolate for free.

Soon we were back on the train, chugging home to Brussels as the landscape flattened to green fields. Like a slightly less violent game of Risk, we're slowly conquering one European country at a time. "Ech hätt gär zwee Béier an e Pak Erdnuss, wann ech glift," as they say in Luxembourgish.

Arriving in the beautiful green surroundings of Luxembourg City.

And quickly finding food.

Personally, I would build my castle on top of a hill instead of the bottom of a gorge. But what do I know?

Can't get there from here.

Trapped!

Fancy lunch.

Followed by fancy donuts.

And a cat cafe.

What could possibly go wrong when mixing hairballs with croissants?

At the top of the Pfaffenthal Panoramic Elevator.

And at the bottom.

More surreal architecture in the Mudam art museum.

Some snacks for the way home.

Aufguss

Sometimes you find yourself in a situation so odd, so unbelievable, so gosh-darn European, that you just have to hold on, wonder at the things happening around you, and hope you'll make it out with your dignity intact.

Such were my thoughts as Hannah and I sat stark naked with 40 strangers in a sauna, watching the "sauna master" re-enact a helicopter crash, in an artistic performance known as aufguss.

My path to this situation was more-or-less uneventful. Pete's school generously took all the kids to the Belgian coast for a week of activities and, because we knew we'd worry about him so much, Hannah booked us into a nearby spa for a couple of days. You know, for our own mental wellbeing.

The place is HUGE, and handily divided into clothed and unclothed sections. I threw off my garments, together with my English prudishness from a lifetime watching Benny Hill and Carry On films, and was soon soaking in salt pools and steaming in hammams without a stitch on, and very happy about it.

The place also has saunas - many, many saunas - starting with the "light" 60C of the Bio Sauna, through the 60-80C of the wood-fired Maa Sauna, up to the 90C Finnish Sauna ("not to be missed" says the website, massively overestimating my weak British constitution).

Most intriguing was the Event Sauna (80C/175F), a space that claimed it could accommodate 130 sweaty people along both sides of its central plinth of hot rocks. We poked our noses in, and it was indeed very large and empty, but what kinds of events took place here?

The mind did not have to boggle long as we soon spotted a timetable listing a "theme sauna" in 10 minutes, so went to join a (clothed in swimsuits) queue to see what was happening. A helpful lady explained everything to the crowd in Dutch and French, which meant I understood nothing, and soon we were ushered onto the scorching wooden benches.

The doors closed, the lights dimmed, soft music began playing, and as if by magic the aufgussmeister appeared. He ceremoniously ladled water onto the hot rocks, then dropped on some ice balls infused with various things like eucalyptus and lime. After these began to melt he grabbed a towel and started swinging it around, spreading the smells and pulling the hot air down from the ceiling onto those of us who sensibly sat on the lower, cooler tiers.

This happened two more times with different smells, with the sauna master grabbing a huge fan out of somewhere to do the towel's work. Just as I thought I might dissolve in my own sweat, the doors were opened for a blast of wonderful cold air, before being shut for the finale: tons of superheated humid air, wafted around to Phil Collins's "In The Air Tonight".

It was quite something, I reflected as I reclined in a swimming pool, attempting to get my body temperature back within operable limits. There were signs around advertising the Belgian Aufguss Championships, happening this weekend, and that some competitors were dress-rehearsing their sauna mastery that afternoon. "Let's do it!" said my always-more-adventurous wife.

So, a few hours later, we were back for our second ever aufguss. This one was different from the start. Firstly, we were all naked. Well, almost. I observed there's such a thing as a sauna hat, which protects your head from the heat (the rest of your body is unimportant) and now I need one so people look at me and think "Wow, that guy knows how to sauna!" Secondly, there were flags and banners hanging in the sauna of a helicopter crew, and something about coastguard rescue. Finally, there was the mild smell of motor oil in the air.

Once again, the lights dimmed and the sauna master arrived - not in a towel like the previous guy, but dressed in a helicopter flight suit. Including boots!! No standard aufguss this, it was a full-on one-man show. Flashing lights, sound effects, fake radio messages in-between the music tracks, all while ladling water and aromatherapy ice onto the rocks as we sat shoulder-to-shoulder naked and perspiring profusely. The story he was telling, as far as I could make out, was about a helicopter crash that made him resign his commission, before he was invited back to command the coast guard unit. All through the medium of sauna.

It was...is impressive the word? This man could swing two towels at once, like those pizza chefs do with their dough. He spoke dramatically, he emoted furiously, and it all finished with "Survivor" by Destiny's Child pumping over the sauna speakers. Subtle? No. After the performance he was outside, flight suit stripped off and chugging water. He looked rather cooked.

Having dunked a bucket of cold water over myself, I once again floated in a salt pool, untethered from gravity and possibly sanity, trying to find the correct space in my mind to file away "naked helicopter crash sauna aromatherapy experience". Nope, I had nothing, so started a new folder titled "aufguss" and locked the memory in there, ready to pull out when someone asks "So what did you get up to in Belgium?"

[Note: sadly, naked spas do not allow photography, even when I demanded "Do you know who I am?!" Please accept these stock images.]

The Event Sauna. It was certainly that.

The heart of aufguss: wooden ladles and aromatherapy ice balls.

Much towel swinging.

Sauna hats!

Less accomplished sauna masters may use a fan. Multiple sizes available.

Or a flag. Also: a sauna with a throne! When can we book in?

The call of the mouse

Back in 2021, after thirteen years, we were finally granted "permanent status" by the US Government on account of our unimpeachable character and upstanding nature. Now holders of the mythical green card, we were allowed to stay in America! Which is probably why Chevron promptly shipped us off to Brussels.

Yet to keep our new-found immigrant status, we need to show that we're still connected to the new (old) country. This isn't too hard, given Hannah still gets paid in dollars, and we have - you know - an American citizen for a baby. But we've been advised to take a trip back every so often, to maintain ties and buy lots of unhealthy food.

What's a nearby part of the US that's cheap and easy to get to? Florida. And what's in Florida? Disneyworld!

So really it was inevitable that we'd spend a couple of days of Pete's school hols paying a king's ransom to visit with Uncle Walt. I was last here in 1986, when planes still had smoking sections, and 9-yr-old me was dazzled by the spectacle and new technology. This led me to somewhat oversell things to Pete, so when we visited EPCOT (the Experimental Prototype Community Of Tomorrow, don't you know) and found that a lot of the technology still dated to 1986, he wasn't best impressed.

This had no effect on my enthusiasm, as I ran about trying to find Disney princesses to be photographed with. The newest section of the park is "Galaxy's Edge", a completely immersive dip into the Star Wars universe, where you could meet stormtroopers, fly the Millennium Falcon, and be interrogated by the First Order. This last part was a little too real for Pete. It didn't stop him going on that ride for a second time.

We were joined in all this by our nephew Oliver, who until recently was working on a yacht owned by a certain sanctioned oligarch who may or may not own an English Premier club. He'd been kicked off, along with 75% of the crew, when they docked in Turkey, so decided to burn through some of his tips by coming to see us. He was heading to Miami afterwards, where the party scene might be slightly better than with his middle-aged aunt and uncle.

It was interesting being back in the USA. Prices have definitely gone up in line with all the inflation headlines and, whether post-Covid or just because it's Orlando, upselling was the order of the day. I had to decline several "upgrades" aggressively offered on our rental car, and restaurants have begun selling $50 Build-A-Bears themed to your meal. If you live in the States you have time to seek out whatever healthy, artisanal, locally-produced experience you want. Visit as a tourist, and searching for "best local coffee" just brings up the nearest ten Starbucks.

Did this detract from the experience? Not one bit! We had a fabulous time in the Orlando sun. Disney knows better than anyone how to...well, do Disney, and dividing the entrance fee by the 13 hours we walked around the park made it easier to stomach. It's tough that, for visa purposes, we're obliged to do this every six months...

Disney Springs. Yep, even the shopping malls are Disney-themed.

 An actual non-Disney thing we did! WonderWorks.

What could be more fun than running around in the dark shooting your family with lasers?

Being rotated at high speed until you're sick, that's what!

Grrr.

Out in the wilds of Blue Springs State Park.

There's a manatee in this photo! They put little buoys on their tails so boats can see them and avoid them.

Manatee statue, Pete for scale.

Just us, and the million other tourists, at Disney Hollywood Studios at 8am.

That's why I'm here.

On the Millennium Falcon! Punch it, Chewie!!

I don't seem to remember ever owning a droid.

With nephew Oliver. He's 20 now, but still a baby to his aunt and uncle!

About to launch on a Resistance cruiser.

Argh! We got captured!!

Luckily we escaped during a space battle.

Dinner, at a strange indoor drive-in restaurant. The concept was better than the execution.

Another non-Disney outing, on an airboat in a swamp!

This alligator wasn't too happy to see us.

The rain swept in...

...so the boat captain kindly gave us these stylish ponchos!

Oliver vs. alligator.

Pete didn't fare quite as well.

I decided, for reasons I can't quite remember, that we should wear complementary Hawaiian shirts to Epcot. Thank you, Goodwill! We received many favourable comments.

Some slightly scary Frozen robots.

Catching water in fountains that were definitely here in 1986.

Reflex testing in Spaceship Earth.

You're going to have to work on yachts a bit longer to afford that.

Pete's first car.

Being culturally accurate in the "Mexico" section of World Showcase.

Yes, even the pretzels.

A media franchise that Disney doesn't own! Wow!

A quick stop in Morocco.

Then London.

Darkness falls and the lights come on.

The nightly fireworks extravaganza "Harmonious". Impressive, even after 13 hours on our feet.

Finally meeting a princess! She was the silent type.

Goodbye Disneyworld! See you again once my credit card has cooled off.