Someone other than me took this photo two days ago … but I was there! This is my neighbourhood street festival that was loud and strong all weekend. If you look at the top right corner of the blue-black sky, you’ll see the black railing of my balcony.

You’re right … there’s not much space to move, but O my God I loved the crowds. Thousands of smiles flowing by – families, friends, strangers – celebrating life.

The restaurants and cafés were as packed as the streets. Three times I just sat with my beer or coffee and watched the infinite expressions of peoplehood. So cool.

And then there was last night, on a so-called “quiet” street a few hundred metres from the Oudburg. Voilà:

I sat with brand new friends, Flemish to the bone with a touch of English. I cradled my Duvel beer and Belgian hot dog. We laughed. Hundreds of us were crammed into the little square, welcoming the music of a local ragtime group.

Those musicians were brilliant players of the trumpet, trombone, clarinet, piano, drums and double bass. Each solo was followed by generous applause from we the audience. My favourite was the bass player. How can a hand move so deftly on that long, long fingerboard?

In front of the stage and to the side, couples danced their rear ends off, including two guys who had no fear. The music lifted us all.

I sat with a man, a woman and a man. No romance … they were friends. I tried getting them to snuggle some, which led to raucous laughter. The Canadian/Gentian was being included.

I petted the doggie at my feet. All was well