Izy Coffee is such a gathering place.  I walked in there just before noon today wearing one of my favourite t-shirts:

There’s a fine line between numerator and denominator

Only a fraction will understand

I hadn’t even sat down when a woman approached me, loving my shirt and wondering if I was a mathematician.  We talked for a bit.

A nearby couple were craning their necks to hear.  More gabbing ensued … and I joined them.

Julie and John are from Adelaide, Australia.   They’re on a 14-week tour of Europe, celebrating their marriage and John’s impending retirement as a teacher.

They were heading to Brussels tonight and wanted to know what I’d suggest they’d see in Ghent.

Their eyes told me a story and I knew I wanted to show them a few things.  Not the big, touristy stuff (like the Gravensteen castle).  Instead walking ordinary streets seeing ordinary people doing ordinary things.

I told my brand new friends that moments like this – sitting with one or two other people – was the best thing about my city.  The old buildings, the rivers, the cafés are all cool … but everything pales before human contact.

John and Julie accepted my invitation to be their tour guide. I told them about the small and magnificent Carmelite church on the Burgstraat, how the late afternoon sun floods through the stained glass, lighting up the sacred statues. They smiled. The church was closed until 2:30 but I said I’d show them where it was.

And off we went …

On the way, we stumbled upon a narrow curving side street. “I wonder what’s down there,” I thought. We entered. Ambling along, we approached what appeared to be a dead end. But there was an opening to the right. As we turned, there was … a door. It was a dead end. And we laughed. Who cares? We were splorin’.

We stood in front of the church. I knew the energy within that would have drawn us inside had the door been open. I remembered the private park behind the building that I’d been privileged to see a few months ago.

I had found an office and a woman gave me permission but today I couldn’t remember where the office was. However I knew the church had a bookstore nearby.

The store opened at 1:00, in 45 minutes. So we kept strolling. Not a care in the world as our feet floated us along.

Now another tiny street, full of homes with brick painted white. Nuns used to live here. On the right a community centre offering coffee and goodies. In we went. Some smiles and some stares from the locals. All was well.

This was what I wanted: show these folks “from away” what the real Ghent feels like. Not the monuments to fame. Not the tourist “must sees”. Not the glitter.

Back on the street, we heard the sounds of kids playing. I knocked on a door and asked if we could see the school. The woman smiled and said no. To be expected in this era of protection.

A park in front of another church offered an empty bench. A man was throwing a stick, over and over again. A small black dog was delighted to be the recipient. So simple, so lovely.

John noticed a wall at the far end of the park. There were more children having fun behind. Then the door opens and fifty kids burst out into the park. They filled the grass. They ran and jumped. And some smiled as they zoomed by.

The bookstore opened. I asked the woman behind a desk if we could see the private park. She phoned someone. And then grinned a yes.

We got to go inside. The photo shows us amid the quiet. A place for meditation.

Sometimes we walked together. Sometimes we were each alone with our thoughts. Perfect.

Then, on a bridge over the Leie River, we said goodbye.

***

And now Australia and Canada know each other a little more