As a postscript to yesterday, I walked to Amal for the Dutch conversation group, nervous in the knees.  I crossed the street, looked up, and there stood a locked gate.  Amal was closed during Gentse Feesten.

It felt like long ago times in my life when an exam was cancelled.  A burst of freedom … and then knowing that the pressure would return.

I spoke a bit of Dutch to Lies at Izy Coffee and Dominique at Panos.  Figuring out their words took so much energy.  But that’s okay.  I made tiny progress, and I’ll do the same today.  Plus next Tuesday afternoon Amal will welcome me for a conversation.

***

I read that during the ten days of Gentse Feesten, about 200,000 visitors show up in town each day – for the music, the dancing, the eating, the drinking and the friends.

Yesterday evening I roamed around, absorbing the marvelous variety of human beings.  Here are some photos:

Belly dancers!  I too have one but I’m not as brave in displaying it.

Lots of folks.  But nowhere near as many as when darkness falls.

Line dancers turning together.  It felt strange to watch and not do but my body didn’t urge me onto the dance floor.  Somehow I’m both sad and fine with that.

So much music on so many stages.  At this very moment, the bass guitarist was coaxing a haunting melody from his instrument.

Ane then there were the rides.  Jacob van Artevelde oversees the action, pointing toward the beer tents.

***

My fully fledged oomph will return.  For now it’s the meandering of my feet amid the festivities.  That’s enough for this young man.