A friend recently asked me where I’d most like to go in the world.
“Limburg,” I replied.
“Where?”
“Limburg. In eastern Flanders.”
“Why?” my friend asked, staring at me with a mix of pity, disgust and astonishment - like I’d just confessed to being a cat torturer.
It’s true that Limburg isn’t at the top of most people’s bucket lists and I could equally have answered Oman, Japan, Chile, Georgia, Laos, Columbia or Cuba - other dream destinations of mine.
So why on earth did I say Limburg?
Well, firstly because it sounds lovely from all the gushing travel articles and promo pieces I’ve read. Artisan genever tasting, apple orchards, pine forests, sandy wildernesses, see-through churches, cycling through lakes and between trees. What’s not to like?
Plus I’m intrigued by Hasselt, the capital of Limburg and self-styled ‘city of taste.’ As fellow Brussels Times scribe Derek Blyth notes, it has 25 official geluksplekken, or happiness spots, to explore - all chosen by an organisation called The Embassy of Happiness. No wonder his article was titled ‘Don’t worry, be Hasselt.’
If that sounds too cute, I’m also curious about Limburg’s slightly seedy reputation, best summed up in the opening titles to the Netflix series Undercover: “Forget our Haspengouw apples. Forget our double-distilled gin. Limburg is the Columbia of ecstasy.” Toying with its reputation as the ‘Medellin of Belgium’ there’s even a local drinking den near Tongeren called ESCO|BAR. Or so I’m told by the official Visit Limburg website.
The second reason I’m excited about Limburg is because it’s just over an hour from Brussels by train or car. So no security checks, passport controls, delayed flights and baggage restrictions. Just a short, cheap and easy hop to somewhere different.
That may sound like a low bar to clear when it comes to travelling, but it’s crucial. Long-distance travel is expensive, tiring, time-consuming and polluting. And when you arrive at your destination, especially if it’s a fancy hotel or hip neighbourhood, it often looks surprisingly similar to home. Short-hop travel, on the other hand, gives you the satisfaction of knowing your tiny patch of the planet intimately and in-depth - like your partner but without the disputes over who’s cleaning the dishes.
I had this epiphany a few years ago in Weert, a tiny village near the Schelde between Ghent and Antwerp. Sitting in De Zilverreiger, a bar that doubles up as a bike rental shop, weaving museum and brewery, I ordered some pickled herring, a bowl of pea soup and a ludicrously strong local ale. The only other people in the tile-floor and brick-walled bar were a couple of solitary old-timers speaking a fierce Flemish dialect I didn’t understand and playing a local bar game I’d never seen. It felt good and made me realise that travelling is not about how far you go from your home. It’s about how far you go from your daily routine. It’s about being somewhere different. And appreciating it for what it is.
I had a similar experience visiting the Brussels Beer World Experience last week. The museum is as light and frothy as a Maes pils, but it offered new perspectives on the interior of the recently renovated former stock exchange. And the rooftop terrace boasted views that shed new light on the city centre. Were those vistas as stunning as from the Old Town Hall tower in Prague? No. but I was just as excited by them, precisely because I was so familiar with them.
I hope I feel the same about Hasselt, Tongeren or the Hoge Kempen national park when I visit. If I don’t, nothing will be lost. And if I never make it, at least the dream of Limburg will linger.
