Cantillon Day 2024

“In recalling those scenes which have given me the greatest happiness, the images of which are most vivid and lasting, I find that most of them are of scenes or objects which were discovered, as it were, by chance,”

William Henry Hudson. “Afoot in England.” (1909)

Me:  Morning, Barrel...
Barrel:  (looks up)  You're back!  Is it March 9?
Me:  Yes.
Barrel:  (pauses) Where were you last year?
Me:  Denmark.
Barrel:  How was it?
Me:  You weren't there.
Barrel:  I'm a barrel.
Me:  (heads to the bar) I could've used your help.
Barrel:  I'm a... (leaves reply unfinished as I enter the bar)

---

It was 11:30am and the bar was quiet. The bartender looked bored as two couples, the only other occupants, chatted softly in the corner. I ordered a Lambic High Density like I was disturbing a funeral. As the bartender poured my drink, I wondered if he recognized me from the BXL Beerfest from 2022 where I shared the barrel story with him as I was coincidentally pouring him some beers from L’Ermitage. He didn’t act like it and I wasn’t feeling particularly talkative either. I paid for my drink and took a table.

At 9.1% alcohol, it threatened to drag me down before the day was really started. But I sipped it while thumbing through some e-books I had downloaded to research my upcoming trip to England.

“…it would have been well to drop a word of warning to those who have the desire to revisit a place where they have experienced a delightful surprise. Alas! they cannot have that sensation a second time, and on this account alone the mental image must always be better than its reality. Let the image—the first sharp impression—content us.”

William Henry Hudson. “Afoot in England.” (1909)

I finished the glass with a sour wince and grabbed my backpack. The two bottles I had already purchased clanked together. I tiptoed out of the dim quiet bar and headed to the entrance, still wondering if the bartender recognized me.

---

Barrel:  Don't listen to him.
Me:  Who?
Barrel:  William Henry Hudson.
Me:  How did y...?
Barrel:  Come back next year...
Me:  (thoughtful pause)  I wouldn't miss it for the world.

---

As I stepped back out into the street, I was struck with a burst of sunshine. The forecast of a sunny 15-degree day was coming true. I shed my jacket, carefully used it to protect my precious cargo, and embarked out on my first blog post of 2024.

The Question of Revisiting

All throughout the day, this question of revisiting bounced around in my brain like lost or rebellious particles of thought coming from my memory. Are there experiences I have had in my travels that are best left to stand alone in the cherished realm of sentimentality rather than be diluted by going back? As I get older and the frequency of my travels is not what it once was, it is quite easy for several years to pass since I have been to someplace I love (see Scotland). Rather than seek out the completely new, I find myself preferring to go back to these places to experience them again, using them as a hub, and exploring new things outward like spokes on a wheel. But are there any that were so delightfully surrendipitous that I would completely avoid so as not to tarnish them?

“…the charm we found in it may have been in a measure due to the mood we were in, or to the peculiar aspect in which it came before us at the first, due to the season, to atmospheric and sunlight effects, to some human interest, or to a conjunction of several favourable circumstances; we know we can never see it again in that aspect and with that precise feeling.

On this account I am shy of revisiting the places where I have experienced the keenest delight.”

William Henry Hudson. “Afoot in England.” (1909)

By the end of the day, the one example I could think of where I wish I had heeded the author’s advice was Oktoberfest. The first two were magical. The third was trying too hard to match the second and the cracks were starting to show. By the end of the fourth in 2022 (which I have not written about), you could feel that the magic had waned. The writing was on the wall (perhaps I should write a post about it). I don’t know if I ever need to go back.

I could think of some hikes which I would probably never do again, but not without temptation. These would be ones which benefitted from the combination of the weather and season making it not possible to improve upon them. One that comes to mind is my Celles hike. I had no idea how charming a village it would be. It was a rather last minute hike that I put together with no expectations. Then to discover that they have their own city beer and to find myself having lunch in this hideaway village drinking this special beer gives it a sentimentality ranking which is off the charts.

Another one that comes to mind is my hike to Uf Spitzen near Grindelwald, Switzerland. The peak was so unexpectedly magnificent that it ranks as perhaps my favorite hiking moment in my life. The view would be just as amazing if I go back, but it would no longer be unexpected. However, I don’t necessarily feel the urge to do it again.

But this highlights the distinction between never needing to do it again as opposed to really wanting to do it again but shouldn’t. The author seems to articulate the latter in fine post-Victorian poetic flair as this of course must be accompanied by self-sacrifice and unrequited desire. To answer the question in the spirit of the author, I cannot find a single example other than Oktoberfest retrospectively. Perhaps, continuing with the Oktoberfest theme, I do get some pressure occasionally to re-organize a second Essen Oktoberfest. That was a weekend that I know cannot be repeated, and trying to do so can only diminish the memory of it. If my friends pressure me again, I will say Don’t blame me. Blame William Henry Hudson. I am sure that will stop the argument right there.

Is there anything so hallowed in our experiences which should not be revisited? Five years ago, I set out to connect with Brussels. It became a day which perhaps I can never exceed in terms of the unexpected. But no matter how poetic that day was and how it lingers like a melody in my soul, I prefer to go back and navigate those traces which still exist, not interrupting them or changing them, nor reliving them. Simply to walk among them and pay them homage. With my bottles of Cantillon secured in my backpack, I reached the corner of the street which leads to the brewery and I started the recording of my urban hike, another long meandering walk through the history and pubs of the city of Brussels, just like five years ago. See you next year, Barrel.

Coming Next: Brewtiful Brussels Pt. II