De Leie, De McDonald’s, and De Castle

 

June 27, 2014

The weather in Ghent is wonderful, and people are buzzing about everywhere. A considerable amount of people is leaving the station and heading in the same direction. They seem to know what they are doing, so we follow behind them. Further and further away from the station we go, into the trees and onto a little dirt path that starts to narrow and then… disappears. I stop in my tracks, and Sara bumps into me shortly after.

The people we had been following are gone, and in front of us is what I can only guess is a school. We have no clue where we are or what direction we were going in. Time to turn around.

Laughing, we make our way back to the train station, and head in the opposite direction, hoping this is the right way towards the town center. Lesson learned, never go with the flow.

About half an hour later, we start seeing shops on either side of the street and the first church pops up not too far away – usually a sure sign that you’ve arrived downtown.

Belgians sure seem to love their Belfries. Refrains from making a terrible dad joke.

So far so true: I’m liking Ghent the most out of the towns and cities we’ve been fortunate enough to explore during this past week.

On the opposite side of De Leie from where we’re standing is Sint-Michielskerk, an imposing, gothic church as close to the river as I’ve ever seen one.

The old post office (now home to a shopping center and hotel) bookends the Korenmarkt, the city square we had been walking around earlier.

As we make our way down onto the Korenlei (the left bank of the Leie river), a boat filled with tourists floats by, ripples of water splashing against the banks. An architecture boat tour, no doubt.

The bright red flowers frame the already stunning row of buildings that make up the Graslei (right bank of the Leie river).

We’ve been debating the merits of putting more effort into finding a local spot to eat vs caving in and grabbing McDonald’s. Sorry not sorry, the latter was cheaper, and the view from our little corner window is surprisingly nice.

There’s one spot in particular that Sara really wants me to see: Gravensteen, the Castle of the Counts. It’s the only mediaeval castle with a moat left in Flanders.

As we get closer, my excitement continues to grow. I’m awestruck at the fact that I’m looking at an actual castle, with an actual moat. Is it weird to get excited over a moat? Like the ones I always pictured from fairytales?

This last thought makes me realize how much we’ve -unwillingly or not- internalized European standards for several things, castles included. Are prehispanic temples not something to be regarded with the same admiration? Mental note to appreciate my heritage more.

Onwards.

As Sara has been here before, she decides to forego exploring with me, instead opting to take a nap on a bench right outside the castle gates. In broken French, “un billet, s’il Vous plaît”.

The first room I come to reminds me of a dining hall, now converted into what appears to be a break room? The chairs and tables certainly look out of place.

The next room, which was originally a pantry, is creepy, to say the least. There are guillotines, an iron maiden, shackles, and a whole other array of torture devices. Odd things to store in a pantry. Disturbed, I choose not to photograph them. A shame, since the room itself, is quite nice. 

Up, up, up the narrow, winding staircase I go.

After climbing more than my share of steps, I step out onto the roof and let me tell you, the view from the city is amazing and worth it alone. You can spot the Belfry, St. Niklaaskerk, the Post Office bell tower, De Leie river, and lastly on the far-right id St. Michielskerk.

For a moment a little too long, I’m not sure if this is a real person or one of those nightmare-inducing statues that follow you with their eyes. But a deep chuckle escapes from his mouth, startling me into the next dimension, which in turn turns the chuckle into full-blown laughter. 

There are odd corridors, spaces that have been filled in, doorways that seem inaccessible through common means, and a whole lot of other oddities that speak of how the castle has changed through the years, no doubt at the hands of the turbulence that lived within its walls.

Built in 1180 (Almost a millennium old!), this castle was originally just that: a show of power from the rich and royal Count of Flanders, Phillip of Alsace. Sometime in the 14th century, the Counts decided they would no longer reside there, after which the castle was used as a court and a prison infamous for their torture methods.

In the 18th century, it was sold off to a private owner who then converted it into a cotton mill during the industrial revolution. The complex also included housing for the workers and their families.

Starting at the end of the 19th century, the castle became property of the city who then began much-needed restorations. By the time the World Expo took place in Ghent in 1913, Gravensteen was now Ghent’s most important tourist sight.

The last room I venture down into. I’m the only one here, which adds to the eerie atmosphere that has my hair standing on end. A chill runs down my spine, my cue to exit.

Outside, the clouds are looming menacingly behind the castle, the flags flapping around in the wind. Slightly more imposing now that I know the history behind it.

Circling back to the south over the Vleeshuisbrug, the back of the Groot Vleeshuis (Great Butcher’s Hall) is visible on the left.

From the Grasbrug, we can see the tourist information center for Visit Gent, as well as an event and conference center.

Wandering down the street we come upon a plaque that bears a name in Spanish, one that I immediately recognized – Fray Pedro de Gante. It reads:

from here, where the monastery
of the Friars Minor stood,
left for Mexico in 1522
Fray Pedro de Gante
(Pieter Van Gent) Friar Minor missionary
For 50 years he was
an excellent educator, protector
and father of the Indians

I would have heard that name several more times in my life and never have known where it came from – or that Gante is Ghent in Spanish – had we not come here. A reminder of the history of my own country too, and how everything is inevitably intertwined.