On the first day of September, spotting some blue in the firmament, I headed down to the coast, to Knokke in fact. If you have read this far you have excused the terrible pun in the article’s heading but what’s a scribe to do? It has been a very very long Summer. The weather (I promised myself I would refrain from Belgian weather bashing - though a trip back to Scotland has finally put all that into perspective) has been south of absolutely lousy. At the risk of sounding like one of those Expats you meet in the Irish bars who can talk about the vagaries of the climate for at least three pints, I will just say, "We had a nice June though, eh? And I hear tell that we are on a promise - for an Indian summer." Looking out the window at another hue of grey, I would agree: « If you live in India."

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An old boy who shared my bench commented on the fact that has been while since the building works started (he could hardly bring up the weather since we were 50 feet underground). Sharp as a pin for an eighty year old he did point out the workers were giving folks ideas and pointed upwards to the ceiling with his walking cane. Once I realised he wasn’t attacking me, I let my gaze venture upwards and sure enough, some wise guy had fashioned a handy hanging rope made of electrical cable. I suggested it was for the architect.

I was as happy as a sand boy once I got onboard the KustTram, which hugs the coastline connecting the sixty kilometres between De Panne (on the French border) all the way to my destination Knokke-Heist (close to the Netherlands).

Knokke, the first barrel, is a very well kept village, all front, looking out to sea, or rather what you can see of it as the beach is jammed packed with perfectly painted white little beach-huts with signs stating ‘Alain’, ‘Georges’ or ‘PomPom‘. Altogether it’s a very pleasant place to be although you can however just see the tops of the Zeebrugge cranes as they haul containers skywards.

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Suitable replete from the biggest croque madame I have ever seen, I wandered east, past the beach huts where Alain and PomPom who were now getting very neighbourly over a glass of rosé, and headed towards the second barrel - Heist. I passed the Casino and the pleasant harbour and turned the bend.

This part of the beach is altogether less salubrious; you can buy rubber dolphins, buckets and spades, and the Flemish equivalent of Kiss Me Quick hats which read, funnily enough, ‘Kiss Me Quick‘. It is also a good deal closer to those monumental cranes, although I like big ships and always feel a sense of adventure by the coast. I stood below a massive liner, the Arcadia, a floating hotel rising above the heads of blasé locals, and  I half expected to see Tintin rushing across the promenade, seeking high and low  or Snowy the dog (why doesn’t he just buy a leash?).

I must admit I was thoroughly refreshed from the trip and have decided to do this on a regular basis. I will take a weekly Indian summer tonic on the coast or deep in the greenery of the Ardennes. If you’re going too, I will be easy to spot. Kiss Me Quick.

Paul Morris

- Knokke-Heist is famous for the legendary Moeder Siska’s waffles, its shopping streets on Dumortierlann, Kustlaan and Lippenslann. And for entertainment there is the splendid art-deco Casino, built in the 1920‘s.

There are plenty of festivals all year round in Knokke-Heist. Currently the Internationaal Cartoonfestival is running in the Humorhal in Duinbergen, where annually cartoonists from 60 countries display their work.