A final doobie In Orval

We stood in the forest and listened to the silence...then we blew a big doobie and it got even quieter. Jan, Ward and Rafaella squatted around me and I am sure they all felt something similar. There was a rich finality to the moment, one rooted in travels and events that had occurred 13years ago when I was living on the Moby Dick in Antwerp. Somehow time has cemented these friendships whilst so many others have weathered and washed away. Sometimes I wish I understood better what it takes to hold onto friendships, for my past seems to be littered with so many valued losses - but then again, perhaps this process is inevitable and to try and retain what should be released can only limit growth.

Jan had driven us all from Brussels to the Abbey in Orval, where they make a renowned beer of the same name. It was a joyful escape from the city and our travel preparations. The Abbey sits at the base of a valley right near the French/Belgium border and is surrounded by forest..after a quick poke around we wandered along an 8.5km route through the forest which was well worthwhile.

Prior to the trip I dropped in our passports at the Syrian embassy in Brussels where the ever so efficient clerk noticed that my identity permit had expired. I explained the situation, but the clerks command of Dutch was non-existant and her English was basic. The situation resolved when I proffered my alternative, a British Passport. She then explained that Brits (apparently not so popular in Syria) need to pay 85Euro instead of 25Euro, then after a brief period of contemplation quietly took my Australian passport and said if I paid 112 Euro I could pick up all the visas next week. Sweet!

I Measured all our weights tonight, which might provide an interesting comparison as the trip progresses:

Steve: 68kg
Lute: 51kg
Victor: 39kg
Max: 38kg

Training has withered somewhat due to family protests. I hope to get everybody out tomorrow night.

12 days to blastoff