We’re not in Ghent at the moment because there’s a huge festival happening there, and even if there was a spare berth to be had, which apparently there is not, we don’t particularly relish the thought of mingling with the more than a million visitors who are presently crammed into the city.
The village of Lokeren on the other hand, by all accounts is small and picturesque and has just a few quiet moorings available at the end of an equally scenic waterway, so it seemed as though it would be a fairly good spot to sit for a few days.
Normally.
We had been warned that there was a big festival based there too, starting in the second week of August, and presumed that we would have long gone by the time that commenced.
Then just as we were to arrange our brige-lifting escort for the journey, when we were advised that things were a bit chaotic there, with boats already three deep staking out their spots for two weeks hence. This was a bit disconceting at first, until we pulled ourselves together and looked around.
One more day spent watching water birds and fish and rabbits and the insides of our eyelids while we thought about where we might go next would surely not be a terrible imposition.
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