Despite what might have been hangovers if we’d been imbibing any sort of liquid other than water, and despite everyone warning us that some banjo guy was playing in Maastricht, that we’d never find a place to stay, that it would be crowded and noisy beyond belief, we snuck out early and quietly and uneventfully made our way downstream.
It’s astonishing what a difference twenty kilometres can make to the character and demeanour of a city.
When we arrived in the early afternoon, Maastricht was indeed humming, crammed to the gills (if it were a fish) with people dressed if not to the nines at least to the seven-point-fives. The entire old town looked prosperous and cared for and dare I say “clean”? We tend not to judge cities by cleanliness scores, but the contrast to Liege is astonishing in every respect.
With no particular agenda (and none of the 4,000 tickets to the evening concert available other than the scalper’s 1,000€) we were just setting out for a bit of a reconnaissance when a pair of passers-by introduced themselves.
One thing led to another as they so often do, and we spent a splendid hour or two circumnavigating the city with Sonya and Phil from Stuttgart, following the walking guide we’d purchased on the way, except for the part around the square of course, noting that there appeared to be standing room only in every one of the bars and restaurants in the city.
Wait till tomorrow they say. Weekends, they say, are when it gets REALLY busy.
No comments
Post a Comment