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Aug. 25th, 2007 03:27 pmOf all the places I have ever been to, I've always felt that my little town in Belgium- the one I moved to when I was twelve- wins the Oddness Award for little towns. Going into Mol is like walking into a world that functions on a different time and with different rules from the rest of the world. The closest I can compare a trip to Mol to is a trip to the 1950s small-town USA. There's a sleepy feel to the place that lasts all day, as though it's perpetually midmorning. Even today, on the first sunny day we've had in months the amount of people is minimal. Women wear skirts and watch their appearances while doing the shopping. Some kids congregate at an ice-cream stand. A lot of people, mostly old men, slowly cycle through town. There's a supermarket that sells good food and- since about six years- fresh milk. There are small shops among the bigger brand name ones, although I haven't seen a shop besides the CD shop and the charity shop stay in one place, if at all. In between sparkling shops announcing beautiful clothes in Belgian fashion there are empty shopwindows announcing the new owners soon to come.
As with most towns in this area (the Kempen), Mol only grew large because there was a rather large natural resource of coal in the area, and a railway line ran through it from Germany to Antwerp. This is the railway I used to take when I went home from Maastricht. It's been disconnected from its service from Germany and no longer runs through the Netherlands (according to the Dutch it's to preserve a nature park; according to everyone else because of the rivalry between the harbours of Rotterdam and Antwerp. Whatever the real reason, this is why my way home for the past four years would take three hours instead of one). Mol sports a couple of small areas with bizzare names: Donk (with its nuclear power plant and- less well known- underground nuclear dump), Ezaart (lit: "a shrubby place"), Millegem, Gompel, Achterbos ("behind the woods", used to be a pilgrimage route with 15 little chapels along the way), Postel and Ginderbuiten. Each district has its unique feel and places of pride, although in most cases you have to search for a long time to find a little chapel hidden in someone's backgarden, or a crossroad that's famous for some reason or another.
I like history, and I find it a shame that for most of my time in Belgium I appraised it with eyes used to Southern German beauty. South Germany is beautiful- really, really beautiful- but Belgium sports a kind of bizzare and odd beauty that's unique to the region. I've never found another place that time seems to have forgotten, and where the people are so friendly. In Germany, I was constantly surrounded by reminders that I lived in a village that was 1000 years old. Here, I live close to a town that is just as old, if not older- but with the lack of funds to show this off.
There's a lot of space, and I have time to focus on myself when I'm here. It's a place with a unique feel- although if you're not into that kind of thing, I'd advise you never to set foot here.
As with most towns in this area (the Kempen), Mol only grew large because there was a rather large natural resource of coal in the area, and a railway line ran through it from Germany to Antwerp. This is the railway I used to take when I went home from Maastricht. It's been disconnected from its service from Germany and no longer runs through the Netherlands (according to the Dutch it's to preserve a nature park; according to everyone else because of the rivalry between the harbours of Rotterdam and Antwerp. Whatever the real reason, this is why my way home for the past four years would take three hours instead of one). Mol sports a couple of small areas with bizzare names: Donk (with its nuclear power plant and- less well known- underground nuclear dump), Ezaart (lit: "a shrubby place"), Millegem, Gompel, Achterbos ("behind the woods", used to be a pilgrimage route with 15 little chapels along the way), Postel and Ginderbuiten. Each district has its unique feel and places of pride, although in most cases you have to search for a long time to find a little chapel hidden in someone's backgarden, or a crossroad that's famous for some reason or another.
I like history, and I find it a shame that for most of my time in Belgium I appraised it with eyes used to Southern German beauty. South Germany is beautiful- really, really beautiful- but Belgium sports a kind of bizzare and odd beauty that's unique to the region. I've never found another place that time seems to have forgotten, and where the people are so friendly. In Germany, I was constantly surrounded by reminders that I lived in a village that was 1000 years old. Here, I live close to a town that is just as old, if not older- but with the lack of funds to show this off.
There's a lot of space, and I have time to focus on myself when I'm here. It's a place with a unique feel- although if you're not into that kind of thing, I'd advise you never to set foot here.
