The XF 16-55mm f/2.8 R LM WR is a really cool lens. It's hefty, for sure, but with its nice range, it's difficult to argue for another lens in the bag anyway. For a trip that mostly focuses on landscapes 16-55mm is all that's needed and if those landscapes are prone to cold and moisture, weather sealing is a must. So, I stuck the X-T1 with the new lens in the bag and the XF 55-200mm f/3.5-4.8 R LM OIS
just in case something specific in the landscape caught the eye.
Well, all good plans of mice and photographers... Enter Belgium. Now, we spent two years living down the road from the Ardennes. Its fickle weather puts the weather of other places to shame. Seriously, people from just about everywhere say "if you don't like the weather here, wait five minutes." In Belgium, you not only need wait, but you can also drive 3 kilometers and be in a completely different situation.
It all started out well enough. We crossed the border into Belgium around lunch on Saturday after a very brief pause in Luxembourg to do some shopping (it's the only place I've been able to find molasses). As we crossed into Wallonia the weather took an immediate dive into the worst. Rolling over the hills of the Ardennes, we passed from pouring rain into sleet and then full blown snow and then back through the previous two when we'd lose elevation. It was all very Belgian and authentic, but unfortunately far too blustery to photograph, the only reason being that we couldn't see a darn thing.
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| Reprieve From the Toils Courtesy Handpresso |
And, of course, being Belgium, it was no surprise to discover when we pulled into our beer shop's parking lot that they had shut for the week. So, no crafts beer for us. Sigh. With nothing else to do, we headed on to our final destination for the weekend, the hunting town of Saint-Hubert. The weather was getting progressively worse so we brainstormed on how we could salvage the errand. Instead of setting up for wide landscapes of the Ardennes (which didn't appear to be present anymore) I was shooting close ups of our espressos on the dashboard as we paused at a rest stop. I'm happy to report the new lens performs admirably in these conditions. We opted to stop at the next Delhaize supermarket we came across to pick up a case of whatever unique beers they might have on hand. That was quite the experience, the story of which I'll spare you at this time. The feeling of trepidation rose the closer we came to Saint-Hubert. While we weren't concerned about our dinner that evening (our favorite restaurant of all time never disappoints), the fact that we were forced to book a different hotel was starting to cause us some concern.
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| One of the hotel's finer specimens |
Folks, you should always trust your gut. I can't quite put my finger on the feeling we had when we stepped over the threshold of the "hotel" we had booked for the evening as it was a cross between amusement and horror. You know that scene in Psycho (1960, or course) when Norman is talking to Marion Crane in his office and there's all these horrible taxidermy sculptures(?) all over the room? Well, when production wrapped, I'm pretty sure the lot of stuffed animals was sold to the proprietor of this hotel where they have hung or sat on shelves ever since (never having been dusted or preserved in any way). The fur was eaten away by time and whatever creatures eat dead animal fur, feathers were missing, the plastic eyes had fallen out or were positioned at disturbing angles. The first of these horrors was a snarling fox that had been positioned in an anthropomorphic position that included a walking stick. Stepping into the office we discovered more moth-eaten terrors and what seemed to be a hoarder's den. Tools, magazines, books, papers, and Lord knows what were piled on every imaginable surface and some unimaginable ones. It looks like most had been sitting there since the Reagan era. This did not bode well, my friends, and the situation did not improve when we met the proprietor. By all appearances "The Hotel By The Abbey" is operated by a boy of about 12 years of age. He was very professional, despite his sweatpants and Crocs, and patient with our dusty French. He gave us the key to room 11 and instructed us that any further questions should be directed at his Papa, who for all we knew was the lone patron at the restaurant. Then the boy went back to tending the bar, yes, tending the bar. As you can imagine Room 11 wasn't any better than the rest of the establishment. Smokers could get all the nicotine they needed from the hazy atmosphere. Something green and slimy that I believe guest starred in an episode of the X-Files (original run, of course) had taken up residence in the shower. The bathroom was outfitted with fixtures and accessories one normally finds in a public restroom, complete with supplied sanitary paper for the toilet seat. I half expected to find a condom dispenser hung inside the door. By the way, every guest room in this hotel was equipped with a small orange light over the door that could be switched on from the inside. Interpret that as you will. Anyway...the long and short of it is, we were stuck. There wasn't another available room in town and the only hotel with a free room was 15mi away. This was just going to have to be something to laugh about in the future...if we made it to morning. We deposited our locked suitcase in the room (and nothing else), stepped out our door and over the stain which suspiciously looked like evidence of the expiration of some poor guest or perhaps one of the moldering creatures on the wall, and headed back out into the gale. Anything was better than this hotel.
We jumped back in the car and desperately drove around the countryside hoping the weather would clear or at the very least calm down enough to see the countryside. No dice. We had to accept defeat and return to blighted Saint-Hubert (for my Ohio readers, think Warren). The only option left to us was a pub. Now, if Wallonia is struggling in everything else, there is one thing you can always count on being reliable, albeit with the potential for mild creepiness. That is the pub. Saint-Hubert is well supplied. We opted for The Miami as it wasn't full of grumpy old men or seedy young ones and settled down for a nice session with some dearly missed Trappist Ales. The great and wonderful thing about Belgium is that nearly every pub has Trappist beers on the list. Things could definitely be worse. These couple hours at the pub were the only time I decided to take out my camera on the trip, and you know what? I'm totally ok with that. The pub was by no means full, so it also provided the chance to test the updated Fujifilm remote camera app and the electronic shutter. Fujifilm finally updated their remote app when they announced the X-Pro2 last month and for the first time I was able to get it to work. Let me tell you, that app paired with the electronic shutter makes for a perfect clandestine operation (PIs, take note). Leave the camera on a table and operate it with your phone, and no one will be the wiser. In a quiet environment like a nearly empty pub, this is certainly a helpful set up.
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| Regulars at The Miami Camera: X-T1 Focal Length: 50mm Exposure: 1/60, f/2.8, ISO4000 |
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| Pinball and Orval Camera: X-T1 Focal Length: 16mm Exposure: 1/8, f/3.6, ISO4000 |
After we finished our beers (Rochefort 8) we could finally head to the restaurant for dinner. Things certainly improved when we stepped in the door of L' Ancien Hopital and before long the woes of the day were fading away. There is no better balm for a disappointing trip than a fantastic meal. It made up for the lack of craft beer in the trunk, the hour lost at Delhaize, the wretched weather, the taxidermy creatures and cigarette smoke, and the complete lack of photos on my card.
The next morning, we tipped our hats to Wallonia and headed home. The weather was still the same and we were exhausted. Sometimes things go wrong and plans fall apart. That's ok. That's totally ok. I'm just relieved we survived that horrid hotel.
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