Cathedrals, Churches and A Castle
Wandering around Gent
I arrived back at my beautiful hotel to find the doorway blocked by a group of young men all staring at my boobs. Surely my white top isn’t that see-through and anyway, I have my prettiest white lacy bra on, but all of them were gawking at me. No sidelong glances — my boobs aren’t that spectacular. One of them asks, “Are you okay?” I reply nicely, “I just want to get through the doorway. This is my hotel.”
They are still staring. I look down and see I’m covered in blood. Not my blood. Oh, it’s not my boobs after all. I’m a little disappointed.
A few minutes earlier, at the corner of the street, an old man, probably younger than me, came crashing down on the cobblestones right in front of me. He fell hard. He had two hiking sticks that were the same brand as mine but they didn’t break his fall. I rushed over to help him. After all, that could be me. A younger girl came from the other direction and spoke to him in Dutch.
After he had his breath, I said to the girl, “Let’s see if we can help him up.”
I grabbed him under one arm and she, the other, and we both heaved to help him up and walk him off the street. He had sat down on a ledge when I noticed he’d left a trail of blood. He had scraped his knee but his elbow was badly bleeding. I demonstrated…
