cooooooookie

Climbed all 461 steps to the carillon of the Onze-Lieve- Vrouwekathedraal in Antwerpen and managed a better but still very simple conversation with the Dutch-only-speaking tower keeper, whom I could barely understand through his thick (Antwerpenaar?) accent. Playing the carillon was much easier than I remembered it--I've finally gotten used to these big old European things. [Notice in the photo how the narrow Belgian houses fit the tower arrow loop perfectly.]

Savored a "magic mushroom" sandwich afterwards (despite the exciting name, the unassuming avocado ones are better) and almost unbearably intense ginger tea in Lombardia (which I've renamed Hippie Heaven No. 2) seated on a psychadelic green tree trunk that might have been driftwood, then discovered gigantic bell-shaped cookies in Philip's Biscuits on Korte Gasthuisstraat. Need I describe my ensuing course of action?