Belgium

I have a strange feeling that I died in Paris.

Let me expound on this theory.

Last night we met two angels, one named Jasper, and one named Karen. With open arms Jasper greeted us at the train station and immediately took us to a shop with more beer than one man could ever drink. He filled a crate with a brilliant selection and then led us to a flat where there were three spare beds. The flat has tons of room, a turntable, a multitude of records, chocolate, pastries, and warmth. We dropped our packs here and then went to the corner for Belgian fries. This is really when my current theory started developing. We were treated to a giant plate of fries and various meats, which was perhaps the most satisfying meal possible for our empty stomachs.

After the fries we went down to a pub to wash it all down. The streets of Ghent presented us with mind-blowing architecture and friendly faces. A plethora of early-late medieval architecture surrounded us, and a huge castle glowed on the horizon. The first pub led to a second, and a third, and pretty soon we found ourselves on Jasper's "pub tour," a blessed pilgrimage. Karen and Jasper led us from one pub to the next, each with its own delightful character and specialty beers. We spent hours savoring one beer after the other while conversing with two of the kindest souls that I will ever have the pleasure of knowing.

At one of the last taverns we got a special treat - jenevere, a special fruit-based alcohol. Every flavor imaginable was on the list. We opted for strawberry, raspberry, apricot, blood orange, and chocolate. All were delicious, and the old, round bartender served them with a smile.

The night was unforgettable. And the strangest thing is that I woke up this morning and the flat, Jasper, the chocolate, the beer, and everything else is still here. This means I wasn't dreaming and that either I am now in heaven or my life just got unbelievably good. I still can't decide.