Tournai knows how to party.
Last night was a noisy, boisterous and energetic Belgian affair, the remnants of which can be found liberally scattered throughout town at 9am.
I fall over Actual Sleeping People in the party streets, stumbling into the Grand Place only to encounter a few hardy souls either starting the next drinking session early, or otherwise continuing straight through from last night.
It’s a costume drama sequel.
When an XXL Citroen DS drives into the square, I have to double-take and wonder if I’m still living in the real world (whatever / wherever that is), or am I wandering through an open-air centre-ville live art installation.
In the middle of everything stands Christine de Lalaing, seemingly no longer defending her city, but now fighting for her right to party (24/7), just beyond the cardboard spaceship, adjacent to the mobile churros van.
Forced to flee town by no more flimsy an excuse as a booking on the Eurotunnel, I leave Belgium slightly overwhelmed by the locals’ overarching enthusiasm for all-night public partying, mixed in with a unique kind of weirdness or at least a full-on otherworldliness.
I spend the rest of the day with a permanent smile, with occasional breakouts into low-level laughter as I remember small details of my 24 hours in Tournai.
And I keep on thinking … was I really there and did that really happen or was I asleep the whole time and who will believe me anyway when I can barely string a sentence together.
Who cares, is my thought … I can still see an outside world.
An Outside World 