I pushed the umbrella into my bag at the last minute. It was red, slightly awkward and, according to my plan, entirely unnecessary. I had a lovely dress, comfortable boots and a route full of sunshine. Belgium apparently hadn't read my plan.
An imagined story inspired by original Travel2City photographs. These four stops form a collage of separate journeys, not a one-day itinerary. The rain, wet surfaces, weather and Mea Zen's experiences are artistic additions to the source photographs.
In Bruges, the rain began just as I decided to look effortlessly composed. The first drop landed on my nose, the second at my neckline, and the rest didn't wait for an invitation. I opened the umbrella so abruptly that I startled myself. A red circle bloomed above the wet paving. Beneath it, I had a private patch of dryness and an unexpectedly good view of the colourful houses. Their stepped gables continued upside down in the puddles. I straightened my scarf, lifted my chin and slowed my pace. The new accessory rather suited me.
In Leuven, I sheltered beneath a stone arch. My folded umbrella dripped beside my boots, and the brick lane became a quiet reddish-brown tunnel. I only meant to wait out the shower. Then I noticed a thin stream of water taking a different route around every raised cobble. I followed it with my eyes to a small puddle beside the wall. It held a piece of window and a little grey sky. The rain gradually eased, but I stayed beneath the arch. Suddenly, I couldn't think of a very good excuse to hurry on.
I entered the Brussels arcade feeling victorious: the weather couldn't reach me here. I folded my umbrella, smoothed my hair and checked my reflection in a shop window to see whether I still looked like a woman on holiday. I looked like a woman on holiday whose hair had just been rained on. Then a soft drumming began overhead. Drops ran across the glass roof, the light softened, and people passed beneath the arches. I looked up and laughed. I had come to hide from the rain, and now I had the best seat for listening to it.
By the coast, the rain had stopped. I carried the umbrella folded and walked across the wet sand wearing the serious expression of a woman who knew how to adapt to the weather. I avoided one puddle, then another. The third was so small that I tried to step across without thinking. Splash. I looked at my boot, then at the sea, as if expecting an apology. None came. I laughed so loudly that the wind carried half the sound away. I went properly around the next puddle. Great personal transformations have their limits—especially when you only have one pair of dry socks.
“This wasn't in the plan. Neither was the laughter.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
The world of Travel2City continues between the covers of a book. Discover The Map with No Last Page and more illustrated journeys.
