We had to get out of the apartment–the sky was clear, the temperature perfect, the day free from work. As usual, we hadn’t planned ahead, pretending we’re spontaneous rather than procrastinators, so Mark and I each grabbed our iPads, searching “things to see near me.”Ever since the ginger-haired Irishman at Café Belair suggested we try a frothy beverage other than the usual Bofferding or Diekirch, Chouffe beer has been our favorite occasional brew: McChouffe for Mark, a darker ale, and the blond LaChouffe for me. Packaging for this drink is playful–a little elf in a red hat brightens the bottles. We heard the brewhouse was close by and fun to visit.  There was gnome more discussion–we were off to the Belgian Ardennes, to the town of Houffalize, less than an hour’s drive.

We arrived at the brasserie to find it hopping.  Who thought so many families would be interested in suds? It was, as always, difficult to find a place to park, until…an older, well-dressed gentleman who had been facing the trees at the end of the parking lot, zipped his pants, turned to us and signaled he would be freeing up a parking space. Mark and I looked at each other–that man had been Euro-peeing!! Lest I begin a steady stream of rants regarding such a practice–yes, we’ve seen it (not the tinkle, just the stance) several times–on busy streets, in McDonald’s _arking lot, in the _ark–all of these _laces with water closets nearby! _lease kee_ the _EE out of the _ublic!!

We had a great parking space, but we didn’t make the cut for the tour of the brewery–so much for spontaneity! A walk around the grounds was glorious, a lunch at the tavern tasty, a look at the Chouffe shop short. So here’s to blue skies and big adventures, tender love and untamed laughter,  hard work and halcyon days. May your glass ever be full and your bladder empty! Santé!