Bouillon

To most of us Americans the word bouillon means broth, but today I’m taking you to Bouillon, a municipality in the Luxembourg province of Belgium.

It is a scenic place heavily invaded by German and some French tourists on this sunny day. Rows and rows of restaurants and cafés line the Semois River that cuts through town. The pedalos (pedal boats) bring back so many childhood memories for me…

but judging from the (very bad) sunburns I see on the other tourists’ faces, I opt out of the river ride and hike uphill instead to check out the Bouillon Castle:

As usual, it’s a steep walk (which always makes for an excuse for a cone of sorbet at the end of the hike though!) to the top:

You know the drill by now. Along the way there are the requisite churches…

and poetic, shaded corners…

leading to some wonderful vistas:

And sometimes, by the time I finally I reach the castle…

it feels almost anticlimactic to go inside…

because if I were a princess, I’d rather not be holed up inside a castle. Especially not when the good stuff is found out here:

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