We didn’t know where we were going, just that the bridge and the other side of the river looked interesting. So, this was the famous flea market in Liege! From higher ground, we could see far along the Meuse, but not the end of the row of vans. Interested in seeing more of the town, we passed up the flea market and crossed the bridge to the Outremeuse, or far side of the river.
Looking back, we decided the post office was an interesting building with its rounded turrets, and stopped for a picture before starting down the sidewalk by the water. Burr! Swarthier folks passed on bicycles while we looked at each other and communicated our desire to get away from the water: "Coffee."
This walk would be great for bicycling in summer. It is also the boarding point for boat tours along the Meuse. The Liege tourist office (En Feronstree 92) is supposed to have a list of these with info on each.
Back at the bridge, we walked south a few blocks and found more interesting government and apartment buildings, some statuary in the center of the avenue, and more statuary in center roundabouts. Watching our steps to avoid doggie droppings, we joked about modern statuary we would create: a giant scooper! We would put it smack in the center of Place St. Lambert for Belgians to contemplate! Seriously, this neighborhood was heavily populated by older apartment dwellers, many of them sitting out at sidewalk tables in the unusual cold--swarthy folks, who could easily handle those scoopers!
Dogs in restaurants are fine with me, so I followed one into a corner cafe. Here was the down-home local color I wanted, not the bright brasseries tourists frequent. With windows on two sides, we could get warm and watch the locals, more of them outside than in. A waiter brought us coffee, small and strong, and biscuits. Looking around, I saw that nobody had any food. So, this was a place to sit and drink coffee! Perhaps apartment dwellers wanted an excuse to get out and see people.
The locals sat. The ones outside waved at people passing. A few inside were alone. Four couples came in, two pairs at a time--double dates. One couple arrived and waited for another before they ordered. Everyone shook hands and conducted themselves very properly in this little corner hangout. These were people in their 50s on dates at the cafe on a Sunday afternoon. They had dressed and groomed too well for the weather (and too nice for this cafe!), the women in dresses too "soft" for the cold, but "pretty." We were Desmond Morris, privileged observers in a once-working neighborhood in a former industrial town. They were trying so hard to present themselves well to the people they were with, we noted, as we laughed at each other's bedraggled hairdos, mashed down by warm hats.