At the foot of the slope, into the forest ...

We hesitantly leave the asphalt, but the CFL sign is clear, and we take the path that seems to have walked away from a tourist postcard of the late 19th century with its iron railing. This is merely an illusion as we quickly find ourselves back on the hard asphalt, but nevertheless, the idyllic image remains. Now through the large summer oaks that line the roadside. As in many places in the Ardennes and Luxembourg, the forest is marred by sick spruces, monotonous cultures that are an easy feast for the typesetter. This will be our last piece of asphalt. Eventually, we will definitively draw into the wooded hills. First, still on a wide forest path, as if the people from the village still felt in control, but gradually the road will narrow to paths that only the solitary walker or hunter would have taken..

Jan Rymenams