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About Aalst

So, picture this – dusty joint, red curtains, smell o’ cheap perfume. Girls gigglin, punters stumblin in, wallets out. I reckon it’s wild, right? Cosmic chaos in a tiny room. Used to piss me off – blokes treatin’ em like meat. But then, chat with a lass there once, sharp as a tack, she was. Said, “I run my orbit, Hawking.” Blew my mind! She’s no victim, controllin’ her stars.

Seamen’s quarter: Antwerp’s red light district

Anyway, that's my slice. Not perfect, but real. The city is a poem of scars and beauty. From the chic corners of central stations to the gritty lanes near the docks, even in my spa world, I find lessons. Life’s a series of moments. Tonight’s the night.

Flooded yards & basements: Antwerp’s drainage woes