The Journal · The seasons · 4 min

Autumn in the City

The tour buses thin out, the fires get lit, and the water takes on the colour of strong tea.

If we could only have one month here it would be the back half of October. The trees along the Minnewater turn, the light comes in low across the water, and for the first time since Easter you can hear your own feet.

Street lamps fading into fog along a dark empty road — The first properly foggy evening of the year.

What to do about it

Very little. Walk in the morning. Come back when your hands are cold. There is a fire in the hall from four, and the bar starts doing the thing with the hot genever that we have been told is not, strictly, legal to serve at that strength.

A candle, a mug and a notebook on a round table before a lit fire — A fire from four. The last of the dahlias.

Burnt-orange flowers in a ribbed white vase in late sun — A fire from four. The last of the dahlias.

What to eat

Game comes in from the Ardennes and mussels are at their best. There is a pumpkin dish that returns to the menu every year, with brown butter and hazelnuts. People who have not liked pumpkin for forty years eat it and then look annoyed.

For the first time since Easter you can hear your own feet.

Pack a heavier coat than you think you need. We keep a few at the door for guests who did not listen.

NOIR House and the people writing here are fictional. Bruges is not, and it really is worth the train.