Dead weary – Mauvais temps, Monsieur! as an old Belgian called to me en route. We formed a dripping cavalcade. After traversing rolling country, we began to strike into entirely different terrain; more hilly, more rugged. The villages too, seemed different, and the inhabitants dissimilar to those further back. So we plodded, our clothes and equipment running wet; curiously gazed upon by the dripping villagers.
The last mile was the most interesting. From fairly high country, we swept down a steep grade into the valley of the Meuse which here rushes, a broad torrent, through a narrow gorge, flanked on the one side by rocky promontories and cliffs, and on the other by a strip of flat. Towns and villages are visible both up and down stream, making exceedingly picturesque peeps even now when winter darkens all.
Liege is not far from here: our nearest town being Huy, and this village Bas-Oha, or some such name. In summer this would have been an enjoyable jaunt.