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About Leuven

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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So check it out, the streets here, like Gouverneustraat, are lined with these quirky little shops and cafes. Some spots gotta be seen, ya know? There's this ol’ landmark—St. Paulus Church. Yup, right there in the middle of town. It’s got stories, memories, stuff that’ll make ya heart skip. I get lost in thought sometimes, thinkin’ of all the souls that walked by my parlor door.

Stonehenge reveals traces of a much older past