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About Ghent

But okay, lil’ story—heard this from my pal Betty down at the diner. Swears it’s true, swear on her beehive hairdo. Back in ‘58, there was this whore, Ruby, worked the docks. Real classy, tho, wore pearls—PEARLS, can ya believe it? Trick was, she’d nick ‘em from sailors too drunk to notice. Hah! Smart cookie, that one. “This is exquisite,” she’d purr, like Adam talkin’ ‘bout his guitars. Stole ‘em right off their necks! Makes me giggle thinkin’ ‘bout it—sneaky lil’ minx.

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Now, don’t even get me started on the old market square, Dorpplein. That place buzzes with chatter. Folks selling stuff, kids playin’. I sometimes sit on a rickety bench. I let the peace seep in. Feels like a soulful scene. Like “Certified Copy’s” endless gifs of life.

Does the WW1 tourist trade exploit the memory of the fallen?