From a family home, to a Nazi retreat, to a children’s home, this crumbling castle in rural Belgium has a lot of stories to tell.
Under the star trails at our rooftop camp it was hard to believe that I was still living in a time when ghost towns–real ghost towns–were still engraved onto the sides of mountains. Below its cracked city streets courses the treasure that built the town and the poison that killed it. Cup your ears against the walls, be very still, and listen to the memory of a place called home.
Many older cities around the US have areas like this, where last century’s mansions are today’s abandonments and hastily-split tenements. Not friendly places, people usually zoom through with their doors locked. I might have passed the neighborhood over too, if it wasn’t for one word, TWAIN.
125 years after the fire that destroyed it, this early steamboat stop has its underground brought to light.