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Diary: Spa, Belgium A postscript to the Bath World Tour... On 4 July I visited Spa, Belgium. This was the resort that gave us the name 'spa' and which started the whole eurobathing business back in the 1600s. Famous people, including Peter the Great, Charles II, Rene Descartes and me, have come here to take the waters. However, I doubt that any of them, like me, missed out on the mineral-water bath because they thought a tenner for 15 minutes was too steep. Spa is a nice little resort town in the Ardennes, the hilly region in the far south of Belgium. It's very different from the Flemish north, feeling much more French in terms of architecture and atmosphere. I was there on my Brompton, which caused plenty of amusement to the locals: folding bikes are rare in France. Or perhaps they were just laughing at my French.
Spa is also the home of Spa Water. The factory that exports the blue bottles all over the world is right by the station, and they also have a branch in Harrogate. Lad. Aye.
Then it started to rain, so I came home. And that, I think, really is the end of the Bath tour...
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In Spa's delightful little museum I met Baronne de Selys Longchamps, a lovely and lively lady who told me all about the place. Usually quiet, it gets very noisy in August when the Belgian Grand Prix comes to Francorchamps, just next to Spa. Breakneck speeds, death-defying manoeuvres, the deafening roar of revved-up engines - just like Brussels on a Monday morning. 
And, for a 5 Belgian francs, you can taste the water that comes from the mineral-rich springs in the grand hall (much like Bath's Guildhall, in fact) of Les Bains in the centre of town. One of the springs delivers naturally carbonated water, which is very pleasant. Across the road is Pouhon's spring, whose water tastes bloody awful - ancient eggs, sour yoghurt, rusty nails - so that reminded me of Bath's good old Pump Room spring.