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J.Lemaire Sanatorium / Belgium / 04-Aug-2004 Groobs.
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written by: Groobs
Well, here we are… in Belgium! Who’d have thought it eh?
I’ve known about the Lemaire Sanatorium for a few years now and I’ve always
found the photographs I’ve seen of the place inspiring. It’s an impressive and
unique building, and for a while I’ve wondered how good it must be to sit up on
the rooftop, looking out over the densely wooded hillside below the hospital.
It’s one of the locations that got me hooked on exploring in the first place. I
didn’t honestly think I’d ever get the chance to see it first-hand though, so I
feel really lucky to have had the opportunity to experience the unique
atmosphere of the place, particularly on such a beautiful day.
So, a little history then. Designed by Maxime
and Fernand Brunfaut (The latter also being responsible for Brussels Central
station – the similarities in style are abundant) and built in 1932, the
hospital served Tuberculosis patients for over 50 years until it’s closure in
1987, attaining international recognition for it’s quality of care and
treatment. Prior to the 1940’s, before the discovery of inhibiting drugs that
would mark a major step forward in TB treatment – it was as much as could be
done to isolate patients, and provide them with enforced recuperation under
observation. The excellent location of the hospital, in a peaceful area,
situated on top of a hill commanding good views over the surrounding
countryside – is entirely in keeping with the belief that patients were better
able to recover in a warm climate, with good natural light and a relaxing environment.
Certainly, the design of the building features a large number of balconies and
shelters, indicating a sense of relaxation normally associated with hotels
rather than hospitals!
As a rule, it would seem that abandoned TB
hospitals tend to stay abandoned. It’s said that there may have been a certain
reluctance to re-use them due to the possible risk of infection from residual
bacteria. Seems a little superstitious in light of the vaccines and
immunisations now widely in use, but I suppose it’s a fair point… advanced
stage TB is pretty horrific by all accounts, certain X-Rays that can still be
found in the hospital depict some fairly grim symptoms. The hospital is in a
bad way these days, but considering its size and the 17 years it’s been abandoned,
it could be far worse. Vandalism HAS occurred, but given the relative ease with
which it’s possible to get inside, it seems surprising it’s not a pile of
rubble. I can’t help thinking that if the building was anywhere else, blinkered
ass-wipe vandals would have reduced it to exactly that by now.
I’d been absolutely gagging to get to the
place as soon as I had arrived in Belgium, but decided to wait for good weather
so that I could get the best possible pictures, after all, It’s unlikely I’d
ever get the chance to come back again. And boy did I get good weather.
According to an infopoint outside a petrol station that I passed on the way, it
was baking its way towards 32 degrees. I’d planned to walk the 6 miles to the
hospital, and walk back at the end of the day – but when offered a lift in an
air-conditioned car at the last minute, my intentions of adventurous
independence crumpled under the crushing weight of the comfortable option.
After a pleasant drive through countryside, I arrived at a point I recognised
from pictures I’d seen before, of the long and impressive drive to the now
horrendously overgrown plaza.
I was keen to play things very safe, being in
a strange land and all that – and also because I wouldn’t be able to come back
and retry if I failed. As soon as I’d patted the roof of my ride and said
goodbye, I was over the road and into the trees for a quick assessment of what
was what. I was instantly distraught to hear what sounded like construction of
some sort through the trees, it sounded like a generator. Imagine my relief
then, when it turned out to be an industrious green-keeper razzing it round the
lawns of what appeared to be a nearby retirement home on his V6 lawnmower. My
spirits lifted once more and I was soon across the road and deeper into the
trees advancing towards the as yet, unseen hospital. As I readied my gear, I
took a moment to think about how personally significant this exploration was to
me, and couldn’t help smiling to myself as I became suddenly aware of how
comically adolescent I was feeling. Seeing the distinctively tiled façade of
the curved recreation room looming from beyond the trees sent me into an
excitable state that I certainly wouldn’t discuss with anyone I was trying to
impress… But hell, I’m not going to give myself a beating for being excited, I
mean, I was on holiday, I had the good weather, I was enjoying some ‘me’ time
and I was about to visit a UE target that has been until now, unreachable. Talk
about reasons to be cheerful!
I arrived at the head of the rear drive,
looking up at the awe-inspiring structure, with its dark rooms beckoning from
behind a thousand smashed windows. I shot straight inside the nearest basement
window I could see. As I climbed in, I noticed a cat looking at me from the
bushes. It was a black cat. My superstitious side argued that it was sending me
bad luck vibes. Any bad luck that was due had already been dealt though… dumb
cat must have been looking at it’s own reflection the last time it sent some
bad vibes… it’s back legs were completely mangled. So rather than throw it a
rock for hissing at me, I threw it some salami, hoping that I’d be blessed with
a good visit, charmed by the karma that only the benevolent offering of salami
affords. Perhaps.
It’s quite an easy hospital to navigate, after
all, it differs from any of the asylums we’ve visited for example, due to the
fact that it’s just a single structure. As such, it was quite easy to be
methodical and I figured that I came here primarily to do one thing – get on
that damn rooftop and admire the view, so I made for the central stairwell and
went pretty much straight up, intending to get all the other pictures on the
way down. The roof didn’t disappoint. I sat on a railing and soaked up the
peaceful atmosphere, had a smoke and a can of juice – having realised what I
would call one of life’s ‘little victories’. Hell it was hot up there
though, I mean REALLY hot. I couldn’t stay in that kind of heat too long, but
for as long as I did, every minute was a minute to be thankful for. You know
sometimes, you just have a nice view, and nothing to worry about… and you just
take a few minutes to figure it all out, and it changes your perception ever so
slightly. I walked back down the stairs with a clearer head than I’ve had in a
long while, and I understood why they built the place where they did, and why
they designed it as they did. If the intention was to create a relaxing
environment, then they sure did a good job.
Most of the rest of the visit was carried out
with the same outlook, with everything bathed in golden sunlight, with a rich
blue sky as a backdrop and framed by luscious greens. Even the graffiti was
cheerful. No childish gangsta-wannabe crap here. Here, the kid with the
spray-paint writes about how this is the first day of the rest of his life,
while on another wall there is an equally random, but nonetheless smile
inducing message about there always being hope? Strange stuff, and no doubt
induced by the inhalation of a doob or two, but strangely reassuring. If things
had been warm and pleasant up until now though, the situation was soon to get a
few degrees cooler, and a few notches darker.
I wound up in the ground floor/basement of the
hospital, out of the reach of the suns rays – where it was still and cold, and
I soon discovered the infamous X-Ray room, where hundreds upon hundreds of
personally identifiable X-Rays are scattered across the floor and stuck to
windows, detailing some alarming conditions. I saw several of these where
patients appeared to be… missing bits. In a few of these cases, there were ribs
missing, or seemingly unevenly distributed – and I’ve since discovered why.
Apparently in some cases (albeit rare as late as the 60’s onwards) a patient
would have some ribs removed to facilitate lung compression, known as a
Thoracoplasty. I couldn’t shake off the shivers whilst down here, I found it
too weird and didn’t stick around too long. More of those stray cats started
banging about the place catching mice (or salami?) or whatever, which was
making me a bit nervous in fear of any kind of security presence - and I’d had
a damn good day, so turned to leave and walk home. The hot and dusty walk back
took me through Overisje, where I stopped at a café and sat outside to collect
my thoughts and refresh my parched throat with a beer that I struggled to
pronounce, but excelled in draining. What a day.