It is early June in the Belgian Ardennes, and we are en route to Durbuy, known as the smallest city in the world. Before reaching our destination, we pause in the sleepy village of Sprimont, nestled along the River Ourthe. Here, a small group of Canadian Geese stand in the shallows, cleaning their feathers in the low water. Later, we watch them drift slowly downstream, joined by another bird that at first lingers on the bank. Its markings are different—likely an Egyptian Goose—adding a touch of variety to the scene. From there, the road carries us on to Durbuy. With schools deep in examination time, and the summer holidays still a few weeks away, the streets are hushed. The air is warm, the sun lingers on the cobblestones, yet the town feels unhurried. Restaurants set out their terraces in quiet anticipation, while only a handful of visitors wander through the medieval lanes. Stone houses, weathered by centuries, line narrow streets that wind their way up towards the castle on its rocky outcrop. Granted city rights in 1331, Durbuy has proudly carried its title through the ages, though today it feels more like a village wrapped in history than a bustling town. The River Ourthe bends gently at its feet—once a vital trade route, now a peaceful backdrop for kayaks and wandering herons. The stillness allows the past to speak more clearly: Roman traces, medieval craftsmen, feudal lords, and pilgrims passing through the Ardennes. The 18th-century castle of the d’Ursel family still watches over the city, while the church of Saint-Nicolas anchors its heart. Even the topiary garden, with its playful shapes, seems to wait quietly for the summer and weekend crowds to return. 回