To say that the easternmost point of Belgium is a special place would certainly be some kind of lie.
But it is the easternmost point — and that alone makes it worth a visit, right?
I’m heading there from Signal de Botrange, the highest point in Belgium. The distance is short, only about a 40-minute drive, but unfortunately the point lies slightly east of my route toward Luxembourg. With daylight already slipping away, this detour is going to make the timing uncomfortably tight.
Reaching the point directly from the Belgian side is possible via smaller roads and a short walk across fields for the final meters. The easiest approach, however, is from Germany, following a road that runs right along the Belgian–German border — but on the German side.
Despite passing only small villages, the road is surprisingly busy. People here seem to be in a hurry, on their way somewhere more important than an obscure border point. The road runs straight for a while before making a slightly confusing S-shaped bend. This detail matters, because after that curve you reach a place called Kehr — and before you even realize it, you’ve already driven past the easternmost point of Belgium, at least if you’re coming from the Belgian direction.
With someone tailgating me and no parking spots in sight, I take the first right turn I can find. I pause for a second and then simply abandon the car in front of a local car dealership.
Crossing the road here requires patience. Cars move fast, but it’s already late afternoon, so eventually I find my moment and dash across toward the local church, dedicated to St. Maria. This would clearly have been a better place to park, I think to myself — only to notice a “no driving” sign at the entrance.
Some people live for churches. To each their own.
What catches my attention instead is a bench — one that has clearly seen better days. It sits behind the church’s plant fence, squeezed between the fence and the road, facing a small group of trees on the Belgian side.
I don’t know what it is about benches. Especially benches in strange places, or benches with a view. They always seem to tell more stories than monuments ever could.
That’s when I notice the border marker on the opposite side of the road, standing next to the trees where the field begins. I carefully cross again, jump over the ditch — and just like that, I’m back in Belgium.
And even though I started by arguing that this point isn’t anything special — well, it really isn’t. But the view across the fields is actually quite decent. Nothing extraordinary, yet somehow appropriate. It does justice to the fact that this unremarkable spot truly represents the easternmost edge of Belgium.
I linger for a moment, aware that the sun is sinking with every passing second. Eventually I cross back once more, take a few photos of the church, and head toward the car. I can’t help thinking that if the bench had been placed just a few meters farther north, the view would have been considerably better.
A shame that benches can’t tell their stories. It would at least be amusing to know who decided to place it there — and how many people, if any, choose to sit on it each year.
The car is still there. I turn left, retracing my route, and aim for Luxembourg — hoping to arrive before darkness finally wins.