The Université du Val in Belgium, once a place of knowledge, now a decaying relic of the past. With five of us in total we set out to uncover its secrets. Our entry point was a broken window leading into a dark, damp basement. Carefully, we climbed through, our footsteps echoing softly as we navigated through the underground corridors. Dust and debris covered the floors, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. From the basement, we found a staircase leading us up to the first floor. Here, we were met with vast, crumbling halls, their former grandeur now reduced to peeling paint and broken tiles. Further ahead, we discovered surprisingly intact classrooms—desks still in place, chalkboards covered in faded writings, as if time had simply stopped.
Massive open windows lined the hall, giving us a view of the courtyard below. Instead of a lush garden or a student gathering space, it was filled with towering mounds of sand, nature slowly reclaiming what was left behind. We pressed on and found another staircase, leading us up to the third floor. More classrooms, more abandoned spaces,
some barely standing, others still carrying whispers of their former purpose. Eventually, we reached a large balcony. From here, we could take in the full scope of our surroundings, an eerie contrast between the decayed university and the industrial world outside. Encircled by factories, other colleges, and towering office buildings, Université du Val stood frozen in time, a forgotten chapter in the city’s history.
We stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the silence, the decay, the weight of a place that had once been filled with life. And then, with one last glance, we moved on, leaving behind only our footprints in the dust.
