-
Lille & Normandy.
Recollections of Lille
It’s been about a month and a half since I left Lille now. Needless to say, it’s a bit of a hazy blur at this point. Which according my to foggy memory, feels roughly apropos. Lille was my last stop in Europe before I came home to Canada, though I wasn’t quite sure that it would be when I first arrived. I was still waiting to talk to my mom who was going through her first intensive rounds of chemo in hospital before I made my decision.
The Calm Appart Hôtel is conveniently located directly across the street from Lille’s main regional train station. This turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. The train station abuts on a incredibly busy mall and the gateway into the old city centre. It’s an incredibly high traffic area, which provides a ton of options for food, shopping, and people watching. However, it also comes with a slightly seedy underbelly that occupies just a couple of the side streets, precisely where the hostel itself sits.
Despite the surroundings, Calm is relatively well acquitted. It largely operates as a standard hotel, but it has a small hostel run out of its basement. Boasting maybe 18 beds across three rooms, a small, slightly dank common room and kitchen, the hostel was surprisingly cozy and comfortable.
The nearby shopping center had something that I had missed since having left Canada, a full-size supermarket. After a month in The Netherlands and Belgium, I had resigned myself to the smaller markets. But, here in Lille, the Carrefour supermarket was a godsend. No more running between three different stores because I needed food, shampoo and razors. I honestly teared up a little when I first walked into it.
However, despite its long aisles and various departments, the Carrefour does not have a pharmacy. Which didn’t matter to me in the least on Saturday while I was picking up groceries, but it would be immediately relevant when I woke early Sunday morning with a head-splitting migraine. It was 2am and a quick Google showed that there was nothing that was open, not even the night shop around the corner. In fact, because it was Sunday basically nothing would be open even when it wasn’t an ungodly morning hour.
I debated going to reception on the off-chance that the night watchman had a loose Tylenol or ibuprofen, but I eventually managed to ride it out and fall lightly asleep. When I got up later in the morning, my headache had receded but was still feeling some lingering after-effects. At reception, the attendant helped me find one of the only pharmacies open in the city, thankfully only a quick fifteen minute walk away.
The walk took me through the old city centre and through a quiet shopping district on a drizzly Sunday morning. The streets and squares were pleasant despite the lingering pain in my head. Arriving at the pharmacy, I found a line that extended out the door.
It was taken aback, but not surprised. After all, people needed medicine on Sundays and this was the only pharmacy open for miles. I was, however, shocked to find out that I would need to wait in this line for what I expected to be an over the counter purchase. It turns out that in France, you need to speak to a pharmacist even for basic medicine like paracetamol.
So I waited for about an hour to get to the front of the line. Practicing saying in my head “Désolé, je parle Anglais seulement” (Sorry, I only speak English). When I finally arrived at the front of the line, my pharmacist had a look of panic on his face, and turned to a colleague for assistance. He was much relieved when I said “paracetamol” and grabbed me a pack of 8 pills for €3, the maximum amount he could sell me at once. A far cry from the bottle of 100 extra-strength Tylenol that I could buy from a gas station in Canada for $12 (ok, maybe more like $18 given gas station mark-ups).
With my paracetamol now in hand, I spent a bit of time wandering Lille before heading back to the hostel to rest. Later, I finally got to talk to my mom. She was still in hospital, having rested for a couple of days after three days in a row of chemo. She was look tired, but otherwise well. She still had the energy and attitude that I expected from her, which was heartening. Also heartening was the fact that she had changed her view on me returning to help out while she was in hospital and transitioning back home. I was expecting more of a fight from her, but she understood my worry and wish to be closer and to help however I could. So it was decided that I would return home after my booking in Lille, on Thursday.
That left me with three days to enjoy Europe before my trip was paused for an indefinite period of time.
Day One: Biking the Canal
Having brought The Bike with No Name on the train with me to Lille, I felt it was only appropriate that I gave him one last good ride before I passed him along to whoever his new owner would be.
I set my sights on the Parc de la Canteraine, a large park on the outskirts of Lille (actually it’s about two different suburbs away, but I didn’t realize that at the time). It was a beautiful morning and after my work in Brussels, the bike was running great. I made it to the park in good time and was expecting to spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon looking for birds and shooting photos. But, once I arrived my body had something else in mind for me.
As I rolled through the parc looking for a shooting location, I just kept rolling. Eventually, I found myself riding along the Canal de la Deûle. And I just kept riding. And riding. Soon, I was fully out in the countryside. Both sides of the canal have pathways that running for tens of kilometers out of the city, connecting a variety of nearby towns and villages. With flat and easy riding, without much wind to speak of, I rode along the canal for about two hours before deciding that I would need to turn around.
Given the option, I always choose a different route back to my starting place than the one that took me there. I crossed the canal at a bridge that took me into the village of Hantay. I spent forty five minutes riding up and down, exploring the village. It was quite tiny and charming, a really nice diversion after a few hours of constant riding.
The rest of the ride home was as delightful as the ride out. I stopped and had a quick, late lunch by the canal. Got lost once or twice. And eventually made my way back into Lille, which was impressive in its own right as I rode through its winding streets back to the hostel. All in all, this was one of my favorite days over the course of the entire trip. Gorgeous weather and scenery, a carefree freedom and new sights around every corner.
Day Two: Trouville et Deauville
On Tuesday, I rented a car and drove from Lille to Normandy. Prior to leaving for this trip, I had imagined visiting the French coast at Normandy or Calais. But on arriving, I learned that the route by train would be long, expensive and out of the way of my other intended destinations. As luck would have it, however, my new friend Rosa, who I’d met in Brussels, was now vacationing with her parents and brother in a little resort town in Normandy, called Trouville-sur-Mer. Her family has vacationed their all her life, so she was quite familiar with the area. Wishing to make the most of my remaining time in France, I’d asked if she would show me around, which she graciously agreed to do.
So, early Tuesday morning, I picked up my rented car and hit the road. It was about a three hour drive out to the coast, and I was keen to see French countryside along the way. It was an absolutely gorgeous drive, passing over hills and valleys, through fields and forests. The 130km/h speed limit on the highway was also pretty nifty. Less nifty were the multiple toll gates that I hit along the way. All in all, it cost about €50 to use the highways from Lille to Trouville.
The drive time passed fairly easily. For a lifelong European, like Rosa, the idea of a three hour drive for a day trip was almost inconceivable. For an Albertan like myself, that’s just the price of a quick visit to Edmonton or a hike buried deep in the mountains.
Arriving in Trouville, I met Rosa not too far from the apartment she was sharing with her family, only a five minute walk from the beach. We spent the day roving through Trouville and it’s twin Deauville, just on the other side of the River Toques which runs between the two towns. Deauville is considered the slightly more high-end destination of the two, but I can confidently say that both are incredibly charming and gorgeous. We wandered from end of one town to the far end of the next and enjoyed a lovely sunset on the beach before turning back.
It was fully dark by the time we made it back to my car, and pouring rain. We got absolutely soaked on the walk back through town. I thanked Rosa for her hospitality and waved goodbye, setting off on my journey back to Lille.
On the drive back home, I learned a lesson. French truck drivers have absolutely zero tolerance for high beam headlights pointed in their direction. My side of the road was more or less empty for the entirety of the drive and the night was close to pitch black. So, naturally, as long as the opposing lane was vacant, I turned on the high beams for a better view. But, if a truck came around a corner or crested a hill and I didn’t switch off the high beams within a quarter of a second, they were more than happy to blast with the full glory of their highs, which made mine look like a dollar store flashlight.
Day Three: Saying Goodbye
My final day in Lille was largely devoted to resting and preparing to return home to Canada early the next morning. But, I did have one task to perform. I had to set the Bike with No Name free. Tristan’s original plan for the bike was simply to leave the bike on the streets of Brussels for the first person that came across him, and out of respect for his intentions, I would do the same in Lille. I wrote up a note that read “Free Bike” in English, French and Dutch, along with the combination for the bike’s small chain lock and Tristan’s Instagram handle (also per his wishes).
I walked the bike over to Lille’s main square which was buzzing with activity even on a random Wednesday afternoon. I found a bike rack with an open space, left the note on the pannier rack where it could be easily read and walked away.
I wandered around the square and the surrounding streets for about half an hour before returning to see if anyone had taken up the offer of a free bicycle. Alas, no. He was still sitting at the rack. Not enough time had passed and a watched pot never boils. I decided to unlock the chain for good measure and walked away. I hope he found himself a good home. He was certainly a delight for the short time that I had him.
In the evening, I strolled the areas around the hostel that I hadn’t really seen yet. It’s amazing what a difference turning left instead of right can make sometimes. Lille continued to impress me with its beauty, both old and new. I was sad to be leaving knowing that I had explored much less here than I had in my earlier cities. But, I was also feeling worn down and in need of a break. If things had gone differently, I had planned to take a two weeks in Paris to slow a bit a recuperate. Prior to hearing the news from home, I had booked an AirBnb in one of the further reaches of Paris where I could enjoy a room to myself, a nice treat after a month of hostels.
As it was, though, it was time for me to come home. Time to help my family through a difficult period. Europe and the world would continue to be there when I was ready to return to the journey. So at 5:30 the next morning, I rose and walked the short distance to the train station. The train would carry me to Paris, where I would catch my flight back to Calgary and another flight would bring to Edmonton, where I’d spend the better part of two months.
Bird Corner
Unfortunately, birds weren’t really much on my mind through my days in Lille. So, I have nothing to share for bird corner this time, but rest assured that it will be back for the next installment.
Where Next?
Well, now for the exciting news! My time in Edmonton is coming to an end. My mom has responded to her treatment exceedingly well and there hasn’t been much need of my help for the past couple of weeks. She has reached and surpassed the checkpoints that the doctors had defined. And more importantly, her and Shawn felt like they had everything easily under control. So it’s time for me to pick up where I left off!
I leave for Paris in just a couple of days, I’ll be staying there for three nights before making my way on to Germany.
-
Brussels.
Highs & Lows
Brussels brought two things that I hadn’t seen since I left Canada: hills and rain. When we go too long seeing only part of a duality, it can be easy to forget how one half is defined by its counterpart. Too long in the sun, and we begin to take it for granted, the umbrella is left buried deep in the closet, and there it lay when the clouds finally become so full they cannot but let loose. Too long without lifting ourselves up, when we finally meet a slope our muscles ache and cry out with each step.
Brussels is a city of highs and lows, with half the city literally elevated above the rest, and so it was for me. Before arriving in the city, I had already received mixed reports from fellow travelers. For most, it had not left a favorable impression. It seemed to lack a certain je ne sais quoi possessed by its cousins. Despite these reports, there were sites I knew I wanted to see, such as the Brussels Expo, site of the 1935 and 1958 World’s Fair. I was especially intrigued by the Atomium, a building composed of giant aluminum balls and tubes arranged to represent a crystal structure composed of atoms.
I Want To Ride My Bicycle
I made my way from Bruxelles-Midi station to my hostel, Meninger Hotel, by way of a tram station in a dank tunnel like structure with not just a hint of urine aroma. The tram would drop me off in an area that I had been warned by reviews would seem a little rough. Over my time there, I would find that its bark was worse than its bite, but my initial impression was that it was certainly rundown. Sitting alongside the canal, the buildings were old and grimy looking, graffiti covered most surfaces and a few vacant lots gave an unwelcoming demeanor.
The hostel itself was also a bit of an oddity. As its name suggest, Meninger Hotel operated mostly as a hotel, but offered some dorm-style accomodations, as well as a guest kitchen and such hostel ammenities. The oddity carried on to the rooms themselves, with a strange layout of two sets of bunk beds, in addition to two double beds that sat side by side. I selected a lower bunk that would have my head directly at the foot of another roommate. This turned out to be an unfortunate decision as it would lead me to have to ask said roommate to wash his feet, as their smell was eye-watering after a day of exploring the city.
Additionally, the room was equipped with an eco-friendly measure common in many hotels, wherein you need to place your room keycard into a slot to enable electricity for the room. While this setup works well when only one or two people are inhabiting a room, it works much less well when the room is occupied by six strangers. It was a constant stream of announcing our departures and warning that the power was about to be shut off. At least until I accidentally left my card in the slot when leaving the room, requiring me to get a second keycard from reception.
I spent my first afternoon in the hostel relaxing, working on my blog, and killing time until it was time to meet Tristan, who expected to arrive in Brussels in the late afternoon, after biking from Ghent. When he arrived, I set out to meet him at his hostel and got my first real taste of Brussels. As it turned out, the path that Google Maps selected for me managed to avoid many of the interesting sights that I might have seen, in favor of backstreets. These streets continued much of the impression of the area around my hostel, though they were definitely cleaner and less marked by graffiti.
I managed to connect with Tristan without much trouble and we set out in search of dinner. Wandering through a busy shopping center near the center of the city, we overwhelmed with choices. We walked nearly the full length of the district before landing on a brasserie with a good selection of Belgian beers. What followed was a truly pleasant dinner and conversation. I thoroughly enjoyed Tristan’s company, he is a kind, considerate and bright young man and I consider myself lucky to have made his acquaintance.
After dinner, we set out in search of Tristan’s true goal in visiting Brussels: the chocolate truffles of Maison Pelicaen. Tristan bought a veritable mountain of truffles, which he intended to return home to Galway, Ireland, where he convinced women would instantly fall in love with him after a single taste. In his defense, they were some pretty tasty truffles.
We finished out the evening by accidentally stumbling upon the golden splendor of Brussel’s Grand Place. The wide square is surrounded by gilded Gothic and Baroque style buildings of many ages, including Town Hall, each denoting a period in Brussels’ long history. The discovery was a cherry on top of a lovely first evening in Brussels, all the better for being shared with a new friend.
Finally, we returned to Tristan’s hostel where he would gift me with the bicycle that had used to travel from Germany, through The Netherlands, and finally here to Brussels. The Bike with No Name, though distinctly a he according to Tristan, was a hardtail mountain bike that had put in some real work over Tristan’s journey. And now he was mine. Just like that. And so we both said goodbye to Tristan and headed out into the Belgian night, hopeful for a whole new world that had opened up for us.
Bad News
It was about 2:30 in the morning when my phone buzzed. I’d just been added to a new WhatsApp group. The group was consisted of me, my mom, and my step-dad, Shawn. No messages had been sent yet, but I already knew what it was. Early last year, my mother was diagnosed with gynecological cancer and then had a separate thyroid cancer scare later in the year. Both of those issues had been dealt with before I left and it seemed like everything was in the clear. But soon, a message arrived confirming that was no longer the case.
My mom had written me a letter from the hospital room that she had been in for a week already, as she was receiving her first chemotherapy treatment. She had been diagnosed with leukemia, and a particularly aggressive variant at that (T-ALL). What had started out looking like a flu that lasted a few days too long, turned out to be a need to get to an emergency room as soon as possible. The current outlook was that she would be hospitalized for at least a month before being released to complete outpatient therapy. She had waited a week to tell both my sister and myself because she didn’t want to interrupt my trip or my sister’s birthday, now recently past. And least surprising of all, for those that know my mother, she didn’t want me to come home because of this. She would rather that I continue my journey, so that could live vicariously through my adventures.
In the dead of the night, already calloused from her previous brush with cancer, I agreed with her. There was nothing that I would be able to do to help. Right now she needed professional medical care, that the hospital was already providing, and rest. And everything was still up in the air, and filled with unknowns. It would be more practical to wait for things to settle out, so I could see the lay of the land before making any decisions.
I read the letter, two, three times. Trying to soak up as much information as I could. Reading between the lines for what might not being said. My mom is one to want to put a positive spin on even the darkest of news, and this was some pretty bad news. I decided to try to sleep on it, and eventually managed to fall fitfully asleep.
Things Change
Unsurprisingly, the next two days in Brussels passed in a bit of a haze. The Bike with No Name needed some fixing up, with the wear and tear it had accumulated over its journey with Tristan. I found a Decathlon and was able to make the necessary repairs, without spending too much money, to get him running smoothly.
Now that the entire world was open to me and my wheels, I could barely see it as it whirled passed me. I spent an afternoon biking out to the Expo grounds and Atomium. I am a confident street cyclist, but Brussels is no Amsterdam (though it is still miles ahead of most North American cities for biking infrastructure). It took real focus to navigate the roads, some thick with competing vehicles. This sort of head-on-a-swivel pedaling offered some relief from the clouds circling me, but it didn’t make for a leisurely, sight-seeing ride.
The following day, I set out on foot to explore the city center of Brussels and the grayness followed with me. I saw everything through a fog. Every time I stopped to admire some building, statue, or view, my mind would begin drifting, wondering and worrying. After eating lunch in a quiet park square, all my worrying manifested a downpour that came out of nowhere. What were at first a few spare raindrops, soon became thick sheets of rain. Dumping what seemed like all of the rain that I had missed in my three weeks in Europe at once. I was lucky to be able to duck into an apartment buildings vestibule while the torrent fell, quickly becoming fast moving rivers overflowing the gutters as they ran down the hill. Ten minutes later, it was over. The sun once again shone through the clouds and within half an hour, you wouldn’t know that it had rained at all.
When I returned back to the hostel, I resolved to deal with my own rain cloud. I reached out to my best friend and told her the news. Which, in turn, led me to reach out to my step-father, Shawn to find out what else I could about the situation. After a video chat with Shawn and another with my father, I had made a decision. I would return to Canada, to do what I could to help out, and to assess the situation and its severity. At this point, we still didn’t know very much. We were just waiting for the medicine to do its work.
I wasn’t sure yet when I would return. I already had bookings for Lille and Paris, but those would take me all the way into the middle of September, which would be the most critical time during the early treatment phase. This point was to be left undecided until I had a chance to speak with my mom after her first rounds of chemo, which wouldn’t be for a couple more days, when I was in Lille.
Silver Linings
After my phone calls and big decisions, I headed down to the hostel kitchen and fixed myself dinner. I was still in my head, as I sat down to eat but my wallowing was interrupted by a comment saying that my food looked good. This was my introduction to Rosa, a kindergarten teacher from Stuttgart, Germany. Rosa had been eating dinner with David (?) from The Netherlands, and very quickly, our conversation attracted Nick, a financial analyst for the Canadian government from Toronto. David soon had to leave, but Rosa, Nick and myself spent the rest of the evening chatting and playing cards. It was just the distraction I needed after the past two days of hazy uncertainty. The simple kindnesses of strangers can be so meaningful when traveling, as I learned that day.
My final day in Brussels was spent following some of my dad’s advice. He said I should take some time to do what I love, walk in nature, and give my mind time to think things over, calmly. So I set out to the Woodpecker Bois de la Cambre, a large park in the south-east of Brussels. It was an overcast day, misty with sprinkling rain. The route to the park covered ground I hadn’t yet seen, and now that my head clearer, I was able to enjoy the sights along the way. The park itself was quiet and serene, exactly what I was looking for in my contemplative mood. As usual, I found some birds to keep me occupied, as well as another little treat that I hadn’t seen since leaving Canada, a chipmunk (Siberian chipmunks are, technically, an invasive species in Europe, but we’ll ignore that for this time).
I didn’t have any major revelations or changes of mind while in the Woodpecker Bois, but I did leave much more refreshed than I had been over the majority of my time in Brussels. Sitting under a tree while it rained, munching on a sandwich, waiting for the birds to come out again was a gentle balm for my mind.
Before I left Brussels, I did have one final decision to make. What would I do with the Bike with No Name? Originally, I had intended to take him on the train with me to Lille. But now, that I was returning home so soon, maybe it was better to follow through with Tristan’s original intentions of leaving him on the streets of Brussels for the first person that could use him? I was torn. And on the morning of my departure, I couldn’t let him go. I made a short test ride to ensure that I would be able to make it the couple of kilometers to the train station, while wearing a backpack on both the front and back of me. I decided it wouldn’t be comfortable, but I would be able to manage. And so my story with the Bike with No Name would go on a little while longer.
Bird Corner
The birds were a little scant in Brussels. Obviously, my mind was a bit occupied with other matters. Most of the birds that I did see were repeats of other cities (not that that’s completely stopped me in previous posts). But despite that, I did manage to spot a couple of new feathered friends.
Where Next?
As with my last post, I’m writing now from Devon, Alberta. It’s about a month after I left Brussels. I’m happy to report that my mom was released from the hospital a week ago. After a couple of slow days to readjust to being at home, she’s already almost completely returned to normal activity level, which is best described as hummingbird-esque. She will be starting outpatient chemotherapy next week, and we’ll see what sort of impact that has on her and the household. If all goes well, I may be returning to my travels in the next few weeks. But, there’s a road to go before then. So for now, it’s just one step at a time.
-
Ghent & Bruges.
Medieval Wonderlands
When I began planning my trip, one place I was sure that I wanted to go was Bruges, Belgium. Largely inspired by the film, In Bruges, starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson. Basically everything I knew about Bruges was from that movie, which depicts it as a fairytale-esque escape from the modern world. A small town locked in time, displaying the full beauty of a well-to-do medieval village. I needed to see it for myself.
As I talked to people about my trip, another suggestion that came up repeatedly was Ghent, Bruges’ big brother, just twenty minutes down the rail line. Ghent was the largest and wealthiest city in northwest Europe in its heydey, during the 13th century. Given its location, with Bruges just to the west and Brussels — my next intended destination — to the east, I opted to stay in Ghent and make Bruges a day trip.
My hostel in Ghent came highly recommended. The Hostel Uppelink sits right across a canal from Ghent’s historical center. And upon arriving in my room, I immediately understood why it was so lauded.
The view from my room’s window Ghent’s historic center is made up of a series of impossibly elaborate buildings, each as majestic as the last. Three enormous churches, Sint-Michielskerk, Sint-Niklaaskerk, and Sint-Baafskathedraal make up the religious core of the old city. Not to be outdone, the secular Stadhuis, Post Office and Belfry each make their mark on the already impressive skyline.
The entire area is car-free, but for the taxis, trams and buses that occasion the streets. Walking amongst these aged beauties transports you back to early ages, with the market stalls traded for bustling restaurants and bars, and peasant farmers and traders replaced with hundreds of tourists and their phones and cameras. Even still, despite the commercialized nature of the squares and streets, the charm of this place radiates with a furiosity. The golden light of sunset spotlights each building, casting each crevice and minor detail with a dramatic glow. It’s truly a magical place.
Just down the road from this marvelous square, sits Gravensteen, the Castle of the Counts. The castle dates to 1180CE, though it was preceded by other fortifications as early as 1000CE. Once the seat of the Count of Flanders, it has lived many lives as a courthouse, jail, mint and cotton mill. I spend a morning walking through its halls, passages and ramparts, imagining how it would have served each of these purposes.
The modern of city of Ghent encircles this tight collection of antique buildings. The streets immediately adjacent are suggestive of their medieval origins. Tight alleys and small two-story buildings. These streets continue to carry all of the charm of the broader squares and plazas. Wandering through them at random is a peaceful and pleasing exercise. The further you move from the center, the more the modern world encroaches as the streets widen and fill with cars. However, even out amongst these more familiar surroundings, you can sense the golden heart of the city that lays within.
Getting Friendly
A strong contributing factor to my enjoyment of Ghent was the number of wonderful people that I met in the room of our hostel. On my first night, I met Tessa, a friendly, kindergarden teacher from Utrecht, who invited me out for drinks with a couple of other hostellers that she had met earlier in the day. This led to a fun evening with Tessa, Hussein (a marketing specialist originally from Turkey, now residing in London), and Carlos (a recent law school grad originally from Mexico City, now living in NYC). We hit up a bar famous for its Belgian beer selection, as well as for serving a yard of beer in specially made glasses (you needed to trade a shoe when ordering this beer, to ensure that you didn’t steal the glass). An evening of conversation, getting to know each other and exploring the differences and similarities between each of our home countries and the places that we had visited on our travels.
Sadly, Tessa and Carlos left the next morning, but we managed to connect for breakfast before they headed on to their own separate locations. I wouldn’t see Hussein again until our last evening, where we compared our experiences in Bruges. However, the disappointment at saying goodbye to these new friends so soon, quickly subsided as I met my new roommates. Tristan, an Irishman who had spent the last three months biking from Germany, through the Netherlands and into Belgium, just on the cusp of finishing his tour before heading home to finish his electrical engineering degree. And Mariam, a Dutch student in the process of applying to the University of Ghent’s film program. The next two evenings were spent decompressing after busy days and chatting with these two lovely individuals.
Tristan and I would go on to meet up in Brussels, but that’s a story for next time.
In Bruges
I had heard that Bruges was best experienced in the evening, when most of the tourists left and the lights came on. So, obviously I planned to be there for mid-morning, at the height of the wave of tourists, dumped into the town by bus and train. But, as luck would have it, other plans were in store for me.
I set out to find the tram platform that would deliver me to the Ghent train station. After a couple of wrong turns, I arrive on the correct street. I stand at the corner, looking left and right, trying to spot the sign that marks the platform, when SPLAT. A giant, wet bird poop lands directly on my shoulder, covering my backpack strap and my button-up shirt.
With a curse, and a sigh of resignation, I turn around, back toward the hostel. I need to do laundry today anyway. Back at the hostel, I relate my story to the receptionist, who informs me that getting pooped on by a bird is considered good luck in Belgium. By the end of the day, that prophecy would prove good.
For now, I sat in the common room and worked on a blog post while waiting for my laundry to finish. Luckily, I was able to snag the single washing machine in the hostel right away and didn’t need to wait. It was, otherwise, a quiet and uneventful morning. And by around 1pm, I was ready once again to set out to Bruges.
Trains to Bruges run roughly every 10 minutes from Ghent, and even late day in the day as it is, my train is packed with tourists looking to explore the famed medieval town. 20 minutes later, we spill out on to the streets in the modern part of Bruges, which is laid out similarly to Ghent, with its gooey historical center enrobed by layers of more recent construction, getting older and older as you move inwards. I don’t even need to look at my phone to see where I should be going. I just follow the masses of people, guided by a church steeple off in the distance.
As the buildings and streets grow older, the crowds of people grow larger. Until the crush grows so strong that moving through some of the narrow passageways essentially becomes a queue, politely waiting for each tourist to get their selfie with Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk (Church of Our Lady) in the background. From the grounds of the church, we flow into a wide boulevard along a canal. Here, the crowds are Disneyland sized. A constant stream up and down the sidewalks, and even in the canal as tour boats float by regularly.
A bridge crossing the canal marks the entryway into the heart of the city. The narrow streets are lined with chocolate shops, restaurants and bars, souvenir stands and waffle kiosks (as were all of the nearby streets that fed into the Grote Markt, I would learn). The light at the end of the tunnel was a wide open square, as large a plaza as I’d seen since arriving in Europe. At the south end stands the tall and imposing Belfort, a massive clock tower, that features prominently in several scenes of In Bruges.
For all the anticipation that I’d built up as I approached the plaza, I honestly felt a little let down. I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting, but I did not find here in this wide square busy with tourists. In Bruges takes place in winter, in what appears to be a quiet and contemplative small town, which did not resonate with the sun-soaked plaza in which I now stood. And certainly, compared with the grandeur of the buildings in Ghent, Bruges came off worse.
Unfortunately, I could not shake off this feeling for the rest of my time in Bruges. Everything that it had to offer, I had already seen in Ghent. Of course Bruges had its own charms, but nothing that really pushed it over the edge. I enjoyed a leisurely, canal-side walk around the outer edge of the inner city, and there were plenty of interesting alley sized streets away from the busy center, but ultimately Bruges just wasn’t what I wanted it to be. Originally, I thought that I would would stick around to catch the evening lights, instead I called it a day and headed back to Ghent for the night.
Prophecy Fulfilled
Back at the hostel, I recount the events of the day with Mariam and Tristan. Mariam spent the day performing various tasks for the entrance exam for the University of Ghent, while Tristan sought out the best chocolate shops he could find.
As we chatted, Tristan came to explain how he had biked across Germany, the Netherlands and into Belgium, planning to finish his trip in Brussels the following day. I told him how when I began planning my trip, I had day-dreamed about buying a bike and touring through Europe. And he absolutely surprised me by offering his bike to me when he was done! He had bought the bike relatively cheaply, and he planned to simply leave it on the street for someone to take in Brussels, so he said I could take it. I am overjoyed. Riding around a city is my favorite way to explore and having my own bicycle would be an absolute dream.
We make plans to meet up in Brussels, so I can buy him dinner before he transfer the bike over to me. And just like that, the promised good luck for my earlier bird poop misfortune is delivered!
Bird Corner
I spent an afternoon hiking out to Stedelijk Natuurreservaat Bourgoyen-Ossemeersen, a large nature reserve park with a hope of spotting some new birds and I was not disappointed. Though, it did take some patience. When I initially arrived in the park, I could hear song birds all around, high in the canopies at the front of the park. But, after an hour or so, I had not managed to have a clear look at a single bird. Eventually, frustrated, I set out on the path that encircles the park. Another hour of frustration followed with hardly any birds, other than some very shy wood pigeons. It wasn’t until I was already three quarters of the way around the park that I spotted a small wetland that was just covered with birds. It was a good distance away, so even with my telephoto lens, the birds were relatively small. But despite this small annoyance, I am quite delighted with what I came across.
Where Next?
If you’ve been following closely, you may have noticed quite a delay between this post and the previous. I received some unfortunate news upon arriving in Brussels, after Ghent. My mom has been diagnosed with leukemia and been hospitalized for almost a month, as I write this. I returned back home to Canada on September 4 to help support my family, while she undergoes her initial treatment in hospital. So for the time-being, my trip is on pause. If all goes well, I’ll be on my way again in a few weeks, but we’ll just see how things go in the meantime. For now, I will slowly update the blog with the next couple of places I saw before making my way home, expect Brussels and Lille in the coming weeks.
