Wander About

Category: Belgium

  • Brussels.

    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.

    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.

  • Antwerp.

    Antwerp.

    Belgium is not the Netherlands

    But it’s not that different. They speak Dutch (in parts). They have Albert Heijn grocery stores. They accept Euro and ride bicycles. But immediately as you step off the train, you are faced with the fact that Belgium is not the Netherlands. The magnificent and ornate Antwerp Central station belies nothing of the Dutch practicality that I found in Amsterdam, The Hague and Rotterdam, it is pure spectacle. And it was only a taste of what I would find throughout Antwerp.

    That said, just two weeks into my trip and I’m already having trouble remembering where I am. It doesn’t help that the language is the same. Except that it means that the handful of phrases that I’ve memorized, and mostly been too shy to even utter, are still good here. Alstublieft (please), dank u wel (thanks, very much), goedemiddag (good afternoon). Maybe one of these phrases will leave my lips at more than a whisper (they won’t). English is still so commonly understood and spoken, that it’s hard to break the habit of just defaulting to it. But no one seems terribly put out by it. Save for that one old woman on the street, who seemed to think that it was my fault that a random newspaper was lying twenty feet away from where I was sitting at a cafe table. Or at least I think that’s what she was saying. Ik spreek geen Nederlands (I can’t speak Dutch).

    Shine Bright Like a Diamond

    Antwerp is famous as a diamond capital of the world. The central train station releases you directly into Diamant, the diamond district. The streets are adorned with glittering storefronts, with rings, necklaces and anything else that a jeweler sees fit to bedazzle. To say the shiny displays held little interest for me would be downplaying my feelings considerably. Though, I did find it amusing when I came back a couple of days later to photograph the train station and I needed to remember that I had locked my bike in front of Diamond World, rather than Diamond Planet, the shop two storefronts over.

    I, again, picked a hostel that was a good hike away from the center of town. This one was pretty swank as far a hostels go. It featured a very comfortable co-working space, a fully outfitted kitchen and a sixth floor rooftop patio with bar service. All in all, it made for an enjoyable stay.

    Antwerp, my entry point into Belgium, has a rich and varied history that I learned almost nothing about. Opting instead for a self-guided wander through the streets, seeing what I could see and comparing it to what I’d recently seen.

    At the street level, Antwerp is noticeably different from the Dutch cities. The buildings are an eclectic mix of styles and ages. You still have the narrow town and row-houses, three or four stories tall, some looking a little worse for the wear. Narrow, alley-like streets lined with dozens of these buildings on each block. But, where the Dutch buildings are likely to be of a cohesive style, Antwerp’s can be incredibly different from building to building. Simple, modern buildings with clean lines, sit shoulder to shoulder with hundred and fifty year old neoclassical inspired motifs complete with fluted columns and intricate bas reliefs, which themselves abut on art nouveau beauties with dynamic flowing lines and giant, round portals for windows. Every street is a cacophony of forms.

    The Belgians do not share the Dutch disdain for public statuary. You can find large sculptural displays scattered through the streets of Antwerp. They adorn many squares and rounds, celebrating the achievements of various historical figures. Though not without the inherent risks of literally raising specific human beings on pedestals. See the story of a statue of Leopold II, removed from the streets of Ekeren, Antwerp in 2020. Increased criticism of his bloody and brutal colonial regime in the Congo Free State during the late 1800s and early 1900s led to repeated vandalism. Activists doused the statue in red paint, symbolizing the blood on the hands of the second Belgian monarch.

    Image unrelated to story about Leopold II

    My wander eventually brought me to the historic center of Antwerp, with the obvious crown jewel in the form of the Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathedraal (Cathedral of Our Lady). This enormous gothic cathedral looms over everything in the vicinity. Its massive, over-exaggerated scale giving you the sense of being nothing but an ant for the giant beings that would inhabit this massive structure.

    Just around the corner is the Stadhuis Antwerpen (Antwerp City Hall), bedecked in flags from nations around the world. The square in front holds the famous Brabofontein (Brabo’s fountain). This strange statue depicts a nude figure, holding a severed hand (from which, water spouts out into the fountain, though the fountain wasn’t on I during my visit) poised to hurl it as far as he can. The subject of the fountain refers to a 15th century legend of Silvius Brabo and the giant Druoon Antigoon, and is based on the folk etymology for the city of Antwerp’s name. From Wikipedia, “Antwerpen is a composition of the Dutch words “(h)ant” (hand) and “werpen” (throw or launch).”

    Chatty Belgians

    The following day, I rented a bike from the hostel and found my way to a large nature reserve to the north of the city, Oude Landen (Old Lands). I found a beautiful, wooded park with a thick underbrush. Immediately, bird song emerged from the trees and encouraged me further along the path. Acorns fell freely from the oaks that surrounded, perhaps marking where the little songbirds were flitting from branch to branch, or maybe just because it was their time. I don’t really know how acorns work.

    I spent a good half-hour tracking some chiffchaffs (tiny brown birds, about the size of a finch) through the bushes, trying to get a clear picture. Without luck. However, in my endeavors I came across a number of other hikers in the park. With exception, each one of them made a friendly approach and asked what I was doing. When I responded by saying I only spoke English, each one casually switched over from Dutch and asked their question again. They all seemed delighted with my pursuits and made some small conversation, one even asked to see what I had manage to capture. The Belgian nature seems to be rather curious and pleasant, a welcome change from the city streets where everyone does their best to politely ignore everyone else.

    Eventually, I managed to find a couple of lookouts busy with activity of the little songbirds that had been teasing me with hints and glimmers for the past half-hour. I would then spend another hour and half, waiting for them to make their brief appearances so I could snap some photos. It’s amazing how quickly the time slipped away. As I had entered the forest, I could hear some bells chiming out for noon, and I stirred from my final shooting position, I heard the same bells chiming out twice.

    Seeing the Sights

    I made my move, knowing that I still had another number of sights that I want to shoot before my day was done. Before the day was up, I made my way to Zaha Hadidplein, containing the Port Authority Building, a fantastic hybrid of a modern glass outgrowth sat atop of a traditional Hanseatic style office building. I made a quick pass by MAS (MAS – Museum aan de Stroom) which highlights Antwerp and its connection to the wider world. The building itself is a brilliant red sandstone, cut across by glass panels as though a river flowing across the building. Finally, I rode through the busy and cluttered streets of the historic district and Diamant, on my way to shoot the aforementioned train station.

    All in all, Antwerp did not rank too highly in the list of cities I’ve visited so far. Something about it left me feeling cold, despite the warm and friendly interactions I had with the people of city. There are definitely some beautiful sights to see, but it just wasn’t the place for me.

    Bird Corner

    Antwerp is a smallish and dense city, full of narrow alleys and busy streets, but not many parks large enough to support more than the normal city birds. At the outskirts, in Oude Landen, I did manage to track down some songbirds, but otherwise it wasn’t a great hit, birdwise.

    Where Next?

    I’ve just left Ghent after a few days there, and I’m currently in Brussels. I have a few days here before I leave Belgium behind and move into France!