The Route: London - Ghent - Luxembourg - Amsterdam - Terschelling - Antwerp - London
Guidebook used: The Rough Guide to Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg, 2nd edition, published 1994

Saturday 22 July 1995
After our frenetic two week rail trip around Eastern Europe last summer, we were looking to do something similar if a little more low key this year. I'd already spent some time browsing through the guidebooks in Waterstone's looking for ideas for this summer's trip but it was Lorraine who eventually suggested that we consider touring the Low Countries. This idea appealed to me as there seemed to be plenty of attractions there and the distances between each destination would be relatively short. Therefore having purchased a new copy of the Rough Guide to Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg and also a set of Euro-Domino rail passes covering those three countries, we got up at six o'clock in the morning and made our way to Victoria Station to catch the train to Ramsgate for the Ostend ferry. Our train consisted of vintage British Rail swing-door rolling stock which neatly juxtaposed with the vintage Orient Express train that just happened to be waiting on the other side of the platform. Well-healed travellers bound for Venice and beyond were greeted onto the Orient Express with a courteous smile by immaculately attired stewards who guided them to their luxuriously appointed dining car in anticipation of champagne breakfast. As I tucked into my Travellers Fare egg-mayo sandwich, I could just about see their jewellery glitter through the grime-encrusted windows of our train.

We set off on time and thankfully it was sunny outside which made the views of Bromley, Chatham and Margate that we encountered along the way a little more palatable than they might otherwise have been. When we arrived in Ramsgate, we were herded onto an ancient double-decker bus which shuttled us down to the harbour. The bus had most of its seats removed so that everyone's luggage could be accommodated but this meant that each passenger had to desperately hang onto the railings whilst the driver attempted to negotiate the steep hills and tight curves of the town. One elderly gentleman was rather perturbed by our roller-coaster ride and the deeply etched crevices on his craggy face grew ever more defined as we hurtled around each corner. When we reached the harbour we were shunted onto another bus which took us into a corrugated iron shed where we had to climb up a precarious looking staircase onto our Sally Lines Ferry. I hadn't a clue who Sally was but the ferry itself was almost full and nearly all the passengers were up on deck soaking up the sun.

It was beginning to get really hot so after waving farewell to Ramsgate and the distant smokestacks of the industrial Medway, we found ourselves in the Quiet Bar which strangely enough not only happened to be quiet but also comfortably cool. The bar had a good selection of Belgium beers to try out and I opted for a bottle of Leffe Brune which managed to combine a subtle malty flavour with a satisfying kick of alcohol. I was hoping to sample a few more local brews over the coming days but this was a good start. After enjoying a couple more Leffes, we headed out on deck and watched the continental coastline come into view. The ferry was now sailing parallel to the coast but it was difficult to see amongst the endless shoreside high-rise blocks where France ended and Belgium began. Eventually, the twin towers of the Ostend's neo-gothic cathedral emerged on the horizon and the ferry swept past the town's busy sandy beach as it sailed into harbour. Compared to the Ramsgate, Ostend seemed full of life. Colourful flags lined the streets and there were plenty of people sitting outside in bars and cafés simply enjoying a few refreshments in the sun. It felt good to be back on the Continent again. We walked off the ferry and made our way to the railway station where I attempted to purchase a couple of tickets. 

"Ik wil graag tway kaartjes naar Gent!" I read straight from my European phrasebook to the bewildered looking man at the ticket office who replied with the words "hin und zurück?" Those Leffe Brunes had obviously conspired to make me sound like a German so I decided that English was the best option after all and the man eventually handed over the tickets with a wry grin. Most people here spoke good English so it was probably best to give the Flemish a miss from now on. We boarded a comfortable train that sped away from the coast through the flat landscape of Flanders, passing through Bruges before arriving at Ghent just thirty minutes later. We got off at St Pieters Station which was a striking example of railway architecture with its muraled ceilings and minaret styled clock tower. The foot tunnel that passed underneath the platforms had a cool, catacomb like feel. The square outside the station was green and shady and provided an elegant terminus for the trams that waited beneath the trees.

We needed to catch a couple of buses to get to the Blaarmeersen campsite so I bought a couple of stadkaarts which would give us ten journeys each on the local transport system. We boarded a bus but we soon realised we were heading in the wrong direction when the bus started travelling through open countryside. There was no sign of any campsites around here so we got off and caught another bus back to the station. After catching two more buses, we eventually arrived at the campsite. When we booked in, we were told to pitch our tent in an overspill field as the site was already packed with revellers who had come to enjoy the Ghent Festival (Gentse Feesten). According to my Rough Guide, the festival was usually a rather boozy affair but I wasn't going to complain about that! The campsite itself was really well equipped with a bar, restaurant and a shop which sold a good selection of Belgian beers as well as the matching glasses to go with them. There was even a chip-shop on site which I was sure would come in handy at some point! The campsite was situated amidst a comprehensive selection of sports facilities including a roller-blade circuit, a mountain bike trail and an impressive 2000 metre rowing lake.

Most of the festival-going campers didn't appear to be here for the sport though but we decided not to follow them into town tonight as that could wait until tomorrow. We instead decided to buy a couple of bottles of wine to enjoy with something to eat outside the tent. This year we equipped ourselves with a Camping Gaz stove so that Lorraine could sort herself out for veggie options without relying so much on local eateries having something available for her. As we sipped on our wine and tucked into the tasty meal of beanfeast and smash that Lorraine had prepared, hot-air balloons sailed over the campsite towards the setting sun. Darkness soon descended and lamps and torches lit up the dozens of tents that dotted the field. Some campers had by now drifted back from the festival and were entertaining themselves with songs played on the guitar which made the atmosphere at the site feel happy and relaxed. I was just content to sit outside and listen to the radio. After spending most of the day travelling, it felt good to be camping out under the stars once again.

Sunday 23 July 1995
We got up at about 10 o'clock and caught the bus into town. It was another hot, sunny morning. As we made our way towards the city centre I noticed how well ordered Ghent appeared to be. There were plenty of high-rise blocks scattered around but none of them resembled the slums that we'd left behind in London. There were lots of cycle paths and lots of people cycling and even the canals had marked pitches for anglers so that they wouldn't get in the way of the cyclists. It appeared that life here couldn't have been more pleasant. It didn't take long to reach the city centre and we got off at the Korenmarkt which was the main hub of activity. We dodged the trams that weaved their way through the streets and found a bar underneath a gabled building by the canal.

We ordered a couple of bottles of Duvel which were served in attractive matching stem glasses and sipped on them slowly. With an alcoholic strength of 8 per cent, it was advisable to take our time with these drinks! Even though there were plenty of people around waiting for the festival to start later on in the day, the town had a mellow vibe which was very appealing. The barman put some music on, 'Protection' by Massive Attack, which helped to enhance the laidback mood. It was beginning to get quite hot so we polished off our drinks and headed out on the sightseeing trail otherwise we would have been stuck in the bar all afternoon!

Our first stop was St Baaf's Cathedral. A fine example of gothic architecture, this huge edifice was surprisingly light and airy. The light shone brightly through the stained glass windows, some of which appeared to be original whilst others were of more modern, cubist inspired designs. Dotted around the cathedral were the tombs of bishops and other such notables from throughout the ages. The main attraction here however was the The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, a fifteenth century triptych oil painting generally accredited to Jan van Eyck although it was actually signed by Hubert van Eyck. I probably wouldn't have paid this painting so much attention if it wasn't for the full page analysis of it in my Rough Guide but it certainly was an impressive work. A painting rich in religious symbolism and iconography (the 'Lamb of God' and so on), what I liked about it most was the detail and tone which drew me into the whole mystical recreation of Flanders as a biblical setting.

We left the cathedral and moved on across the square to the Lakenhalle, the fifteenth century cloth hall where we took a glass-sided lift up to the top of the adjoining Belfry. The view across the medieval rooftops was great and in the distance, conical-shaped church towers punctuated the horizon. The landscape here just seemed to go on forever. The viewing ledge was a little precarious so we made our back down to ground level and then we found a stall where we indulged in the local speciality, frites met mayo. These chips were double-fried to order which made them really crispy and the mayo was rich and creamy. Somehow, I suspected that we would be enjoying a few more portions of these frites over the coming weeks.

By now the town was beginning to get quite crowded as everyone was gearing up for the evening's festivities so we abandoned the sightseeing and settled down in a bar for a few more drinks. The bar was opposite the 's Gravensteen, the forbidding looking castle which was built in 1180 and had stayed pretty much intact since then. In fact it looked like the perfect setting for indulging in a spot of medieval torture! After a while we left the bar and wandered around the city centre to see what the festival had to offer. There was plenty of beer, waffles and frites for sale and on some corners, small stages hosted cheesy sounding cover bands, one of whom I noticed decided to launch into a rather poor rendition of Queen's 'A Kind of Magic' as we walked by. There was a good atmosphere though and we were quite happy to go with the flow for a while before catching the bus back to the campsite.

When we arrived back there we noticed that some of the campers had packed up so it looked like the campsite would be a bit quieter from now on. The shop was still open though so we bought some snacks and wine and spent the rest of the balmy evening relaxing outside the tent.

Monday 24 July 1995
We got up early and made our way to St Pieters Station where we caught a train to Brussels. The journey didn't take much longer than half an hour but there was a feeling that we were arriving somewhere quite different. The approach to the Euro-capital wasn't particularly scenic and it struck me how shabby the city seemed although you don't often get the best view of a lot of places from a train. The train passed through Gare du Midi, the terminus for Eurostar trains from London. It was strange to think that within three hours we could be back home by simply crossing a platform here. However, it still felt like we were a long way from London and the sight of a sleek Trans Europe Express train reminded me once again that we were at a major continental hub. After seeing the Trans Europe Express pass us in the opposite direction on its way to Paris, I couldn't get the hypnotic Kraftwerk tune of the same name out of my head.

One striking thing about arriving in Brussels was the sudden change of language. Although the city is officially bi-lingual, the majority of people here spoke French. From what I could gather, language was a major bone of contention in this divided country. It somehow seemed ironic that Brussels was the centre of European unity even though Belgium itself was split quite categorically into two. It would have probably made more sense to have situated the European capital in Belfast such was the animosity that supposedly existed between Belgium's two communities. We got off the train at Gare Centrale (or Centraal Station if you happened to be a Dutch speaker) and then made our way through a series of narrow streets to the Grand Place, the medieval core of the Lower Town. The Grand Place was simply the most stunning Town Square I had ever seen, surpassing even the ones that we visited in Prague and Krakow last year. At one end of the square was the Hôtel de Ville, a wonderful example of Baroque architecture with its ornate spire and carved façade. Working our way around the square, we came to the gabled Guildhouses from which flew big, colourful flags representing all the traditional trades of the city. On the other side was the city museum and also a small brewery museum but we decided to give these a miss and we instead concentrated on enjoying the gorgeous weather by having a drink in one of the bars that lined the square.

The Grand Place really was remarkable, far removed from the bland bureaucratic image I'd always had of Brussels. We decided to explore the area around the square which mainly consisted of smart looking restaurants and shops. The food I saw being served in the restaurants looked very tasty and the famous dish of moules et frites was on the menu of most places. The ambience here was not unlike some of the more cosy areas of Paris. We eventually came across the most famous landmark in Brussels, the Manneken Pis, a statue so diminutive that we would have missed it if it wasn't for the crowd gathered around the unassuming corner where it was situated. Obviously this representation of a little boy pissing continuously was a source of great amusement for all those who took the trouble to seek out this miniature monument but I wondered whether it represented something more significant such as the diuretic effects of consuming vast quantities of Belgian beer. By this time Lorraine was in search of her own cultural fix and she decided that we had to visit the lace museum, something that was of more interest to her than me. I did however concede that the level of craftsmanship on display was quite astonishing and I just couldn't imagine how long it would have taken to create such intricate examples of lace as the ones on display. I bet it wouldn't have been much fun actually doing that though. The museum had lots of old photographs of stone-faced women working away at their benches and they didn't look like they were enjoying themselves very much.

We left the museum and headed towards the rue Neuve which looked just like a sixties built British shopping arcade but it did at least have a Marks & Spencers which we popped into to buy some sandwiches and salad for lunch. Just off this street was the place des Martyrs which was a fountained square surrounded by some grand buildings from the Hapsburg era. The square was quite rundown and the fountain wasn't working but there was element of faded grandeur here which was quite engaging, especially in such an incongruous setting. We sat and ate our lunch on the square before heading out of the closed confines of the Lower Town towards the more open vistas of the Upper Town. We walked up a hill towards the twelfth century Gothic cathedral of St Michel which was an elegant building although it didn't look its age because its façade had been scrubbed completely clean. Following the rue Royale, we passed a cluster of royal and governmental buildings with the Palais de Justice and the Palais du Roi standing out amongst the rows of trees and statues. Most capital cities have areas like this (such as Whitehall in London) which are grand but also quite soulless and this place was no exception. Passing the Musées Royaux des Beaux Arts which had some interesting modern sculptures outside it, we walked back to the Lower Town, admiring our elevated view of the Grand Place and its surrounding buildings along the way. We then found a nice bar in a bustling side street and enjoyed a few Leffes sitting outside.

Our drinks were served with small plates of nuts and cubed cheese which I felt added a touch of class to the proceedings, even if the waiter was a tad unfriendly. Eventually we made our way back to the Gare Centrale where we caught the return train to Ghent. We then went straight back to the campsite and sat outside our tent again. The weather was really warm and because most of the festival goers had now departed, we could spread out in the field with a relaxing glass of wine and just drift off into the night.

Tuesday 25 July 1995
Another day and another day trip. No visit to Belgium would be complete without an excursion to Bruges and staying in Ghent was particularly handy for this as it was only about fifteen minutes away by train. The train was quite full but most of the passengers were heading to the beach at Ostend. Once again the weather was really beginning to warm up but that didn't stop us from once again heading out onto the sightseeing trail. We worked our way from the station along the main shopping street towards the centre of the town, the Markt. There were plenty of tourists around but they didn't seem to overwhelm the place as every direction appeared to offer a wealth of sightseeing possibilities. We went into the tourist office and picked up a walking tour map which had four separate routes on it. We decided to take the first option which covered most of the main sights.

The city itself was about as close to preserved medieval perfection as it was possible to come across. We followed the route along a canal for a while, marvelling at the elegant arches and courtyards along the way. At regular intervals, tourist boats passed us in the opposite direction but it was beginning to get so hot that we took a break from walking and headed into a bar. I didn't fancy anything too strong so this time I went for a glass of Belle Vue Kriek, a traditional cherry flavoured beer which resembled a Campari and soda and tasted surprisingly bitter and refreshing. We sat outside by the canal and watched the boats go by before hitting the trail once again. We eventually found ourselves in the Groeninge Museum where the cool and airy atmosphere contrasted nicely with the heat and intensity of some of the pictures on display. There was a wide variety of works here ranging from Hieronymous Bosch to James Ensor although the one thing these Flemish masters had in common was a penchant for depicting scenes of extreme carnage and macabre. Death seemed to linger around most of the galleries but there were also some beautiful landscapes depicting the cities of Flanders set amongst the plains of this region. The cities depicted in these paintings didn't look much different to how Bruges looked now which I suppose was the reason why we here in the first place.

One thing about a city like Bruges was that because there was so much of everything, there wasn't that many landmarks which stood out from all the others. The Begijnhof however was something special, a cluster of tiny whitewashed buildings which looked a little like the almshouses that are dotted around London. We found a nice sandwich bar just opposite the Begijnhof and enjoyed a filled baguette by the canalside. After that, Lorraine spotted that there was another lace museum which we had to visit even though it a fair walk away. On the way to the museum we left much of the main tourist activity behind although the residential streets around here were no less pretty than in the centre of town. We passed a couple of windmills on the edge of the old town and as we walked down the quiet streets, people sat outside chatting or milling around some of the very laidback looking bars that dotted the area. For some reason the atmosphere around here seemed curiously reminiscent of small town Andalucia. We eventually found the museum but I decided to give it a miss whilst Lorraine had a quick look around. After that we caught a bus back to the attractive modernist station and then caught the next train back to Ghent which was full of tanned youths returning from their day on the beach.

When we arrived back at St Pieters Station, we caught a tram back through the narrow streets towards the city centre where we once again sat outside and enjoyed a couple more beers. Tonight was our last night in Ghent so we stayed out for a while before grabbing a packet of frites met mayo which we enthusiastically devoured whilst waiting for the bus to take us back to the campsite.

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