This blog post is the third in a four-part series covering a journey bikepacking through Belgium. If you haven’t read the first three posts check them out here:
Day 4 & 5: To Brussels and Back
As the sun rose above the horizon, the sky was set ablaze with a pink hue in the north facing vista ahead of our campsite. We rolled our bikes out of the forest and past the house which owned the land. The owner was already awake and spotted us as we pass. We had met him the night before and it was clear he loved travellers staying on his land so he could question them about their adventures. As an elderly man with a lifetime of nostalgic adventures of his own he now finds joy in living vicariously through the travellers he meets.
“Where are you cycling today?” asked the host.
“To Brussels” we reply.
“Amazing! Good luck.” He replies, his face beaming in a state of rapture at the adventure we are conjuring in his mind.
A low lying mist clung to the surface of the fields as we cycled past. We were higher in the hills than we had been the whole trip and for this we were rewarded with the best morning views of the journey.
As the day grew older, the morning sun beat down upon the ground with increasing strength, luring away the mist.
We battled steep inclines and cold toes as we made our way towards the capital. As the gorgeous farm land starts to fade away the cities fringes began to surface.
And suddenly we had arrived. The final destination in our journey. We had made it to Brussels.
In Brussels, I noticed a stark difference compared to Bruges and Ghent. I found myself understanding the words of our campsite friend the night previously as she described her home city, “Its rough around the edges – but that’s why I love it“.
Unlike, our previous cities, which felt more like fairy-tale film sets, Brussels felt far more real and raw. We store our gear and explore the country’s capital on foot, without the shackling responsibility of our bikes.
The sun was strong and I felt out of place walking around the grand architecture-clad streets in my unwashed cycling gear.
Eventually it was time for me and my friend to go our separate ways as he took a train back to the UK. We say our goodbyes, acutely aware of the deepened understanding that has been forged between us through the trip.
I check into my hostel and shower for the first time in 4 days. My remaining time in Brussels demanded a shift in mindset as I transitioned from an adventure/sightseeing trip to a solo travel experience. I make friends with a few other travellers from across the globe and we drink Belgian beer and share stories of our homes and travels.
The next day I shrugg off the dull hangover setting in and prepare for my return to the UK.
I spend my final hours In Brussels cycling round, trying to absorb the detail of every side street, alleyway and road that I move through. I listen to the noise of the city as I roll effortlessly through it. I have no route and no plan, I just move freely, following impulsive self directions. The sky is cloudless and the sun is strangely strong for mid November.
As I navigate myself, I find I’m drawn to a crowd of people and a cordoned off area. Outside of a grand building clothed in scaffolding there is a mass of silent people. I learn that they are all police officers who are gathering to mark respect for a fellow officer who was murdered earlier in the week.
Sombrely, I make my way through the city and towards the train station. I take a train to De Panne, the closest station to Dunkerque that I can get to on Belgian trainlines. I stare out of the window as the Belgian countryside hurtles by. Four days of cycling, camping and memories are reversed in a matter of hours. From the trainline, I experience my journey from a new perspective, with flashes of recognised vistas.
From De Panne, I cycle a final 20km to Dunkerque Harbour where my ferry takes me back to England. The weather on the coast is drastically different to that of the capital and the blue skies give way to intense fog and darkness.
The fog brings with it a bitter wind chill and my feet and face turn numb as I cycle.
As I retraced the my route from day one, I reflected on the journey of the last 5 days and smile to myself at the small great adventure I’ve had.
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