Brussels to Munich

Köln Cathedral [Enlarge]

Brussels was a pleasant surprise, as we had expected it to be a bit bland. However it is an expensive place and so we needed to move on quickly.

As expected from the capital of Europe, we had plenty of choice when it came to choosing our next destination. Neither of us has been to southern Germany so we decided to pay Munich a visit. This is a convenient day's train travel away and well into central Europe.

We boarded the 08:28 Thalys service to Cologne at the Gare du Midi, which proved to be fast, comfortable and on time, as expected. We had an hour to wait in Cologne, which was ideal as we had a photo to take. On 18th May 1945, ten days after the end of the war in Europe, Glenn's grandfather was a passenger in a very low-flying photographic reconnaissance aircraft, and we have a slide taken by him that day of Cologne Cathedral. We have always been awe-struck by the extent of the damage to the city in the war and we wanted to see the area for ourselves.

The cathedral turned out to be as impressive as we had imagined. Unfortunately time only permitted a few snaps and a quick bratwurst from one of the stalls in the square nearby.

While finishing our delicious snack, standing next to the cathedral for shelter against the November wind, a German pigeon decided to take a crap from a great height on Glenn's shoulder. Maybe it felt like exacting some sort of revenge for the bombing suffered by its ancestors sixty years ago or something. Luckily the sausage remained unspattered or the day would really have been ruined.

Day 004
Brussels to Munich

This map shows the route we took in this post. Click it to see larger maps of our whole route at flickr.

Maps are taken from the CIA World Factbook.

First night in Brussels

Rue des Bouchers / Beenhouversstraat [Enlarge]

For our first meal in Brussels we had one thing on our mind: Moules Frites (Mussels and chips) and Belgian beer. We were wandering around the centre of town half-looking for a suitable hostelry when we stumbled upon the Rue des Bouchers. It is a tiny alley packed with small restaurants. Despite the fact that it was a northern European November evening, the tables were still set up outside with heaters warming them from above. Each restaurant had an awning, which almost touched a similar awning on the restaurant across the street. It all looked like a typical tourist trap but we decided that although we probably wouldn't end up eating here, we would walk through and have a look.

At about the third restaurant—we discovered later that there are over 70 restaurants packed into four short, narrow alleys—we were accosted by a tout standing outside the front door. He proceeded to give us in fluent and lightning-fast English, a comprehensive list of reasons why we should stop right here and come on in for our meal. When we showed a hint of indecision he promised that our first and last drinks would be on the house. We were tempted, especially since we probably only wanted two drinks each anyway. However we sensed that there was more to this quarter of the city to discover so we moved on, having thanked him very much and taken, at his insistence, his business card.

We quickly discovered two things: (1) that almost every establishment had a tout in the street who had a similar long list of great reasons why his or her kitchen / ambiance / value for money was better than the other 70-odd in the area, and (2) that many restaurants had real Belgians in them, which we took to mean that maybe the whole setup wasn't just there to part the tourists from their cash. And the food arranged on the stalls outside the windows did look and smell delicious. We decided to go for it. But how to choose?

We finally settled on a restaurant which looked just busy enough. Its tout was a very friendly man from Southern Spain or North Africa. His long list of reasons to come in was no longer or better than any of the others, but somehow he won us over.

Inside we were shown to our table and a complimentary glass of Kir Royale was placed in front of each of us. A basket of bread soon followed. We looked through the menu, provided in a helpful variety of languages, and settled without much deliberation on the €12 set menu of fromage croquettes, moules frites and an unidentified "dessert". We also ordered a Hoegaarden, Belgian witbier, each.

The first beer disappeared very easily and we decided to push the boat out and order another to accompany the main course. There was a bit of a delay after ordering and Glenn eventually caught the eye of the maître d' to find out what the problem was. Two beers were hastily poured for us and we then witnessed the maître d' reprimanding a waiter for having delivered "our" beers to the next door table. We had wondered why they'd looked so surprised to received them, but they didn't hesitate to drink them. Prehaps they thought that the clever Belgians had invented telepathic drink ordering.

After a delicious meal (the mystery dessert was a very tasty chocolate gateau, by the way) we navigated our way back to our room for our first night of hostelling.

Leaving the UK

Leaving the UK [Enlarge]

We met our coach at Dover Eastern Docks at about ten past ten. We were the only ones to board at Dover. Everyone else had been on the bus since Victoria Coach Station in London a few hours earlier.

The bus made such slow progress through the port towards the ferry that we could have walked it quicker. We all had to get off for French passport control.

Eventually we made it on to the ferry and set off to find the prime spot on deck to get our "White Cliffs" photo. Even in the shelter of the port the sea was fairly rough and in one of the lounges we walked through the metal ceiling panels had fallen in. We found a position on the deck at the back of the boat and watched the car ramps being raised ready to sail.

It was incredibly picturesque looking back at the Kent cliffs gleaming in the sun. A huge flock of gulls followed the boat out of harbour diving to pick up the fish that had been churned up in the ferry's wake. If it hadn't been so windy we would probably have stayed on deck for the whole crossing, but the forward deck was closed due to the high winds and big waves so we went inside to spend our few remaining Sterling coins in the café and shop.

Back on the coach, waiting for the inevitable two lost passengers, we had the opportunity to compare the advertised service with the reality: the no smoking rule didn't seem to apply to the moustachioed German driver, and had there been a "no smelly food" rule his würst would no doubt have been exempt as well; there was no evidence of air conditioning and we couldn't get Glenn's seat belt to work. But these minor things aside it was cheap, punctual and only half full, and we'll undoubtedly face far greater hardships in the next few months.

Driving out of Calais into Northern France, towards the first stop at Lille we were struck by how like the East Anglian fens the Pas de Calais is. There had obviously been quite a lot of rain and there was standing water on some of the fields, but the sun continued to shine through the bus windows.

We made rapid progess along the A25 towards Lille. It was surprising and refreshing to see that in this part of Europe the shops still close on a Sunday. We also noticed the prevalence of English language slogans on the advertising hoardings. With 8km to go to the centre of Lille the traffic got heavier, and the walls which lined the road became progressively more graffiti-covered. We picked up three new passengers at the Gare de Lille Europe, a low, curvy, glass building under the shadow of a huge apartment block. Ten minutes later we had crossed the unmanned border into Belgium.

Apart from the fact that the road number changed to E17 (only the European road-numbering classification will do for the Euro-mad Belgians), nothing much changed. There were European flags everywhere, but hardly any Belgian ones. You have to hand it to them, they practice what they preach about European unification. The coach pulled into Brussels Gare du Nord coach station at 16:30, and there was a big changeover of people—it was continuing on into Eastern Europe after a 30-minute layover. Using the GPS, which handily contained the location of the Sleep Well Hostel obtained from Google Earth a few days earlier, we navigated straight to the door, about a kilometre's walk away. We had arrived.

Day 002
Dover to Brussels

This map shows the route we took in this post. Click it to see larger maps of our whole route at flickr.

Maps are taken from the CIA World Factbook.