View Larger Map
Monday, June 10th – Lille to Brugges, 4834 km
Wai Sing catches me at breakfast and asks me to do him a big favour, to watch his bags at the train station while he retrieves his bike from the police station. Serge has offered to carry his bags to the station first, but I am not even packed yet. I agree to meet him at the station in half an hour.
Wai Sing has already left when I arrive at the station, and Serge is watching his bags. We keep each other company to pass the time. I can afford to wait a while before leaving for Brugge. Carla comes by and Serge takes her shopping for postcards. They return before Wai Sing does and Carla offers to guard his bags while writing postcards, just to give us a break. We are set to leave when Wai Sing re-enters the station, hauling his bike with its mangled rear wheel with him. We exchange our goodbyes and hugs all around. I take Wai Sing's address and promise to write to him in Montreal. I hug Serge I rough up his hair affectionately. He surprises me with a kiss on the lips, a light, dry one in front of the others that makes me blush. Now I am wondering what he has told them about me, or even if I should have made a move on him last night. Regardless, it is too late as we are saying our last goodbyes.
Lille seems to go on forever as I wind my way through its streets and suburbs. In half an hour I am into countryside and headed to the Belgian border, which I cross at the village of Warmeton. The border is marked by a small river and nothing else. There's a short bridge, less than 15m across, no signs or markers or checkpoint announcing that I am now in Belgium. This is the new Europe, where invisible lines determine taxes, which politicians you'll be voting for and not much else.
It's another 15km to Ieper, which is called Ypres in French, the first sizable town. It is a beautiful town, full of history too. I remember it from the War of Spanish Succession in the late 
1600s. I hover here for half an hour taking pictures and soaking in the sights. There is a north-westerly blowing, which has meant a headwind for the morning, but
after Ieper my route bends towards Kortrijk to the north-east, which turns it into a crosswind that is easier to contend with. From there I follow route N-50, which is almost a straight line between Kortrijk and Brugge. It is paralleled by a bike path the whole way. 
Brugge is a handsome city. The old city is surrounded by a moat and canals carve through the city in several places. The streets are cobblestone and the architecture is consistently beautiful. Mike is easy to spot at our designated meeting place in front of the city hall, wearing his fluorescent green Gortex jacket and hot pink ‘please-mug-me’ shades. I am not too enthusiastic to be back with him after having so much fun with others in Lille last night. I ask his how yesterday turned out. He only made it as far as Roeselare and had a very quiet night. He doesn’t ask me about where I spent my night or how my knee is doing. I choose not to bring it up if he cannot be bothered to ask.
I tour the old town on my own for the hour before dinner and later in the evening, Mike and I go out for Belgian fries with all their choices for dipping sauces. He always takes the Samurai sauce, the hottest one. Back in the hostel, Mike retires to our room and I chat with a bunch of young travelers. It’s all just easy-going camaraderie without strings attached, no exchanging of addresses or promises to write each other.
PHOTO 1: Menin Gate, Ypres
PHOTO 2: old town Ypres
PHOTO 3: canal with bike path near Brugge
PHOTO 4: entering Brugge
PHOTO 5: Brugge canals
PHOTO 6: Brugge City Hall, where I met Mike
PHOTO 7: Dweerstraat, Brugge
PHOTO 8: Church of Our Lady, Brugge
No comments:
Post a Comment