Day 4a: Duffel to Brussels (76km)

Only bicycles allowed here

I'm in Mechelen. I've just cycled into the city centre when I spot two familiar cyclists sitting at a café: the two Dutch cyclists who shared the B&B and dinner (and an impressively copious breakfast) with me. It is indeed a small world when you're travelling. We say hello and then  continue on our separate ways.

A minute later the square seems to be invaded with high school students, probably on some excursion. A small group of girls walks past and I can just see them out of the corner of my eye exchanging comments that almost certainly relate to me. A second later one of them, perhaps the designated one, approaches me: "Meneer wat is dat apparaatje voor?" Pointing to the rear view mirror mounted on my helmet. "What is that thing for?" I have no doubt I look rather odd: firstly I am almost certainly the only cyclist in the square (and probably all of Mechelen) wearing a helmet, and secondly I have this strange thing sticking out from it.

This morning in Duffel I went to the local town hall to see if I could get a stamp for my pilgrim passport. There are two young guys with a small truck working in the garden out front. One of them spots the scallop shell on my bag and strikes up a conversation about the bike trip. Then when I mention I have come from Australia (but not by bike) he brightens up even more; like so many people on Europe he's always wanted to go to Australia. The conversation is easy and unforced and I've found this often on Belgium; people seem to easily strike up conversations without reservation. Nice. He offers to keep an eye on my bike for me while I go inside to ask about a stamp.

A bread vending machine "Yummy, fresh, and healthy"

Try as I might, I did not find anyone carrying duffel bags or wearing the eponymous coats in Duffel; perhaps fashion has taken precedence over history. 

Yesterday I discovered machines selling strawberries along the path. Today it's the turn of the bread vending machine. Clearly there's a theme developing; people like to buy their food from holes in the wall and machines.

Following the knooppunten

In Mechelen I go to the tourist office to try to get a bike map for my trip to Brussels. The map I have is specific to the St. Jacobsweg and I'm about to do that very thing you should never do when you're travelling; I'm about to go off the map. The only thing the rather inexperienced-but-trying-to-be-helpful guy can offer is a large guide or a brochure that contains a map, but not of the area I am going to. I give him full marks for trying, but he's sort of missed the point; I don't want just any map, I need a map that covers my planned route. Then we are saved by his more experienced colleague, who has the good idea of looking up the route using the knooppunt network website and then to create a route following a series of numbered points. I've become aware of the knooppunt (literally, knot point or more appropriately intersection) system having seen the signs along the bike paths, so now I get a chance to try it out for real. It's a great system but it's not perfect in practice and I have to resort to the GPS a couple of times. The idea is that you plan a route by "joining the dots" and cycle from one numbered knooppunt to the next. That's fine in theory, but it does rely on each intersection being signposted, and there being an indication of which direction to head to go to the next numbered intersection. Like any time you're following signs, if you miss one (or one is missing) then you're lost: you either have to backtrack to your last known signpost, or pull out the map.

The route follows a canal through pleasant scenery until I get close to Brussels and then it all goes wrong. I pass a large power station with its enormous cooling towers and then the numbering stops. And if you make the mistake of stopping as I did, your olfactory senses are seriously abused by all sorts of human-generated material deposited by the path nearby. I don't know why people choose a power station as a place to relieve themselves, but the evidence was there that they did. Essentially I now have to find my own way through some very dodgy neighbourhoods, on to an old port area with abandoned warehouses, dead end streets that force me to backtrack, the sewage treatment works, scrap metal dealer, old cars, and wrecked cars in the streets. It's a depressingly awful and dirty part of town. Welcome to Brussels! Eventually I end up on the N1 heading into town, which is at least a direct route, if not at all pleasant with a constant stream of large trucks rushing past to keep you entertained. Not my preferred type of track, but I don't have much choice.

I am navigating myself through this depressing place but it slowly begins to become a little more interesting, with things to observe along the way. I pass through a clearly dodgy neighbourhood; it's full of little shops advertising halal food. Groups of men sit outside cafes smoking. I spot the local 'Arab du coin' as the French so accurately call these little 'sell everything' shops and go inside to buy a banana: I need some energy after that awful ride in. I am certainly not particularly welcome but the guy takes my money anyway. I am happy not to hang around and ride off clutching my banana. I'll eat it somewhere else.

I pass a woman checking her hair using her reflection in the window of a parked car.

Then all of a sudden I am in the middle of town and the Grote Markt (the main square) is there, spectacular as always. Asian tourists are walking around with their selfie sticks. Beggars shaking paper cups with coins have placed themselves at strategic positions.

Adding a splash of colour to the famous Grote Markt in Brussels

Here I am, sitting on a step at the Grote Markt. I am eating my banana. Next to me a couple of Korean girls are eating Belgian waffles with enormous piles of cream on them, served on little paper plates and no doubt bought at the nearby 'Mannekin Pis' waffle house (an impressive piece of crass marketing).

Authentic Manneken-Pis waffels - only 1 euro

I find the tourist office, 'Visit Brussels', a name which is slightly odd, considering that anyone who goes to this office is obviously already in Brussels, but perhaps I am being pedantic. I am looking for a stamp for my pilgrim passport. The guy apologises that they don't have any official stamps but suggests I try 'inside' gesturing behind him. After a little more prompting I convince him to explain to me that 'inside' refers to the town hall, which is actually in the same building and accessed via a (beautiful) courtyard around the back. I go there to find there are no signs anywhere indicating the nature of the place or what I might find behind any of the imposing doors there. I open a likely looking door and find myself in a sort of lost reception area with a lonely (and bored looking) girl behind an enormous desk. She doesn't look like she has a lot to do, but on reflection that might suit her just fine. I make my enquiry and she draws a blank. But then she makes a call and sure enough, finds someone who can stamp my papers. I have to go back out to the courtyard again and try another one of those anonymous doors, this one with a buzzer, which after I press it produces another girl who appear from the deep within the bowels of the building. She's very helpful and together we go into an office with nobody in it. There are four desks and lots of paperwork everywhere, just no people. The place has public service written all over it - piles and piles of papers and nobody working. She hunts around for a while and then exclaims: "There it is!" And sure enough, she produces from a corner of one of the desks the official stamp of the city of Brussels. The mind boggles, but I decide not to think too hard about this since I've achieved my objective and my passport is stamped.

The path through the Bois de la Cambre - a lovely way to end the day's ride

My riding day finishes with another section of navigation through the streets of Brussels and for the first time on the trip so far I encounter hills, which I'd sort of forgotten existed. My chosen route seems to go up many of them, which is the last thing I need at the end of a long ride. But the ride through the gorgeous Bois de la Cambre, which I have wisely chosen to ride through rather than take the more direct main road, lifts my spirits. The final 10 km or so is again along busy roads (it's peak hour and I'm riding along one of the major roads out of town) and I am very glad when I finally arrive.

I'm staying with the daughter of a friend with whom I travelled in Tunisia several years back and she's very welcoming and gracious, making my long detour to Brussels, even the hills, worthwhile. We spend a pleasant evening chatting about all sorts of things (including her father, but I won't tell him that!)

Only bicycles allowed here too - this is the way to ride!