Day 5a: Brussels to Tournai (106km)

The Longest Day.

Not only the title of a 1962 movie with an impressive cast including John Wayne, Sean Connery, Richard Burton, Robert Mitchum and Henry Fonda, but also an appropriate title for this post.

Early morning Self Portrait

I passed several milestones today: Furthest ever ridden in a single day; 106km. Longest time in the saddle; just over 7 hours. And I've passed the 400km mark on my journey.

I decide to try Google maps for a route plan for the first part of today's trip, since I will be spending half the day off my map again. Within a kilometre I have been led up and then down a hill to the entrance of a commuter car park. So much for my experiment with Google Maps! I give up on Google maps and self-navigate, choosing a route that heads through an interesting-looking forest. It's hilly and I'm down to first gear for the first time on the trip. Just as I'm thinking: "I have 100km to go today; that's not going to work if it's all like this" I enter the magnificent Hallebos forest and my spirits soar. What a gorgeous place! I ride with a big smile on my face and the climbs are instantly forgotten. A while later, still in the same forest, I am briefly on a road with oncoming traffic. I notice the drivers are all looking glum, probably on their way to work and completely oblivious of the magnificent scenery they are passing through. How sad for them. I'm glad I'm on the bike.

Perspectives

Later in the day a black guy in an approaching car stops and flags me down: "Zeeway eeznot blokkedd" he says. It takes me some time to process what he is saying: First I don't know whether it's Flemish, French or something else he's using. Then, for each of these languages I need to see if the sounds he's just made correspond to something logical that I can parse into a sentence. He turns the booming stereo in his car down, as if this will help me understand his request better. I finally realise he's speaking a heavily African French-accented English and he's asking me if the road ahead is open. As we go or separate ways I reflect on this. You have lots of time to reflect on things when you're riding a bike. Why would he choose someone who's so obviously not a local to ask such a question and then on top of that, someone on a bike, for whom a closed road may not mean the same as for a car? Actually, the other day I was outside the station in Breda in Holland, and a guy pulling a wheelie bag behind him, having obviously just arrived on the train, comes straight to me to ask directions to the Apollo hotel. Again, I couldn't help wondering whether I was really the most likely candidate to ask such a question.

Many houses I pass today have ceramic urns or jugs in their windows. What's in those urns I wonder? Relatives perhaps? The urn theme continues throughout the day.

It's also an olfactory day today with a lot of time spent riding amongst farm smells. From the challenging odour of huge piles of manure by the path to the sweet odour of bales of fermenting hay to the tang of freshly cut grass. Add to that the smell of diesel fumes from the tractors and trucks. Oh yes, let's not forget the putrid smell of decaying squashed animals as you pass them.

Another Vending Machine

At one point the path is completely blocked by a tractor towing a trailer with enormous fat tyres. There's no way I can pass, even on the bike. And above the noise of the engine my little bicycle bell is completely ineffective. Luckily the driver, who is in a nearby field chatting to his mate on an equally impressive piece if machinery, sees me and comes over to the tractor with a wave of apology and drives off.

Previously I've ridden past vending machines selling strawberries and bread. Today's vending machine - which is a hole in the wall - is selling potatoes. In Dutch it's called an Aardappelautomaat, while in French is goes by the somewhat more verbose, but perhaps easier to read Automate à Pommes de Terre.

Lessines, the point I've chosen to rejoin the Camino is an impressively dreary and uninteresting town (except for the nicely restored old Abbey dating from 1242, which sets your expectations rather high for what the rest of the town will be like since you pass it on the approach into town). It's rather run down, although there's are obvious attempts to make it better. But there are no seats anywhere (I am writing this sitting on the steps of the closed town hall; there's a piece of paper taped to the large ornate doors with a handwritten note: 'closed until 15th May') and the town's idea of beautification includes installing speakers on the corners of buildings and on lamp posts, broadcasting elevator music throughout the town. I suppose that sums up nicely the town leaders' approach.

Another Self Portrait

I see an impressive variety of garden ornaments today: from the large pair of concrete lions guarding the front gate (several versions of those), to a collection of various cement farm animals grazing on the front lawn (again, grazing cement animals is a recurring theme). Lots of sheep and lambs also figure prominently. Probably the most impressive were the pair of American Indians with full ceremonial headdress guarding one house, not to be outdone by the two metre high goldfish standing on its head with mouth agape, looking totally out of place in the middle of a lawn.

Tonight I'm staying at the Youth Hostel in Tournai. I haven't been in a youth hostel since the late seventies or perhaps early eighties (when I was a youth, and stayed in hostels) but ever since then I've had life membership, so I thought it was about time to use it! The Tournai hostel is actually not at all a bad place. It's highly rated and it's an easy walk to the centre of town. They even have hotel-style electronic key cards, a far cry from the olden days. My room is on the second floor, and the stairs are something I could have done without after all that riding. I open the door to my room; will I find it full or will I have it to myself? The question is immediately answered when I see some clothes and a made (more or less) bed. I claim the other lower bunk, enjoying the right of order of arrival. Last year on the Camino I invariably arrived later than the walkers, and so invariably had to do with an upper bunk. Perhaps there will only be two of us in the room tonight. I put my bags down, and then notice the shopping trolley of personal possessions in the room. While it's normal to see backpacks sprwaled on the floor in hostels, this is the first time I see a shopping trolley. Who am I sharing the room with, I wonder? This could be interesting. Perhaps he's a clochard, although the rest of the room looks relatively tidy. Time will tell.

A bit later, the third man arrives. First I had The Longest Day and now I have The Third Man. Definitely a movie theme today. My Third Man is carrying a bike helmet and is dressed in bike pants, but he doesn't look like he'd last long on a bike. He's seriously overweight and breathing heavily, presumably from the walk up the stairs. He's not long in the room when I turn around and find myself starting at his enormous naked bum; he's stripping off to take a shower. I could have done without that, I think to myself. Time to best a retreat and go and find a place for dinner.

Tournai - Grand Place at sunset

I wander around the rather deserted streets of the town centre in the area around the impressive (and closed) cathedral, looking for a place to have dinner. I spot a restaurant called "Sur le Chemin de Compostelle" near the cathedral, which of course catches my eye since its name describes me: on the Camino de Santiago. I sense a tourist trap, but it looks reasonable, even though with only one other table occupied things do not look too promising. I go inside anyway and have the "pilgrim menu". This turns out to be significantly more expensive than its namesakes in Spain - not really a surprise - and also not at all interesting. Edible is about as much praise as I can give it. Still, I leave the restaurant with food in my tummy, ready for the next day's adventures.