Camino de Santiago reprise - the analysis

Here's a quick review of the engineering and financial aspects of my second Camino de Santiago bicycle trip. Just a reminder: this section started in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, and finished in Tours, France. I'll also add the equivalent figures for the first Camino trip, which started in the south of France and apart from that first day was exclusively in Spain.

Arrival in Tours, destination of Camino part 2

These numbers might be helpful if you're planning a similar bicycle trip. Keep in mind that the financial figures reflect my particular choices in food and accommodation (!) and reflect the prices at the time of the trips (2014 and 2015 respectively).

Financial summary:

	Camino part 2	Camino part 1
Food	320 (29/day)	430 (21/day)
Accommodation	317 (29/day)	308 (10.50/day)
Travel	31	247
Other	21	87
Total Cost	689	1,072
Daily Average	58	33

(all figures in Euros, daily averages exclude special days)

As you can see, my second Camino trip (which is, confusingly perhaps, the first part of the Camino journey) cost me almost twice (per day) compared to the first trip. Not really a surprise, since Spain is considerably cheaper than either the Netherlands, Belgium or France. Also, in Spain I stayed almost exclusively in hostels, while in my second trip I stayed in various types of B&Bs. The main reason the first trip total was higher was the fact that it was a week longer, and there's also the train and air fares to get to and from Spain (from France). The daily averages are adjusted to reflect that I stayed a couple of times with friends on the second trip and do not include the French section of the trip (preparation time, really) for the first trip. The totals however reflect all the expenses I made.

The Engineering review

	Camino part 2	Camino part 1
Total number of days	14	18 (including one rest day)
Total distance ridden	1,110 km	1,031 km
Total time on the bike	75.8 hours	66.8 hours
Average speed for the trip	14.7 km/h	15.4 km/h
Average hours ridden	5.4 hours/day	3.9 hours/day
Average distance ridden	79.3 km/day	60.6 km/day
Longest distance ridden in one day	105.7 km	84.5 km (on the first day!)
Shortest distance ridden in one day	49.7 km	34 km (second-last day)
Most hours ridden in one day	7.1 hours	6.2 hours (on the first day!)
Least hours ridden in one day	3.5 hours	2.1 hours (second-last day)
Highest average speed	15.0 km/h	19.1 km/h
Lowest average speed	13.5 km/h	12.4 km/h

In general in the second trip I spent more time per day riding, and rode longer distances. If I was to give any advice based on these numbers, I'd say it would be much better to take a bit more time and slow down (something I also noted on the first trip). My second trip had some total time constraints which meant I couldn't really extend my trip, much as I would have liked to. Interestingly, the average speeds for the two trips are very similar, and in fact the second trip is lower than the first. This is a bit counter-intuitive, since the second trip involved much more flat terrain (and no mountain crossings at all). Maybe I was fitter or more enthusiastic the first time around!

Sleeping in a different bed each night

Last time I went on the Camino, in Spain, I did not book anything ahead. Actually, that's not entirely true; I booked two nights in a hostel in Santiago, the day before I expected to arrive there, figuring if there was one place it was going to busy, it was there. And I wanted a place in the centre of town so I could just walk into town. But apart from that, each night was a different adventure, not knowing where I'd stop, nor where I'd sleep for the night. I had no idea how long I would (and could) ride each day, nor did I want to be restricted to a schedule. Since I was on a well-established walking route, I knew that there would be somewhere around every 5km, as long as I wasn't fussy about the type of accommodation. Generally this worked out fine although there were a couple of near misses, notably on my very first day when I had to ride an extra 16km at the end of an already long and tiring day, before finally finding a bed for the night (and it was a pretty dodgy one at that).

This time around, after initially planning to take each day as it came, I decided in the end to plan where I'd spend each night ahead of time. That was a risk, since it would restrict my freedom and also force me to ride a certain distance each day. But I was riding in a holiday season and accommodation options were not as plentiful as they were in Spain, so I booked ahead, although of course each place was still an unknown.

In the Netherlands and some of Belgium I used the very impressive Vrienden op de Fiets (friends on bikes). This is a network of 'bed & breakfast' places, but in the original sense of term: you are essentially invited into the home of people, you get to use the spare bedroom and maybe also the rest of the house. They are generally not commercial establishments (although some are) and your experience can vary widely. Only the price is fixed: €19 for bed and breakfast, which is great value.

Dutch breakfast - ready for the day's riding

My first night is in a beautifully restored old village house. Clearly no expense has been spared on the restoration, and it has been nicely extended as well. It's recently done and everything is neat and tidy, furnished with care and attention.  My room is one of two in the upstairs area, and I have a bathroom almost all to myself. The son is also spending a night and had access to it as well ,(although he used the main bathroom). Breakfast is impressive in both the quantity and the variety, but is unmistakably Dutch. After breakfast the host of the house asks me to add a comment to the visitor's book. When I open it, I discover that it's empty. I am their very first guest. They take some pictures of me with the hostess and my bike to mark the occasion. It's a great start to my accommodation journey.

The second night I stay in an older somewhat rundown house lived in by an older woman. She's a lovely, if slightly unusual, lady. It's an old house, stuck in the sixties or probably earlier. Any renovations or alterations were done fifty years ago and nothing's changed since. There's stuff and old junk piled all over the place, except the living room which is fairly tidy and seems to have made it into the seventies at least. The old fridge in the kitchen is obviously struggling (it may well be from the seventies too) because it's not very cold in there. Still, I am offered to help myself to a beer which is cold enough today. She gives me her keys (which turn out later to be not a spare set, but her keys). The toilet has the cistern lid removed with a written note left on the seat with instructions on how to flush. There's a fluffy cat cover on the toilet seat. Above the hand basin there's a shelf on which there is a jumbo sized can of air freshener and a large can of WD40; not something you'd normally expect to find in a toilet. Then I realise it's probably to fix the problematic cistern. The toilet and bathroom are in an extension out the back of the original house, together with a laundry area. It's not a particularly welcoming area, but at least it's functional. The matching fluffy bathmat set only adds to the overall impression.

The woman is extremely generous with her time and when I ask whether she knows where I can get a stamp for my pilgrim passport she makes it her mission to find out, which she does after an impressive bit of research on her part.

My third night is spent in what is essentially a farm house, but which is now surrounded by only a small field , with a pony and goat to help with lawn mowing. An old wooden circus mobile home is set up in the garden as guest accommodation. But I get the recently-converted upstairs unit in the main building, which includes a little kitchen and sitting area as well as a bedroom and bathroom. It's all very well equipped. I'm offered a drink (a beer, why not) on arrival. The couple running the place are very friendly and chatty and I learn that the house actually belonged to the woman's grandparents, and that her parents lived in a house we can just see a few hundred metres away. The guy says his father in law used to tell him to trim the trees otherwise he couldn't see what they were up to.

The Dutch biking couple who arrive after me get the caravan, which means they have to go into the house to use the bathroom (the host is building a little mini caravan to use as a bathroom for the main caravan). I have the little studio apartment all to myself, which is just fine by me.

From my three-night experience, I have to say I am very impressed with the Vrienden op de Fiets organisation.

My next night is actually the first one I booked; the Youth Hostel in Tournai. I thought to stay in more youth hostels, but they are rather few and far between in this part of Europe (they seem to be much more common in Germany, for example) and don't suit my route at all. It's a nicely restored old building in the old city, with lovely old wooden staircases. It's similar in quality to the massive council hostel in Burgos, but with small four-bed rooms. The snoring is the same though.

Day 6a: Tournai to Cambrai (85km)

I should have known the fat guy would be a snorer. When I came back to the room after dinner, it was dark and he was already in bed, snoring away. Luckily it was a relatively soft snore, not a get-your-earplugs-out snore, but it took some getting used to. The mystery man (the one with the shopping trolley) turned up later in the night; he was a snorer too.  In the morning there was a pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed where he had stepped out of them; on the bed there was what looked like a pile of rumpled bedclothes, but which actually had a person under them. The joy of shared rooms. I dress and slip out of the room, leaving my room mates snoring contentedly.

Tournai - Grand Place; no people, no cars, only bikes allowed

I ride into the centre of Tournai in the early morning and find it is a ghost town. I am riding in a scene from a 'morning after the end of the world' movie and I am the only survivor. It is a little eerie but it doesn't last as I eventually spot a little old lady out for her morning walk. At least there are two of us, I think, but if this is all then there's not much hope for the human race. So much for morning thoughts.

Tournai has an attractive old centre and an impressive cathedral which would be even more impressive if it were not covered in scaffolding and was open. Actually, things being open (or rather, not open) is to become the theme for the day. It is Ascension Thursday, a major holiday in France. Surprisingly - at least I thought it was surprising - all the churches and cathedrals, which I thought would be open to celebrate such a day, are also all closed. Note to anyone thinking of going to France in May: it's the month of public holidays and 'ponts' (taking the day that falls between a public holiday and the weekend off as well so you have a four-day weekend.) A lot of France shuts down in May. The unkind might say that not much work gets done the rest of the year either. Actually, the subject came up during dinner, when one of the guys stated that France has one of the world's highest rates of productivity. I almost choked on my food. He quickly explained that this apparently dubious statistic was created by counting the county's output and dividing it by the numbers of hours actually worked (and not the number of hours actually available to work), so making the result appear impressive indeed. Impressive French rationalisation. We had a good discussion about French politics (always a popular subject for dinner table discussions in France, and with the current President with his record low popularity rating of 15% also an easy subject).

Guarding the border

The border crossing between Belgium and France at Rumegies is marked by a little customs post, with a statue of a French customs official sitting outside, serenely surveying the passing traffic. It's somehow symbolic of bureaucracy: he's not actually achieving much of anything, but he's nevertheless working. A little further down the road an abandoned packet of frites is scattered on the road, another symbol that we are leaving Belgium behind.

It's a grey day, with rain threatening the whole day. I pass gardens with colourful collections of gnomes, including one which has what seems to be an entire gnome village as a front lawn. The front gate has little windmills as guardians.

Naked women and pilots

Just outside Cambrai I pass a memorial to a wartime pilot, Alfred Fronval. This in itself isn't so unusual, but what catches my eye is the fact that this particular pilot is being celebrated with a naked women holding a branch up to him. I think about this, but cannot imagine a scenario that explains why a pilot should be remembered by adulating naked women. Still, this is France, so anything is possible where sculptures and naked women is concerned.

A bit of colour on a grey day

At Cambrai the rains come and I spend some time alternating between sheltering from the rain, and riding around the almost deserted town over the rain-soaked cobbled streets. True to form, the impressive cathedral is closed. But to my surprise the tourist office is open, and I am even able to get a stamp for my pilgrim passport. There's even a little display in the basement of the tourist office where tunnels under the city have been excavated, so I have something to see and explore. As I leave, the rains begin in earnest and I find a McDonalds just on the edge of town where I can shelter from the lashing storm. I am definitely not a McDonalds regular, but I they do offer reliable and free WiFi, and the bathrooms have hot air dryers which I can use to dry out my soaked things. And to my utter amazement, there's even a proper café serving what turns out to be very acceptable coffee. Since I cannot arrive at my destination, which is about twenty minutes away, for another hour or so, I decide to sit it out in the warm and dry restaurant. The rain stops, but starts again in earnest just as I have set off on the final leg of the day's journey, so I arrive at my B&B completely soaked.

Cambrai Cathedral - on the right path

I don't know whether it was the cold, or the rain, or whether I was now riding in France, or perhaps it was the fact that I'd given my bike its 400km service, but my average speed today rose markedly and riding felt easier. Maybe it was me starting to get my 'bike legs'. Even the last part of the ride, in pouring rain, seemed to go surprisingly well. I could have done without the rain though.

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.

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!

Day 3a: Kersel to Duffel (75km)

Today the weather was, dare I say it, almost hot. Or at least it was warm enough for me to strip down to just a T-shirt and cycling pants (and my bright yellow cycling vest of course). According to several thermometers I saw on various buildings I passed it got to 27 degrees, which is a bit of a heat wave. Enough for me to get a bit sunburnt by the time I realised what was going on and started putting the sunscreen on. One day I am cycling with three layers and long pants and the next I am getting sunburnt, who'd have thought it?

Dinner yesterday, which was over the border in Belgium as you will recall, included a big bowl of (terrific) chips with - we're in Belgium now - a large bowl of mayonnaise. Dinner tonight was, naturally, also served with a large bowl of chips (fries, for our American readers). So far it seems reasonable to conclude that the stereotypical Belgian meal indeed does consist of a large serving of chips with mayonnaise, served with something to accompany it.

Geese and Goslings crossing

In describing yesterday's menagerie, I realised I'd forgotten the rabbits running across the path (like kangaroos, it's not the one you first see you have to watch out for, it's the one following it you're going to run into). And of course I forgot to mention all the chickens usually accompanied by impressive roosters. This morning I came across a group of geese guiding their goslings to the canal. The bike path I was riding on was between the geese and the canal, and of course I wasn't about to squash those cute little goslings, so I stopped. In any case, given how aggressive the geese were, I'm not sure how well I would have fared in any encounter. 'Gosling' - now there's a word you don't get to write (or read) very often. Another good example of English and its lack of logic, or perhaps I should say an example of the richness of the English language. Ducks and ducklings. Geese and goslings (and not gooseling), Cats and kittens (why not Catling?). What about Doglings? And the list goes on.

The bike path along the river this morning instantly changed as soon as I crossed from Holland (or more technically correctly, from The Netherlands) into Belgium, which was about 100m from where I had spent the night. Although there was still a path, the quality degraded and it was bumpy and not well maintained. The housing was also instantly recognisable as non-Dutch. As someone used to Australian landscapes I am constantly amazed how quickly things change when you travel in Europe; housing styles are a good example. Cross an imaginary line, and suddenly so many things are different. You're unlikely to spot the difference in pretty much anything as you cross from say, New South Wales into Victoria, except perhaps the different number plates on the cars.

As if to support my perhaps slightly controversial statement of yesterday that the wildflowers are really weeds, I come across a guy on a tractor (on the bike path) mowing the flowers along the path. In his wake the sides of the path are strewn with piles of yellow, white and purple wildflowers, now about to become compost.

Cafe con Leche y tapas - Belgian style

I stop at Rijkevorsel for a coffee. Today I don't quite have so much distance to cover and I've settled into a bit of a more predictable tempo, so I can afford to stop more often. In Spain I was stopping regularly for a café con leche and tapas. Here I also order a coffee and a 'broodje' which implies a little bread roll with something on it. I'm expecting something perhaps not exactly like a tapas, but perhaps more like a Spanish raccion, which is sort of a double-sized tapas. The 'je' suffix in Dutch after all implies 'little'. Instead I get an enormous baguette with thick cheese and even thicker butter. The Belgian version of a tapas perhaps.

At Lier I decide to deviate from the path, which tends to go around towns, and head to the centre of town, the 'Grote Markt'. Here, near the main cathedral, I find the St. Jacobs chapel. I go inside, hoping to find someone to stamp my pilgrim's passport. The chapel is open, but there's nobody there. But I find on the noticeboard a little sign: 'Pilgrims looking for a stamp need to go to the tourist office (across the road)'. I step outside and immediately an elderly couple call out to me ( in Flemish, which I used to think was just like Dutch, until I started trying to understand it): "If you're looking for your stamp, go to the tourist office" and they helpfully point to it, which is just as well because I was looking for it across the road (following the instructions on the sign), while in fact I was standing almost next to it. I'm not sure which point of reference the person who wrote that sign had, but it certainly want the same as mine. As I come out of the tourist office, the elderly couple is just leaving their seat in the square, so I go to them to thank them for their help. "Where are you riding to?" asks the old woman. "France" I tell her. She looks at me for a moment and then says, quite matter-of-factly, "Well, you'd better get going then, it's a long way."

A woman on a bike pulls up alongside me as I cycle through Lier on my way out of town. In Flemish she says: "You look like you're going a long way!" "To France" I reply, trying to keep the story simple, and thinking of the old woman who I had spoken to just before. She comments on how amazingly far that is on a bike.  Actually, given how small Belgium is, France is not really all that far away. It's all relative I suppose.

Strawberry Vending Machine nearby

This morning I passed a strawberry vending machine. Not the sort of thing you'd really expect to find along the roadside. And I'm not taking about a red or pink-coloured vending machine, I'm talking about a machine selling fresh strawberries. This morning I thought it was a bit odd. By the end of the day I had passed so many of this type of vending machine I realised that it was actually perfectly normal. At least in this part of the world. It reminded me of the lone Coca Cola vending machine I'd passed in the middle of nowhere last year on my trip in Spain. Totally unexpected but probably  normal.

My day ends at Duffel. I had picked this town for no better reason than it was about right in terms of distance travelled for the day, being on a river it looked like it might have some appeal, and of course I was curious to find out whether I'd see lots of people wearing the eponymous coats, carrying eponymous bags. I saw neither, which is probably not surprising. A little research showed that, indeed, the name of the clothing does come from this town; so my somewhat cheeky thought turned out to be based on facts after all. According to Wikipedia: The town gives its name to a heavy woollen cloth used to make overcoats, especially for the armed forces, and various kinds of luggage.

Dangerous road conditions ahead

There is a couple also on bikes staying at the same place I am. Not surprisingly, they are Dutch, and this trip is just a short four-day long weekend trip for them. We agree to ride back into town, a bit more than a kilometre away, for dinner together. It being Monday there's not much open and our hostess has given us a little map on which she's marked some places to try. The couple ride ahead and I follow. My bike feels remarkably light, which of course it is without the packs on. We've both just ridden in from the direction of town so really all we have to do is back tack. As we leave the B&B the woman rides off in one direction (the wrong one) and the husband in the other. Not a good start I'm thinking. We regroup and set off again, this time following the husband. He rides off confidently, find the main road into town and rides on. He rides past the turnoff to the town centre, then continues riding on confidently. I'm wondering whether he either knows some way I do not, or whether I really do have to intervene. We ride on. Eventually (I have shown remarkable restraint, despite the fact that my legs really don't want to ride any further than absolutely necessary any more) he stops, realising that he ridden the wrong way. We regroup, consult the map and I convince them we have to go back. Later, while we are having dinner after eventually finding a restaurant, I can't help thinking: 'How did these people manage to find Belgium?'

Dinner, with chips and mayonnaise (of course!), is quite nice, and we have an enjoyable meal together.