In London watching the Tour de France!
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Cycling Western Europe
Day 8: July 6, 2007 (Ostend to Dunkerque, France to Dover, England)
Route: Ostend - De Panne - Dunkerque - Dover
Weather: sunny(AM/PM)
Total mileage: 35 miles
and that's when it happened. That's when my life went into jeopardy.
One minute I was riding on quiet back roads along the coast, and the next I was on a double lane highway! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! What happened? Where did I go wrong? As cars and large lorries (that means "trucks" in British English) whizzed by me at about 50 or 60mph, a single word came to mind: SHIT! Then, I starting praying. "Please don't let me die. Please don't let a huge truck hit me, sending me and my bike off the side of this cliff into the river that I see up ahead. Please let me make it over this bridge that has suddenly appeared around the corner." Terrified is not the best word, but it's close. I was a mess. Not sure if I should break down and cry right there or keep on moving, I kept telling myself how stupid I was being. If Chris were here, I thought, he'd kill me. Dad would say: "That's really dangerous, Alexandra." Yeah, I know, tell me about it! But then a sign up ahead put spirit back into my legs: "Car ferry 1km." Yes!!!!!!! Almost there. Bumping along the little dirt track that lined the road, I churned my legs as fast as I could (while fighting the wind that made the bag on my back sway, dangerously pulling my bike and me off the road) around the last bend. What lay in front of me was the most beautiful sight I had seen all day: the ferry port! Thank you G-d.
Once back in England, I rode a few miles from the ferry port to the Dover train station. Luckily, this time, the station guy knew what he was talking about and gave me a ticket to London. Relaxing on the train and watching the sun set over the beautiful English countryside, I relished in my experiences. What a fantastic trip, I thought (aside from today). I could do this for the rest of my life. Well, it might get boring riding around by myself so much, but I'm sure I could find some people to accompany me (anyone?).
I arrived in London at about 11pm, hopped another train to my cousin's apartment a little outside of the city, had some cheese and wine, and passed out for the night. A bed to myself and a private shower never felt so good. It is as close to home as I can be right now. Tomorrow morning it's off to the "People's Village" for some pre-Tour entertainment and sightseeing, before staking out a good place to watch the race. Can't wait.
Day 8: July 6, 2007 (Ostend to Dunkerque, France to Dover, England)
Route: Ostend - De Panne - Dunkerque - Dover
Weather: sunny(AM/PM)
Total mileage: 35 miles
Today I almost died.
Ok, let me take a few steps back and explain . . .
I awoke at around 8pm, ready to get some breakfast and head to the train station in hopes of making my way to Dunkerque before noon. I heard from the notoriously unhelpful information centre that I needed to take the tram (which is more of an electric trolley car) to De Panne (the last town in Belgium before the French border), and switch to the local train into France. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Definitely NOT the case.
The first part of this plan worked out fine. It took an hour to actually get to De Panne, which is only about 15 miles west along the coast, but the wind was still blowing in strong from the west and it would have taken me over an hour to ride it. I figured it was a good choice; however, when I asked the man at the De Panne train station for a ticket to Dunkerque, he looked at me sideways. "No train goes there," he said. What?!! I thought. Are you kidding me? "Well, is there a train that goes near to the city?" I asked. "No, madam," he responded. Shit! Looking at my map, I saw that there was a cycling route along one of the local roads that went right into the heart of Dunkerque. Ok, I thought, I'll ride the 10 or 15 miles there. It can't be that bad. Maybe the trees and houses lining the road will block out a lot of the wind . . .
Wrong again, Alex. As soon as I turned the corner to head west toward the French border, a ferocious gale hit me head on. It was like riding into a wall it was so strong. No matter how hard I tried and pumped, I couldn't get over 10mph. It was terrible. The thoughts that there was no other way to get there and that I had to get back to London tonight if I wanted to see the Tour prologue tomorrow kept me going, nonetheless. As the time ticked by and I felt as though I was getting nowhere, I realized that the road was running right along next to a train track. Hmmmm, seems that a train does run this way; and funny, it seems to be coming from the direction of De Panne and heading toward Dunkerque. Strange. Maybe it turns south in the next town . . .
Nope.
Ok, maybe the next one . . .
No.
All right, maybe it's out of service . . .
But there goes a train right now.
What?!!!!!
Just as I was thinking that the train station guy either lied to me or didn't understand what I was saying, I passed a sign saying that I had entered the outskirts of Dunkerque, France. Only a few miles to the city centre! Once I had ridden about 5 miles, however, I saw another sign for the ferry port: "Car ferry 7km." Not bad, I thought, only about 5 more miles left, but the wind made it seem more like 10. I rode what felt like miles along an endless deserted road with barely any shoulder for cycling. Slightly freaked and wondering where the h*ll! the ferry station was, I saw another sign: "Norfolk Line follow signs for 'car ferry'." Yeah, I got that, but where is this damn ferry? And another sign: "Car ferry 3km." Yes! Only about 2 miles left . . .
and that's when it happened. That's when my life went into jeopardy.
One minute I was riding on quiet back roads along the coast, and the next I was on a double lane highway! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! What happened? Where did I go wrong? As cars and large lorries (that means "trucks" in British English) whizzed by me at about 50 or 60mph, a single word came to mind: SHIT! Then, I starting praying. "Please don't let me die. Please don't let a huge truck hit me, sending me and my bike off the side of this cliff into the river that I see up ahead. Please let me make it over this bridge that has suddenly appeared around the corner." Terrified is not the best word, but it's close. I was a mess. Not sure if I should break down and cry right there or keep on moving, I kept telling myself how stupid I was being. If Chris were here, I thought, he'd kill me. Dad would say: "That's really dangerous, Alexandra." Yeah, I know, tell me about it! But then a sign up ahead put spirit back into my legs: "Car ferry 1km." Yes!!!!!!! Almost there. Bumping along the little dirt track that lined the road, I churned my legs as fast as I could (while fighting the wind that made the bag on my back sway, dangerously pulling my bike and me off the road) around the last bend. What lay in front of me was the most beautiful sight I had seen all day: the ferry port! Thank you G-d.
Sadly, I missed the 4pm ferry (by 5 minutes) and had to wait for the 6pm one, but it didn't matter because I had made it (alive). After buying my ticket (only $35 total!) and going through the security check, I parked my bike and headed upstairs to the snack bar. Food, finally. I realized that I hadn't eaten since breakfast (and also that my cycling clothes seemed a bit loose). A nice cheese baguette and cappuccino did the trick. I cannot express the relief and happiness that I felt to be there: at the ferry port with a ticket back to England. I felt like I had accomplished something spectacular. I risked my life today, I thought, but came out on top (one can get a bit over-dramatic and crazy--like I said before--when spending so much time alone on the bike) . The rest of the trip across the English channel was enjoyable; and on top of it, I met a nice couple who chatted with me about cycling, literature, traveling, and spirituality (some of my favorite subjects). I didn't think it would feel so good to step back onto British soil.
Once back in England, I rode a few miles from the ferry port to the Dover train station. Luckily, this time, the station guy knew what he was talking about and gave me a ticket to London. Relaxing on the train and watching the sun set over the beautiful English countryside, I relished in my experiences. What a fantastic trip, I thought (aside from today). I could do this for the rest of my life. Well, it might get boring riding around by myself so much, but I'm sure I could find some people to accompany me (anyone?).
I arrived in London at about 11pm, hopped another train to my cousin's apartment a little outside of the city, had some cheese and wine, and passed out for the night. A bed to myself and a private shower never felt so good. It is as close to home as I can be right now. Tomorrow morning it's off to the "People's Village" for some pre-Tour entertainment and sightseeing, before staking out a good place to watch the race. Can't wait.
Cycling Western Europe
Day 7: July 5, 2007 (Brugge to Ostend, Be)
Route: Brugge - De Haan - Ostend
Weather: cloudy(AM); sunny (PM)
Total mileage: 40 miles
Oops . . . well, today didn't go as planned. In fact, it went rather wrong, but not to worry because this entire vacation has been a serious of random events and spur of the moment decisions.
Planned to leave Brugge early this morning to head west toward the coast and find a ferry back to England either in the evening or following morning. At breakfast, I met a Dutch family with two young kids who are riding through Belgium together. The parents are kind of "off their rocker" (you have to be to do a week-long cycling trip with two children) and the kids are adorable. The whole family is crazy fit and have loaded up touring bikes. The young boy of 10 has a tent strapped to the back of his, and the parents take turns pulling a small carriage with supplies. Hilarious! I decided that I will be doing that with my family some day: "Come on kids. Another cycling trip through Europe (or Asia or Africa or whatever)." Hehehehe. So, after chatting with them a bit over Coco Puffs and talking about our routes, we set off on our separate ways (me to the north and them to the south).
Ended up leaving around 10am and headed along one of the local cycle paths to the coast. It was a great ride in the morning through small villages and farms again. I stopped at a little local pub for lunch (had crepes and tea), where a few other local cyclists were hanging out drinking beer. Seemed that everyone was out riding that morning. I then eventually found my way to De Haan, a small town along the coast in Belgium between France and Holland, hoping to find out about ferries and/or hostels for the night. At one point, I got lost and ended up riding circles around this one rural area with no sign, houses, or people to be seen. Not to worry, though, I had my trusty compass that directed me southwest to Ostend (the port town) where I had heard there were daily ferries to and from Ramsgate, England. Alas, I saw signs to Ostend and headed into the town centre (always a good place to go if one needs information).
More history:
Ostend, spelled "Oostende" in Dutch/Flemish (pronounced in English as "Austin" but with an "end" instead of an "in"), means "east-end" (sort of how it sounds) and was once located on the east side of a small island off the coast of Belgium. Once the sea began working it's way back, Ostend became part of the mainland and Belgium's new northern port city. Eventually, when the Antwerp ports closed down in the 1700s, Ostend took over as Belgium's central harbor, busy with trade and tourist traffic. Recently, it was become one of the major ferry points between England and Europe along the northwestern coast (the others are Dunkerque and Calais, France).
I have to say, however, that the culture and social scene in Ostend is strange. This is probably due to the continuous tourist and trade traffic that goes through the city, but I was not really into being there. Aside from th seafood dinner that I had (complete with "chips"--french fries--and mayonnaise, the European way), there wasn't much else to do. The downfall of my day was when I went to the tourist info office to ask about ferry transport to England that evening and was told that the Ostend boats are only car ferries, they don't take foot passengers or bikes. Damn! That messed up my plans, so I got a room at some local inn (for $40!) and decided to get up early again the next morning to make my way west along the coast toward Dunkerque (or Dunkirk in English), France where I was told there was a ferry across the English Channel.
I was starting to get a bit miffed with all the contradicting information I was getting from different people, though. It seems that some tourist info people don't actually know what they are talking about. I had been told by someone in Brugge that I could take the ferry from Ostend, but apparently not. How utterly annoying! Again, no worries. I didn't need to see the opening ceremony of the Tour anyway. What matters is the Prologue on Saturday.
After a supper of mussels and chips (like I said) along with gelato for dessert, it was off to bed in my own room with a real, high-pressured, hot shower!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Riding the River to Brugge
Cycling Western Europe
Day 6: July 4, 2007 (Brussels to Brugge, Belgium)
Route: Brussels - Gent - Brugge - Damme - Brugge
Weather: rainy (AM); partly cloudy and sunny (PM)
Total mileage: 55 miles
HAPPY JULY 4TH!
Another rainy day in Belgium (what's new?). Not to worry, I thought upon awaking to the sound of a soft rain trickling down the window. Pulling back the shades, I looked out to another gray sky and not much promise of a dry, warm day of cycling. The 100+ miles to Brugge just wasn't sounding too fun at that point. I'm not here to get sick and be miserable, I said to myself; so, I decided once again to hop a train to the halfway point between Brussels and Brugge, which is Gent.
Gent is not the most spectacular city I have visited thus far on this trip. I wasn't impressed. After spending a good amount of time riding around and exploring the city centre, I called it quits and found a little sandwich shop where I stopped for lunch. Along the way, I had come across a sports store which sells travel cycling backpacks and decided to replace mine with a new, more high-tech one. After packing my new bag and tending to nagging hunger pains, I set off to cover the remaining 30 some-odd miles to Brugge. Probably the only interesting thing I saw in Gent was a sign announcing that the 2007 Tour de France would be traveling through this weekend. I doubt they'll take in much of it, though, not that there's a whole lot to see.
Although my experience with the LF6 wasn't too spectacular (considering the weather conditions), I thought I would give the LF5 to Brugge a try. Turns out it was a great decision! As the weather began to clear up in the afternoon, I rode along the river that connects the two towns and continues out to sea. It was windy and I couldn't ride more than 10/12mph, but it was a wonderful, picturesque ride through country villages and farm land. A few hours later, I reached Brugge and came upon one of the most breathtaking towns that I have seen on this trip. Instantly, I fell in love with it. Mom had said that Brugge was beautiful, but I hadn't expected this. Old stone bridges, city gates, castles, churches, cathedrals, and wooden windmills are scattered throughout the city. A canal/river encircles the entire area like a moat with cycling/walking/running paths zig-zagging in and out of main streets and parks. People are riding, running, and walking all over the place! I saw two large groups of cyclist out training yesterday when I was taking an out-and-back ride north to the village of Damme. Why am I not living here? I thought (not for the first time on this trip).
A little history for you:
Brugge, capital of West Flanders, Belgium (pronounced Bruges in Flemish) was once a large and famous port city. During the middle ages, it boasted one of the largest and most cosmopolitan populations in Europe. Being the center for much foreign trade and tourism, Brugge thrived within it's ancient stone walls. Over the next few hundred years, however, the ocean slowly rededed and Brugge was pushed further inland. Today, it is no longer located along the north Belgium coast. Ostend (a rather boring, strange port town) has taken it's place. Although no longer thriving and bustling as it once was, Brugge has not lost it's 15th-Century charm. Old castle and stone ruins remain scattered throughout the city, canals weave in and out of streets, quaint restaurants and cafes line the river, and cycling/walking/running paths wind in and out of parks. I would say that it's a must-see area of Belgium, even moreso than Brussels, and the surrounding villages make for great day-trips.
After exploring the city a bit and visiting nearby areas, I headed back into the town centre to find a nice place to eat. The map I had picked up at the tourist info office gave some suggestions for good restaurants, and I chose a place that specializes in vegetarian dishes. It was a great pick! Barely a few minutes after I had sat down (in my stinky cycle clothes, which the waiter was not too happy about, I presume), a man seated at the table next to me inquired about my trip. Alas, another traveling cyclist! We got to talking about our travels and experiences, which turned into a three hour meal including multiple glasses of wine. Cycling talk turned into general travel talk which spawned into a political discussion/debate. The next thing I knew, it was 11pm and I was a bit tipsy. We thanked each other for the company and stimulating conversation (always good after spending so much time alone on the bike--we both agreed), and I headed back (rather cautiously) on my bike to the hostel for the night.
Yet another interesting and exciting day. I am thinking of spending some extra time here and missing the opening ceremony of the Tour de France tomorrow, but it depends on the weather. I will make that decision in the morning. As long as I get to see a little bit of the race, I will be happy. Not that there is much to see when a few hundred men fly by at 40mph on bicycles, but it's "being there" that counts. Off to bed now. There is only one other person in my room tonight, and she is an older woman; so, I will finally be getting a good night's rest. Bon nuit . . .
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Cow pies and the LF6
Cycling Western Europe
Day 5: July 3, 2007 (Maastricht, NL to Brussels, Belgium)
Route: Maastricht - Tongeren - Brussels
Weather: rainy and windy (AM/PM)
Total mileage: 30 miles
Basically, today sucked! For some insane reason I decided this morning that it would be a good idea to try to ride the 110 miles from Maastricht to Brussels, Belgium . . . not a good idea at all! The weather wasn't too bad when I set out around 10am, but about a half an hour later the gray clouds appeared overhead and rain came pouring down. I might as well have taken my bike with me into the shower it was so bad. To make matters worse, the wind was hitting me head on so that I couldn't ride at more than 10mph max. Awesome. I kept thinking: why didn't I take the train?
A few miles from the Netherlands/Belgium border (which doesn't have any border control, strangely enough), I saw a travel office and decided it would be a good idea to stop and see what they had to say about any train stations in the near vacinity. The woman behind the desk--after giving me a strange look and holding back laughter at the sight of a dripping wet, shivering, and muddy American with a new, red racing bike--told me there are trains that run direct from the next town, Togeren, to Brussels. She then directed me to the cycling route (part of the National Cycling Network, called the LF) that would take me there. "It's better than the main roads," she suggested. Great! I thought. If I am going to be wet, it would be nice to see some local villages and countryside. So, with my trusty LF map in hand I set off on the #6 route to Togeren . . .
The information woman forgot to mention, however, that the cycling routes, although free of traffic and well marked, zig-zag through surrounding villages and farms making the trip twice as long as it needs to be and taking the traveller along the-middle-of-nowhere paths through cow fields (which flood when it rains). Two hours and 25 miles later, I arrived at the Togeren train station. Wet, cold, muddy, and smelling of cow shit, I bought a ticket and sat down in a dry place for the first time all morning. I must admit, not one of my better ideas.
Here I am, though, in Brussels. The local hostel was booked so I got the next closest thing: a single room at some random, slightly sketchy boarding house in the downtown area. After a much needed long shower and washing of my wet, dirty clothes, I set out to find some grub. What better to have in Belgium than Belgium waffles? Not the best lunch, but it had to be done. Then it was off for some sightseeing and shopping. I plan to hit the sack early tonight. (So excited that I have my own bed! It's definitely worth the extra $20 to not have to worry about being woken up in the middle of the night by drunken teenagers--this happened to me last night in Maastricht; so, when I got up early this morning to start my journey I made it a point to "accidentally" drop things, slam doors, turn on lights, and open the shades. Oops!) It's off to Brugge tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll get some nice weather for a change. Until then . . .
Day 5: July 3, 2007 (Maastricht, NL to Brussels, Belgium)
Route: Maastricht - Tongeren - Brussels
Weather: rainy and windy (AM/PM)
Total mileage: 30 miles
Basically, today sucked! For some insane reason I decided this morning that it would be a good idea to try to ride the 110 miles from Maastricht to Brussels, Belgium . . . not a good idea at all! The weather wasn't too bad when I set out around 10am, but about a half an hour later the gray clouds appeared overhead and rain came pouring down. I might as well have taken my bike with me into the shower it was so bad. To make matters worse, the wind was hitting me head on so that I couldn't ride at more than 10mph max. Awesome. I kept thinking: why didn't I take the train?
A few miles from the Netherlands/Belgium border (which doesn't have any border control, strangely enough), I saw a travel office and decided it would be a good idea to stop and see what they had to say about any train stations in the near vacinity. The woman behind the desk--after giving me a strange look and holding back laughter at the sight of a dripping wet, shivering, and muddy American with a new, red racing bike--told me there are trains that run direct from the next town, Togeren, to Brussels. She then directed me to the cycling route (part of the National Cycling Network, called the LF) that would take me there. "It's better than the main roads," she suggested. Great! I thought. If I am going to be wet, it would be nice to see some local villages and countryside. So, with my trusty LF map in hand I set off on the #6 route to Togeren . . .
The information woman forgot to mention, however, that the cycling routes, although free of traffic and well marked, zig-zag through surrounding villages and farms making the trip twice as long as it needs to be and taking the traveller along the-middle-of-nowhere paths through cow fields (which flood when it rains). Two hours and 25 miles later, I arrived at the Togeren train station. Wet, cold, muddy, and smelling of cow shit, I bought a ticket and sat down in a dry place for the first time all morning. I must admit, not one of my better ideas.
Here I am, though, in Brussels. The local hostel was booked so I got the next closest thing: a single room at some random, slightly sketchy boarding house in the downtown area. After a much needed long shower and washing of my wet, dirty clothes, I set out to find some grub. What better to have in Belgium than Belgium waffles? Not the best lunch, but it had to be done. Then it was off for some sightseeing and shopping. I plan to hit the sack early tonight. (So excited that I have my own bed! It's definitely worth the extra $20 to not have to worry about being woken up in the middle of the night by drunken teenagers--this happened to me last night in Maastricht; so, when I got up early this morning to start my journey I made it a point to "accidentally" drop things, slam doors, turn on lights, and open the shades. Oops!) It's off to Brugge tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll get some nice weather for a change. Until then . . .
Monday, July 2, 2007
Does this train go to Maastricht?
Cycling Western Europe
Day 4: July 2, 2007 (Arnhem to Maastricht, NL)
Route: Arnhem - Venlo - Roermond - Maastricht
Weather: rainy and windy (AM); partly cloudy (PM)
Total mileage: 25 miles
Situated in the southern tip of the Limburg province of NL, the city of Maastricht is sandwiched between Belgium and Germany. This must explain the great difference in the dialect, food, and architecture that exists within what remains of the ancient stone walls of this once castle town.
My hostel (another Netherland Stayokay) sits on the Meuse River near one of the old outer walls and a large park. I arrived around 4pm on a local train after cycling 25 miles through the not-so-spectacular countryside of Gelderland into Limburg. I decided this morning (after a fitful sleep and awaking to another gray, rainy day) that I would hop a train south to Venlo, the halfway point between Arnhem and Maastricht (my next stop); and then ride from there into the city. After about 20 miles of pushing through strong winds and rain (which was mysteriously moving in the same direction as I was, because it was sunny over both the German and Belgium borders to the east and west of me), I decided to call it quits and stop in Roermond to ride the train the rest of the way. Had I done the whole route from Arnhem it would have been another over 100+ miles riding day, but after yesterday's ride and last night's lack of good rest (the woman in the bed across from me was snorring through the whole night) it just wasn't happening.
I got into Maastricht this afternoon and headed straight for the VVV (tourist info office) to pick up maps and contact the hostel. Luckily, it was still open (since I've realized that everything closes by 5pm in this country, including restaurants and shops). It was off to the hostel for a good shower and rest before heading back out (the weather had cleared up by then--figures) to have a nice dinner. I decided to treat myself to some good Italian, because I was craving pasta; so, I found a little place situated along the boardwalk next to the river. Sitting at my table, eating warm bread with olive butter (amazing!), drinking good red wine (Cab all the way, baby!), and awaiting my vegetarian pasta, I gazed out over the river at a beautiful, old church and quaint Dutch buildings. Am I really here? I couldn't help but think. The only thing that would have made it better was to have someone else with me. I must say that it gets a bit lonely traveling so much by myself . . .
This may sound crazy, but I find myself talking aloud sometimes, singing, or finding reasons to walk up to complete strangers just to have a conversation with another person. Being alone is nice, but it gets lonely after a while. Tonight at dinner I heard a group of young men speaking English at one of the tables nearby and wanted to speak with them simply for the sake of talking. It was rather pathetic, I admit, because their conversation consisted of computer talk and internet game strategies; yet, I was dying to just open my mouth and hear my voice again. Hours and even the majority of days go by in silence. On the bike, out in the country with no one else around, there isn't much opportunity to speak. I am sometimes surprised when I do hear my voice again, wondering: "Who is that speaking?" I can certainly see how one could become insane stuck in solitary confinement or lost in the wilderness for a long period of time. This is not to say that I am going insane (I may not be the one to judge that, though) or feel as though I am locked up, but it can be a little strange being with myself so much. At least I have a lot of time to think and discover new information about Alex, as well as explore this part of Europe.
Tomorrow it's into Belgium to Brussels before heading north to the coast. Crossing my fingers that the weather gets better . . .
Day 4: July 2, 2007 (Arnhem to Maastricht, NL)
Route: Arnhem - Venlo - Roermond - Maastricht
Weather: rainy and windy (AM); partly cloudy (PM)
Total mileage: 25 miles
Situated in the southern tip of the Limburg province of NL, the city of Maastricht is sandwiched between Belgium and Germany. This must explain the great difference in the dialect, food, and architecture that exists within what remains of the ancient stone walls of this once castle town.
My hostel (another Netherland Stayokay) sits on the Meuse River near one of the old outer walls and a large park. I arrived around 4pm on a local train after cycling 25 miles through the not-so-spectacular countryside of Gelderland into Limburg. I decided this morning (after a fitful sleep and awaking to another gray, rainy day) that I would hop a train south to Venlo, the halfway point between Arnhem and Maastricht (my next stop); and then ride from there into the city. After about 20 miles of pushing through strong winds and rain (which was mysteriously moving in the same direction as I was, because it was sunny over both the German and Belgium borders to the east and west of me), I decided to call it quits and stop in Roermond to ride the train the rest of the way. Had I done the whole route from Arnhem it would have been another over 100+ miles riding day, but after yesterday's ride and last night's lack of good rest (the woman in the bed across from me was snorring through the whole night) it just wasn't happening.
I got into Maastricht this afternoon and headed straight for the VVV (tourist info office) to pick up maps and contact the hostel. Luckily, it was still open (since I've realized that everything closes by 5pm in this country, including restaurants and shops). It was off to the hostel for a good shower and rest before heading back out (the weather had cleared up by then--figures) to have a nice dinner. I decided to treat myself to some good Italian, because I was craving pasta; so, I found a little place situated along the boardwalk next to the river. Sitting at my table, eating warm bread with olive butter (amazing!), drinking good red wine (Cab all the way, baby!), and awaiting my vegetarian pasta, I gazed out over the river at a beautiful, old church and quaint Dutch buildings. Am I really here? I couldn't help but think. The only thing that would have made it better was to have someone else with me. I must say that it gets a bit lonely traveling so much by myself . . .
This may sound crazy, but I find myself talking aloud sometimes, singing, or finding reasons to walk up to complete strangers just to have a conversation with another person. Being alone is nice, but it gets lonely after a while. Tonight at dinner I heard a group of young men speaking English at one of the tables nearby and wanted to speak with them simply for the sake of talking. It was rather pathetic, I admit, because their conversation consisted of computer talk and internet game strategies; yet, I was dying to just open my mouth and hear my voice again. Hours and even the majority of days go by in silence. On the bike, out in the country with no one else around, there isn't much opportunity to speak. I am sometimes surprised when I do hear my voice again, wondering: "Who is that speaking?" I can certainly see how one could become insane stuck in solitary confinement or lost in the wilderness for a long period of time. This is not to say that I am going insane (I may not be the one to judge that, though) or feel as though I am locked up, but it can be a little strange being with myself so much. At least I have a lot of time to think and discover new information about Alex, as well as explore this part of Europe.
Tomorrow it's into Belgium to Brussels before heading north to the coast. Crossing my fingers that the weather gets better . . .
Sunday, July 1, 2007
I met an old man on the way to Gouda
Cycling Western Europe
Day 3: July 1, 2007 (Den Haag to Arnhem, NL)
Route: Den Haag - Gouda - Utrecht - Arnhem
Weather: cloudy (AM); partly cloudy (PM)
Total mileage: 105 miles
Today's saving graces: random old men, church steeples, my compass, and other cyclists.
Yes, that would be the same "Gouda" as the famous cheese. And that is exactly what I did on my way through: had some cheese. A 3-cheese sandwich actually. Gouda was my first stop on the way to one of the NL's eastern cities, Arnhem (located in the Gelderland province near the western German border. I wasn't sure I would be able to make it all the way, but I figured I would try to get half way to Utrecht and then make a decision.
After a rather rough night of getting locked out of the hostel and having to bang on the windows to wake someone up (apparently there is a midnight curfew, which I didn't know about), the day began slow: gray, rainy, and chilly. Not ideal riding weather, but at this point I have come to expect dreary skies. I could either wuss out and take the train or suck it up and get on the bike; I chose the latter, of course. I didn't come here to carry my bike around on trains and spend money. My choice proved to be a good one, because about an hour and a half into my trip (once I had gotten into Gouda and had lunch), the skies cleared. I was out in the town square cleaning off my bike (it was caked in mud, sand, and water from the morning's ride) when suddenly the clouds broke and the sun came out. Amazing how that just happens. For the rest of the day, then, there wasn't a rain cloud in sight all the way east.
Riding into Gouda from Den Haag was easy. I followed the trusty cycling road signs all the way, weaving in and out of small, rural villages and farms. I didn't pay much attention to my surroundings in the beginning, because I was too concerned with staying warm and dry; yet, I managed to snap a few shots of the lovely scenery and buildings. After lunch, however, I had some trouble making my way east to Utrecht. The city, located in the center of the country (and in the Utrecht province), is about thiry miles from Gouda. Well, it took me forty, because I kept missing road signs and finding myself on narrow country roads leading to nowhere. Mind you, one cannot actually "get lost" in NL, per se, but it isn't hard to spend hours winding in and out of the small farm towns. At one intersection, the sign pointed to the left for Utrecht, but there was a wall, which was thoroughly confusing. I ended up stopping an old man who was cycling through to ask directions. He pointed me in the right direction, and I was off again. I realized this was a better tactic than trying to maneuver my way through the middle of no where; and so, made it a point to consult random old men along the way.
In one town, outside of Utrecht on the way to Arnhem, I found myself speaking in half Dutch, half English to a little old gentleman on a scooter. "Do you speak Dutch?" he asked (in Dutch, of course). "No, sorry," I said. We then proceeded to talk primary using gestures. "You want to get to Arnhem? (laugh, laugh) Go straight, turn right at the stop light, and then go straight for a really long time," was what I figured he said. Prior to speaking with him, I had been using my compass to navigate the way east. At one point, after making a few wrong turns, I decided to give up on trying to guess which towns were between Utrecht and Arnhem (there aren't actually signs for the towns and cities on many of the small roads until you are about ten or twenty miles outside of them). I had lost the main road out of Utrecht into Arnhem; and so figured as long as I was going east or southeast I would find it eventually. Sounds crazy, I know. Like I said, though, it is difficult to actually get lost in NL. I wasn't worried about that, just frustrated that I was probably riding longer than I needed to be. The compass and church steeples became my guides. I would check periodally that I was headed in the right direction (or watch the sun) and look for a church steeple to find my way into the next town. That proved to worked for most of the trip. Man, I am becoming an experienced world traveller! Maybe I'll be the next "Man Against Wild" or "Woman Against Wild."
The main miracles of the day were meeting up with other cyclists. On my way into Utrecht, a male rider came speeding by me at about 20 miles per hour. I had been cruising along at a slow pace, admiring the scenery, wishing someone were here to acompany me, when this guy flew by. A perfect opportunity to make up some time and distance, I thought; so I caught up to him and "jumped on" his wheel (which means I got up close behind him and stayed right near the back of his bike). In cycling, this is called "drafting" and many people get annoyed when you do this to them (unless it's in a road race, where it is allowed--it is illegal in triathlons, though). About five miles down the road, he stopped and asked where I was headed. "To Utrecht," I said with my terrible Dutch accent. "I am headed that way, too," he replied. He said I could follow him; and so for the next twenty-some-odd miles we sped through the surrounding towns and villages toward the city. It was great to have someone to ride with, but the pace proved to be a bit taxing with a backpack and waist bag weighing me down. I felt my body struggling to hold on and my legs burning to keep up, but I wanted to push myself so that I could make it into Arnhem by nightfall.
We rode together through a national park and forest on the outskirts of Utrecht, where my new friend had to turn off to meet someone. "If you are ever in Leiden, please let me know," Bas (short for Sebastian) said. "Of course. And if you are ever in Chicago, do the same," I replied. We exchanged email addresses and parted. I was back on my own for the next forty miles or so to Arnhem. As luck would have it, though, I met a cycling couple on their way into the city a few hours later just as I was wondering how I would find my way to the hostel. Elizabeth and Yell (short for Daniel) had been riding all day as well, and were making their way home to a small town on the east side of Arnhem. They had to cut through the city, though, which prompted our meeting. They offered to detour from their route once we had gotten into town and take me to the hostel, because it is located in the north corner of the city. There is such a cycling community here and people are so helpful!
Elizabeth and Yell told me about their cycling travels in Portugal, Italy, and the US. I told them about mine in Japan and thus far in England and NL. It was both wonderful and inspiring to hear about this couple's adventures on their bikes and the places they had been. I couldn't help but keep picturing Chris and me doing the same thing together. We rode through the towns surrounding Arnhem and into the city, and zig-zagging along the cycling paths that line the main roads. They showed me the city centre, the station, and a beautiful park situated in the middle of everything (a little like Central Park). Finally, we reached the hostel, which is located in the woods along the outer limits of Arnhem. It was such a relief to know that I had made it, and food was not far away. I said good-bye to my riding companions and made my way to the nearest restaurant. After 105 miles and 7 hours of riding, I opted for a falafel restaurant (one of the only places that was still open at 9pm). It's so good to sit down to a big meal after a day of riding.
Tomorrow: it's off to Maastricht in south NL near the Belgium and German borders. I hope this great weather holds up.
Day 3: July 1, 2007 (Den Haag to Arnhem, NL)
Route: Den Haag - Gouda - Utrecht - Arnhem
Weather: cloudy (AM); partly cloudy (PM)
Total mileage: 105 miles
Today's saving graces: random old men, church steeples, my compass, and other cyclists.
Yes, that would be the same "Gouda" as the famous cheese. And that is exactly what I did on my way through: had some cheese. A 3-cheese sandwich actually. Gouda was my first stop on the way to one of the NL's eastern cities, Arnhem (located in the Gelderland province near the western German border. I wasn't sure I would be able to make it all the way, but I figured I would try to get half way to Utrecht and then make a decision.
After a rather rough night of getting locked out of the hostel and having to bang on the windows to wake someone up (apparently there is a midnight curfew, which I didn't know about), the day began slow: gray, rainy, and chilly. Not ideal riding weather, but at this point I have come to expect dreary skies. I could either wuss out and take the train or suck it up and get on the bike; I chose the latter, of course. I didn't come here to carry my bike around on trains and spend money. My choice proved to be a good one, because about an hour and a half into my trip (once I had gotten into Gouda and had lunch), the skies cleared. I was out in the town square cleaning off my bike (it was caked in mud, sand, and water from the morning's ride) when suddenly the clouds broke and the sun came out. Amazing how that just happens. For the rest of the day, then, there wasn't a rain cloud in sight all the way east.
Riding into Gouda from Den Haag was easy. I followed the trusty cycling road signs all the way, weaving in and out of small, rural villages and farms. I didn't pay much attention to my surroundings in the beginning, because I was too concerned with staying warm and dry; yet, I managed to snap a few shots of the lovely scenery and buildings. After lunch, however, I had some trouble making my way east to Utrecht. The city, located in the center of the country (and in the Utrecht province), is about thiry miles from Gouda. Well, it took me forty, because I kept missing road signs and finding myself on narrow country roads leading to nowhere. Mind you, one cannot actually "get lost" in NL, per se, but it isn't hard to spend hours winding in and out of the small farm towns. At one intersection, the sign pointed to the left for Utrecht, but there was a wall, which was thoroughly confusing. I ended up stopping an old man who was cycling through to ask directions. He pointed me in the right direction, and I was off again. I realized this was a better tactic than trying to maneuver my way through the middle of no where; and so, made it a point to consult random old men along the way.
In one town, outside of Utrecht on the way to Arnhem, I found myself speaking in half Dutch, half English to a little old gentleman on a scooter. "Do you speak Dutch?" he asked (in Dutch, of course). "No, sorry," I said. We then proceeded to talk primary using gestures. "You want to get to Arnhem? (laugh, laugh) Go straight, turn right at the stop light, and then go straight for a really long time," was what I figured he said. Prior to speaking with him, I had been using my compass to navigate the way east. At one point, after making a few wrong turns, I decided to give up on trying to guess which towns were between Utrecht and Arnhem (there aren't actually signs for the towns and cities on many of the small roads until you are about ten or twenty miles outside of them). I had lost the main road out of Utrecht into Arnhem; and so figured as long as I was going east or southeast I would find it eventually. Sounds crazy, I know. Like I said, though, it is difficult to actually get lost in NL. I wasn't worried about that, just frustrated that I was probably riding longer than I needed to be. The compass and church steeples became my guides. I would check periodally that I was headed in the right direction (or watch the sun) and look for a church steeple to find my way into the next town. That proved to worked for most of the trip. Man, I am becoming an experienced world traveller! Maybe I'll be the next "Man Against Wild" or "Woman Against Wild."
The main miracles of the day were meeting up with other cyclists. On my way into Utrecht, a male rider came speeding by me at about 20 miles per hour. I had been cruising along at a slow pace, admiring the scenery, wishing someone were here to acompany me, when this guy flew by. A perfect opportunity to make up some time and distance, I thought; so I caught up to him and "jumped on" his wheel (which means I got up close behind him and stayed right near the back of his bike). In cycling, this is called "drafting" and many people get annoyed when you do this to them (unless it's in a road race, where it is allowed--it is illegal in triathlons, though). About five miles down the road, he stopped and asked where I was headed. "To Utrecht," I said with my terrible Dutch accent. "I am headed that way, too," he replied. He said I could follow him; and so for the next twenty-some-odd miles we sped through the surrounding towns and villages toward the city. It was great to have someone to ride with, but the pace proved to be a bit taxing with a backpack and waist bag weighing me down. I felt my body struggling to hold on and my legs burning to keep up, but I wanted to push myself so that I could make it into Arnhem by nightfall.
We rode together through a national park and forest on the outskirts of Utrecht, where my new friend had to turn off to meet someone. "If you are ever in Leiden, please let me know," Bas (short for Sebastian) said. "Of course. And if you are ever in Chicago, do the same," I replied. We exchanged email addresses and parted. I was back on my own for the next forty miles or so to Arnhem. As luck would have it, though, I met a cycling couple on their way into the city a few hours later just as I was wondering how I would find my way to the hostel. Elizabeth and Yell (short for Daniel) had been riding all day as well, and were making their way home to a small town on the east side of Arnhem. They had to cut through the city, though, which prompted our meeting. They offered to detour from their route once we had gotten into town and take me to the hostel, because it is located in the north corner of the city. There is such a cycling community here and people are so helpful!
Elizabeth and Yell told me about their cycling travels in Portugal, Italy, and the US. I told them about mine in Japan and thus far in England and NL. It was both wonderful and inspiring to hear about this couple's adventures on their bikes and the places they had been. I couldn't help but keep picturing Chris and me doing the same thing together. We rode through the towns surrounding Arnhem and into the city, and zig-zagging along the cycling paths that line the main roads. They showed me the city centre, the station, and a beautiful park situated in the middle of everything (a little like Central Park). Finally, we reached the hostel, which is located in the woods along the outer limits of Arnhem. It was such a relief to know that I had made it, and food was not far away. I said good-bye to my riding companions and made my way to the nearest restaurant. After 105 miles and 7 hours of riding, I opted for a falafel restaurant (one of the only places that was still open at 9pm). It's so good to sit down to a big meal after a day of riding.
Tomorrow: it's off to Maastricht in south NL near the Belgium and German borders. I hope this great weather holds up.
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