Continental #1 wrapup

This is the wrapup I promised you last night. I still ended up saying loads more than I’d initially planned - the whole Liege incident certainly made for a tale and a half. What am I trying to achieve here? Local fragmentation, that’s it - deconstructing and reconstructing and contextualising and recontextualising.


There’s not a lot I can say about how I felt about this trip at the time because it’s already been two years and all I have left are handfuls, vignettes, glimpses - a remembrance of things past. In search of lost time, says Proust. This was my very first trip to Europe on my own, my maiden voyage, the journey that set the yardstick for all other journeys to come. It was here that I fell in love with travelling, and May the bitterest month a la TS Eliot - the month where I kindled alight my wanderlust.


I stil vividly remember flying to Carcassonne for the first time and wandering the cobbled streets of the city centre. The old town and the fortress; and then taking the Thalys train to Toulouse and seeing my dad again. That was nice, that was. The wonderful panini shop on the Rue St Rome and buying 4-EUR paninis, and eating them on the Place du Capitole. Pacing the banks of the Canal du Midi and then napping under the green boughs - which is far less romantic than it sounds; there were gnats and flies and the water was tepid and far less impressive than the pictures. The unexpected hailstorm when I was eating at the restaurant off the Pont-Neuf.


Barcelona was a visit that changed my life, not spectacularly, but subtlely. How can I forget how wildly I fell in love with Alin, and he with me? And Nadja and our afternoon at the Font Magica. The Thai restaurant off the Espanya and the creepy waiter there who followed me into the toilet and asked me for my phone number. The Thai was good, though.


This trip, in a sense, was me on sensible mode. Continental #4 was much more spontanous, me and my pivot through post-Soviet eastern Bloc, saying stuff in my theatre of the absurd. I met other travellers equally la rambla and la loca. ‘Wine is a grand thing,’ says Hemingway, ‘it makes you forget all the bad.’


I know this is supposed to be a wrapup of continental #1 and not #4, but couldn’t resist. Memories, of course, are constantly being rewritten to fit our self images.


My favourite cities this trip were probably Toulouse and Lisbon. I would like to include Barcelona because I enjoyed my time there so much, but that was because of the people I met, not the city. The city I found hot, stifling and too similar to Taipei. Lisbon was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever had the fortune to visit, but the people there were bland. I do remember chatting with my roommates at the hostel, but they too were unmemorable and unremarkable. The scenery though was wonderful.


Barcelona, always Barcelona, and meeting next to the Font Magica. Do you subscribe to the fancy, if you will, that everything happens for a reason?


I liked Maastricht, and the feeling of making coffee in Eddie’s kitchen. I would stretch myself out on his long sofa, like a leopard, and carry my mug of coffee over to the table there, and sip at my coffee and read Nadja and Anja’s emails, and message Alin.


Again, I am clear conscienced, though still those voices are calling from far away.

Still Lisbon

Luxembourg, part II - Vianden

Vianden Castle overlooking the town of Vianden

This will be the last proper post in continental #1. It was a large undertaking that spanned more than two years, during which I went on  multiple hiatuses. Lots of things happened to me during these two years. Somehow I thought this moment would deserve more aplomb and ceremony, but all I feel is an overwhelming sense of underwhelm-ment - if that's even a word. I wish I'd been able to write more, but loads has been happening in my life, as always, loads more is about to happen, and it just doesn't feel right, leaving unfinished business here when I'm about to embark on continental #3 - which will probably take me another two years to write. Good grief, I sincerely hope not.

I'll try to make more of an effort with this entry (ie not massive word blocks and massive picture blocks), but in case I'm not happy with the result, I'll still write a wrapup like I did for continental #2 - that is, if and when I'm in the mood. In any case I still have a slew of pictures left that the world needs to see - Hello, World.

I took the train to Ettelbruck, and got on a bus to Vianden, which was about an hour's journey.

Leaving Luxembourg station

The nice train tables!

 The train there was almost completely empty. Maybe I'm chicken, but I found this too to be mildly unsettling. If this had been Romania I think I would have been scared stiff.

Isn't this unsettling!?

I'm taking blurry pictures in an attempt to take my mind off the sheer creepiness of the empty carriage

Urgh finally

Obligatory pompous pic of EU territory sign

Vianden, by all accounts was another picture-perfect little town situated in a coniferous valley, with a castle overlooking the town/village. I liked it, but it intimidated me slightly. I can say this in retrospect now, but it was a lot like Fussen, minus all the tourists - Luxembourg is not particularly touristy, it seems. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I don't like these small European towns where there aren't many people. It's the very reason why I struck Bialystok and Ostrava off my itinerary this time. I prefer to stay in the middle of the action (though not too much action), thank you very much. There's something mildly terrifying about being by yourself in a lonely, small town - you feel very exposed, somehow.

I found the bus and got on it, and rattled off to Vianden. The bus driver was a very genial old man, and I thanked him profusely when I got off. He said he'd be back at 4pm and reminded me not to miss the bus because it would be the last one going to the train station. I thanked him again for his kind reminder, and went off to Vianden proper, feeling a little bit better about life in general. Again, the little moments.

First, the town.

The bus stop was on this road

And then, of course, Vianden Castle.

There was a cable car that went straight up, and apparently offered a very good panorama of Vianden valley, but I had also missed the last car. I wasn't too cut up about it though, because I have a phobia of things like that. Instead I walked up as far as I could get to the castle - and a very steep and rather boring walk it was, too. Halfway up there I decided that if I didn't buck up pretty soon I'd miss the bus and I'd be stranded in Vianden for the night, and HELLZ NOE that was a terrifying prospect, so I scurried back down to wait for the bus, which came merrily along ten minutes later. Of course I didn't miss it.

I managed to get back to Ettelbruck, and I made it back to Luxembourg..

The carriage is empty. ARGH of course it's empty

Even looking at this picture gives me the heebie jeebs

... and everything was fine, until Liege.

There was a massive hold up during the Luxembourg-Liege connection, during which the train stopped for no good reason right in the middle of nowhere. Keep in mind that by this time it was somewhere round 11 in the night. This was west Europe and all that, the country home to the EU headquaters, but still. I got really antsy and worried. To make matters worse, a Belgic boy decided it would be a good idea to accost me, and he followed me all around the train station in Liege when we both got off, I to change to my Maastricht train, and him to... don't know, don't care.

And that was when I discovered the unthinkable: I had missed the last connecting train to Maastricht.

Something like survival instinct kicked in then, forcing down the panic and hysteria. Consider your options, I thought - no trains left and no way out of Liege, which means I'll have to spend the night here. Where will I stay - in the station, or should I find a hotel? Do I exchange money for comfort, then.

It was pushing midnight at this point and the Liege station was begin to gradually fill up with all kinds of seedy-looking characters, including lots of homeless people. I'd shaken off the Belgic boy but had no idea if he'd sally back and find me again. It was really cold. I frantically messaged Eddie asking him if he had any suggestions - although I don't really know what I expected him to do - all trains and buses had stopped operating and his only means of transport was a secondhand bicycle, and I couldn't very well ask him to bike the 33km inbetween in the pitch dark from his residence. Actually, I did, but he said that was out of the question - 'and I'd probably get lost on the way and then YOU'D have to come rescue me.' Fair enough, I said drily, and hung up.

If our roles had been reversed I don't think I would have done the same for him either. In any case, I resigned myself to the fact that he couldn't do anything about the situation, and decided to sit down and wait for the very first train back to Maastricht - which was at 6:30 am. About 5 hours, I reflected; that couldn't be so bad. I really didn't want to spend money on a hotel.

Fast forward twenty minutes, which seemed more like twenty years. It had gotten far too cold outside to stay there for too long, but there were no seats inside, and I didn't want to sit on the ground, which looked dirty. I tried leaning against the pillar and sleeping - that's how desperate I was - but by this point I'd conceded defeat, that is defeat against the fact that I somehow thought I could spend the night in Liege train station.

I walked out of the train station to see if there were any hotels. One mild saving grace was that Liege train station did not seem completely buried in oblivion like Weert - there was still a makeshift night hub and there were lots of neon signs, and most importantly there were three hotels within the vicinity.

The first hotel was very seedy and the receptionist was horribly bad tempered. The place was dilapidated and second rate and looked like the scene of a bad mafia movie where someone usually gets shot.

The second hotel was far better. It was clean and looked completely respectable. The receptionist was a rather handsome Spanish boy a few years older than me, from Madrid. We chatted a bit and I told him my situation, as he was understandably curious - also, I suppose not much happens during the night shift in the concierge of a Liege hotel. I complained a bit about the grouchy woman in the first hotel, and said that I'd already had a bad enough day without mean receptionists taking the mick and grossly overcharging me.

He was sympathetic and asked me how much she'd quoted. I said I couldn't disclose the exact amount - he was after all the hotel concierge - but I said I didn't feel like spending that much. I was thinking about the third hotel at this point that I'd seen, which I hadn't visited yet, and I admitted to him that I would like to go take a look, but that I liked his place the most so far. He smiled and said he understood, and waved me out.

The third hotel was manned by another surly concierge, this time a man in his 50s. The price he quoted was a lot less than the first hotel and slightly less than the Spanish boy's, but it looked a bit grubby and so did he. I noped out of there quickly and fled back to the Spanish hotel. The boy smiled a little when he saw me.

'It's bedlam out there,' I gasped, leaning against the counter.

'How much did he charge you?' the boy asked. 'Hey - I know how horrible you feel now. I, too, like to travel, and you're my age. Tell me how much he quoted and I'll go lower than that.'

At this point I think it was pretty obvious to him that I was going to stay either way. He could have named any sum he cared and I still would have accepted, and he knew this, and instead he chose to be a decent human being, and that made all the difference.

'60 euros he quoted me,' I said.

'I'll give you a nice double room for 55,' he said.

'Thanks!' I said, sagging against the counter with relief, not so much at the affordable pricetag, but at the fact that this night was now over, everything was all right, and I could now go to sleep in peace.

'Thank you for being so nice to me,' I said.

The boy smiled. 'It's like my pleasure,' he answered. 'Like I said - I know how you feel now, and I know it makes all the difference, seeing a friendly face and hearing a pleasant voice.'

'Don't you know it,' I said, with a tired smile. 'I - I'd really love to stay and chat - but I'm falling apart at the seams. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'When do you want to wake up? - I'll call you. No, wait - you need to get back to Maastricht don't you? I'll check the train schedules for you - ' and he did this as he spoke, quickly printing out the timetable for the morning and handing it to me.

'I guess I'll take the 7:30,' I said. 'I wish I could stay longer, but I really want to go back.'

'That's no problem,' he said, highlighting the 7:30 train. g'Here, you can keep this.'

'You're so nice to me,' I said, and at this point I think I was half in love with him, with his Madrid twang and easy smile and curly dark hair, and most of all his warm, frank manner.

---

I went up to my room and went into raptures of delight - it was practically royalty compared to the hostels and Eddie's student residence, very posh and clean with soft yellow lights, a clean bathroom, and a huge, white double bed. I dragged off my coat and threw myself onto the bed and thought - it's true what they say; money buys you happiness, to a degree at least.

I washed and went online for a bit, and then went to bed. The next morning I was woken by the hotel alarm, as the boy had promised. I cleaned up and went down, and the Spanish concierge had gone, and in his stead was a middle aged man. I swallowed my disappointment and checked out, and walked across the street to the train station. Liege by daylight was much more accommodating; of course it was. Someone was handing out huge cartons of drinkable yoghurt along with fliers - apparently it was a new product. I went and got one - it really was huge - and thought, well, that's breakfast solved.

I got on the train, and sipped at my yoghurt - which was delicious by the way - and thought a little bit about the Spanish concierge, and the fact that it would have been nice to see him one last time, but maybe it was better this way. That's life for you.

The train pulled into Maastricht and I got off, and walked slowly back to Eddie's.

I flew back to London Stansted the next day and concluded my trip; and it was adios for then, until Romania, two weeks later. It was frightfully rushed, really, but I made it work out, somehow - amid my lit review and three term papers and dissertation first draft, I did it, and I got distinction too. I just had to mention that.

Maastricht - the Meuse river and the Old Town

I think that's all I want to say in this entry. Maybe I'll do a wrapup tomorrow. It's hard to generalise continental 1, because different parts of my trip were so, well, different. In southern France it was comfortable and idyllic; in Barcelona I met Alin and Nadja and the Barcelona bunch, and they changed my life in subtle ways that I'll still be discovering for years to come; and the Dutch part of this trip had a lot of unpleasant surprises. There is plenty to like about this part of the trip though; about making coffee in Eddie's communal kitchen and talking to his flatmates, buying food from the supermarket next door and cooking some frightful food, and just chilling out in general. A journey not wholly wasted, then.

Luxembourg, part I - Luxembourg City

I'm exhausted because I've poured so much of myself into itinerary planning. What was it that I said two years ago? 'Planning the trip is almost more tiring than actually going per se.' I wouldn't go that far - I've done this oh so many times now and I'm getting better at It and knowing what I want, what sort of a traveller I am - but it's certainly draining. I'm the sort of person who's paranoid and I obsess over minutiae. Sometimes this is a good thing, and sometimes it's just downright stressful. I spent pretty much the entire evening first picking apart the RUS itinerary - they'd gotten loads of rather important travel details wrong - and then talking with the administrator. 'Points uno dos, tres,' I say. I did the same for Vilnius. I do things and I think about them time and again until I'm utterly convinced that they're perfect, and then when I'm sure everything's fine I let it go. They say that a sign of the shadow INFJ coming out is obsessive attention to external, 'minor' details and data. Maybe what they say is true. I oscillate as always between INFJ and INTJ.

This weekend felt slightly strange - a little morose, somewhat pensive. a bit quiet. I went through loads of sugary drinks and far more coffee than I usually do, maybe that's one reason why.

Still sleep eludes me, and still those voices are calling from far away.

--

Luxembourg was roughly a 4.5 hour journey from Maastricht, bar my walk from Eddie’s student halls. I had to change trains twice, once at Liege, and once at Ettelbruck, another ‘train town’ as I like to call them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, all trains lead to Liege, and all trains pass through Namur, yet another Belgic ‘train-town.’ Maastricht to Liege is usually an uneventful 30-minute journey and trains go there quite often. I stood on platform 5a, shivering slightly - Maastricht at this time of the year could still be slightly chilly, especially when it was drizzly and grey, like it was on the 29th of May, the day I went to LUX.

The official name for the Liege station is Liège-Guillemins, and it took me ages to figure out how to pronouce the town name properly. Some people called it Lee-gee, and when I parroted that, other people understood me fine.

(All this running around has wiped me out.)

I managed to reach Luxembourg without too much difficulty, and got there somewhere after noon. Was peckish and all the restaurants were ridiculously expensive so opted for the least expensive - McDonald's. Which was still hellishly expensive, but at this point I was ravenous and past caring.

Luxembourg train station

After that I walked to the historic city centre, and had a look at their town square, where an obelisk was built in memory of the day Luxembourg fell to Nazi Germany. I stood there a long time, thinking about history and imagining what it must have been like, and I stayed there long after all the other visitors had left. There were lots of Japanese tourists, clutching their little travel handbooks as they always do.

Walked across one of Luxumbourg's many bridges, and saw another bridge - Harry Potter Bridge number 1.

There were lots of Harry Potter bridges

And now we come to the highlight of the old town - a ravine filled with picturesque grey and white houses. It was lovely, but somehow these pictures don't really capture it, probably because it wasn't very sunny.

Another Harry Potter bridge and there goes the Hogwarts Express

Ghent, part II

Europe trip planning has PRETTY much come to an end, all that’s left is the ‘easy’ stuff like deciding where to go. The buses and hostelling part is over.

#1b says he’ll meet up with me in Stockholm. We only have about 24 hours together but that’s a lot better than nothing. Neither of us can do any more than that. Is there any more I can say? Other than this. A journey not wholly in vain, perhaps.

#1b says, it would have been very nice to go to Poland with you.

I say, I miss you, and I’m looking forward to seeing you again.

I said, do you remember that night when Pavlov bought us all drinks, and we sat there talking? It was a rather magical night, wasn’t it. We sat there and talked and laughed and our eyes kept meeting.

I remember, says #1b.

There were things that they would say or do that only you or I found funny and we would look at each other, I said.

‘There were things that they would say or do that only you or I found funny and we would look at each other,’ #1b repeated. What, I said. It's rather awesome of you to say this actually, he says.

How? I ask.

It’s just nice is all, he says.

There aren’t many things between us that are left unsaid. How often in your life can you meet someone who will understand you on almost every level possible? I say almost because technically it’s impossible for someone to know you completely. Even you don’t know yourself completely.

Ennui, I say, and I wonder.

---

Vignettes - me sitting on the banks of the Graslei and eating a cheap loaf of bread I'd gotten from a supermarket, I forget which - SPAR, Rossmann? I'd bought too much, and I ended up throwing them to the ducks, swimming below me. The ducks soon wisened up to the fact that there was food nearby, and they actually got out of the water and advanced towards me, clicking their beaks in a menacing manner that was most alarming. I hurriedly relocated, whilst making a mental note to never feed wild foreign animals again.

I returned to Maastricht before the sun had set, and slowly paced through the university town to Eddie's student halls. I don't remember what I was thinking anymore, of course I don't remember, except that I raised my head up and saw the statue of one of Maastricht's nameless patrons whose name eludes me now, and I saw that the torch he was bearing was now lit up, and a smile broke over my face.

Still Ghent

And now Maastricht