On to Belgium

Wednesday - June 1

The sun is shining! A great day to ride. But first, breakfast. . .my way. Two eggs over medium with hash browns and half a croissant with butter and cinnamon and sugar. No meat today, but, still, a very respectable meal. I take my time packing up, and between the shaver outlet in the shower room and my new solar charger (oh yeah, did I mention that I have another new gadget?) my Tablet and cell phone are charged up and ready to go. I set the solar panel on the back of the bike so it will charge some batteries while I am riding. I do love technology.

False start as I leave the campground and realize that my glasses are not in my pocket, on the top of my head, or on my face. A quick turn around and I find them on the grass. Now I am truly on my way. I set the GPS so I can know the real distance, vs. My wayward path on the way here. I pass by some sheep and this time, instead of Babe's rhyming greeting, I merely let out a, "Baa. . .baaa. . .baaaaa." One small lamb lifts its head and stares as if to say. "How did that sheep learn to ride a bike?"

I have resigned myself to the wind, I just thought it would be at my back. No such luck. Today is market day in Lekkerkerk. I take some time to browse, but nothing catches my eye. I stop for one last apple turnover from the bakery I have been three times. The proprietor recognizes me and says, "Still €1.35." I move on and follow the bike path along the river, determined to not get off course this time.

There are a few spots where I find myself standing for several minutes, trying to reconcile the map with the strange European signs and markers. I have a bit of trouble as I attempt to find and cross the bridge that I had missed on the trip out. A young woman tells me in Dutch to follow her. Again, this one is cranking on her bike. I cannot keep up, but we are on the bridge now and I wave to her with a, "Dank je." I pump across the bridge and head down the path. The woman is waiting for me at a "T". Somehow she knew I couldn't do it on my own. She assures me, in Dutch, that I must go left, even though I think I should go right. I do the right thing. . .and follow her advice. I follow the path and eventually get back into the city.

A note here about the use of the WC (water closet) when you are in public. By this time, I need one in a bad way. I stop at a bike store. I am told they don't have one. So what the heck to THEY do when they have to go? I stop at a grocery store. I am told it is only for customers. "I am a customer," I say. Then I am told, "It's NOT for customers." What do they think I am going to do? Steal the bathroom? I stop at an Indonesian restaurant. I head for the WC and indicate to a woman there that I am going to use the WC. She tells me that if I am not eating, it will be fifty cents. "Fine!" I say. I would have agreed to almost any price by now. As I am leaving, I go up to her and hand her one Euro and say. "Here is one Euro, let the next guy go for free." I did not stay to see her reaction.

By the way, my GPS says I have traveled 17 miles from the campground. This means that with getting lost on the way out, I probably DID do 25 miles! I knew I was tired for a reason.

Heading for Brugge, Belgium. The lady at the ticket booth at Central Station hands me my itinerary and says I will change in Antwerp, and I have five minutes. "This will not do, I have a bike," I reiterate. She redoes the ticket and now I have twenty minutes to change platforms and trains. Much better.

On the first leg to Antwerp, I meet Carlos Lopez who is a Director of Operations for a Honduran company that exports produce all over the world. He asks what I do and we talk about storytelling and the use of narrative in companies and organizations. He is interested and we will e-mail after my vacation. He is quite an interesting man and wants to know what kind of stories I tell so. . .naturally, right there on the train (while I am holding on to and steadying my bike) I tell him Stealing Smells. He loves it and will look it up on Google so he can translate it and tell it to his five children. What are the odds that I would choose that particular train car and we would meet?

After Antwerp, it is another hour and a half before I get to Brugge. I call the campground for directions, and the woman says, "When you come out of the station, go to the right and take the bike path." Not the best of directions, but after another call, I find my way. By now, it is after 8 pm. I set up the tent, and then my table and begin to cook dinner. Two women who are at the tent next to me are watching all this and finally say they are amazed at how organized I am, and they marvel at my table. All they have is a small burner stove and a large-type whistling water kettle. They are heating water and filling hot-water-bottles and putting them inside their jacets to keep warm.

After a dinner of rice and black beans, it is time to turn in. A long travel day ends.