We’re up early to have a shower and finally try to zip our case shut. It closes easily and is lovely and light (not surprising as we’re only carrying our clothes and our wash kit - normally we’re travelling back and forth to Egypt with at least 23kg). DaddyP gives us a lift to Kings Cross and we take a walk over to St Pancras.
The fancy cafe place is full already (probably called an “artisan bakery”) but we decide to go straight through; scan ticket, scan bag, scan passport. Scott is delayed coming through the security check thanks to what can only be described as ‘a complete idiot’ in front of him. Despite being told to empty his pockets into the plastic tray, this guy walks through the scanner with pockets bulging. Two cameras, a wallet, mobile phone, coins and a week’s supply of pharmaceuticals unsurprisingly set off the alarm and he is forced to empty his pockets while Scott is left waiting to move on because the eyelets on his shoes set off the buzzer.
Despite this minor setback, we’re soon in the queue for a coffee and grab a seat in the less-pleasant-than-the-main-concourse surroundings of the departure lounge.
There are a lot of French around – passengers and staff – although the multicultural nature of the Eurostar itself is best demonstrated by the on-board announcements. While in England they’re made in English first, then French. As we arrive in France the order reverses. And then – as if there couldn’t possibly have been any Belgians on the train from London – they add Flemish to the mix as the enter Belgium. But that comes later. While we sit in the lounge at St Pancras we complete a few sections of our I-Spy…on a train book.
8.57am and we’re in our seat (55 and 56, not 51….but also not first class!) ready to go. The Eurostar is showing its age. Although the carriages are clean, the upholstery is becoming worn and the windows are chipped. The seats are comfortable and quite spacious, although the foot rest built into the seat is too tempting for the child sat behind Scott who insists on flipping it up and down throughout the journey. We forgot that this weekend was the first of the school holidays!
10am – it’s gradually getting light outside and we see grass and a grey sky…we’ve only been on the train an hour and we’re in France! Wow! Interestingly, throughout the UK and France (until Calais at least), the entire track has a fence running either side of it. We assume that this is some kind of attempt to stop illegal immigration, since passport control to France is completed in St Pancras and we assume the British immigration authorities are stationed in France.
12.25pm – We arrive in Brussels. We should have arrived 30 minutes earlier, but are told by the train manager that for the final few miles we have to go slow because of ‘animals on the line’. It’s hardly the most usual announcement, nor the most usual excuse. Indeed it’s infuriating as these wandering Belgian beasties result in us missing our connection to Amsterdam and needing to dredge up long-forgotten French language to find the next train and call the B&B to alert them to our delayed arrival. Fortunately everyone seems to speak English. We do, however, take advantage of the time to buy some chocolate covered waffles. This is Belgium, after all.
13.18 – We pull out of Brussels on our stopping train to Amsterdam. Alice spots a central hotel with large Tintin sign on the roof, while I notice that the travelling fair is in town. However, the key thing that strikes me about the Belgian capital as we wind our way out of the centre (other than it being typically flat) is the enormous amount of graffiti that covers every available surface. It’s not just buildings, either. I go to the toilet in this reasonable InterCity train and the walls are covered with permanent marker scrawls. I think if the graffiti was of any decent quality I wouldn’t mind, but it’s not. It’s amateurish and scrappy. Outlines are left unfilled, and merging between colours is rare. On those few occasions where there is an attempt at merging colours the edges are blocky and rough. Attempts at social commentary are limited to monsters wearing suits. I’d like to be able to say that graffiti suffers because of the lack of a clear central government, but it hasn’t stopped an explosion of street art in Cairo. The graffiti artists of Belgium could certainly learn a thing or two from those in the UK or Egypt.
As we progress further into the agricultural land of Northern Belgium, the number of green energy initiatives grow. We spotted a few wind turbines on the way up from France, but in Belgium we see numerous houses with PV cells fitted to their roofs. Considering how dark and grey the ominous rain clouds appear overhead, I’d be surprised if they manage to generate any electricity at all.
14.27 – Roosendaal. We’re still sitting on the train on our way to Amsterdam, but pulling into this station I get the first real sense of being in Flanders. The roof pitch of the houses has increased, while the front width has decreased. Some new people join the train, including a young woman who spends the next half an hour sobbing into her phone. She, however, joins the majority of other people and leaves the train at Schipol – Amsterdam’s enormous airport. The last 30 minutes to Amsterdam are quiet, but the sky is closing in and we start to see what look like specks of rain on the window.
16.08 – We pull into Amsterdam’s central station and get out. Rain. Of course, it’s raining. We’re all set for rain though and get the waterproofs out of the bag along with the directions to the B&B. It takes us about 10 minutes to get out of the station into the area where the trams and buses depart, and another 10 minutes to buy a ticket and find one of the three trams that will take us to the B&B. We buy a 3-day ticket so that we can hop-on and hop-off transport to get around and not have to worry.
The best thing about the tram is that half-way along there is a woman sitting in a little booth! Like the driver, you can pay her for your ticket when you board, but unlike the driver when the tram is moving she just sits there looking out of the window! We notice though at one point that she is laughing and it turns out that she’s actually chatting to the driver though a tinny intercom. Cool.
We get out and make our way through the rain to the B&B. Looking at the map later we realise that actually getting the tram doesn’t save that much distance. We walk beside one of the canals and are already scoping out potential places to eat and drink later. We’re quite damp when we arrive at the B&B and only just make it up the (very) steep stairs. Scotty is regretting not pulling the case up behind him as he is trying to hold it in front of him and not topple backwards as he negotiates the extraordinary angle the stairs are pitched at.
Our room is nice and large – especially considering that this is a traditional Amsterdam house and so is only one room wide. There is a well-stocked kitchen for breakfast and drinks, and a bookshelf with a few Amsterdam maps and a 14-year-old copy of the Lonely Planet. We’re made to feel very welcome and get a tip from the owner about a market that will take place in the neighbouring street tomorrow morning, and that the best pancake house in Amsterdam is only a few minutes walk away – brilliant!
We get ourselves settled and then get a range of cables and electronics together in preparation for our first live broadcast of Sziget The Slow Way. We log onto the B&B’s WiFi connection, and prepare a playlist of songs loosely connected to our journey so far. Fortunately everything (bar a bit of connection problems in the first 5 minutes) works as it should and we produce an hour of our usual meandering chatter, interspersed with barking dogs and clattering plates courtesy of the owner of the B&B. You can listen to the show by clicking here.
Straight after the show we decide it’s high time to get a bite to eat and so decide to visit the pancake place we had been recommended (The Pancake Bakery, Jordaan). It’s a short walk down the canal to get there, and the pancakes really are up to the standard we’d hoped for. Alice also has her first proper wheat beer, which she enjoys, while I have ‘Palm’ – some kind of Belgian import that is described simply as ‘dark beer’.
After the rather filling meal we decide to check out some of the local cafes. When we say ‘cafe’ we actually mean ‘bar’. Or at least that’s what the guidebooks tell you. We find that there are three listed in the area we are in, Jordaan, one that is only two blocks from the B&B and two that are almost next door to each other a little further on from where we are eating dinner. We head to these two first, De Prins, and find ourselves in a large-windowed, light wood clad bar. The bartender seems suitably aloof for this part of town but we grab two beers (Alice on another wheat and me on a Dutch dark) and hop on a stool opposite the bar. It’s a nice enough view out onto the light street and the canal that runs down the middle of it.
We finish and pay up then head outside. Fortunately it’s not been raining since we arrived but it’s only a few doors down to the next place listed, De 2 Zwaatjes. From the outside we’re hardly sure it’s a bar and even though it’s a light evening it seems rather dark and squashed inside. This place seems to have a lot more character and potential so we head inside. It’s very narrow indeed once we make it through the vicious saloon doors, but we squeeze a hand onto the bar and get two beers in. No sooner are these served when we hear an organ start up and someone starts singing. Sunday night is sing-a-long Dutch drinking song night. Oh – this is our kind of place! There is an older woman who is sat on a slightly raised platform playing an electric organ that is clad in yellowing plastic with glittery musical motifs, and next to her is an older man who is singing along in Dutch. Punters are swaying along and join in with the chorus while we enjoy the Klaus-esque sounds.
For their second number, one of the bar staff who is heading up a narrow set of stairs to get more bar snacks leans precariously over the rail to join in with the lines she knows. After a brief pause to allow people to get a few more drinks the bar lady begins twiddling knobs on a sound system behind the bar. This has the potential suddenly to turn into karaoke, but with the whole bar singing along to You’ve Got A Friend (the younger barmaid has taken lead vocals on this with the wireless mic thrust in front of her and she does a great job) there’s no danger of things becoming too mainstream! The other barmaid can’t help but sing along with this one as well, and finds another microphone from somewhere. Scott winces at the red lights on their sound system indicating that the whole thing is about to explode, but somehow it all adds to the flavour of an amazing venue.
While the organist takes a cigarette break, the barmaids continue to fill in with various Dutch songs. We recognise one as ‘Tulips From Amsterdam’ but considering the remoteness of the venue, and the dingy and potentially unwelcoming nature of its external appearance, we’re sure that this is an authentic bit of pub singing and not just something for the tourists. Indeed, the beer is the cheapest we’ve had and everyone else in the bar is Dutch. We’re rather proud of our track record in visiting dive bars, and this one is certainly a ‘keeper’.
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