A Diamond in the Rough

I left Oostende on the Monday the 23^rd of November for the city of Ghent in Belgium. It was around this time, approaching the end of November, that I started to feel a bit of a time crunch. I realised I had less than a month left in Europe, and there was a lot I had not yet seen. It was now that I decided I would have to take a miss on France entirely, where I had initially planned to see at least Paris. I also made plans with a friend I met in Hamburg to meet for a week in Italy, thus setting my last week’s plans in stone. I had initially planned to spend more time in Belgium, but with the limited time I had left, I opted for an abbreviated visit. I heard that Brussels was overrated and would be better seen on a higher budget due to a generally higher prices, I decided to take a miss on it as well. I heard that Ghent, a student town had quite a lot of old Belgian charm, so I made it my next stop. The trip there was easy enough, a quick ride by train and at only €8.60; I passed on hitchhiking because of the bad rain forecasted for Belgium for the next week. Belgium’s train system has a highly flexible pass for students/youth interested in travelling Belgium, a €50 pass, giving you 10 rides anywhere in the country except for border stations. The pass does not need to be registered to one individual, allowing it to be resold, and one pass may be used by multiple individuals at once (e.g. 10 people using the pass once, or one person using the pass 10 times). I believe this pass is mainly targeted at Belgian students travelling frequently over longer routes, but it could come in handy for the tourist as well. So long as your average trip will be over €5 each, the pass is worth it, and can be resold for the remaining value afterwards. Bruges – Oostende was only €3.70, and most my trips within Belgium would be short, but for anyone interested in seeing the lovely country of Belgium on a very tight budget it should certainly be a consideration.

From the moment I stepped out of the station, the skies opened with the full fury of a tropical rainstorm. Even the police avoided the torrential downpour and huddled under the awnings of businesses. Being the rough and tough backpacker I am, I braved the rain, walking through the city streets, even my water resistant boots becoming water logged. I was quite  excited for my accommodation here, because of the reviews (%90 rating on hostelworld.com) and because of the unique nature of the Ecohostel Andromeda. While I think calling your hostel an “Ecohostel” is a bit pretentious, the hostel IS a barge, floating on the canal system of Ghent. Dating from the 1950’s, the old barge was converted into a hostel last year and even still smells new! The owner/manager/”cleaning lady” is committed to providing a safe, clean, and cheap place to stay for all travellers. The whole thing is wonderfully kept, and was the first hostel I felt almost at home. I spent the rest of the day riding out the storm on the barge, hearing the occasional lightning strike, and planned my next day which would be my only opportunity to sightsee in Ghent. Luckily I had another Use-It guide like the one from Bruges, and with it’s help, I scouted out cheap food places, and must see sights while in Ghent.

Some higher being was smiling upon me, for as I rose the next day, not a drop fell from the sky. Sun was too much to ask, but as I wandered the city from site to sight, I remained dry. I discovered the Belgian tradition of getting sandwiches at a butcher rather than a sandwich store, and was delightfully surprised at the quantity and quality I received for only €1.50. If you find yourself in Belgium, check out the butchers for good, cheap sandwiches! I found what Use-It claims to be the best frites shop in the city, and would not argue with their claim although I did not test any others in Ghent. Unfortunately, the entire town was completely under construction. It’s easiest to understand the full extent of the construction by checking out my photos, but I assure you that the city was in ruins. This is not to say I didn’t enjoy Ghent, and there is a lot to enjoy in Ghent! At just over 230,000 people, they have a student population of over 50,000 contributing to a vivacious nightlife, lively cafe scene, and excellent collection of art galleries (not that I’m interested in THOSE). On a budget, Ghent is a wonderful town for wandering. While sunnier, warmer weather would have made a day in their parks a great experience, the old town has its own charm with its collection of old buildings almost rivalling that of Bruges’. The city was just so brutally under construction when I visited, it was hard to see some of that charm under all the scaffolding; one of the disadvantages of travelling in the off season.

I left Ghent after only two nights for Antwerp. A city famous for its association with the diamond industry, there is simultaneously a lot of wealth, and a lot of poverty in this “Paris of the North”. The comparison to Paris is easily understandable after only a few minutes in the old city, especially at night when the spotlights illuminate the medieval facades lining the streets and alleyways. Unfortunately, the whole city isn’t as charmingly romantic as the centre. I broke my own rule on hostel booking, and booked a hostel with an average below 70%. The Boomerang Hostel (no idea why “Boomerang” is relevant to anything in Antwerp) scores low at around %65, with many people commenting on the lack of hygiene in all around the hostel. This should have set off warning bells in my head, but determined to see Antwerp, and with no vacancies at other hostels, I booked. It was immediately apparent upon arrival that the hostel was the definition of a dump. It all started with the common room, a dark room filled with cigarette smoke. The hostel owner I found sitting at the main table seemed friendly enough, but his tour of the hostel was less than impressive. Starting with the kitchen, the supposedly clean dishes were piled high along the wall, and there was hardly a free surface for all the garbage and unclean dishes. The bathroom stunk (lacking any sort of ventilation) and the toilets and shower both looked like they had yet to be acquainted with any sort of bathroom cleaner. The room was large at 12 beds, but the mattresses looked like they were stunt doubles in the memory foam commercials where they get run over by a steamroller. The final straw for my sanity was finding out that the advertised wireless did not work (by now you probably know my obsession with working wireless), and to use the internet all of the residents would have to share one Ethernet cable. Blood pressure rising, I went down the street for groceries to make sandwiches and practice my spaghetti making skills. Coming back to the hostel, I begrudgingly re-cleaned all of the dishes I needed to make my supper and enjoyed my own cooking (which, if I do say so myself, is getting pretty good). I decided that while the hostel wasn’t exactly clean, I could deal with it for a few nights; I was after all travelling on a budget, not visiting the Hilton. For the time being, I needed to get away from the smoke and mess, and let my blood pressure come down. I took a walk around Antwerp, taking in the sights by night in a light drizzle. It’s an attractive town, and with its impressive architecture and old buildings it deserves its frequent comparison to Paris. I really didn’t get much of a feel for the city however, as this was my last sightseeing experience in the city.

Coming back to the hostel much more relaxed, I discovered I had left my travel towel in my last hostel. I was disappointed, but decided on the drip dry method for my shower. I’ll never know what it was that made me think of the possibility, but it occurred to me on the way to the shower that with such a lack of general hygiene, perhaps they might have a problem with bedbugs. I had not run into bedbugs yet on my journeys, but there’s a first time for everything.

Here I’d like to share some information on bedbugs. Most of the information is available on Wikipedia, but it is important that every traveller educate themselves on the signs, risks, and treatment of bedbugs. A problem found all over the world, the infestation rates of bedbugs dropped drastically with the widespread use of pesticides since the 1930’s, especially DDT. Recently, a resurgence is being felt the world over, especially in highly populated areas like New York, which is currently suffering a massive problem with bedbugs. There are numerous ways to detect bedbugs in your home, but to the traveller, it is important to detect an infestation before staying even one night in the infected accomodation. Feeding on humans while they sleep, bedbugs are most active around an hour before dawn, penetrating the host with two straw like appendages with which they suck blood, and inject saliva. As such, the primary matter in their faeces is dried blood. This is the easiest way to spot an infestation of bedbugs. Stripping the mattress of any sheets (which should be fresh for every visitor in every hostel), take a wet cloth, or baby wipe, and run it down the mattress. The faeces are small black pellets, which will smear when rubbed with moisture. The smear will be black to very dark red. This should be done on the surface of the mattress, and especially in the cracks at the edge where the seams attach the sides to the top. In rare cases, a bedbug or its moulted skin may be found in the cracks as well, a sure sign of infestation. The bug’s feeding will usually leave marks similar to mosquito bites, although people respond differently to the contents of the saliva, sometimes resulting in blistering, anaphylactic shock, and secondary infection from the “bite”. If an infestation is suspected, keeping a flashlight close by and waking just before dawn, one can often catch them in the act before they have a chance to scurry away (at a speed similar to that of an ant). Bedbugs are visible to the human eye (around 4mm long), and are black to light red in colour. As a traveller, your only way to avoid them is to request a new bed, or find new accommodations. One should note however that rarely do the bedbugs reside in the mattress itself, often nesting in the walls, in bed frames, or other safe areas. They seek a host through heat signatures, and by tracing carbon dioxide to its human source. As far as travellers need be concerned, bed bugs do not tend to reside on humans, or in clothing, preferring fixed habitats. As such, taking an infestation with you is not always the case, but precautions should always be taken. Bed bugs and their eggs all die at 47°C and are highly susceptible to drowning – washing all of your clothes (especially a sleeping bag if you travel with one like I do) and taking a shower should rid you of any further complications. Fortunately, while bedbugs seem to have the capacity to act as a vector for many blood-borne diseases, laboratory test have shown that they never do, so a bitten individual need not worry about diseases beyond immediate complications from the bite.

Needless to say, after a blurb like that, my hostel had bed bugs. The mattress failed the wipe test with a damp cloth, and while I didn’t see any bedbugs, the presence of faeces was enough for me. I pointed it out to the hostel owner, saying I didn’t wish to make a fuss, but because I didn’t feel safe in the hostel, I wanted to leave with a refund. It took him a while to respond, he just sat watching tv for almost a minute before launching into a violent rant. With many of his other guests in the room, he loudly lashed out at me, accusing me of blackmail, and telling me that he runs a good hostel and doesn’t need to take crap from fucking Americans like me (sorry for the language mom).  Mistake in national identity aside, his rant continued for 30 minutes while I waited, hoping he would calm down enough to see sense in the situation. He made it quite clear to his other guests what my complaint was, so there was no risk of me threatening to inform them of the problem, he simply couldn’t see that it was a matter as simple as wanting to feel safe in my accommodation. After a while, I decided that fighting with him was not worth it; I returned to my room and started to pack. Moments later, he burst into the room and demanded to see proof of bed bugs, clearly convinced I could not show him evidence. His attitude changed drastically when I showed him the blood smear, as he admitted to a previous infestation and had since informed himself of the methods of detection. He became quiet for a while, clearly contemplating his next move, until his face lit up like the proverbial light bulb with an idea. He proposed that since I booked the hostel on hostelworld.com, if I left a 100% review for him he would give me a full refund. Instantly, something clicked in my head. Remembering the reviews of the hostel online, there were a few odd reviews at 100% with no explanation, and no comment except for “good hostel”. It was immediately clear that these people, like I, were given the option to trade their dignity for a refund. I made the grave mistake of pointing out that he was the one attempting to blackmail me, which only set him off on another rant. This time I actively tried to calm him, reassuring him that he is a good hostel owner, but that shit happens when people come from all over the world. I reminded him that it would be a good hostel owner who ensured that regardless of personal gain, his guests or potential guests were comfortable and felt safe, and that if he helped me feel safe, a good review was guaranteed. I have never felt more like I was talking to a big baby, and wondered if at some point he might need his diaper changed. After 15 minutes of consoling and offering soothing words, I agreed to give him his 100% review, and even shook on it. I suppose that in that shake, I traded my honour for my integrity, but I would not be coerced into influencing others to visit his hostel if it was unclean. Days later, I left what I felt to be a fair review, giving OK marks for location, but bad marks for cleanliness, and in my comment mentioning the whole episode. This was my first truly BAD experience with a hostel, and while the hostel itself was unclean and unhygienic, it was the immaturity of the hostel owner that compounded the problem. I hope that he might clean up his hostel one day and turn his hostel into the safe/clean haven for backpackers that he has deluded himself into believing it presently is.

Frustrated from the experience, I left the hostel for the Etap hotel since I already knew no hostels had availability. Etap provides cheap accommodation for a €45/night for a 3 person room, prices generally constant across Europe. I checked in, and while the nightly rate was my entire day’s budget (it was already an expensive day), was glad to be in clean, safe accommodation. I thoroughly enjoyed the private bathroom and I happily sprawled out diagonally on the queen size bed. I booked for the next night at the ABHostel (Antwerp Backpackers Hostel), and enjoyed a peaceful night of solitude.

The next day I found my way across town to the ABHostel and was delightfully surprised at what I found. The hostel I had initially tried to book for my whole stay, it was booked up by the time I tried before arriving in Antwerp. I met the pleasant owner who herself backpacked in her youth, and toured the facilities. Situated in a former praline factory, the building sat abandoned for some 30 before she and her husband purchased the whole facility. They live in the top floor with their two sons, while part of the factory is converted into a working hostel and her husband works nearly every night to convert the rest. I could go into a lot of detail here but I won’t. Bottom line, if you are going to Antwerp, stay at the ABHostel, it, and its owners are amazing. I told her my horror story of the Boomerang Hostel and she was unsurprised, receiving quite a lot of hateful phone calls from the owner, accusing her of bribing her guests into giving her good reviews, and other heinous acts. I told her that next time he called, she could inform him that yes, she was bribing her guests for good reviews, by providing them with the services and clean facilities they hope to get when staying at a hostel. She thought this was pretty funny and promised to throw it at him next time he called.

The whole day it poured rain like nobody’s business. I walked to the Eurolines bus station and purchased a ticket to Cologne for the next day, cutting a day from my intended stay in Antwerp. I was thoroughly soaked by the time I got back, even with my rain jacket, but had at least avoided injury from the hail stones which occasionally fell, up to half a centimetre in diameter.

I wish I could say that my stay in Antwerp was what I hoped for it to be, but it was not. I had hoped for a good stay, at a comfortable hostel, and while it was comfortable, my plans did not go as intended. The city was visually appealing, but because of the bad weather and the substandard hostel, I only had a few hours of sightseeing in the city. Maybe someday I will come back and enjoy the city, and maybe I will come back and stay at the ABHostel. Can I say you should go visit Antwerp? Not really. I hear it’s nice, and at night, with its old buildings illuminated, it is quite the sight to see, but never before have I spent two days in a city and left with such a complete lack of an impression of a city. Sorry Antwerp. Next is Dusseldorf, where I can hopefully redeem myself.

David ‘In Bruges’

From the bustling port of Rotterdam, I went next to the quiet, picturesque town of Bruges in Belgium. Bruges was not my original destination, preferring to go to the city of Antwerp, but I discovered a few nights before that hostels in Belgium book up quickly, and the only available hostel in Western Belgium was in Bruges, where there was an excellent looking hostel with vacancy. As it turns out, train travel isn’t cheap across borders, and to avoid a ticket at least €30 from Rotterdam to Bruges, I got up and walked to the main onramp to the highway leaving Rotterdam West for Belgium. Determined to make hitchhiking work this time, I had only to stand at the ramp for around 20 minutes before a friendly guy picked me up, agreeing to take me 20 minutes away from the city where traffic would be more focused towards Belgium. The fun part of hitchhiking is the wide variety of people you meet in the journey. Weird people, fun people, scary people (haven’t met any of these yet), and just plain friendly people are all on the road to wherever you are going. This man was of French origin, speaking a small amount of English. After much conversation I learned that he lives in Breda, some 50km out of Rotterdam but has an apartment in Rotterdam for the ladies he enjoys entertaining in the city. I didn’t inquire further, noting the wedding ring on the finger, and child seat in the back. He dropped me off at a rest stop where I was doomed to wait over an hour for my next ride. Unfamiliar with European hitchhiking, I stood at the exit of the rest stop with my sign to Antwerp (a stop on the way to Bruges) clueless to the fact that the best hitchhiking is in the rest stop itself. Getting blasted by wind, I was getting cold and a little worried, until an ambulance stopped beside me. Asking me where I was going, they were sorry to tell me they were not going to Antwerp. They pulled away and I focused my attention back on the road. Not too long after I heard the sound of a large vehicle backing up, and am treated by the sight of an ambulance reversing towards me. They inform me they know a good rest stop a ways down the road and can take me a further 20 minutes. I gladly hop into the back of the ambulance, and after fussing with the heater for a while (concerned that I am warm enough) we start down the highway. No communication is possible as the only connection between the cab and the back is a tiny window between the two. Trying to get my bearings, I frequently peer through the port trying to catch a glimpse of road signs, only earning suspicious glances from the driver in the rear view mirror. Granted, if I were a druggie I would be in heaven left unattended with copious amounts of drugs and equipment in the back. From there things went more smoothly. I was picked up and taken a good distance by younger guy who was the project manager for a company installing solar panels. His is a busy job at the moment, and he took me all the way to Antwerp, dropping me off on the other side of the city towards Ghent, another stop on the way to Bruges. From there a toy representative took me as far as Ghent, sharing baby biscuits made by his company and stories from his days of travelling. Dropping me off on the other side of Ghent, I quickly got a ride the rest of the way to Bruges with a teacher in adult learning who let me off in the city of Bruges before turning around and heading to his actual destination some 20km back on the road. I have always known that there are good people in the world, but meeting them on the road like this truly drives the point home. Sure, you’re going my direction anyway, but you don’t HAVE to stop for me. I could be dangerous, I could be stinky, I could be awkward; but people not only take me along but go out of their way to put me somewhere which will be advantageous to the rest of my journey. It leaves you with a warm feeling. Also leaving me with a warm feeling is going 200km in six hours for free. Yes it was slower than the train, but in saving at least €30, I was pretty happy with my use of the day. Using a rough compass bearing, and advice from locals, I made my way to the Snuffle Hostel where I was greeted warmly by the friendly receptionist/bartender. After a shower, I headed back down to the bar with my computer to be introduced into one of Belgium’s delicacies, beer. Here I also met two friendly Canadian guys doing the same sort of trip as me. We had a great time sharing stories from our travels and enjoying the local beer.

Bruges is a town famous for its medieval architecture, and as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it gets lots of publicity. Tourism isn’t just an industry in Bruges, it is THE industry. Formerly a city big in the textiles trade, it is now exclusively dependant on tourism. Wandering the city one quickly understands why tourists flock here to see the architecture, but the attitudes of the locals leave some to be desired. In the off season, the locals seem to want some peace and quiet. The reason for the attitude became apparent later in a discussion with a local who explained that the city is spending fortunes on promoting tourism, but very little on more local concerns. Tourists don’t see the strife of the local who just wants some attention from their City Council.  I decided to see the town by bike, a good choice considering my plans only allowed one full day in Bruges. The town IS beautiful, and looking out over the canals where no vehicles pollute the ambiance, one can almost imagine being in the 15^th century, standing on the bridge, looking over the canal as boats pass under, busy moving wool and textiles around. I made use of the “Use-It” guide map produced by the same company, a map created by locals with all sorts of great local tips. Especially for tips on cheap food, I wish I had the map for my other destinations. Lunch was a €2.95 “coronetto” of pasta, followed by delicious Belgian chocolate from the city’s oldest candy store, run by an 80 something lady who has to get to the store from her living room whenever someone enters the store. Speaking no English or French, she indicated to me one bar of chocolate in particular, telling me, “best chocolate!” I obliged, and enjoyed a truly delicious treat. After taking in the view of the city from the new opera hall, it’s newest (and some would say ugliest) landmark, I went to the oldest bar in the city (founded in the 1500’s) for a pint before hitting up the local brewery for a tour of the facilities. After my tour, I decided supper would be a true Belgian delicacy, french fries. French not being a reference to either the country of origin or the language of the creators, the name comes from the culinary technique of frenching, which is to cut into narrow strips. Invented and perfected in Belgium, fries will never be the same for me again anywhere else. I had a medium deluxe serving of fries from a proper fry wagon, topped with mayonnaise, ketchup (although ketchup is rarely used on its own) and onions. I felt sick by the time I had consumed all the calories and fat in the tray, but thoroughly enjoyed the fries enough to have another go at it later.

The next day I woke for the included breakfast, and enjoyed toast and orange juice with my new Canadian friends. I wandered the city for the morning, enjoying a delicious lunch of (you guessed it) fries before catching the train the short distance to Oostende (and only €3.70) where I met a friend of a friend, Rudy. A member of the Belgian Navy, he is a frequent visitor to Halifax, coming every year to Tattoo either with a Belgian group as liaison, or on his own. He agreed to show me around Flanders by car, taking me to the major sites important to Canada and its history in Belgium in World War One. We drove around until early evening, ending our tour in Ypres where we would later see the Last Post ceremony. Before the ceremony, we headed to a bar owned by a friend of his. Here, he and his friend introduced me to many local beers, all the while telling me about the world’s best beer, the Trappist Monk beer, Westvleteren. He explained how it is not available anywhere except AT the monastery where it is brewed, and not legal for resale. His friend surprised us both by magically producing two bottles of the elixir, and I proudly drank the world’s best beer in a local tavern. Impressions? The Westvleteren 12 is a very strong beer, very dark, and full of flavour. At 10% ABV, it packs a punch, but the most immediate impression is the amazing flavour. I guess if there’s one thing these monks can do well, it’s make beer! If you ever get your hand on a bottle of Westvleteren 12, worship it, serve it properly, and enjoy. But chances are you will have to be in Belgium to do so as it is not legally exported. The beer Rudy and I enjoyed was a gift from Rudy’s friend, not a product for sale. Beer drinking behind us, we went to the solemn Last Post ceremony at the Menin Gate in the city of Ypres. This ceremony has been performed here since the end of WWI, and even in WWII the ceremony was performed in England as a substitute. As Ypres was being taken back by the Nazi occupiers, as battle was waged on one side of town, the ceremony was once again taking place at the gate. The history of WWI is rich all throughout Flanders and there are many excellent museums to commemorate the lives lost fighting over this territory by Belgian forces, British and Commonwealth forces, and others. Tours of the sites are available in groups, but if you can meet with a local who is conscious of the history of the area, it provides great insight into the gravity of the history with the locals, and more information than a tour guide could ever hope to provide. Rudy dropped me off at the train station back in Oostende and I caught the next train to Bruges. Unfortunately I fell asleep on the train and slept through my stop. A friendly ticket inspector issued me another ticket in the opposite direction (free) after waking me up two stops down the line, and forgiving me for being a clueless tourist. Oops!

On the 20^th I hung out with my Canadian friends all morning, seeing more of the city and exploring out of the city to a campground on the edge of the old city where they were staying the night. After grabbing lunch with them (you guessed it, fries again!), I made my way to the train station all packed up, and departed Bruges for Oostende, this time more permanently, and with more gear.


So ended my time in Bruges; short but sweet. In a city which houses just over 100,000 people and sees over a million tourists a year, it’s hard to escape the touristy side of things. I did experience my first European Christmas market here, set up in the centre of town and was charmed by its sparkling lights and the smells of waffles, crepes and hot drinks. I was glad to have decided on a short stay in Bruges. While the city has a lot of charming side streets to wander down, I was able to see many of these in just a day. Bruges was the setting of a recent film called “In Bruges”, where two Irish hit men end up in Bruges to cool down after a job. While one loves the city’s charm, the other hates it and says many insulting things about the city. This wouldn’t be the first time the city has been insulted, the tourist industry starting hundreds of years ago when a man who wrote what a seething cesspool of filth and grim it was sparked an explosion of tourists from all over Europe exploring the town which quickly cleaned up its act and rebuilt its image. It is a great stop on any trip, and stepping into the shoes of a typical tourist, there is lots of fun to be had in this city, just try to either avoid the locals, or get really friendly with them.

Arriving in Oostende, I found my way to the YHA Hostel, only to be disappointed that it’s reception was closed until the evening. I called my friend Rudy, and we agreed to meet downtown. On my way I indulged in Oostende’s local delicacy, seafood! A small city on the ocean, Oostende has a bustling tourism industry focused around its beachside real estate. Rudy took me to his house where I was able to drop off my bag, meeting his two children, before we went for a drive around the outskirts of Oostende. Arriving back in Oostende, we went to his favourite local pub where we enjoyed good drink and good conversation. We went back to Rudy’s house and he treated me to his famous cooking for dinner. He drove me back to my hostel where I caught up with friends and family back home before another night of great sleep. I have found that since I started travelling, sleep comes easier, and is more restful. Little things no longer wake me, and I wake up generally feeling more refreshed. Maybe it’s the excitement of doing something new more or less every day, or maybe it’s all the walking I do, but I thoroughly enjoy my newfound ability to sleep anytime, almost anywhere.

The 21^st was my day to wander and get to know Oostende. I walked across town to a bike rental facility set up by the city, where you can rent a bike for FREE. That’s right, for free; you can borrow a bike from the city. Their condition isn’t fantastic, but the pedals work, as do the brakes, and the gears. I biked through the town to the waterfront and attempted biking as far as I could on the ocean front boardwalk. Before long I was fighting strong headwinds, barely making any headway. I gave up, and my nose full of sand, I turned around and enjoyed the leisurely return bike ride with the wind at my back. I enjoyed a lunch of fresh seafood before heading back to the hostel, and boy, my timing couldn’t have been better. Not 20 minutes inside, the skies go from blue to dark grey in 10 minutes and the heavens open with a torrential downpour. Feeling rather dry, inside the hostel, I made plans for the rest of my time in Belgium. I briefly popped outside to do some laundry and pick up some supper (you guessed it, chips), but generally enjoyed a quiet, relaxing evening to myself.

Oostende is a quiet town this time of the year, one I would certainly be interested in visiting when things are a little more lively and warm. The best part of my visit to Oostende was having a local to show me around, introduce me to local cuisine and traditions, and share the warmth of his family and home. While I can’t recommend everyone visit Rudy (he does need a life of his own after all) I seriously think he should write a book on the area. Perhaps he will someday write his memoires and he will include a section on touring Flanders. The end of my time near the sea, I head next to the student city of Ghent, which claims to rival Bruges in architecture and ambiance.

Goin’ on a Bike Ride, Gonna’ do some Sightseein'

Another foreword.  I have only now realized I can make comments publicly available, even to those without accounts with blogger.  Feel free to leave comments, it’s great to know people are reading, even with my inconsistent writing schedule!


Getting up at a reasonable hour in Amsterdam (9ish), I decided to try hitchhiking once again in the friendly country of the Netherlands. Going a reasonably short distance, only 200km to Rotterdam should be easy! There was a spot on the edge of the city which was supposed to be good for hitching in the direction of Rotterdam, and I caught a tram all the way there. I noticed that the ramp I was going to thumb from was a feeder to a ring highway, circling the entire city, but hey, if experienced hitchhikers are having good luck here, surely I can manage something. An hour of waiting later I was disheartened and a more than a bit cold. Passing drivers didn’t even look very encouraging, not offering the usual looks of apology. Knowing the train fare was only €12, not knowing any better hitching spots, and without the resources to do more research, I walked to the nearby train station and caught a train to Rotterdam. That my first attempt at hitchhiking in Europe failed is a bit disappointing, but I am convinced that with a better city map, a little more patience, and perhaps a little more experience, I would have caught a ride to Rotterdam. Luckily, the train was cheap though and I was just happy to be safely in Rotterdam. From the central station in Rotterdam, I rented a bike and successfully navigated Rotterdam by bike with an 18kg backpack while reading a map; no small feat for a tourist!  On my journey I was wowed by the modern architecture all around me, the copious green spaces, and excellent transport system which mixed tram, subway, bus, and extensive bike lanes. I easily found my hostel, the ideally located ROOM Rotterdam, and checked in, delightfully surprised with its homey feel and friendly staff. My dorm room was decorated with the logos of many worldwide shipping companies, a true reflection of Rotterdam’s industry. Close to the North Sea and with access to the River Rhine, Rotterdam is Europe’s main shipping centre, handling imports and exports for the entire market. Worldwide, it is the 2^nd busiest port after only Shanghai, and is up there on the list of largest ports as well. Standing on the edge of the river you notice there are always at least a few ships laden with cargo of some sort in view. Quickly getting a feel for the city, I almost immediately decided that this was a city I could see myself living in, or spending more time. At the tourist information centre, I picked up a card for Rotterdam like those in many cities, offering you discounts and savings in the city. In Rotterdam however, the card/coupons don’t expire for three months, and the whole package only cost €5. Map in hand, I biked around the city, exploring block after block of modern architecture, a city which was obviously bustling, but managing to stay clean, attractive, and tourist friendly. As dusk fell I ventured to  Euromast, Rotterdam’s answer to the CN Tower. Built in 1969, like everything in Rotterdam it has been maintained well enough that it is showing few signs of its age. Unfortunately the wind was quite high when I visited and the highest viewing platform was closed off, but I got a reduced rate to go to the top of the main tower (further reduced by the Rotterdam Card). After getting some great photos (if I do say so myself) I left the tower in the dark of night, and biked around the city some more, enjoying the sights around me before heading back to the hostel. After a day full of biking, sleep came easily.

Sunday the 15^th, I decided to take advantage of the easy self propelled transport and share some of the city with people at home. Holding my camera in front of me, I snapped a long series (700+)of photos as I biked the city’s recommended walking tour of the city. I plan to create a video of it, but haven’t had the time yet, especially whereas my computer is a little too weak for such a task. The city isn’t geared towards tourism as many other cities are; with few historic sights/sites the city is happy just to keep at work in the shipping business. With few exceptions, every building in the city centre is newer than 60 years, having been the target of a massive German bombing campaign in WWII designed to wipe the city from the face of the earth so that the German troops could quickly and easily take the port for their own use. A line was drawn around the city and it was determined by Hitler that everything inside the line should be flattened. Today this line is marked by old fashioned street lights with red lights, called the fire line. Following this line, it is easy to see how accurate the bombing was, old buildings on one side, new on the other. Committed to a modern image, Rotterdam’s new buildings are all designed with care, and usually hold some tribute to the city’s history or strength in the shipping industry. Bike ride around the city complete, and thoroughly loving biking in a completely flat city, I decided on visiting the Maritime Museum to get the Dutch take on the history of the seas. The exhibits are hugely interactive, and while much of it is geared towards children, it can be a great learning experience to an adult with an open mind; just try not to be bothered by the flocks of children running around you
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One cannot visit The Netherlands, especially Holland without seeing the world famous windmills. But a quick side note before I get to that. Many people refer to the Netherlands as a whole as “Holland”. Holland is in fact two regions of the Netherlands, North Holland and South Holland and only “Holland” technically refers to these two regions only. It’s a mistake I made before I learned the difference in Holland, but one which doesn’t really bug the locals who are used to it from tourists. But I digress; back to the windmills. Vital for the maintenance of the dikes in the Netherlands, the traditional octagonal, thatched windmills were vital for keeping one side of the dikes wet, and the other dry (or at least regulating water levels on either side). Roughly an hour’s bike ride out of Rotterdam is the postcard town of Kinderdijk (literally “Child’s dike”) with the Netherland’s highest concentration of old fashioned windmills, all built in the 1740’s. Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the windmills sit serenely at the edge of the dikes, some in operation, and others undergoing restoration and maintenance, but all lending to the picture perfect surroundings. To get there one must bike approximately 1 hour along very well laid out bike paths, and take two ferries, a grand total of €1.30 to ride. After biking the scenic paths beside the windmills for a good hour, I returned to the sleepy town centre (population is under 10,000) to have dinner at a local pub. Disappointingly, the pub is less local than I thought, set up mainly for the huge influx of tourists in the summer months. The food was home cooked and hearty however, and I enjoyed my only major expense of the day to its fullest before catching a fast ferry all the way back to Rotterdam, preferring not to bike in the dark. The fast ferry takes around 20 minutes and costs only €4. In retrospect, it would probably be worth it to take the ferry just for the view in daytime.

On the 17^th, I biked the short distance to the SPIDO dock on the waterfront for a cruise on the river, again taking advantage of my Rotterdam Card, paying only €7 for an hour and a half on the river. The cruise heads upstream, exploring the port area of the city. A recorded commentary spouts information in four languages, but is highly educational and not as frustrating as it might sound. One can enjoy the sights from the top deck (a bit chilly at this time of the year), the panoramic deck enclosed with windows, or from the bottom level featuring a full bar and entertainment. I’m not quite sure why there was entertainment on a ship for cruising a river, but I guess the grumpy non-sightseers need something to do as well. Feeling a bit tired, I biked around the city some before returning the bike to the rental store in what was a sad, but unceremonious break up. After heading back to the hostel on foot, I took another excursion into the free food bin and enjoyed a relaxing evening, while quietly laughing at the seemingly permanently disoriented staff. I was later informed that almost all the staff are “huge stoners” and are usually at least a little high. Hey, to each their own.

My stay in Rotterdam was excellent, I thoroughly enjoyed the modernity of the city and the ‘hard at work but still kickin back’ attitude of the city. While it is a city dedicated to business, the locals are very relaxed and almost always have a smile to share. It is certainly a city I could live in if I had to move away, but here’s for hoping the Canadian government doesn’t find out about my little secret and kick me out! (Joke people...it’s a joke...)

Sin City

A quick foreword; if you are looking for a description of the photos I use in my blog, simply hover your cursor over the image for a couple seconds, and a brief description will pop up.  Sorry for not mentioning it earlier, it’s easier for me to do captions this way.


The quest for cheap transportation drives backpackers to some pretty extreme lengths, like hitchhiking! I initially considered attempting this for my trek from Hamburg to Amsterdam, no doubt a world capital of people willing to pick up hitchhikers (Amsterdam that is). After reading one blog where it was reported to have taken a couple 7.5 hours to make the run (admirable considering the distance of 466km) I was nervous of the distance and time. Never having hitchhiked Europe before; not having the advantage of couple hitchhiking (it really does help); and not willing to be stuck on the highway after dark, I booked a Eurolines night bus that departed Hamburg at 10:30PM, arriving around 5:30AM. Getting back into Hamburg by train at noon-ish, I had some serious time to burn so I headed where all good backpackers like to go, an outdoor equipment store. I had stumbled upon Globetrotter (a German equivalent to Mountain Equipment Coop) during my previous time in Globetrotter, and took off by U-Bahn to explore this wonderland of equipment. Globetrotter is a four storey tall monstrosity, filled basement to top with amazing-ness (I know, I’m doing great so far making up words!). Globetrotters believes that you should be able to try before you buy which has led to the creation of a climate room in every one of their stores, which I believe can extend down to -40 celcius and THEN add wind chill with built in fans. Built next to a river, you can test out any boat in their extensive collection of canoes, kayaks, and small fishing boats outside. Quite surprising to any Canadian were the storey tall advertisement posters for Canada’s wilderness, although specifically targeted at Alberta, funded jointly by Travel Alberta and the Federal Government (at least one province has a convincing advertisement campaign!). There were magazines, flyers, free tour books and more all about exploring Canada the rough way. Also advertised was a video series on exploring Canada’s back country and ski slopes, which are all available online here. Checking out the tents and seriously considering, I was met by a friendly Welsh man who offered me coffee and conversation. After a lengthy discussion, he pointed me in the direction of the travel books (hard to miss at the size of a normal bookstore) and invited me to stay until they closed, handing me a complimentary coffee. I read up on my next destinations, checking out maps, eventually leaving with a new compass (a tool I sorely missed and will never leave home without again). I took a quick trip back to the Meininger Hotel in Hamburg and sneakily hung out in the lobby for a few hours using their internet (I’m bad, yes I am!) until I was ready to meet my bus.

The crowd you get on a bus is always a diverse group to say the least, and mine was no exception. From a very nervous looking Pakistani man, four Rastas, a very stern looking Oriental man, to a very pregnant lady and an Aussie backpacker, it felt like being in an episode of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego (thanks for that one PBS). The bus ride was uncomfortable, long, and nearly sleepless. My sleeplessness was made possible by: frequent stops at which point two very greasy guys would get off and smoke half a pack of cigarettes (made the bus smell nice that’s for sure!); the Rastas’ VERY loud discussion of philosophy of everything that is, is not, and might be if only we smoke enough ganja; my Aussie companion who constantly needed some favour or another; a lady who talked on her phone ALL NIGHT; and last but not least, border guards! Hitting the Dutch border our bus was greeted by five heavily armed border guards, who boarded while I grabbed a few precious minutes of sleep. I was rudely woken by a shove to the shoulder, and greeted with the sight of a submachine gun, approximately in my face. They wanted a passport, and they wanted it now. Seeing my Canadian passport they took only a cursory glance at it, but I watched them go through the rest of the bus. The Middle Eastern man’s passport was examined for a good while and the visa number called in to be checked. Others on the bus received various levels of scrutiny, but none more than the Pakistani man. Here, I will let you draw your own conclusions.

After three broken hours of sleep, I awoke in the still sleeping city of Amsterdam at the grand hour of 5:30AM. Completely unfamiliar with the city but with a very good idea of where I was going (and armed with a compass and a bearing), I set off for my hostel. It was around an hour and a half walk, landing me there at around 7AM when I jokingly asked the receptionist, “I’m sorry, am I too late to check in?”. Apparently all sense of humour lost in this man, he stone facedly asked if I had a reservation (some people...I know...). He suggested I could sit in the reception area until check in (around noon). I inquired about their clearly advertised internet, and he informed me it had been broken for a day or so, but that someone was coming around noon to fix it. When I book a hostel, I have few criteria, mainly that the rating is at least 75% (I have broken this recently and regretted it), and it has free WiFi if at all possible. A little frustrated at this latest news, I decided to walk it off and make the most of my morning in Amsterdam in the lovely streets and along the canals. I caught the NewEurope tour (free, as always) and enjoyed being spoon fed information about the city. I will blame it on my lack of sleep, but there are few things I remember from the tour. I pushed myself all day to keep awake, not wanting my schedule mixed up, but this effectively made this a day devoid of intellectual stimulation. I returned to my hostel mid afternoon and spoke with reception, learning that no efforts had been made whatsoever to fix the internet all day. The day time receptionist happily informed me that the internet had been out of commission for some time now, and it wasn’t likely to be fixed anytime soon. She happily checked to see if anyone had come that day to have a look, and informed me no efforts had been made recently to have it fixed. I suppose it wasn’t so much the fact that the internet wasn’t working, but that I was lied to that angered me. I politely told them I was unhappy with their false advertisement and more so by the staff member who had lied, and they politely (isn’t it great when we can all be polite!?) offered to ignore any cancellation charges and allow me to leave. No skin off their backs really, but I did lose my deposit through HostelWorld who take 10% deposit upon booking. I found the nearby Hostel Central in Amsterdam, and smell aside, it looked clean enough for my tastes; plus, it was cheap at only €11.50 a night. Once settled I realized there were definitely some hygiene issues in the hostel, but this was one of the better rated, non chain hostels in Amsterdam. There is always the option of the Flying Pig Hostel, or St. Christophers Hostel, but these cost some serious coin, even on weekdays. Weekends? Forget it; you might as well grab a cardboard box and a piece of sidewalk instead of the ~€40/night in a dorm on weekends at these places! I suppose that accommodation was a bit of an ordeal, but while I don’t want to say Amsterdam is a dirty city, it IS a bit of a dirty city and the hostels are just following suit.

The next day was definitely a late morning. After playing a character from The Night of the Living Dead the entire day before, I had needed a solid sleep. I spent the day wandering around, and managed to get a pretty good feel for the city. Amsterdam is a charming city with its old buildings and canals. It’s canals are fed by river and according to my tour guide the day before, the whole canal system is opened sequentially each week to gradually flush out any garbage that may have accumulated, along with continuous efforts in surface garbage collection, keeping the canals quite clean. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the streets where garbage is the common scum of the street.

The legalisation of marijuana and prostitution has indeed turned Amsterdam into the “Sin City” that everyone imagines it to be; it is no myth. In a country where English is taught well and early in schools, it is equally common on the street to hear English as it is Dutch, but you can’t blame that on the Dutch. Of all the twenty something’s on the street, more often than not they aren’t from Amsterdam but a tourist from Europe or North America seeking take advantage of the Netherland’s liberalism. Not that the Netherlands minds. Drugs have long been a significant part of Amsterdam’s culture and for the police, a losing battle. More concerned about the hard drugs on the street than the pot which seemed to have few ill effects, the Netherlands decriminalized marijuana and initiated a policy of non enforcement. Only “legally” purchasable at a licensed “coffeeshop” (easily identifiable by the Jamacain colours usually displayed in the window and the haze drifting from any crevice to the outside), you can only smoke in the coffeeshop or at home, never in public. There is a limit to how much one can have on their person at any time, and anyone caught smoking in public can be subject to heavy fines (but no criminal charges because of decriminalization). The coffeeshops are staffed by helpful employees, experienced in all things pot, and able to assist a first timer or recommend something stronger for a genuine pot head; or so I hear. The effect of the veritable legalisation of the evil marijuana? While the use of hard drugs is up (I blame that on the tourists coming just to get stoned), the prevalence of “problem users” (aka addicts) of hard drugs is half that of the European average. I don’t have a source for this, but I imaging if you were to remove all of the drug seeking twentysomething tourists, the addict population would be even smaller. Of course, pot is only half of Amsterdam’s fame. Where would it be without  prostitution!? Mainly catering to European businessmen seeking a weekend away from everything, prostitution is an unavoidable part of any visit to Amsterdam. This isn’t to say you must actively participate, but it is hard to feel that you aren’t involved whenever you walk down a street in Amsterdam’s red light. The solicitation of prostitution is illegal on the streets of Amsterdam, as are brothels, and pimping. Every woman works for herself, and advertises in business listings as escorts, or more commonly in the windows of Amsterdam’s streets. Lining the streets of the red light and others, windows allow you a glimpse at what you might have if you are willing to cough up the money. But the system is tightly regulated, and heavily guarded. The women are subject to constant testing for STI’s, and must be registered with the city. The fee system is regulated by time and “services”, and like any other worker, their wages are subject to income tax (so a hooker walks into an accountant’s office... start of a bad joke right?). While pimps may be a thing of the past in Amsterdam, “tough guys” inconspicuously patrol the streets, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. As a single male traveller, at first it is awkward walking down the streets, as the ladies beckon from their cubicles, preening and holding themselves in such a manner as to suggest what might be if only I were willing to part with €40-200 and just 15 minutes of my night. Initially you divert your eyes, feeling...guilty that you should observe women in such a state, embarrassed that they are looking directly at you. After a while it becomes less awkward, and eventually funny, as you become more comfortable meeting their seductive gazes with a smile and simply shaking your head with a smile. They understand, you’re just a tourist out for a stroll and regardless of how hard they try, you just aren’t interested. The prostitution business is thriving in Amsterdam, and since the opening of the borders for work within the EU, many women from European countries are coming to work for a month or so, quickly earning enough money to support whatever it is that needs supporting. This isn’t to say I support the prostitution industry – I certainly didn’t give it my monetary support – but it is tightly regulated enough to ensure that no one is being forcibly exploited in the business. While it would take a psychologist to tell you the effects the industry have on the women involved, they have chosen to be involved, and can walk off the job at any time. From there it becomes an ethical debate, one which I chose not to have with myself on my blog. Feel free to let me know how you feel about the industry in the comments though, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Getting a good feel for Amsterdam took all day, and it wasn’t until after dark that I got back to the hostel, bringing back some pastries to enjoy while catching up with everyone back home.

The next day I again woke late, and wandered to a small cafe (that’s for coffee, unlike a coffeeshop for pot) for a sandwich and coffee. Again, I indulged in my favourite activity, wandering the city the whole afternoon and successfully getting lost more than once. While I say lost, one is never truly lost in Amsterdam because of the shape of the canals, all leading eventually to the Central Station. After supper I joined a tour of the red light district with NewEurope tours. As always, the tour was highly educational, went to all sorts of interesting locales, and was good value for the €8 for student fare. Afterwards I hung out with a couple Americans and an Aussie for drinks before we abruptly split and went to our respective hostels; apparently they were exhausted. It turned out I was too, and after enjoying some Dutch doughnuts, I enjoyed the comfort of bed.

The next day I had planned to go to Rotterdam, but finding no availability in hostels, I decided to stay another day. Inquiring at the desk, I discovered that since it was the weekend, the bed I was in was no longer €11.50, but around €36. The problem with Amsterdam for travellers is that it’s a hostel owner’s market. There are far more travellers than there are hostels, so the owners can jack prices up as high as they please on the weekends. The cheapest accommodation I could find in the city of sin was in a haven of Christian values. Checking into the Shelter Jordan (a reference to the neighbourhood, not the river), I was lectured on the beliefs of the hostel owners. Possession of, or being under the influence of alcohol or drugs, soft or hard, is prohibited on hostel property; bible study is at 19:00 and prayer is at 21:00 (non mandatory); swearing is discouraged; and by the way, all the staff are volunteers. While prohibiting possession of drugs doesn’t surprise me, I was surprised at the ‘under the influence’ part of their rules. While your hostel may be “Christian” – which apparently means you cannot indulge in alcohol, which I don’t seem to remember being a part of Christian beliefs – I’m not sure it’s appropriate to force those values on others which would only serve to discourage youth from Christianity, seeing it as a curmudgeon in a city of fun. Fun fact, did you know that the Pope imports Bavarian beer (he is Bavarian) to the Vatican because he dislikes Italian beer? That’s right, the Pope drinks, so why can’t other Christians? Maybe it’s because “Peter, Im’a da freakin’ Pope!” “Christian” values aside, it was impeccably clean, reasonably priced (€22/night), and secure. Feeling in the mood to be wholesome and pure, I set out for the Anne Frank House, my last sightseeing in Amsterdam. Although I have never read The Diary of Anne Frank, I know the story and was able to appreciate the significance of the publication. Standing in the attic which was the Franks’ prison, and peeking out of the windows which not allowed admitting light in or out, I decided that try as we might, no one will ever truly know the struggle which would have been daily life for the family for two years. I felt a chill which has only been repeated once since, at Dachau. While this was not a prison or death camp, to the Franks it was their prison for two years.

This was my last night in Amsterdam, and I believe it was the best time to see the Anne Frank house. Amsterdam is truly a party city and the best way to see it is to join in. With an unbelievable nightlife and a scenic facade, you can easily spend a few nights in Amsterdam without visiting a single gallery or museum. The Anne Frank house is a good last stop, reminding you that today’s party city has quite a history, some of it delightfully fun, some of it very dark.