Hi, all, this is my first contribution to a blog - ever. So, out of a bit of uncertainty, but wanting to keep my promise to Phil, I'm going to paste my first story out of Belgium. I was there for two weeks in May '07. All my kms from that trip have been donated to the million kms for Tibet. I managed to earn 50kms during the IML two-day walks in Blankenberge, followed by a seven-day solo-hike on the Transardennaise (a village to village hike on an amazing variety of paved and dirt tracks/roads through woods and open countryside). The story from the longer hike is still in the works, and when I'm in writing mode it's hard for me to produce many variations on the same theme - thus the pasting of the story on the Blankenberge walks. So, here goes:
MARCHING IN BLANKENBERGE
Blankenberge, Belgium is a small coastal city in Flanders. It is home to the International Marching League (IML) two-day walks that open the season of walking events. My previous participation in an IML event was two years ago when my older daughter, Hannah, and I walked in the four-day long event in Chantonnay, France. We had such a good time it became a goal of mine to return to Europe to “march” with friends made along the way.
Traveling to Europe is always a lengthy process. Surprisingly, I was able to travel on Delta from Albuquerque to Atlanta and right into Brussels. Then it was a train from the airport to a station in Brussels proper, and then another train to Blankenberge. Hannah and I met a trio of friends (Harry, Eddie and Chris) when we were in Chantonnay and I have stayed in touch with them via email. When I realized I’d be making the trip to Blankenberge for the walks, I asked Harry where I should stay. He recommended a B&B that he’s stayed at every time he’s walked in Blankenberge, which is some years.
My friends were driving in from Germany on Friday, but I’d arrived on Thursday so I could recover from the jet lag and get my feet under me after sitting for so long on planes and trains. I left the train station rolling my luggage behind me. With rather sketchy directions from Harry on how to find the B&B, I opted for a stop at the tourist information center opposite the train station. The patient lady in the kiosk handed me a
map of the city and together we managed to find the street I was looking for. A quick eyeballing of the skyline and I headed in the direction of the cathedral, around the corner, and down the block. Voila, I’d arrived!
After meeting Christiane, my hostess for the weekend, washing up and sorting things out in my room, I decided it was time for lunch and that I was in need of a little walk to keep me awake. Blankenberge is a fairly easy city to navigate. So after my meal, I explored the downtown area. The winds were a surprise to me. They come in off the sea and are quite chilly. A short walk was enough to send me back to my room where I rested, read and waited for dinner which was scheduled for 6:45 p.m. It turned out I was the only guest for the evening. Christiane’s husband is the cook. Christiane is the hostess and waitress. She graciously kept me company that evening so I didn’t dine completely alone. My goal had been to stay awake until nightfall and it didn’t take me long to fall asleep after the meal.
Having arrived the next afternoon, my friends were waiting at the table when I entered the dining room on Friday evening. Both gentlemen are formerly of the British Army and both now live and work in Germany. Harry is a Scot and Eddie an Englishman. Thank goodness for Eddie! He had to occasionally translate for me when I was lost with Harry’s language. The Scottish tongue can be a mystery to the average American. We were joined by Per and Maria from Sweden. Our happy quintet ate together, walked the IML walks together, and laughed a lot. That first evening, Harry and Eddie led the way to a large gathering of walkers. It was just the beginning of the weekend, and we’d end up out on the town each night to follow.
The IML events are truly walking events. Still called “marches” by the Europeans, they are designed to bring people of many nationalities together, and for me they have done that. The five of us were agreed to walk the 25 kilometers (kms) routes each of the two days of the Blankenberge walks. The routes are flat. The western side of Belgium, also known as “Flanders,” is flat. It is the flattest place I’ve ever been. The wind chilled the air that first day. There were a few threats of rain, but we lucked out and the dry stretch that had preceded our arrival continued until the day after the walks.
Walking is a good sport for socializing. We five walked together, sometimes all five together and sometimes in pairs or trio. My notes say that discovering just how many people Harry knows kept me entertained both days. We’d rotate companions naturally, without assignment, but as pace and crowd allowed. Harry and Eddie have walked Blankenberge several times and knew the best places to stop for food. As the day was cold and grey with fierce winds, we sat at an outdoor café somewhere along the route slurping down hot tomato soup. The soup could have been hotter. We commiserated at how quickly it cooled in the wind.
Lest I forget, the Belgians love their beer. There was free beer (per our coupons) at some of the aid stations, and many walkers chose to stop at the numerous pubs and cafes along the routes (both days). It’s a mystery to me how people hone the skill to both drink beer at each stop and continue walking for 25-42 kms each day, but most of them managed quite well. These events are social as well as athletic and everyone seemed to be having a good time!
It was on the first day that we crossed paths several times with a good-sized group of walkers from Taiwan. They were in an organized group, stretching and moving as though in a form of meditative exercise at the start line. One of the men knew Harry and Eddie and gave each of us a postcard of a different section of a large Taiwanese painting. It was further down the day’s walks that we passed them again. There was much bowing and nodding. Somewhere in the exchange I complimented one of their leaders who was wearing a traditional-style hat. That brought many giggles from the women in the group. Later in the day, one of the women told me that their leader would like to trade hats with me. My brand new felt “cowgirl” hat with the earflaps had been carefully selected for the trip. It would not only prove essential in keeping me from being sunburned, it kept my head and ears warm in the winds, and served as something of a mini-umbrella in the seemingly endless rains that I’d experience in my walks in the Ardennes. I was as gracious as I could be, but explained that while the offer was tempting, I must decline the trade. Next time I go, I must have something small to give in such circumstances.
Harry was alongside when we entered a tree-lined lane. The cows watching us were our only spectators. I had to take a photo as the Belgian cows never failed to make me smile. They just appeared humorous to me. At the end of the lane we entered a large property that I suspect used to be a farm but is now a sculpture garden and café. If we were not in a formal march, I’d have stopped there for longer. As it was, Harry took photos of me with one of the sculptures, and I managed to take a few others before my camera batteries died.
We arrived back at the tent on that first day in good order. Per clued me and Maria into the fact that there were free massages in the smaller tent. We ladies trooped on over and waited our turns. The woman who worked on my calves was curious as to my nationality. She was very excited to know I am an American, as Belgium is not a country that many Americans visit. Throughout the weekend I met only one other American, a military man stationed in the Netherlands. My masseuse chatted while she worked, and I found it easy to let my aching legs relax. Maria and I were both moving smoother after our rub-downs. It’s a lovely perk to the Blankenberge walks.
Then it was back to our rooms for showers. There was just enough time for me to do a little hand washing. I wrung out my clothes and hung them in the shower where they could drip freely without damaging the wooden floor of my room. My arrival downstairs to rejoin the group was two-three minutes late. I don’t think Eddie will every let me forget it. Harry had graciously offered to drive us to the down of Diksmuide, a town that was completely flattened in World War I. It has been carefully restored and is quite charming. The rather grand structure that is the town’s Catholic Church was a surprise to me. On the outside it’s quite ancient looking, but very modern on the inside. Mass was about to start so we didn’t stay long.
Day 2 of the walks was also windy and started along the beach which had us fully exposed to the winds. We eventually turned inland and found ourselves on a lovely bike path in a large wooded area. After that it was through farmlands and small villages. It was on this day that I arrived at one aid station to find Eddie, Per and Maria already seated, sipping on beer or other beverage. The guys encouraged me to try one of the brats that were being grilled just down the street. As I woofed down my brat with a contented look on my face, Eddie informed me with great amusement that the sausages were horsemeat. I didn’t blink, but with a twinkle in my eye, responded, “Thank you, Mr. Ed.” And so the day went: walking miles and miles on flat Belgian roads, laughing with good companions, eating a hot grilled brat that tasted good even after I knew what I was eating!
We were in the last few kilometers when I found myself alone. Harry had been alongside when he ran into another familiar face. The other three were just ahead of me for most of this stretch. I nearly caught up with them until they made a traffic light and I was the first held back by the police officer. Sag, slump, droop, I waited for that light to turn only to be held at the front again for the next three lights. There were plenty of other walkers to for me follow, thank goodness, as we turned onto the beachfront boardwalk which was crowded with families and couples strolling on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I dodged cyclists, baby strollers, and crowds moving in a head-on direction to the one I was walking. It was a little discouraging to find myself caught in a density of people, but I managed and was happy when I caught sight of the big tent.
It turned out that when I entered the tent to get my IML walking passport stamped and discovered that Maria, Per and Eddie were just ahead of me in line. My feet were killing me as I’d taken my trail shoes thinking we’d be on dirt and sandy surfaces more than pavement. There was a large blister on the side of my right foot at the ball, and another on the outside heel of my left foot.
Maria and Per headed back to Sweden that evening. Our quintet reduced to a trio. Harry, Eddie and I had dinner and then went out so they could have a beer or two. My choice of beverage was hot water, which caused many an eyebrow to go up, but it kept me from getting chilled. I actually believe the hot water kept me healthy over the entirety of my trip when it seemed like all around me were succumbing to colds and sniffles.
The joy of the IML events is getting to know walkers from other countries. The walks are not timed and are not competitive. They are for people who love to walk.
I’ve done a good bit of thinking about what to take to trade or give to others, as that seems a lovely gesture in good-will. Many walkers have flags from their homeland protruding from their packs, stuck in their hats, and the military units have official flag-bearers. My search for a small flag from New Mexico must continue until I find just the right size. For it is my goal to return and march with friends old and new.
Harry and Eddie drove me to the train station the next morning. After our farewells, my journey took a new direction as I headed back to Brussels and then on to Libramont in the Ardennes where a whole new adventure awaited.
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That's it for now, hope you enjoy this telling of my first weekend in Belgium. I'll try to get a condensed version of the Transardennaise adventure after my "official" writing is done. In the meantime, I'm determined to get back out to do some miles. We've had a lot going on with family and weather - I hate training in the heat. My next hike is coming up sooner than I like to admit - the Kungsleden - some 440+ kms in Lapland, Sweden. I spend loads of time daily working on the details. Saturday coming up I'll be heading to Albuquerque (3 hours away) to take a GPS course at an outdoor/sporting goods store. When I'm in a wilderness, or even a forest alone, I try to keep my mind focused and often spend time thinking about those I know through groups like this. Happy miles all! Best, susan
