My Spanish Life.

I have returned from my first venture into Europe proper. I have seen oh so many sites – and been stuck in Antwerp for five days!!! – not that it was all bad, but that town did remind me of Adelaide. It even starts with the same first letter.

I left Madrid on the 27th (i think??) expecting to meet up with my mate, Jon, in Brussels. As I made my way to the Metro, I thought it might be worth making a quick call to work out where I could meet him and his friend. I soon discovered that they’d arrived in Belgium, but to Antwerp, not Brussels. And here I was, an hour and a half from catching a plane, and not having any idea how to get from Brussels to Antwerp. Never fear. I’ll survive even if I have to sleep on the streets of Brussels for the night.

I got into Brussels some time after six. To my relief, travel from Brussels turned out to be extremely easy. One train ride for 10 euros and two hours later, voila, Antwerp. I wandered into Antwerp having very little clue where I was going with the vague directions of ‘head towards the cathedral, we’ll meet you there’. What? What Cathedral? Come on guys, this is Europe. There must be 1000s in this city. Even worse, I had no idea how to even speak in Antwerp. Brussels was easy – they spoke French and I, at the very least, can ask ‘parleiz vous anglais?’ but Dutch?! I wouldn’t even know where to start.

Nevertheless, I found my way, met up with John and Martin, drank some beers with them, a Dutch gent – Johan, and a Flemish nationalist who was adamant that immigration was a terrible thing. Luckily, we didn’t come to blows but more on that later.

My first few days were taken up exploring. The Cathedral, the Castle, the Sewer, an accidental stumble through the red light district in which women stand in windows (a little confronting, although it beats being accosted in the street, as happens in Madrid). In between these jaunts, the sampling of Belgian beers was a must. Our nights were spent in a hostel called Heksenketel – quite a charming hostel with a bar downstairs and an excellent spread for breakfasts. What it lacks in bed quality, it makes up for in charm. However, after a night of Belgian beers, it was difficult to manouevre the stairs.

After a few days of giants, castles and sewers, Jon and I were keen to press on. Antwerp is not a cheap city and it was rapidly eating into my finances. Plus we wanted to see the Western Front and make it to Berlin for New Years. Alas, not to be, as Martin, an American by way of Lithuania, was busy chasing the hostel girl – drinking till late in the morning and waking up late.

By Saturday, we’d had enough and decided to embark on our own journey, courtesy of his car keys. We organised to drive up to Johan’s house, a Flemish guy Jon knew from Lithuania, and then head to Ypres to see at least some of the Western Front before we left.

Jon drove and as we exitted Antwerp, we began to realise that we had no idea where we were going. We drove for a while, and only to discover we were still in Antwerp. We turned around to rechase our ground and once again couldn’t get out of Antwerp. But then, an EXIT!! We found our exit, pulled off, then discovered we needed petrol – off the exit we went. Petrol filled and ready to go, somewhat frustrated albeit, we searched for our exit. It had vanished. But then we found another one, seemingly going in the right direction. Alas it was not to be. 20 minutes down, we discovered we were not on our way to Johan’s house but Holland. Now how to turn around? After some crazy shenanigans trying to get off the highway, we managed to go in the other direction, which was THE RIGHT DIRECTION!!! Cool, all good, until we turn off one exit early and end up having to drive all the way back to Antwerp to turn around again. Surely, it’s not really this difficult.

Finally, we managed to make it to Johan’s and to Ypres. War monuments are always a solemn experience. War cemeteries are even more so. Thousand of names stared back at us from this enormous structure. Walls upon walls upon walls of names and dates. Thousands of Australians, New Zealanders, Brits, Indians ad nauseum. It was sobering to say the least.

We then searched for Polygon Wood, a cemetery we knew was somewhere nearby, and the scene of a relatively significant battle. Here lay hundreds of graves, primarily ANZAC and primarily unknown soldiers. It was fitting that we reached here as dusk began to set and we gazed upon this site with a grey night sky falling.

New Years Eve

New Years Eve is no different anywhere in the world (except Spain where they eat grapes!) For me, it was no different than an Australian New Years except that it was cold, and in Antwerp. I partied with Australians we met in the hostel. We partied all night long. It was fun, but still same old, same old.

Berlin by way of Holland…

ah… driving to Berlin. We’d been kicking back with these two Dutch guys, Ton and JR, in Antwerp for most of our time there. They’d been hitchhiking to Malaga and had made it as far as France before almost dying and deciding France wasn’t worth the effort. We offered them a lift home and drove as far North as I had ever been.

There was a marked difference between Belgium and Holland. The roads were smoother, the roads were wider, the land was flatter, wetter and the sky was bluer. The speed limit was normal but I think we surpassed it. We hit Leeuwarden sometime that night and crashed out. The autobahn’s of Germany were calling, and I wanted to drive them.

German autobahns. Possibly the most terrifying thing to be on if you were to crash – and I know someone who has – but also the most fun I’ve ever had in a car.

These are the rules:

1. Wait for the road to hit three lanes.

2. Once three lanes, ease accelerator down.

3. Keep accelerator down.

4. If cars in front are slower, drive around them. If cars behind are faster, move out of the way.

5. Drive, drive, drive.

200km/h is a nice speed to drive at. I recommend it. It is however slightly strange to drive at 200km/h and still be overtaken. Damn Honda wouldn’t go any faster.

We entered Germany with a sign saying 500 odd km to Berlin. Sweet that’s a two and a half hour drive. And what do you know – it basically was! Even with our detour for curry trees.

I’d like to go back to Berlin. I don’t think I had enough time to really explore it. I took touristy tours, which were good and recommendable, but it was only by the 4th day that I began to feel like I was getting to know Berlin. They say it’s a party city, but I don’t think it compares to Madrid. There were definitely no kids drinking in the streets at 9am, but then again, I might just not have seen them.

It’s also a city where the past is very much alive. The difference between West Berlin and East Berlin is still very obvious – although most East Berliners do not live there anymore. They’ve moved elsewhere. But East Berlin is alive and happening, whilst West Berlin just sort of exists as a residential zone.

It’s been four weeks since I got back now. So it’s becoming a little distant in my memory. So I apologise for no greater detail. I’ll try to be more prompt with my travel notes.