It feels quite anticlimactic having come to the realisation around 5 minutes ago that the train I'm sitting on right now is the last train I'm going to take between cities on this whole trip. I’ve earned an entirely new appreciation for train travel over the last many weeks, how simple it can be when not disrupted by delays at every hour, and how convenient it has been to get from country to country. They give a great opportunity to reflect on the time we’ve had so far, and plan ahead for where we are arriving next. That being said, we aren’t taking one back to the UK- we were fortunate enough to miss out on Eurostar tickets on our desired date, so we're taking a twelve hour bus into London, driving back through Belgium and France, crossing from Calais then coming all the way up from the Dover port into the capital. And at that point I'm sure I'll be craving the leg room this train seat is affording me now, so I'll appreciate it while I can.
We arrived back in Annecy in the late afternoon, and it was strange walking out of a station to familiar surroundings again. I said this about Annecy the last time we were there, but when you walk out of the station it feels like an almost Disneyland set-up; it opens towards a park surrounded by coloured houses and alpine mountains towering in the background, happy faces milling around donning bobble hats and scarves. The last time we were here, we were absolutely sweltering in our shorts and t-shirts; this time it couldn’t be more different, wrapped in a hoodie and my new Swiss-bought jacket trying to keep warm. Still, the fresh French mountain air was welcomed, and made the walk to our Airbnb much less sweaty to navigate. The lakeside place we had stayed in the last time we visited wasn’t available this time around, so we opted for an apartment in the Old Town, which we hadn’t really had time to properly explore in our one night in Annecy back in September. It was a stunning place, a good sized apartment at a really cheap price due to it being out of season now, and with our own full kitchen we decided we would cook on the second night. At that precise moment though, we felt like treating ourselves, and after dumping our heavy bags, walked not far into the town to spend a bit more than usual on a good meal. I fancied a steak, and it did not disappoint in the slightest, filling my hungry traveller’s stomach as the sky outside the window turned to black. The nights were drawing in much earlier now than the last time we came to this lake town, when we had sat on the boardwalk with our salami baguettes and seen the light fade behind the mountains. It would be a shame, we figured, to not end the evening with a walk around the lakeside, so after paying our bill we crossed the road and headed towards the boats we could see moored up at the end of the path. Once again we came to appreciate the beauty of the slightly more rural areas we visited; looking up at the night sky here in Annecy gave you an unbelievably clear view of the stars, something light pollution back home doesn’t allow for. Zac and I reflected on how far we’d come since the last time we had sat on the same particular lakeside bench- our first time here, we’d already felt so well travelled, but knew how much there was yet to see ahead. This time round it almost felt sad, acknowledging that those imaginings had come true, but were now in the past with everything else. Almost as if pathetic fallacy had taken its cue, we felt the first drops of rain start to come down, and headed back towards the apartment to rest up with plans of exploring the Old Town ahead the next day.
We woke up to another brilliant benefit of this Airbnb- directly opposite a chocolate shop, the smell of melted chocolate filled the living room as soon as we opened the window. The sky had come over quite cloudy, and acting in combination with the winds travelling through the wind-tunnel streets, it made for a very cold day. This, as seems to be the solution for most of our problems when travelling, led to one surefire conclusion of how to warm up- we found a nice little pub on a street corner and each had a pint of local beer. After finishing this, and binning the way-too-strong cheese sandwich I’d bought along the way, we took a proper walk through the Old Town to see what we had missed the last time we were here. Strolling through the cobbled streets, seeing all the bookshops hidden in tiny nooks amongst bustling cafés and family-run tourist shops, crossing bridges over streams heading lake-bound, I was so glad we decided to come back to Annecy. Seeing its beauty in both the peak of summer and nearing winter, I really couldn’t tell you which I’d prefer; I’d imagine taking a swim in the summer would probably be a fair bit nicer, but the almost festive feeling that hung in the air now in late October couldn’t help but to draw a smile out of each of us. We bought ourselves a postcard each to add to our collections, and Zac a new sticker for his guitar, and took a relatively aimless wander in one direction or another hoping a supermarket would present itself eventually so we could get something to cook for dinner. Lo and behold, we did come across one, and the more difficult task was actually deciding what to buy. We were absolutely sick to death of pasta by now, and so picked up some rice instead. A curry sounded like a great plan, but then we couldn’t find any pre-made curry sauce and were definitely not feeling competent enough to make our own. Determined to stick to our guns though, we decided to give tomato sauce and rice a go, and headed to the meat section where- for reasons I’m still not certain of- we decided chicken nuggets would be the perfect accompaniment. We got ourselves some snacks for the journey to Lyon the next day, and as the rain started making its way down again, rushed back to the apartment whilst my Converse trainers started becoming a swimming pool for my feet.
I’d love to say dinner went smoothly and the meal was unbelievably good, but after twenty minutes of trying to work an oven that only had one button, that being to turn on the light, it was to be frying-pan chicken nuggets with our tomato rice on the menu. With enough salt added in, it wasn’t an awful meal, but trying to get through an entire large bag of rice between us to avoid waste was a struggle to say the least. Going back to our nice restaurant from the night before might have been a better choice. It was still hammering it down with rain outside, but, knowing it might be our last chance in a long time to see the lake, we decided to get our rain jackets on and brave the cold and wet. We walked around the other side of it this time, and looking out over the water, struggling to make out where the towering black mountains ended and the dark blue night sky began, there was a definite sense of, ‘yeah, we’ve done alright here mate.’ Annecy does have this unbelievably relaxing, magical feel to it, and returning one day is without doubt on my list of things to do.
So, this time around we did the reverse journey from Annecy back to Lyon, paying the extra supplement fee that we hadn’t missed about French trains, and edged the closest to home we had been in literal months.
The first drops of rain quickly turned to a heavy downpour slashing against the train window as we wound through the countryside, an image not met with the happiest of looks by Zac and I, knowing that the journey to the hostel would now inevitably involve soggy socks.
Stepping onto the platform back to the familiar French buzz of Lyon, we took a speedy walk to the underground station and hopped straight onto the conveniently-timed train in the direction of our hostel. Looking around at frowning people sat on wet seats (the frowns in our direction usually a sign of disgust at our backpacks taking up valuable carriage space, but maybe this time just an indication we were back in urban France), we took the 15 minute ride toward Croix-Pacquet, a small metro station in the park just outside our home for the next two nights, and darted for shelter as soon as the train doors opened.
Arriving at the hostel, ready to let down our bags and get into a dry, warm bed, we were told the rooms were not yet ready- something that would have been met with a lot more mental frustration if it were not for what Zac and I had both spotted in the far corner of the room. It was decided, today would be the latest instalment of the fiercest table football rivalry of the century. We couldn’t quite make out what the teams were meant to be- white against green isn’t exactly a famous clash- but must have played for a solid hour, ultimately ending level on wins, before getting our room keys.
The rooms were basic enough, Zac taking a top bunk and me taking the bottom on the bed opposite, making our beds and breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief; a warm room, a comfy bed, a bit of quiet. The quiet lasted around 20 minutes, until the American that was staying in the bunk under Zac came back into the room. He was only just starting his journey around Europe, and when we got to talking, I realised that the conversation we were having was almost identical to the one Zac and I had had with two Aussie guys at our hostel in Madrid nearly two months earlier, though this time we were giving the advice. It was weird recognising how much that dynamic had changed in such a short period of time.
We went out, clad in raincoats, to explore Lyon properly, having only admired it at night last time, looking also for some food to cook that evening in the hostel kitchen. The grey sky tried to ease up as we made our way along the riverbank then inward towards where the main shops were, and, spotting the golden arches in the distance, we thought it would be rude not to get ourselves a nice big meal. We got to try out France’s new McDonalds reusable cutlery, meaning my waffle fries came in a plastic container and drink came in a proper plastic cup (I miss waffle fries), and then walked just over the road to the shop where we bought ourselves snacks to last the evening, and some proper food for the following day’s cooking.
It was a quiet night in returning to the hostel that evening, myself watching a movie on my phone and Zac reading the last of his book, with plans to be up early the next morning to join along on a free guided tour of the city we’d seen advertised in our hostel.
This was easier said than done the next morning- through no fault of our own for a change, as we were up early and in the meeting location with plenty of time to spare, but our search for a tour guide with a ‘yellow t-shirt’ as described on the advertisement was frankly fruitless.
We were about to head off on our own to explore instead when he finally arrived; weirdly enough, just holding the yellow shirt on a hanger rather than wearing it as any normal person might have assumed.
He first gave our group of twenty-something that had all spotted the yellow t-shirt at once some information on the history of the Place des Terreaux we were standing in, and then led us through the city to explore the architecture. Being such a large group, it was difficult to hear him- and to be honest, the parts we did hear were not particularly interesting- so Zac and I decided to slip away from the group and get ourselves some lunch. We returned to the Place des Terreaux and ordered some fries and drinks, and after leaving to have a look through some of Lyon’s many second-hand, vintage, and skate shops, were delighted to see the 20€ the meal had cost had been completely refunded back to my card. Free food is something I could never complain about, especially when it’s a surprise.
We continued our walk, over the river and into the Old Town, which was by far my favourite part of the city. Markets, restaurants and cafés crammed into bustling side streets, and, the rain having now cleared up completely, it made for quite a nice day. I spotted a sign for a film museum, and being a massive movie nerd, had to go in, convincing Zac to come with me. We noticed people paying for tickets when we left- but, not understanding French signs nor seeing a ticket office, walked straight through on entry into the first of 13 exhibit rooms. It was unbelievable- 2000 square metres of space filled with props, costumes and memorabilia from hundreds of different movies across the multi-floor building kept us busy for well over an hour. Back at the hostel early that evening, we cooked up the food from the day before and looked ahead to the long day of travel to the ninth and penultimate country of our trip; with no tickets left for the journey direct from Paris to the Belgian capital, it was to be a four-part connective journey starting at 12pm and ending at 8pm. Lyon to Paris; Paris to Lille; Lille to Tournai, and Tournai to Brussels.
The next morning started with a brisk cold shower in the bathrooms at the far end of the corridor from our room, and a raid of the savouries aisle in the Carrefour minimarket near the hostel, before cramming ourselves and our bags back onto the Metro, Lyon Part Dieu station-bound.
We arrived at the station in plenty of time, and had no issues boarding. Having had our tickets and seat reservations scanned, the initial journey into Paris went very smoothly, with half an hour to spare before our next train. The issue was however, our train to Lille was departing from Paris Gare du Nord station; we had arrived at Paris Gare de Lyon, and we had to get the metro to the other side of the city.
The metro journey should only have taken about ten minutes, which wouldn’t have been an issue, except we’d arrived at peak time, and there was only one ticket booth open, meaning the queue was unbelievably long. It wasn’t good for our blood pressure, which only seemed to go up as we watched the minutes run down, and the queue barely shifted. Zac decided to go and ask the guy at the front if we could jump in front of him- and in a stroke of luck he let us, meaning we darted through the gate with the tickets still hot from printing to hop on the first train that pulled in. We got to Gare du Nord with two minutes to spare, sprinting to the nearest board to see what platform our train was leaving from- only to see the train had been delayed anyway. We could take a second to breathe, and once I’d done so I looked around and recognised the station that this whole chapter of my life had started in. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I was last in that building. The sudden rush of people towards Platform 6 let Zac and I know that our train was here, and sure enough ten minutes later we were leaving the station on the top floor of a double-decker train, Lille bound.
After an unremarkable two-hour wait for our connection in Lille, and a quick transfer in Tournai in which Zac very nearly left his guitar behind on the train, we were grateful for the very short walk to our MEININGER hostel in Brussels. I took the top bunk, Zac took the single bed, and we set ourselves to getting to sleep on our first of four nights in the Belgian capital.
The following day we’d organised to meet up with a friend of ours, Kayleigh, who just so happened to be away for the weekend in Brussels at the same time we were there; we spent the day with them and their uncle who lived in the city. He took us on a tour of the city, and the best food and drink Brussels had to offer- the former including, of course, fries and chocolate, and the latter being Belgium’s famous beer which was Zac’s kryptonite that evening. With the average beer in Belgium being proofed anywhere between 7 and 12%, compared to the average 4.5% here in the UK, you can imagine how the hostel bathroom was utilised by him by the end of the day. With the weather being horrific the next morning, we spent what became our recovery day doing some much-needed laundry, a short trip in the rain to visit the unbelievably underwhelming Manneken Pis, and then back to the hostel for a bit of reading.
Halloween arrived, our last full day in Brussels, and once visiting the Atomium in the morning and having felt we’d really already seen most of what the city had to offer, we decided to take the train 30 minutes into Ghent and explore the country’s third largest city. I personally enjoyed Ghent a lot more than Brussels; it had a character that felt lacking in the capital, and exploring the city via a guided boat tour along the canals was a great opportunity to find out more about its history. Our tour guide/boat driver was brilliant, effortlessly switching between English, French, and Flemish, managing to make his jokes land in each one, and so we couldn’t really complain when he asked for a tip at the end of the tour. We rounded off our Belgium visit with an unbelievably good canalside meal (I opted for a small beer to accompany mine this time) and picked what must have been the rush hour train back into Brussels, fighting our way through the passengers standing in the train carriage walkways to actually get off at our stop.
Around 18 hours later we were back at the very same station, bags now full of clean clothes that would now hopefully last us until one last wash in our Amsterdam Airbnb, where we would soon be following 3 nights in our second to last city- Rotterdam.
So that’s where I’ll end this instalment off- don’t worry, the next one will be the last, no more cliff hangers, and the full story of our final ten days across the Netherland’s two biggest cities. And hopefully, it won’t take quite as long to write up and conclude.
Thank you for your continued interest and time spent reading these- it's been just as fun for me revisiting all of these memories of the three most formative months of my life so far.
Until the next one,
Cheers for the read,
EV.
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