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We thought it would be a good idea to take a TGV train to Strasbourg in order not to fall too behind in our schedule. TGV’s only allow folding bikes packed in a bag. Ours were perfect: foldable and we had a bag for each. But we also had all our panniers; a big, bulky Samsonite full of stuff (this is the luggage for one of our bikes); 2 large instruments; and all the other stuff you have seen in the pictures. The station was 3 blocks from our place so we walked there, carrying it all. We arrived about an hour early at the station, took over an elevator to go down and another one to go up, and we took multiple turns carrying until we finally got all our stuff onto platform 3, where the train would depart from. Drenched in sweat, yet on time and even with 20 minutes to spare! Wow!
We were feeling very proud of ourselves, when about 10 minutes prior to departure, the platform of our train was changed, so we had to do the whole thing all over again, but this time in less than 10 minutes. You can imagine the scene: quite a bit of shouting (“¡Rápido!” “¡Corre!, “¡Llévate esto!” “¡Cuida esto!,” etc.); lots of running around; and even more sweating. As time crept up on us, so did the stress and the intensity of the scene. A few seconds prior to departure, the last bike and 2 large pieces of luggage were still far from the door of the train. I ran to get them while the others were still accommodating the bikes that were already on the train. I grabbed the pieces and started running, yelling “¡Ayuda!” Camilo got off the train and ran towards me but he was still far away. At this point, a young man in the station who had been watching the chaos ran towards me too. No questions asked, I gave him the bike in a nano-second and we both ran to the train. Camilo then reached me and grabbed the other piece from my hands. We all ran and by some miracle, we all made it on the train. Of course, the TGV was full and our bikes and luggage were all over the place, in front of every possible exit in the area. No room to maneuver and yet we did, somehow. Horacio rode standing up, moving the bikes to allow passengers in and out, while I was on the second floor, doing the same with other bikes and luggage. I don’t think we stopped sweating until we were able to get off, in Strasbourg, relieved to have made it and to be out of that situation. We swore not to take another TGV again–only local trains in which full sized bikes are allowed. Phew. Sometimes the best things are the ones that are not planned. Like this city where we are now. It was not part of our original route nor had we ever heard about it. Yet it was magical. Full of history, calm, friendly, with a central plaza that invited us to drink a cup of coffee and observe life. Many things that made us smile those days: a farmers market where English/Spanish was not at all spoken; a small and friendly bike repair shop that helped us with needed bike repairs and maintenance; fortifications in the city; our local delicious kebab place; our local boulangerie; a merry-go-round with images of scenes we had seen in the area; and just an overall sense of peace. We rested, worked, got rid of some stuff, and decided on our next steps. And this made me smile: Today we cycled 90 kms, fully loaded, from Givet to a town called Charleville-Meziers. This route was not part of our plan and we had never heard of Charleville so we had no expectations. The most important reason for us to stop there, at that point, was because we found a nice AirB&B. We really needed the rest, Horacio had a ton of work to catch up with, and as a family, we needed to re-group and re-think our route (and our packing). It was far away but we thought we could pull it off. The forecast was beautiful and the scenery was quite like a fairytale. We also found a pharmacy along the way where we arranged our paperwork and got our french QR sanitation code. No charge to do this, the pharmacists said that as pharmacists they follow a code of honor and they didn't charge for such services. Cool! We continued pedaling. When it was too hot and no where to purchase water, we sent Sol and Camilo to ask for water in a house along the way. We thought they had a better chance of a good reception than we did. And success! A very kind woman refilled all our water bottles. Thank you! And so, all was good and well in our 90 km stint until the sky decided to fall down on us again, and this time quite suddenly. When going through a small town, a man waved his arms and shouted something at us in French, a few times. I had no idea what he said, but still I shouted back “Oui, merci!” and continued. It was only until the heavy rain, lightning, and thunder broke off that I understood his intentions. Surely he was trying to warn us about the bad weather. And bad it was. With all our waterproof clothing, we still got soaked, as if we had jumped for a swim in the Meuse. And we still had over 30 kms to go. We took refuge under bridges here and there, trying to wait off the rain at different moments. It was getting late and there was no sign of the weather tapering down. When we found out that it would continue pouring until 10 pm we had to make a choice. We either stopped somewhere (where, though?) or make it to Charleville. We decided our best option would be to make it to our AirB&B and get a dry and good night’s sleep. And so we pedaled on. Eventually it stopped raining but of course at that point it was quite dark. Exhausted, drenched, and in the darkness–this is when accidents are prone to happen–we pedaled slowly, communicating among ourselves, and being extra aware not to fall, slip, or anything else. And thankfully we made it–safe & sound. Something that came through is that despite the very uncomfortable situation we were in, we stayed positive. No complaining, no giving up, no sourness. We got through and out together, by remaining calm and focused. Making it to Charleville gave us a big sense of accomplishment. While we got dry in our AirB&B, Horacio went looking for dinner. He found a kebab place. In his words, “I must’ve looked terrible, all wet, trying to lock my bike to go get the food, as both the owner and the cook came out to help me!”
Now off to a well-deserved rest! Well, we reached France. No borders, no COVID check, no nothing. Just transitioned. And as we did, it was as if we ourselves also transitioned out of a state of complications in the first weeks of our trip. Were people friendlier and happier here or was it our more positive disposition? I am not sure. But we were so happy to reach France.
We camped in Givet, for 8 euros! A bit of a sketchy place with some campground residents staring at us non-stop and another one with a one-man disco in his tent. But we took action and were friendly to them first, so all good. We set out to look for dinner, but our first intent to get food was met with a request for our “pass sanitaire” and the french QR code, which we of course did not have. But we have our CDC COVID cards, right? No. French QR or nothing. They did allow take-outs, which we did, and then researched what we needed to do to get our French QR code. As it turns out, we could get one in any pharmacy willing to validate our CDC cards, which we decided to do the next day. As beautiful as it is, Dinant’s focus on tourism was not quite our thing so we were ready to continue our route. We had a few rude car encounters, got “tourist trapped” in a restaurant, and sensed an unfriendly vibe as well as rain, rain, and more rain. The very morning we were to leave the weather was supposed to be beautiful. But Belgium had something better reserved for us. Check it out: We found ourselves feeling somewhat stuck and with a bit of a negative vibe. As much as we love cycling, we were carrying so much and packing every day had become “a thing.” We were also wet a significant amount of time. I did consider whether this feeling was due to us and our need to solve certain aspects of our new lifestyle, or whether it was due to something external, like the rain. Or a combination of both. Alas, just talking about it sometimes can change the feeling and help break us out of the moment: So–we decided we should leave Belgium ASAP, as if leaving the country would bring some sun into our route. But where to go and how to get there? We headed to the Tourist Information office to ask about train and bus travel possibilities with all our luggage. The facial expression of the woman who helped us when I asked her about the fastest way to get out of Belgium? Priceless. Still, she helped (Thank you!).
Regardless–our plan to continue the Eurovelo 5 towards Strasbourg, France, had to be modified. The next 100 kms on the Eurovelo had multiple and intense climbs and we were loaded; campgrounds were scarce along the route; alternative accommodation options were very expensive; and rain was expected in the mountains. Oh! And Horacio’s rack broke, because of the weight he was carrying (and the bike shop in Dinant was too busy to help–not kidding). Taking a train would be complicated with all our stuff. Plus, our best option in that case would have been to go back to Namur or Brussels to catch a faster train to Strasbourg, and as one of our motto says–”pa’ atrás, ni para tomar vuelito.” Staying in Dinant to continue to problem solve was out of the question. Horacio then proposed just changing our route and following the Meuse River along Eurovelo 19. We could grab that route from Dinant on our bicycles, it was mostly flat, and we could enter France 24 kms ahead. We would reconfigure packing and solve the rack problem somewhere else. Bingo! Grabbed our stuff and set our cycling, at around 4 pm, very happy to begin sensing the change of mindset. We reached Dinant, full of history and with its stunning backdrop along the Meuse River. What a beautiful town this is! We also found a farmers market (love these!) where we got cheese and bread. Looking for a good local beer (’cause we’re in Belgium, right?), Horacio and I stopped by a store for recommendations. Beer galore, analysis paralysis. But the guy brought out a can and told us not to get put off by the can as that beer he had was excellent. Well, it turns out it was called “Atrium” and had the word “cycling” on the other side. Seriously? This was definitely a sign from somewhere and our choice was finalized! [and by the way, it was excellent!] Our camp in Dinant had an incredible view. Several cycle touring folks stopping here: a father and his son or the man in the picture below. Pros: unbeatable location. Cons: people fishing until late at night pretty much right outside our tent, shouting loudly and with the radio on full blast. A sleepless night, really. This man put us all to shame in no time. Cycle touring even more loaded than us, he set up and picked up camp in no time (much faster than the 4 of us trying to do the same). I want to be like you when I am your age!
I have always believed that one receives what one gives. If I am friendly to others, others will most likely be friendly to me. If I trust or respect others, others will most likely trust or respect me. In my experience, this is true in everything one does, and it is something that cannot magically be expected to happen. We need to be proactive and start the giving process ourselves. I try to instill this in my children through actions not words, and in all possible circumstances. This is especially true when traveling on a bicycle, as one can be–or be perceived as being–more vulnerable. A nomadic life, sharing streets with cars and sometimes trucks, and literally being less physically protected. So as we cycle and as we live this lifestyle, we interact with people along the way. Sometimes just to ask for directions, sometimes to purchase food, sometimes to share something along the way. At a very minimum, to show the most basic act of politeness: recognizing each other’s presence by saying “bonjour” or “bonsoir.” We usually get a warm response in return and other times these brief exchanges result in a conversation or shared experiences. One example of this is the couple we met in Brussels before leaving (Aug. 14 post). Another example is a family we met along the Eurovelo–on their way home after cycle touring the region and they were also musicians. We talked about our different routes, about our different instruments, and they warned us of a closure due to flooding repairs further along the Eurovelo that made it very hard for bicycle trailers to pass. They also told us what they did to bypass that closure (below there's a video of Camilo helping us bypass the closure). Meeting people along the way is one of the most rewarding experiences that traveling by bicycle allows in a way that no other traveling has allowed me to experience. Perhaps it is because on a bicycle, one is not very threatening. Perhaps it is because one travels at a much slower pace, there is more time and little physical distance between one and others. Or perhaps it is simply a mindset that one has when cycle touring which makes us more receptive to interactions. Regardless, these interactions almost seem like a natural extension to the cycling experience and they are very uplifting, every single time. The road to Namur was beautiful, though of course, rainy again. After the downpour a few days back, we decided we had to try and stay out of the rain as much as possible. If caught on the road, we would, at a minimum, find some refuge for the instruments. And so we did, as you can see in the pics below. In Namur, we stayed at a hostel with bunkbeds and all. It was pretty much our only option there, as it was raining and other options were quite expensive. It was tons of fun though, and I figured the kids might one day travel on their own and stay in hostels so getting to know them was a plus. To my surprise, families and several cycle touring peeps staying here! And the included breakfast was awesome!
Packing, packing, and more packing. Won’t even go into it. We do seem to be spending more time packing and unpacking than on the bike or on doing other things (like working, playing music, or writing). But, we did start getting rid of things on each stop. Little by little we have started giving things away.
Clouds in the sky at check-out pushed us to move the packing process as fast as possible to avoid getting wet. Big decisions (as in, what we might get rid of) were put off for now. There we were, cycling about and happy as can be, until it started raining. With rain, we need to be more careful on the road, but mainly, we are carrying instruments which should not get wet. Rain also puts campgrounds out of the question for this reason. But you know us, we came prepared with rain covers for the guitar and the cello. What we weren’t quite prepared for was the sky falling down on us. We didn’t plan either, for the Eurovelo or other cycling routes including a segment smack in the middle of a highway. There is actually a bicycle lane on the highway, so we ended up in an unprotected cycling lane, under the pouring rain, riding along cars speeding next to us–very scary. No pics or videos of those moments–too risky. And last, we didn’t plan on getting lost right when the rain got heavier, adding an extra 10 kms to our ride. Wet, covered in mud, tired, and hungry, we stopped at a small hotel along the way before it was dark. I booked it online for fear no one would let us enter their place in our state. The expression of the hotel manager when she saw us walk in–loaded with gear, wet, and muddy–is something to be remembered. Pretty much, her jaw dropped. But at this point, the reservation was thankfully paid for, so they had to let us in. We bathed, had a salad and a BIG order of fries, and got much needed rest. The guitar and the cello cover proved themselves not worthy of being carried along–both instruments took some water and humidity and we desperately needed to find a better way to bring them along safely. Horacio apologized to “Martita” and Sol kissed her cello, and luckily, both instruments forgave and forgot and seem to be doing just fine. Phew. A wonderful way to spend the day–our first camping of the year; a picnic with cheese, paté, bread, and chocolate. And, of course, a nap!
Excited to start cycling, we stayed up late packing our things up in our Brussels lodging. We expected to calmly leave the next morning. But when morning came, we found ourselves with still quite a bit to figure out. The thing is–packing for cycle touring as we intend to do it, is not just about putting all our belongings into our panniers. Instead, it is more like a puzzle–checking we have all we need while minimizing size and weight, distributing weight evenly among bikes, making sure the most used items are handy, checking the bikes, and the cherry on top, packing musical instruments in such a way that they are well protected from, well, everything.
Bruxelles: Quick impressions. 08/10-14/2021
Brussels was beautiful. I really enjoyed our time there. I was pleasantly surprised by how friendly most people were, and how diverse it felt (some neighborhoods, like the one where we were staying, more than others). I couldn’t help but notice that it was one of the only cities we’d travelled to where people didn’t immediately assume we were tourists, even though we spoke in very loud Spanish, or English, and next to no French. Plus, the hamburgers and frites were delicious. Here are some images of our arrival in Bruxelles and our first days there, after finally getting some sleep. Written details are in Sol's post. Getting to Bruxelles: The very first day of the trip. 08/09-11/2021
Actually getting here felt like a feat. The hardest part was the packing. We had three weeks between when we returned from Mexico and left for Belgium, and we spent most of that time packing up our stuff–treasures, clothes, art, and loads of junk–for storage, getting the house ready to rent, and preparing our gear and our bikes. My dad spent two days and the night in between completely taking apart our bikes in order to box them up and check them in as regular baggage (we’re travelling on folding bikes in hopes that it’ll make taking trains and staying in hotels less complicated). Long story short–on Monday at noon with only six hours left to go until our flight, we had a living room sprawled with gear that needed to be packed up into four large suitcases (in the end we had to make it five). The odds were against us. With so much left to do, so many loose ends to tie up in so little time, my parents reached a point of despair, and became convinced we weren’t going to make it. There was even talk of cancelling the flight and leaving next week instead. That was the moment I realized it was up to my brother and I to keep it together and take over. Any chance of us getting to the airport depended on whether we could stay calm, focused, and take care of all of the details still in our way. Talk about intensity. But push forward we did, and bit by bit we managed to cram everything into our bags and clean up (sort of). We rallied the troops together for one final push, and together the four of us got everything– bikes, instruments, luggage, and humans– into a Zipcar van and raced to the airport. We made it there with barely an hour to spare. Luckily, despite the fact that we showed up at the wrong terminal and had to run with three fully-loaded carts of baggage to the other side of the airport, checking in went surprisingly smoothly. Unfortunately, my dad still had to return the rented van back to Cambridge. So while he zoomed back to the city, the rest of us crossed our fingers that there wasn’t any traffic, passed through security, and ran to the plane. My brother and I boarded with the instruments and suitcases (my arms were killing me), while my mother stayed at the gate to wait. We found our spots, and I began strapping my cello in its seat (we ended up having to buy it a ticket, a transaction which took about two weeks of being on hold with TAP Air Portugal to complete). As I fumbled around with its seatbelt, I began to worry. What if my parents didn’t make it? I figured I’d have to camp out in Brussels Airport with my brother until they caught up. I kept fiddling with the seatbelt and reclining button to try and buy us some time. One by one, the other passengers finished stowing their luggage and sat down, until it was just my brother and I left standing. Brussels Airport is probably where I’d still be if the stars hadn’t aligned, and my mother hadn’t convinced the flight attendants to wait and let my father board the plane. Miraculously, about ten minutes after we’d been scheduled for take-off, I turned around and saw my parents making their way down the aisle. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Five minutes later, we were in the air. I realized I could breathe again. But I still couldn't believe it. None of us could. But believe it or not, that was the start of the trip :) After a much-needed four-hour repose in Lisbon Airport, we hopped on the second plane and finally made it to Brussels airport. Little did we anticipate the trials we’d face to finally exit together through those glass sliding doors and bike to the city center. Pro-tip: never underestimate the time it takes to pack and unpack. We were caught off-guard twice in one day–first in Boston, then again in Brussels. When we got to the airport, we had to unpack all our bags and repack all that gear into panniers and dry-bags, and mount it on our bikes, which we had to reassemble. Sounds simple, maybe, but it most definitely was not. It took us almost ten hours to set everything up. At some point in the afternoon, my mother and I took a taxi to Brussels to pick up the keys to the airbnb and find food. We succeeded in the first endeavor, less so in the second since most stores were closed and we didn’t have cash. We spent half an hour dashing between stores, until a kind shop owner took one look at us and said, “you need to eat,” and gave us a free baguette. Then we headed back to the airport and dove right back into packing. Finally at around 2 AM, we triumphantly rode out the airport doors and into the parking lot, only to get lost looking for the exit onto the bike path. About an hour later, we were finally riding home with all our stuff, down dark paths towards a city which had yet to reveal itself in the pitch black of a cold, quiet night. We rode through narrow graffitied tunnels and winding paths in the woods where all I heard were crickets, the spinning wheels of our bikes, and the occasional rustling of leaves. Creepy. Looking back on it, that ride was very sketchy in all respects. Hardly any light, lugging hundreds of kilos, not a soul to be found (luckily), and totally sleep-deprived. What were we thinking? That’s just it–we weren’t thinking. All the more dangerous, I suppose. But all we wanted in that moment was to reach a safe, cozy place to rest. After a two-hour ride, we actually made it to the place. We carried our bags and bikes up three flights of stairs, and finally hit the sack. And that was our first 72-hour-long day of this trip. Sol #9, 12:38 PM
Midday. It’s pouring cats and dogs in Dinant, Belgium; it must be cats and dogs because the weather app says there is a 0% chance of rain right now and I will not accept it to be God’s infernal bodily fluids falling in such large amounts. We just finished packing up camp and preparing our bikes to leave for Givet, France. We have been reflecting that the weather in this area has been terrible, with rain and dark clouds 24/7. We had good weather in Brussels, which we made the most of by walking. However, after we left Brussels and began to lug around our estimated 1,000 kilograms of stuff the weather only seemed to get worse. We have therefore decided to flee this area as soon as possible, which means crossing the border into Givet, France, today. ~Camilo |
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