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The game is afoot...
Entry 7 of 62 | show all | print this entry |
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At approximately 11:15 on Friday, 10th August 2007, the front door was pulled shut. The key was turned locking the deadbolt tight, then yippie yiyo, we were on our way. This was well and truly the start of our journey.
Rounding the corner of Grendon Gardens we made the 5 minute trek to the Wembley Park Underground station on our way to Waterloo Station, the London terminal of Eurostar (for another few months anyway).
The start was absolutely uneventful (except for the stumble part in the next sentence), even normal like just going out to the shops, but it was momentous nonetheless...we were actually doing this, we were on our way to Hong Kong by train, and for me ultimately around the world. I was so worried about tripping and falling in my anticipation, and so ending an adventure before it could start, I actually did stumble a bit but carried on like the true rail warrior I was going to become.
We settled into seats 27 and 28 of carriage #17 (2nd class - in name only), had a celebratory toast of New Zealand sauvignon blanc (tart and fruity, like I like it), and soon the English countryside was zipping by. At this point in my narrative, I want to give a big hearty thanks to Mark Smith, traveler, muse, author of the world's best website on train travel, yes, none other than...The Man in Seat Sixty-One (spend some time at his website at http://www.seat61.com/index.html to see what I mean). His section on the Trans-Siberian Express convinced me that these two old geezer could really pull off a trip like we planned, and for that I forever owe Mark a debt of gratitude. Anyway, back to the story.
Somewhere just before the Channel Tunnel, we finished the bottle, OK well, I mostly finished the bottle, but Hoki did have his share. The tunnel is absolutely awesome. 15 minutes of absolute darkness outside, and none of that high pitched wheel-whine that those of us seasoned BART trans-bay tube riders have come to dread. Nosiree, they had done Eurostar right, and soundproofed it like no tomorrow. Gosh or golly gee, what I wouldn't give for BART to do the same thing on its trains.
Soon the French, then Belgium countryside flashed by in a hurry, hellbent to get us to Brussels, and none to soon.
After arriving at Brussels Midi station, storing our luggage in a luggage bin that could hide the getaway cars from The Italian Job, we headed north, by foot. Initial destination, the Grand Place, a 15 minute walk to one of the most visually stunning squares in all the world (a complete 360 of 15th & 16th century architecture - tres magnific!).
Quick photo-op, then off through the narrow alleyways to the real prize, the reason we "modified" the plan, the reason we took the 14:13 instead of the 18:11, the reason we decided to do more than just change trains in Brussels, Moules frites at Chez Leon! one of my all-time favorite meals in one of my all-time favorite restaurants anywhere within the four corners of our little planet we call earth.
After thoroughly chowing down on those tasty bi-valves simmered in white wine and herbs, washed down with glass after glass of tasty beer, we ambled away from the dying lights of an old old friend,
through a maze of tempting places,
and headed back to Brussels Midi, and patiently waited for the 23:41 Nachtzeug to Berlin, and our long anticipated, and hopeful rendezvous with Harry Palmer...
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