Traveler's Tales, Part 01: Like Drinking Antwerpentine

Why is it that we always remember our worst travel experiences more vividly than the trips that accompanied them? I will never forget the night my family spent trapped in Dublin. Nor will I ever stop telling the story of how it took 36 hours to get back from Argentina.

Like countless other stories of snow, unexplained problems and unreliable public transportation, my return journey from Antwerp was memorable for all the wrong reasons, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Yesterday morning, I--naive and untested--embarked on my first foray outside of the Netherlands. I met up with two friends, Jen and Aliza, at Amstel Station and got on a bus to Antwerp.

Antwerp is a primarily Flemish city just over the border in Belgium. Normally, a good travel writer would take this opportunity to explain the cultural significance of his destination. However, I arrived in Belgium without even a map, never mind any knowledge of the city and its history.

It turned out that none of us had done any research; so, dropped on a random street corner, we took off in what seemed to be the right direction. Maybe Antwerp is a small city; or maybe my inherent sense of direction took over, either way, we soon stumbled upon the stunning Central Station (pictured above). Some friendly locals pointed us down the main
touristic artery and we were off.

Having finally found a reasonable restaurant, the three of us ordered sandwiches, frys and (of course) beer. Thus began my (new) Belgium ritual: when in Belgium, one must drink only Belgian beer and must never order the same beer twice.

With full stomachs and updated direction, Jen, Aliza and I marched into the snow in search of the Mode Museum. The museum chronicles the 140 year history of Belgium's premier fashion line, Delvaux. Jen and Aliza were thoroughly impressed. For my part, I enjoyed the short duration of the exhibit.

Our next (and last) tourist stop of the day was the Cathedral. A magnificent Baroque structure, the Antwerp Cathedral is cannot be missed. The friendly ticket-taker at the Mode Museum informed us that Antwerp was the home of Peter-Paul Rubens, old master. Besides the collection at the Rubenshuis (which I regrettably missed), there is a fine collection of Rubens and other assorted old masters hanging in the Antwerp Cathedral. When the church was originally built, it was filled with triptychs by Rubens and others; but, when the French gained control of the city, they stole the art. When the art was eventually returned, it hung in the Antwerp Museum of Fine Arts. However, said museum is currently under construction; thus, the paintings are temporarily on display in their original home, De Kathedraal.

With a keen eye on our watches, the three intrepid explorers went in search of two rare delicacies, waffles and chocolate. The first was found at a street vendor. The waffles are warm and fresh, slathered in a gooey sugary coating which can only be described as divine. The Belgian waffle is starchier, both in taste and consistency, than its American cousin. But the experience is sublime.

I tell you, there is nothing more gluttonous than walking into a chocolate boutique in Belgium while still eating your fresh waffle. How the people stay in shape is beyond me. Neuhaus Chocolate is a traditional Belgian confectionery.

Once cannot accurately describe the perfection that is a Belgian chocolate. Suffice it to say that I will be returning to Belgium soon, if just for another few pieces of chocolate.

It was now 5pm, and our three travelers were very cold. The thought of a warm bar and a good beer was too enticing to pass up. So, we made our way closer to central station and found a pub to pass the time. As part of my pledge to drink not drink the same beer twice, I cataloged each beer with a picture. The following are the results from the pub.
















Our day in Antwerp at an end, the three of us walked back to our bus stop exhausted but exuberant. Our first trip abroad had been successful, easy and most of all, fun! But dark times were ahead. Our journey was only just beginning. The office of the bus company, Easy Lines, had closed a half hour before we had gotten there, but buses were still clearly running. We decided to wait it out buy buying some more beer and some french fries.

Returning to the bus stand with ten minutes to spare, we began to wait. And we kept waiting. And kept waiting. And the bus never came. Another bus driver said that the roads were bad. A second driver said it was coming, it was always late. The bus line's call center was not working. A little worried and very tired, we finally decided to call our program director to ask for advice. Renee told us that indeed, traffic was bad and that we might as well try to get a train back.

So, we embarked once more for the central station. We had waited two hours for our prodigal bus, but it never showed. Running to try and make a 9pm train, we rushed into central station to find that the 9pm to Amsterdam had been canceled. UGH. WE had hit our lowest point, a proverbial dead end. With little hope, we asked if the 10pm would actually run. The clerk replied that he thought so and sold us three tickets. He also told us to check back in a half hour.

Temporarily buoyed, we explored the station. When the clerk told us that he had called Brussels and the train had left the station and was indeed running, we were all thrilled. We were finally going to get home. Once we got on the train, we were finally able to open the beer we had purchased so long ago, intended for our 2.5 hour journey home.

But, nature and the failings of the European rail network had one final wrench to throw. The train was being diverted because of weather conditions on the track. Instead, we would have to go to Utrecht and transfer there to a train headed to Amsterdam.

We boarded at midnight, exhausted, drained, and with one more beer left. As is visible in the picture, I barely had the energy to drink it (but somehow I go through it anyway). About 25 minutes later we pulled into Amsterdam Central Station, where I was greeted with a 20 minute walk through the blustery-cold back to my dorm.

It almost feels like two different stories. "My Day in Antwerp" and "My Night Getting Home". Such a perfect day was overshadowed by a nightmare journey home. But in a way, I am glad that I went through that. It;s in those "we are screwed" moments that we are reminded that the only thing we need to get by is some good friends.

Because it took me six hours to get home, and because I spent two hours waiting for a bus that never came I will never forget my trip to Antwerp. And that is a great thing.