Trains have always fascinated me, from the old steam trains in the 1930s and 1940s to the sleek new tilting trains recently introduced by Virgin.
In May 2008 my daughter, Anna, announced that she was going to Brussels on business, and she invited her Dad and me to go with her and explore Brussels and its surroundings while she was at work.
Brussels? It would be a change from our usual wilderness holidays in northern Lapland, or our autumn breaks in the Bavarian or Austrian Alps. The only time we had been in Brussels was in 1967 when we passed through in a minibus en route from Ostend to Germany and back again. All I remembered was hitting the city centre during the rush hour while running late on the way to catch the boat home.
Anna asked me to book online and compare air fares with the Eurostar. For years the Eurostar had been beckoning, but it was Paris we had in mind, not Brussels. However, this was an unexpected opportunity, too good to miss, and often these spur-of-the-moment holidays turn out to be most exciting. An attractive offer soon appeared - to book through by train from Birmingham to Brussels, with the added bonus of a reduction for over-60s. As we were travelling on the Bank Holiday Monday, we discovered that Euston Station would be closed because of engineering works so we would arrive in Paddington, rather than Euston.It meant a more tedious connection by Underground, rather than merely walking from one station to the other. Once we reached St Pancras, however, all was plain sailing. Retrieving our tickets from machines was a new experience of modern technology for us.
Eurostar is a really civilised and hassle-free way of travelling. Streamlined is an adjective that quickly springs to mind. It was so easy to find our coach and there was no waiting in queues. The long, long train was less than half-full and it departed on the dot.That kind of punctuality is bliss. In just under two hours from the time we left St Pancras we were pulling in to Bruxelles Midi.
Our friends in Brussels invited us to stay with them rather than in a hotel. Ian and Ali are teachers so they, like Anna, would be out all day and we would be free to explore on our own. They live in a leafy suburb, with a Metro stop behind their house. However, on our arrival neither was free to meet us; Ali was at home with their two boys while Ian was on a school trip in Iceland, so we decided to take a taxi. The driver was Moroccan and very chatty and friendly. A few words from me in French, remembered from school days - Je ne parles pas beaucoup de francais, mais je peux lire et ecrire bien - impressed him greatly.
The soaring temperatures hit us instantly. At night we had to choose between keeping the window closed and enduring the stifling heat or opening the window and letting in the noise of the traffic from the dual-carriageway beyond their garden, split in the middle by the Metro. That road is a main thoroughfare out of Belgium.
Next morning Ali took us to the Metro station and bought a ten-journey ticket, costing eight euro. She demonstrated how to insert it into the special machine before every journey and told us that we could make as many journeys as we liked within an hour and it would be recorded as just one. One day a group of five gun-carrying policemen entered the coach we were sitting in and approached a young man of Mediterranean appearance and took him off the train after they had asked for his ticket. That was really scary, and all kinds of images flitted through our minds, but Ian explained that travelling without a valid ticket carries a heavy penalty. Absentmindedly, one day I forgot to clock in, but I was extra vigilant thereafter.
We were soon at ease travelling anywhere by Metro, bus, tram or national rail. The frequency and punctuality of all systems amazed us and over-60s could buy a return rail ticket to anywhere in Belgium for just four euro.
The first place on our list of things to do was the King's Palace where the 16 interlinked greenhouses with their displays of rare and exotic plants are open to the public for just three weeks in the year, starting from the end of April. We found our way there by Metro and joined the continuous stream of visitors entering through the main gates. It was a scorching day and so hot in the greenhouses that I nearly fainted. The camellias and geraniums and other exotic flowers were beautiful and at their most perfect. There were tall palms where we could cool down in the shade. We wished we had purchased a book that would have identified all the rare plants and flowers. Outside, there were many citrus fruit trees with ripe oranges and lemons. How tempting it was to pick a mandarin orange and suck the juice to quench our thirst! We resisted. In the grounds the chestnut trees were in full bloom. Unfortunately, we hadn't taken our camera with us, for it was a photographer's paradise.
We hadn't brought the right clothes for a heat wave, so Ali lent me comfortable sandals and cool cotton tops. It goes to show how important packing the correct gear for a holiday is.
On our way back from the palace we stopped off at the Grand Place, a beautiful market square surrounded by gilded buildings, glowing in the bright sunshine. The impressive tall Gothic Town Hall dominates one side of the square. Many narrow cobblestoned streets lead off in all directions, providing a wonderful opportunity to explore. We sat there under the colourful canopies of one of the restaurants and watched the world go by at a leisurely pace. Horse-drawn vehicles lined up, touting for custom to take visitors on a tour, while bicycles and pedestrians passed by on the cobblestones as we sipped our cool beer and iced coffee and sampled some delicious waffles. It was like being back in medieval days. Two Eastern European women, similar to those who accost travellers at Victoria station in London, wended their way around the tables, begging - a blot on what was otherwise an artistic feast for the eyes, and a reminder that all big cities have two sides to them.
We returned to the Grand Place on the Saturday morning before catching our train home, and we discovered the Mannekin Pis, the famous peeing boy, on a street corner nearby. The legend we heard was that a father had lost his little son for two days and found him peeing near that spot, and in gratitude he had a fountain and the statue constructed as a memorial. The figure - above the fountain - is really tiny for a monument of such importance. It is similar in significance to Copenhagen's Little Mermaid or New York's Statue of Liberty. The little boy is sometimes dressed up in different colourful costumes as he was that day. There were bands and majorettes marching in procession along the streets but we didn't have time to stay and watch the colourful parade.
There were lots of places outside Brussels that we would have liked to visit, but there wasn't the time. However, we enjoyed a day in Bruges. We travelled there and back by train from the centre of Brussels; the trains ran hourly. Bruges is in the Flemish-speaking area and as we travelled from the station to the city centre by bus, we heard no French being spoken. Brugge is the Flemish name for Bruges. The city earns its reputation as the Venice of the North because of the canals that run through, with medieval buildings all along the waterside. We would have enjoyed a trip by boat along the canal but the queues were long and the sun was beating down mercilessly so we gave up the idea. We watched from a bridge as a boatload of tourists passed below. The architecture of the houses and churches and other buildings was stunning.
Being a chocoholic, it was inevitable that I would visit some of the special Belgian chocolate shops with their tempting displays that made me stare in wonder, and where better than Bruges to indulge my addiction! I was like a child in Fairyland, as I chose the varieties to go in the box.
The highlight of the whole trip, however, was the day we spent at the site of the Battle of Waterloo. History wasn't my favourite subject at school but that day the past came alive. Ian had a day off school and he was our guide. We set off early by Metro to catch the train to Waterloo and then a bus to the nearby village of Braine l'Alleud, the actual site of the famous battle. From the bus stop it is a short walk to the Exhibition centre where you can relive the events of 1815. Starting at the souvenir shop, where we bought our all-inclusive tickets, we entered a small theatre. There, on the huge screen, we watched a film showing a group of children playing, as they re-enacted the battle.The scene shifted back and forth between the children's play and the real battle. It was pleasant, relaxing in the cool theatre, just sitting comfortably while watching the film. Crossing the road to a round building, we next experienced a panoramic view of the scene of battle and in three dimensions the horses and men seemed so real. Some were lying dead while the noise of battle added to the reality. It was an impressive and horrifying picture.
Emerging into the sunshine, we climbed the 227 steps to the lion on his mound. Three groups of schoolchildren, each accompanied by just one teacher, were wending their way up in single file. At the top we could see for miles around. Sitting on the steps of the plinth, we listened in as a teacher recounted the details to his pupils, pointing to the relevant spots in the distance. Again, snippets of French wafted back from the past. I was impressed by how well the children behaved in public and by the intelligent questions they asked as they listened, spell-bound, to the story. It was a history lesson very different from those of my far-off school days.
Once down from the mound, our next call was to the Wax Museum with its realistic wax models of Napoleon and Wellington and the Prussian General Blucher. Groups of French soldiers sat around a fire in a stable, trying to dry their saturated clothes. They looked tired and demoralised and we felt pity for them as we imagined the battle they had to fight next day.
We had one final part of the show and that was a ride in an old open-sided army truck through the fields to see the various sites of the battle. Our trip was timed for 2.30 so we sat down to wait at a table outside the restaurant across the road, and ordered coffees and beers. As we sat sipping our drinks, a Belgian man at an adjoining table came across and offered us a plate of fresh bread with butter and a large wedge of cheese. He said there was too much for one person. We accepted graciously and that snack tasted good. I went back to thank him and tell him how much we had enjoyed it. I think he derived as much pleasure from watching us eat as we did from devouring it!
Then it was time to climb aboard the truck. We chose the commentary in English and put our earphones on. It was so peaceful riding through the deserted fields that it was difficult to imagine the noise of battle and the slaughter of men and animals on that wet day in June 1815 a day that could so easily have ended differently and led to a completely different outcome for Britain and the rest of Europe. It was a sobering thought.
A year later we returned to Brussels, again by Eurostar, and Ian drove us to Giverny to see Monet's gardens, and then to the Ardennes and the site of the Battle of the Somme and to Maastricht, but that is another travel tale.