Everything started out normal enough: I paid my phone charges from the day before, and checked out of the hotel, and wheeled my bag to the station. My Eurostar connection wasn't leaving until after 9 am, so I had time to get some breakfast. I stopped at the same restaurant where Sir Martin Gilbert and I met the day before, and watched passengers and commuters going by, while waiting for the food to arrive. It's really rather fun to just sit and people-watch: it distracted me from any anxieties about going off to the European Continent.
The Eurostar is such a cool thing. Imagine taking a train from London, and the train goes into a tunnel under the English Channel! If this had been around 70 years ago, when the Nazis were planning to invade the UK, it wouldn't have been as difficult thing for them to pop over. Something to think about....
I finished breakfast, and went to the Eurostar counter to check in. It's much like what one encounters at the airport: bag-screening, Passport Control, etc.. A mad scramble to get your bag up on the table, so it can go through the X-ray--plus taking off one's coat, camera bag, and anything similar on your person. Thankfully, I didn't have to remove my shoes this time.
I got through Security with no problems, and went into the passenger lounge to wait. This area was quite nice: the floors were polished wood, and there were several small shops nearby, where passengers could get snacks, newspapers, etc., for their journey.
My carriage (photo below right) had several families with young children in it, so it wouldn't be a 'quiet carriage', with little or no noise. But at least the kids weren't running about inside like little monsters.
We made our way out of St Pancras a little after 10 am, and I was immediately taken with the smoothness of the ride. The Eurostar didn't bucket around like my train from Worcester did on Monday. But the Eurostar is a high-speed train, unlike the local one from Worcester. And it was very comfortable in the seating!
The scenery flew by my window, as we left London behind. We made one stop at Ashford, to pick up passengers, but it wasn't a long stop, and soon we were on the way again. I noticed beautiful rolling hillsides, with small villages and towns, and each seemed to have its own little church with a square tower. And more of the ubiquitous sheep, grazing in the fields!! We were in the county of Kent, as we got closer to the Strait of Dover--the narrowest part of the English Channel between the UK and France.
Just before we got to the Channel Tunnel, near Folkestone, I noticed a strange sight: a large white chalk image of a horse, carved into the hillside. At the time, I didn't know if it was an ancient image or not, as there are a few similar hill-images in other parts of the UK. It wasn't until I returned to the States that I found out it was modern, created by some locals as a way to bring more visitors to their town; it's called the Folkestone White Horse. I wish I'd gotten a photo of it, but we were going too fast.
The photo of the horse on the left isn't mine. It's from an online image search. But it sure is awesome-looking!
The photo of the horse on the left isn't mine. It's from an online image search. But it sure is awesome-looking!
We entered the Channel Tunnel--but I don't remember how long we were inside it, as I managed to doze off! The gentle motion of the Eurostar put me to sleep, so when I did come to, we were already in France. When I looked out the window, I noticed several small towns and villages, with more pointed red-orange roofs. And their churches all had tall pointed steeples. I also noticed rain in the far distance, and hoped it had passed through Belgium already. And some of the little English kids were asking: "Are we nearly there?"--meaning Disneyland Paris. I loved hearing them say it in their accents!
And little did I know, but another challenge was headed my way. And this was again due to my stupidity!
I think I dozed off again after we reached France, and that was my undoing. I felt the train slow down, but thought little of it--until I looked out the window and saw we were in Lille!!! I scrambled to my feet and tried to get to where my large bag was stored, but I was too late: the train didn't stop for a long time, and it was back on the move again--to Disneyland Paris!
I didn't panic, however: I got the attention of one of my fellow passengers, and one of them tracked down the train manager: a very kind Spanish fellow named Miguel. When I explained my situation, he took my ticket and went to the front of the train. A few minutes later, he came back and showed where he'd stamped my ticket, and wrote that I'd missed getting off at Lille. He also gave me the number and time of the French TGV train that was going back to Lille. I thanked both Miguel, and the helpful Englishman, for their assistance. I guess this sort of "missing-the-connection" thing isn't unusual for first-time Eurostar travelers.
I didn't panic, however: I got the attention of one of my fellow passengers, and one of them tracked down the train manager: a very kind Spanish fellow named Miguel. When I explained my situation, he took my ticket and went to the front of the train. A few minutes later, he came back and showed where he'd stamped my ticket, and wrote that I'd missed getting off at Lille. He also gave me the number and time of the French TGV train that was going back to Lille. I thanked both Miguel, and the helpful Englishman, for their assistance. I guess this sort of "missing-the-connection" thing isn't unusual for first-time Eurostar travelers.
The Englishman who helped me had an unusual accent. It almost sounded Australian, but he said he was from Norwich, in East Anglia. He and his wife, and our other traveling companions, and I all had a laugh over my situation. What else could I do? Going nuts wouldn't have helped the situation one bit.
I settled back into my seat again to look at the scenery. This part of France--called the Pas-de-Calais--was rather flat and featureless, with the occasional hill popping up here and there. I saw signs for towns like Arras, Reims--and of course, Paris. I could see why this area in France was such a battleground in the First World War: armies fighting to hold what few high spots there were, etc.. I think I saw one French military cemetery near the tracks: it had the French tricolor on a pole in the center.
SO--we finally arrived at Disneyland Paris. Or just outside its gates, at the Marne-la-Vallee Chessy station. I bid farewell to my UK traveling companions, and got off to go upstairs to the ticket office. Some annoying Disney-music--was it "It's A Small World After All" in French?--was playing on the PA system, as I got in line. After explaining the situation to the ticket staffer (in mixed French and English), and showing them my Eurostar ticket, I got my France TGV ticket with no problem (thank God I'd brought enough euros with me, for such emergencies!), and went inside a waiting lounge to call my friend Steve in Ypres. I got hold of him, and described the situation. Steve groaned (good-naturedly, I hoped!), and we had a good laugh about it. He then told me to call him when I reached Courtrai, my first stop in Belgium (there are no direct trains to Ypres from Lille), and we'd figure out what to do.
Outside the station, the sun played peek-a-boo, but the gray clouds were beginning to lower--and then it started to pour. There was an old church outside the waiting lounge window, and I tried to photograph it through the raindrops. But it didn't come out very good, so I trashed it.
Hey--at least I can say I was near Paris, right? I sure didn't expect this.....
When the train to Lille came in, I got on, and got into a bizarre conversation with a French couple. They didn't know English, so whatever 'conversation' we had was in fractured French, or with hand-gestures. After some hilarious attempts to understand one another, I gave up, and decided to stare out the window. The sun and rain-clouds were competing against each other; when we got closer to Lille, I saw a beautiful rainbow! It disappeared in short order.
It was around 4:15 pm when the train pulled into the Lille Europe station, where I should have gotten off earlier. When I disembarked, I found out I had to catch the train to Courtrai from another train station--Lille Flanders, which has trains going to the rest of Europe--across a huge city square. I left Lille Europe, and shlepped my bag across the wet pavement; it looked as if a rainstorm had hit not long before we arrived. I did manage to get one photo of the center of Lille (below right).
When I got inside the Lille Flanders station, I joined the queue to the ticket windows. The first window I went to had an attendant who couldn't--or wouldn't--speak English, so I got back into the queue again. This second attempt was more successful: the man there did speak English, and he described where I had to go. I thanked him, and purchased a ticket for yet another town: Tourcoing, on the Franco-Belgian border, where I'd catch a train for Courtrai! I then waited near the station entrance, and watched the train schedules to see which platform to go to.
It was dark, when I got on the Tourcoing train. I had some assistance getting on from two French passengers, and a SCNF (the French national train) staffer named Hakim, who wrote down the train time to Courtrai on my ticket. When we arrived in Tourcoing--which was, literally, the end of the line: the train stopped with nowhere else to go!--Hakim very kindly walked me to the correct platform. I thanked him profusely for all his help, and waited for the Courtrai train. It arrived just after 6:15 pm, and it was now dark, damp and cold. I called Steve again, to let him know when I'd arrive in Courtrai, and assumed he'd be there to pick me up, and then drive back to Ypres. I was SO wrong about that assumption....
When I finally arrived in Courtrai, I went outside the station and waited at a taxi stand out front. It was raining again, so I was getting wet--and then my mobile phone rang. It was Steve again, telling me he was sending his shop assistant to pick me up....but NOT in Courtrai. I was to catch another train to Ypres, where the pick-up would happen! It was a stupid assumption on my part, but we had another good laugh about it: Steve called me 'crazy woman'--but not unkindly. So I went back into Courtrai station, bought a ticket for Ypres---and then the train arrived very shortly thereafter. I got on just barely, with some assistance from inside, and stood in an area in-between cars with several Belgian people--including a young woman with a small Belgian Shepherd dog on a lead! The woman didn't mind my petting her dog; it didn't get nervous, and seemed to like me petting it. I almost scared the poor creature, however, when the train suddenly stopped and I almost fell over onto it!!
The woman and her dog got off at Wervik, two stops from Ypres. By this time, the crowd thinned out, and I was able to sit down in a seat in one of the cars. I kept asking two women across from me if the next stop was Ypres; they were patient with my inquiries.
At last, we arrived in Ypres. After I got through the station, I noticed a van parked outside that said "Salient Tours", with a swarthy man behind the wheel. I waved at him, and he got out of the van and introduced himself: his name was Mohammed, and he was Steve's shop assistant. He insisted I call him "Mo", so I climbed into the front seat, while he stowed my big bag in the van, and off we went to Ypres.
The ride was short, and we arrived in the central Grand'Place of Ypres, where its totally-restored medieval Cloth Hall dominated the square, bathed in floodlights. Mo parked the van in the square, and I followed him along a narrow street to Steve's bookshop, "The British Grenadier". At the end of the street, also bathed in floodlights, was the massive Menin Gate: (photo below left) a First World War memorial to the 55,896 British and Commonwealth soldiers who died in defense of Ypres from 15 August 1917 on, but who have no known grave. It would play a role in the following day's, 11 November, commemoration of the end of the First World War.
When we arrived in Steve's shop, it was busy with customers, most coming from the 8 pm sounding of "Last Post" at the Menin Gate, by members of the Ypres Fire Brigade. It's a tradition that's been going on in Ypres since the end of the First World War (except from 1940-1944, during the Nazi occupation), and it is done in memory of those whose names are carved inside the Menin Gate. Steve came from behind the counter and wrapped me in a big bear hug. I apologized again for causing so much trouble this day, but he shrugged it off, as did Mo. It made me feel much better; I hate being such a pain in the neck!
I should mention that Steve Douglas is the Webmaster of an awesome site: The Maple Leaf Legacy Project. He started it as a Millennial project in 1997, and it combined his interests in computers, photography, and Canada's war history. He aims--along with his army of volunteer photographers--to get photos taken of every Canadian soldier's gravestone around the world: in Canada, Europe, the Middle East, the Far East, South Africa, the USA--anywhere a Canadian soldier is buried. We 'met' online in the late 1990s, and I contributed a couple of photos to the Web site. We became correspondents--and friends--after that. It was an honor to assist him in this endeavor. As of now, over 105,000 grave photos have been submitted.
While at the bookshop, I heard the sounds of bagpipes and drums coming from the street, so I went outside to see. The bands were coming from the Menin Gate to go to the Grand'Place, after the "Last Post" ceremony at the Gate. I then darted back inside the shop, and Steve and I made plans to meet before the big Armistice Day ceremony at the Menin Gate at 11 am.. I left Steve to his customers, and rejoined Mo, who would take me to Steve's friend Erna's bed-and-breakfast, outside Ypres' walls.
The house was in a little cul-de-sac, and it looked like all the other small brick houses on the street. Steve told me later that all these houses were built in the 1920s, after the First World War. The town of Ypres was totally destroyed by the Germans in the war, and literally rebuilt piece-by-piece afterwards. It looks today like it was never demolished: the restoration work is that good! We went to Erna's door and rang the bell, and she opened it and welcomed me inside. I thanked Mo for all his help, and he brought my bag in and went back to Ypres.
Erna's home inside is immaculate: marble floor in the entranceway, white walls, and a slight spiral staircase going to the second floor. We went into her kitchen, and she poured me a glass of orange juice while we sat for a bit and chatted. Erna is middle-aged, with blonde hair and glasses. She speaks excellent English, and she admires Steve very much. (Steve refers visitors to her B&B too!) She is a widow, having lost her husband in 2009, with no children. I imagine she sees Steve as something of a son, with the great affection she has for him.
During our chat, Erna asked if I enjoyed books. When I said I did, she had me follow her into her front living room, where she got out three photo albums. Inside each of them were collections of pre-and post-First World War postcards of Ypres, showing sights like the Cloth Hall and St Martin's Cathedral. The contrast between these beautiful structures, and their smashed ruins during the war, was a sad sight to see. Erna and her husband had collected these postcards over the years, so they were of course great treasures to them. She also lent me a paperback book in English about Ypres, which I promised her I would read.
It was getting late (close to 10 pm), so Erna took me upstairs to my room; she pulled my bag up the staircase (I was afraid she'd get hurt!), and opened the door. My room faced the front of the house, and it was as clean and immaculate as the rest of her house: wood floor, pink-and-white wallpaper, pink-and-white cabinetry behind the bed (photo below left).
She showed me how to operate the inside window shutters, and where the heater was. We then went across the hall to the bathroom, where Erna showed me how things worked in there (the lights, the shower, etc..). The bathroom was absolutely bright and spotless, with a step-up and walk-in shower. When all that was done, I bid Erna good-night, and she went downstairs.
I then took a shower, and collapsed into bed, after a very adventurous journey to Belgium. And it would only get better after this rather inauspicious beginning!!
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