Shiny Happy People

Travelling in the Netherlands is a dawdle: distances are small, the public transport infrastructure is extensive, and you don't even have to wait long to hitch a ride. But above all the vast majority of people speak English. This not only helps when buying bus tickets, but also allows you to have more complex discussions, about politics, religion and family life; things that make people tick.

I've always had a soft spot for the Dutch: their live-and-let-live liberalism; their openness to foreigners; their modest, hard-working Calvinism; and their appreciation of British humour. The few Dutch people I have spoken to, however, are worried that their country may be seen to be losing its tolerant ways to the wave of protectionism and xenophobia that has been sweeping through Western countries (epitomised by, but not restricted to, anti-Islamic sentiments and pronouncements) and that has found its voice here in the form of the controversial politician Geert Wilders with his loopy views on Islam and immigration. There is a growing sense of impending doom as the national elections approach that his party might become a dominant force. Sitting side by side with the stereotype of liberalism is that of being dour, serious and humourless. This stems from their Calvinist history which frowns on ostentation and demands that people be honest with each other. To outsiders who may be more used to elaborate formalities when dealing with people this may come across as rudeness, but instead it is an effort to be as clear and precise as possible and to talk openly about things which are often swept under the carpet. In fact the Dutch abhor confrontation and work through consensus whenever possible (on two separate occasions I was introduced to the idea of the polder model, something the Dutch are quite proud of, and quite rightly so in my view).

A typically stereotypical (although actually not that common) Dutch countryside scene, complete with your obligatory windmills. Kinderdijk.

Philosophers And Enclaves

One of the best things about travelling is the people you meet. In your everyday life you generally see the same people day in day out or people from within your "circle". Travelling allows you to break out of your milieu and connect with people you would never normally encounter.

I met Saïd in a community centre in Antwerp where I was watching an "African dance" class and a practice session of a Brazilian percussion band (the players were Belgian, but the music and instruments were Brazilian) where my host, Saartje, is a member. Saïd was working behind the bar. He was born in Antwerp, but as his name (and features) suggests, he is of Moroccan descent. As well as working as a barman Saïd dabbles as a raï singer and is available for hire for marriages and other social occasions. He is one of those rare things (although more common amongst the bartending classes): a street philosopher. When he heard about my travel plans he began to expound, in broken English and thick, east Flemish, his philosophy on travelling.

"Some people travel to forget," he explained, adding a wide, backwards sweeping gesture with his arm for emphasis, "but some people travel to learn," tapping on the bar on the last word. "To learn is important when travelling." I had never heard it put that way but I liked the sound of it and it made sense to me. I got on well with Saïd - he gave me a bolleke on the house.

From Antwerp I headed north out of Belgium and into the Netherlands, and back into Belgium, and then back into the Netherlands, and then into Belgium again. I wasn't going round in circles, instead I was just passing through Baarle Hertog-Nassau, a small town that can perhaps lay claim to be Europe's oddest. Baarle's weird history dates back to various treaties signed between the Lords of Breda and Dukes of Brabant who divided up the land between them rather haphazardly. When Belgium and the Netherlands separated in 1848 the Duchy of Brabant became Belgian whereas Breda remained in the Netherlands. If you were to look closely at a map of the border area between the towns of Turnhout and Breda you would see a little blob of border a few kilometres into the Dutch side. Ah, you would say, a Belgian enclave. Enclaves are quite common around the world and so are not that special, but if you were to look even more closely, you would see that some of the Belgian enclaves within the Netherlands themselves contain further Dutch enclaves within them - see the map below to get a better idea (after a certain amount of research I've discovered that there are only 2 other places in the world that have similar counter-enclaves: India-Bangladesh and Oman-UAE). The town itself is pretty ordinary and apart from the joint Belgian and Dutch flags that fly from many buildings, as well as the border markings on the pavements, you wouldn't tell that you were crossing from one country to another. Although I expect the residents of Baarle were amongst the most content with the Schengen border treaty and the introduction of the euro.

A Girl's Favourite City

I knew as soon as I got off the train in Antwerp (I took the train from Brussels as hitching out of a big city is always difficult and I couldn't justify the hassle for such a short distance) that I would like the city. Not only is it a beautiful lend of old and new, but instead of spreading out to accommodate its many tracks and platforms the station has delved deep and is layered over 4 floors with trains running above and below each other. My geeky half was more than impressed.

Antwerp's magnificent railway station.

More Than Just Sprouts

In the British media (especially the red-top variety) Brussels is the bogeyman - any and every possible problem or affliction is blamed on this faceless, grey, Machiavellian entity that is "Brussels". And even though I'm quite a europhile and give little credence to the ridiculous, paranoid scaremongering that passes for news in the UK, I wasn't expecting much from this city that, in my mind, was little more than one big office block for eurocrats. How mistaken I was. Brussels has easily moved into my list of top cities (not that I keep such a list, but if I did then it would be there).

The Grande Place in Brussels, one of the world's great city squares.

In Bruges

Being in Bruges did not feel like the start of a hardcore round-the-world odyssey. It's too clean, and civilised, and dainty, and picturesque (and nothing I could write would add to the eulogies that already, justly, abound). It really is no wonder that it's Belgium's top tourist destination with its myriad canals and immaculately-preserved medieval buildings. Of course, like any good traveller I had done my research on my intended destination by watching the film In Bruges. And despite my disappointment at the lack of dwarfs and gangster shoot-outs, I was lucky enough to be hosted by some lovely locals who showed me some of their favourite spots around town and local drinking spots. Every British student worth their salt knows that Belgium is the land of beer, with innumerable varieties (especially of the super-strong type). However what's less well-known is the culture of beer drinking, which is almost an art-form here. It's not about the quantity, but the quality. Belgians take the time to taste and enjoy their beers, and at the better establishments, not only will each beer have its own dedicated type of glass to enhance its flavour but you will also be served a variety of complementary nibbles and cheeses, each also tailored to your specific beer.

A typical canal-side view of Bruges' old town, with its iconic belfry looming in the background.

Erik The Unready

Well, the time of my departure has crept up rather sneakily and far quicker than I had imagined and in a few hours time I will be heading off into the unknown (well, OK, Belgium, but still...). I've said my final farewells, an experience far more wrenching than I had expected; I've taken care of most of my personal affairs and put them in some semblance of order; and I've packed my bag for tomorrow morning (which included some very last-minute purchases as I realised I was missing some important essentials). The great thing about packing for a trip of many months is that you don't need any more stuff than when you pack for just 1 month. So I've managed to distill all the possessions I need down to 17.5kg, including the clothes I will be wearing tomorrow. So what do you need for a trip like this? Below is my final checklist:

- 1 x rucksack
- 1 x day pack
- 1 x tent
- 1 x sleeping mat (cheap polystyrene type)
- 1 x sleeping bag (3 seasons)
- 1 x sleeping bag liner
- 1 x windbreaker/rain jacket
- 1 x fleece jumper
- 3 x trousers (thick, medium and light fisherman's pants)
- 6 x T-shirts
- 6 x underwear
- 6 x socks
- 1 x thermal base layer
- 1 x walking shoes
- 1 x sandals
- 1 x toiletries
- 1 x towel
- 2 x hats (1 beenie and 1 broad-brimmed)
- 1 x headscarf
- 2 x water bottles
- 1 x walking stick
- 1 x camera and accessories (batteries, memory cards, etc.)
- 1 x hard drive (to store photographs)
- 1 x first aid kit
- 1 x random travel literature
- 1 x diary
- Sundries (knife, compass, Duck tape, torch, pens, cash, passport, etc.)

One thing I won't have to worry about though is actually getting to Belgium. I had initially planned to hitch to Dover and cross on a ferry; I had even researched the best places in London to get a ride to the coast. But on my last day at work my colleagues totally surprised me by not only getting me a Eurostar ticket, but getting a first class one. It was a lovely gesture, and one that was totally unexpected, although it does somewhat run counter to my principles of travelling on the cheap - in fact I don't think I've ever travelled first class before. Ah well, at least it will be a different experience from my last long-distance train journey.

First Stop...

It's inevitable that many of the conversations that I'm having lately revolve around my impending trip and my plans for it. Possibly the most common question is: " so where are you off to first?" To which I have to give the thoroughly underwhelming answer of "Belgium". This often leaves people perplexed, as grand, multi-year odysseys are supposed to be to far-flung, exotic destinations like Patagonia, India or Kenya. However, despite not being particularly dogmatic about how I travel there is one thing I am adamant about: I will do my utmost to avoid flying. It's not that I'm afraid of flying, but I dislike the idea of being airlifted somewhere without experiencing what lies in between, as that way you don't see how the land gradually changes, or the customs subtly alter, or people's faces vary. It leads to a disconnect because it's harder to appreciate and understand a place - its history, its traditions, its customs - if you can't put it in context.

Anyway, I have decided to forsake flying for as long as possible (I have the time) and so will be zig-zagging my way east overland, trying to take in as many new sights and sounds and tastes as I can along the, which means that my first stop will be Belgium. Funnily enough, despite its proximity, and the fact that I've driven through the country on countless occasions, I've never actually taken the time to stop in Belgium (except perhaps to go to the toilet at some motorway service station). And that's a shame, because Belgium is a fascinating country in its own right: a modern creation that is split down the middle along ethno-linguistic political lines, home to some fantastic food and beer, the cradle of European comic culture, and home to the de facto capital of Europe. Not bad for such a small place.

So, the countdown has begun and I might have the think about packing at some point soon...

Loosening The Moorings

As my impending departure looms ever closer I still don't think it's properly sunk in yet; at least not emotionally. However, I have spent the past couple of weeks trying to get my affairs in order: putting my bank accounts and investments in order, getting a dentist check-up, cancelling my mobile phone, setting up proxy voting for the upcoming elections, researching places I plan to visit, seeing Avenue Q in the West End (I had been wanting to see it for quite some time and my departure gave me the requisite kick up the backside to go ahead and do it), arranging travel insurance (there aren't many companies that will ensure for periods greater than 18 months), saying my farewells, and trying to find a paper that might publish my blog posts so that I may earn a little on the side whilst travelling (still no positive replies, so if you know of any publishers who might be interested then feel free to get in touch...). I'm sure I will forget something fundamental though, I always do.

Despite my relatively light social footprint - I'm not tied into a formal rent contract and neither do I pay utility bills, etc. - disentangling myself from daily life is still quite a complicated process, with far more commitments tying me down than I could have imagined. I shudder to think of the mountain of mail that will await me on my return.

Colleague Engagement

I was quite apprehensive telling people at work that I was a) quitting and b) heading off travelling for a few years. I am lucky to be genuinely fond of the people I work with and so I thought they might perceive this unexpected move as something of a betrayal. In the end it turned out that it was neither that unexpected (which, in hindsight, is not such a surprise when I only take one 4-week holiday a year and end up complaining that it's far too short a time) nor viewed at all badly. Everyone has been very supportive of my decision and in fact it turns out to have touched something of a nerve with some people who confided in me that such a trip was a dream of theirs too, but that they were too worried about the long-term consequences - career, finances, family, etc. - to go through with it. It is certainly something I can understand and was wrestling with too, but perhaps I am more reckless than most and have a lower perception of risk. Ah well, I suppose time will whether it's justified.

Athlete's Foot Cream For The Soul

It's no surprise to anyone reading this blog and those that know me that travelling is an important part of my life. My 2004-07 trip certainly played a large part in forming my current worldview. From a rather naive, irresponsible, selfish individual I became a more relaxed and understanding person (OK, probably still somewhat irresponsible and selfish) with a different perspective on what was important for me. It's a difficult thing to do, analysing oneself, and the idea of travelling "broadening the mind" is a huge cliché; but it's a cliché for a very good reason: there's more than a grain of truth to it. It made me aware of so many issues, problems, realities that I was blissfully unaware of before and gave me a thirst for more. More knowledge of the complex world we live in, the inter-relationships and connections and the history; more of the nature that is so beautiful it melts the heart and makes you realise how precious it really is; and more contact with people from diverse backgrounds whose lives are so different to mine, and yet who share that common humanity, with whom, despite such differences, connections can be made.

I suppose travelling is a drug, one from which it is difficult to escape once you have been fully immersed. It's a common refrain amongst travellers that they have a List of places they want to visit, and that, contrary to logic, the more you see the more items get added to your List as you learn about further wonders of the world. And so the traveller is always undertaking a Sisyphean task trying to soak up all the world and its wonders, whilst it blithely keeps up with them like the Red Queen. I am no different, and over the past 9 months I have been staring at the huge world map hanging on my bedroom wall, tracing out routes for myself to as-yet unexplored places with evocative names: Roraima, Samarqand, Papua, Gagauzia. With each passing day the desire to go grows. Yet on the other side there are forces compelling me to stay. My Friends, who I care for dearly and whose company I enjoy; Indolence, because I have a comfortable job and life here; Caution, because if I go then I know that a career will be unattainable for me so late in the day; and Loneliness - not the loneliness of the road, because I know I will meet plenty of fascinating people along the way - but the Loneliness of not being able to stop, put down somewhere, have a settled, family life. I have met plenty of travellers in their 40s who just kept going and never stopped. However much I admire them, I do not want to end up like them, as I feel there is an essential part of life that they have missed out on.

But in the end the pull was too strong (I suppose I also wasn't sure whether being a consultant was really the life for me - I don't know if I have the requisite ambition). I don't know what pushed me over the edge, but one little incident sticks in my mind. I was going past a bathroom furniture store which had a sign in the window saying "have the bathroom you've always dreamed of". It seems an inocuous piece of advertising, but it got through to me: I don't want to dream about bathrooms; I don't want to be limited to that. So a couple of weeks back I took the decision to give in to the itch in my feet and go. Once I had taken the decision it felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest and I could breathe more freely, more easily.

I don't know how this trip will turn out, but one thing is for sure, I will not live to regret not taking the opportunity. I also hope that it will slake my thirst for travel and let me settle down with a peaceful soul.