Catch Up - Saturday 23rd August

Saturday, we decided, was going to be our 'Brussels' day, in which we'd go and see all the main attractions in the city. 

After consulting our very handy map, we started walking in the the direction of the cathedral. Wedged in between contemporary glass buildings, the grandiose stone church was really something. The dark wooden carvings were fabulous, and the interior was filled with lovely artworks. 

The Coudenberg, the ruins of a palace which are now underground, was our next stop. It was quiet and empty when we descended into the gloom, not entirely sure what to expect. We were greeted by stone walls and floors, dimly lit by yellow spotlights, occasionally punctuated with ornate stone pillars and staircases which were clearly once impressive architectural features. Information panels described to us the original rooms, and explained where we were standing. We worked our way though chapels, banquet halls, reception rooms and passageways. It was really unusual, and unlike anything we'd visited before. The corresponding museum was filled with artefacts uncovered in the excavation of the site, and although less interesting, it was still nice to see.

When we emerged back into the light of day, it began to rain, and we walked in the direction of Manekin Pis and a restaurant we'd picked out for lunch. By the time we reached Manekis Pis, the weather, like the famed statuette, was p*ssing it down. Thus, we looked at the minute statue for - well, about a minute, then hurried to shelter in Fritesland for more fries. Mitch tried a Belgian delicacy,  a mitraillette, which is a baguette containing burgers, chips, salad and sauce. He loved it. 

Once fed and watered, we scouted out a golden spire we'd noticed on the horizon, and followed it to a large cobble-stoned square. We're still not entirely sure what all the buildings were, but the grand, golden-façaded building loomed over us and was altogether very impressive. Opposite this was the gothic structure of the Brussels Museum. Nearby, we popped into a chocolate shop and had a little sample (legally, I swear). 

Our final destination was the Halle Gate (Dan and Lucy in sync: HALLA), which used to be on the wall surrounding the city, but with urban expansion, is now in a metropolitan area. The walls are no longer standing, but the gate is a watchtower which offers up several exhibits detailing the history of the city. For 1€50, we got lots of time to colour in pictures in the kids' activity area, a spiral-staircased walk up to the various galleries and a walk out on these battlements to other littler towers. Siân, displaying her incredible common sense, managed to close a wooden door covering a window on her head, bruising it. The tower offered up some nice views, particularly straight to the ground through glass panels in the floor. 

From Halle Gate, we got a metro back to the hostel, and bought yet more bread and cheese for tea. We spent another evening in the hostel bar, packed and went to bed. 

Catch up - Friday 22nd August

Today is Friday and our first day in Brussels. We allowed ourselves a bit of a lie-in due to the wild bed time the previous night. Siân (this time sleeping right beside the alarm) sprang out of bed at around 9am, whereas Bussell had other ideas and was rather reluctant to get up. 

Like in Paris, we were entitled to free breakfast so we scurried along to the 'canteen mock up' of a breakfast area. There was a wide selection on offer and after finally realising where the plates and trays were, we ran around like children in a sweet shop! There was cheese, ham and bread and all the other things you would expect to find in a continental breakfast. Mitch and Lucy (particularly the coffee-connoisseur former) made the most of the coffee machine to get their caffeine fix.

Having decided to take the European Walk guided by the map provided by our hostel, we made our way through the multi-cultural area of Brussels (which Dan particularly liked), ending up in what was the spitting image of Bristol's very own St George park. However, instead of facing corner shops and a Tesco, we were surrounded by Art Nouveau fronted Belgian houses.

From here, we walked down to the European Commission building where Mitch got very excited. 

"I'm going to work here one day!"

Eurosceptic Dan, however, was not so keen. 

The buildings weren't so picturesque, but a long boulevard lead down to Brussels' Arc de Triomphe, which is where we were heading next. The arch itself is an asymmetrical structure with a war museum in one of the wings. Seeing as it was free, we went in and had a look around. Our lack of knowledge about Belgium's military history proved a hindrance, and we keenly felt the absence of resident historian Harry Leonard. Nevertheless, we still had a nice time looking at the mannequins proudly exhibiting the national uniforms, even a particular specimen with the startling resemblance to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's Child Catcher. (Lucy: I liked the planes!)

Belgium's reputation for excellent fries lured us to a stall presumably run by a man called Antione and imaginatively named 'Antione' to buy our lunch. Embarrassingly, Siân had the most difficulty ordering in French. The end of lunch started the point where Lucy and Dan started demanding waffles.

By now, Lucy needed a wee and it had begun it pour with rain. For these reasons we followed a series of signs pointing in the direction of a museum. When we went inside we were pleasantly surprised. Despite consisting of only one gallery no bigger than a tennis court, the curators had somehow squeezed several gigantic murals onto the walls. Mostly religious or mythological paintings, we wondered how they'd got them in the room. In competition with the impressiveness of the paintings was the selling point of a free toilet.

Round the corner from here was the EU's Parliament Building. Adjoining this is the Parliamentarium, an educational and interactive museum dedicated to the history of the European Union. Needless to say, Mitch was in his element. Upon entry, we were issued with media guides which translated the exhibits into the user's native language. To begin with, we all found it interesting but we soon tired of the pseudo-propagandistic nature of the displays - "we" being Lucy, Dan and Siân, of course. When we finally managed to drag Mitch away, it was time to catch the metro to the Atomium, which is on the other side of town. 

We didn't think to check closing times, so when we arrived we realised we only had an hour to look around. Quickly buying our tickets, we joined the long line of people waiting to go up in the lift. It took a little while, but we eventually crammed ourselves into the little pod to go up. The ceiling was made of glass, and the lift operator informed us (in English, French and Flemish, no less) that in 1958, when the Atomium was built for the World Fair, this was the fastest lift in Europe. It was indeed fairly speedy, and we were soon a the top. The view, however, was somewhat disappointing. Being rather removed from theatre centre of the city, we couldn't really see that much, and we weren't really that high. The queue to go back down stretched round the perimeter of the room, so we joined it immediately and saw the mediocre panorama from there. The building is far more interesting from the outside, and the other floors contained small, somewhat bland, exhibitions.

Dan and Lucy still demanding waffles (NB: assume this continues through the narrative, as they didn't stop for almost two days), we got back to our metro station and took a train back to a nearby station called Kunst Wet (no comment). 

In the Parc de Bruxelles, just down the road from our hostel, there was a travelling fair, where we'd spied a stall selling €3 vegetarian burgers, so we went there for tea. The burgers were really good, but also fairly small, so Dan and Lucy also ate at the hostel bar whilst Mitch and Siân snacked. The latter two were sleepy and keen to go to bed, but the others insisted on staying in the bar, listening to salsa music and chatting with their new friends. 

Thursday 21st August

At 6:30am on Thursday, Siân sprung out of bed and switched the light on, then switched it off again and opened the curtains as squawks of protest met her ears. It being a travel day, we bustled down to the Paris Nord station and, with some help from a rail worker, got onto the 7:37am train to Maubeuge. We nearly missed it, which was scary, but we settled in quickly.

Two hours later, we got off at Aulnoye-Aymeries (a sleepy rural town where the party is AT). Here, we bought lunch and then boarded a train to Lille Flandres, which took roughly an hour. We eagerly ate the lunch (ham/cheese sandwich) by a fountain, then got on an intercity train to Tournai in Belgium, which took another forty five minutes. As we neared the France-Belgium border, the houses were less of the typical whitewashed, deep-windowed French variety, and more of a red brick. A speedy nine minute change for a train to Brussels got us in the right direction. 

It was two thirty when we hauled our bags in through the white metal gate of the youth hostel. We were greeted by the less-than-welcoming sound of hammering and drilling from workers upstairs, but the ever-so-friendly, lipsticked woman on reception more than made up for it. We couldn't officially check in until three so we perused the "young travellers" maps she handed us for half an hour. In comparison with the rickety metal beds and Lilliputian shower of the Paris hostel, the oaken IKEA-worthy bunks and spacious bathroom were bliss. The only downside of our room, which has a spill-proof laminate flooring (excellent news for Siân) and a view across a square with a statue and green in the centre, is the lack of toilet whilst the builders complete their job, but we have been provided with an alternative down the corridor. 

We hunted down a supermarket to buy some Belgian chocolate then took a look at a travelling festival in the Parc de Bruxelles which is round the corner from the hostel.

That evening, we'd vowed to eat what Dan called "proper food" for the first time - we opted to eat out. Dan and Lucy identified an appealing nearby restaurant called "Titanic" and we spent rather a long time trying to locate it. When we eventually did, a neatly handwritten sign tacked on the door delivered the soul-crushing news that the proprietors were on holiday. Taking a winding route around the neighbourhood, we found a recommended bar/restaurant called "Beer Circus", which stocks over a hundred different beers in its presumably vast basement. The availability of a vegetarian lasagne was also a draw for Lucy and Siân. The food was good and (Siân: as I am told) the beer even better. Sampling several different varieties, the group met with only one mishap, when Lucy mis-ordered an elderflower beer and ended up with something nobody liked. Her tears soon dried when Dan bought her the elderflower. Well, it was either that or the hilarity of Dan spilling the unwanted beer all over Mitch by mistake. Soon, the effects of the 11.6% alcohol in Dan's Rouchefort had him running on ahead pretending to be an aeroplane on the way back to the hostel. 

Back at the hostel, Dan said he was fed up of his hair being in his face and thus Siân taught him to do a ponytail (but eventually did it for him). He decided it made him look thinner, more hench and got him more female attention. He especially liked what it did to his silhouette. Opinions? 

Now, we were all settled for a calm evening but as we knew our good friend Harry Leonard would be in town at the the same time as us, we arranged to meet him in a park which we later learnt has an unsavoury reputation past dark. We took him to the Beer Circus, where Dan was reunited with his new bae, the bartender towards whom he'd felt a certain affinity. I think it was the beard that did it. Several drinks, a good chat, and a visit to a nearby war memorial later, Dan waved Harry Leonard into a taxi and we all settled into bed at a very young and wild 1am. 

Catch up - Wednesday 20th August

Having had such a busy day, we slept in a little the next morning. Having abandoned all hopes of visiting Versailles, we resolved to pay homage to the Mona Lisa and enjoy a more relaxed itinerary on Wednesday. 

We stayed in the hostel all morning, coaxing Dan out of bed with the offer of breakfast, and dipped French bread into melted Camembert cheese for lunch. 

Realising the distance between our hostel and the Louvre was less than the length of the Champs-Élysées, we braved the walk. 

The sun shone as we highlighted our Britishness in a good old-fashioned queue, and within the hour we were into the museum free as young EU members. Following the signs to Da Vinci's magnum opus (called La Joconde in French) and getting very lost somewhere in "Italian Paintings" (aka "Gallery of Jesus pics"), we squinted for a few seconds at her smirking painted face then Dan, Lucy and Mitch called for a sit down. In the adjacent gallery, Siân surveyed some of the most famous artworks on the planet whilst the other three sat down and discussed the likelihood of finding Diet Coke for less than 3€10. 

Tea was our next priority and we bought ravioli and sauce to microwave in the poky little hostel kitchen. We even managed to find a vegetarian-friendly pudding, although Siân mistranslated the ingredients as "may contain traces of spiders and cockerel fruits". 

Once fed and watered, we took the champagne Lucy had brought from home to go and sit in front of the Sacré-Cœur like classy mofos. We popped into a shop and bought some souvenirs on the way there, then Siân drank fizzy raspberry whilst the others had the champagne. Embarrassingly for him, Mitch got tipsy on two glasses, dizzy and hiccuping like Dumbo on wine. 

That evening, we chatted before reluctantly going to bed, knowing we had a 7:37am train the next day. 

Catch up - Tuesday 19th Paris

At 7:30am, Siân's alarm sounded its pianistic tones, and she climbed down the ladder to switch it off. The others didn't move. 

"Guys, it's time to get up."

Nothing. Three mountains of blankets remained motionless.

"Guys! Guys! Guuuuuys," more insistently now. "It's morning!"

Giving up, she went and switched on the one light switch, filling the room with blinding white light. Muffled groans erupted from Lucy's bunk.

"Turn that back off! I can't see!" 

It took a further ten minutes until everyone was wakeful, and Dan required a little persuasion (prodding him with a shoe was sufficient).  

Breakfast was a croissant and/or bread as tough as old boots, however we enjoyed the variety of jams available - peach, apricot, plum and strawberry. We had originally  planned to visit Versailles on this day, but instead we aimed to get to the Eiffel Tower for 9:30am, when the queues would probably be shorter. It soon became evident that punctuality wasn't going to be our forte, and this plan was abandoned. 

The metro station at Anvers, a five minute walk from the hostel, was full of people who knew what they were doing, and at first we were bemused by the whole system. After enquiring in (let's be honest) mediocre French as to how to buy a ticket, we worked out the machines and made our way to the platform. When it arrived, looking much like a mobile tin of French sardine people, we squeezed our way inside and trundled off to Charles de Gaulle Étoile metro station.

We left the subway, wondering where we were, and very soon got the answer in the form of the Arc de Triomphe towering over us. It made sense to visit that first, given its extreme proximity, and we were pleased to discover it was free for 18-25 year old EU citizens. We took our photo with our bae the Unknown Soldier and then began our expedition up Spiral Staircase #2 of the trip. Dan's reaction to seeing the stairs isn't fit to be transcribed on a family blog. 

Dragging our feet to an alcove halfway up for a rest, we passed an elderly man with his family. 

"It's tiring, this," he wheezed to Siân in a gravelly French voice, "good luck!"

Arriving at the top was, needless to say, a relief, and the 360 degree view across Paris was definitely worth the climb. We circled the rooftop terrace and took pictures of the panorama before returning to ground level and crossing the roundabout towards the Champs-Élysées. 

Here, Dan was in his element, window-shopping to his heart's content. We peered through the window of the jewellers' to view watches and bracelets worth more than our student loans. Dan was tempted by a watch, but decided it wasn't his colour. Mitch was far more impressed by the Danish embassy and the Starbucks in the shopping centre (although less so by the prices - "7€ for a chai tea latte, what is this?!"). 

Following our Parisian promenade down the boulevard, we decided that the McDonald's we'd passed was our best bet for lunch. The McDo's on the Champs-Élysées is no ordinary fast food restaurant. Its floors are marbled, its railings golden and its loos (unusually for France) toilet-seated. Enjoying the typical French cuisine (!), we gorged on Big Macs and the veggie option of fries, plus the gloriously free WiFi. 

Resuming our rambles of the capital, we strolled down to the Louvre Museum, passing through the resplendent Jardin de Tuileries (and, of course, having a well-deserved sit down, not once, but twice). After a nutritious Bourbon biscuit and a couple of crisps, we were fortified to visit the Louvre. However, we hadn't prepared ourselves for what greeted us at the glass pyramid - a sign which read "the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays". This was slightly disappointing but we didn't let it stop us, keeping on our route to Notre Dame. We very soon leant the extent of the street sellers' English - "1€. Good price. Hello! 1€. Good price. Hello!" and repeat. On the way to the cathedral we crossed the Pont des Arts, reading the inscriptions on many of the padlocks and laughing at the bike chains and hefty locks of those lovers who clearly weren't taking any chances. 

From here, we walked alongside the Seine singing Ella Henderson's Ghost ("I keeeeeep going to the river to praaaay") until we found ourselves outside the cathedral with all the other tourists. The queue snaked its way across the whole square so we seated ourselves for another snack and a drink. As we were sat on the wall, lots of little birds (Siân: I like little birds) landed on the hedge and ate out of the hands of some nearby children. Lucy gave it a good go but these were clearly feathered food connoisseurs because they weren't tempted by the offerings. 

Deciding it would be worth the wait, we tagged on the end of the queue. Soon we were inside, appreciating the existence of pews for a good rest, and looking at the stained glass, grand organ and stone pillars. We weren't there for long before beginning the trek to the Eiffel Tower. The closer we got, the more Mitch exclaimed "it's really big", which really helped Siân and her fear of heights. We took a rest by a street violin player. By now we were starving, and all needed a wee. Soon we came across one of France's automated toilets and all took a turn. Siân was apprehensive, having had a previously traumatic experience with the self-locking doors, but we all survived. After this, we bought a picnic-style tea which we ate at the bottom of the the Tower at around six thirty. 

When we eventually purchased our tickets, the top level was temporarily closed, but we knew it'd take us no small amount of time to reach that anyway so it was of little concern.  As such, we ventured on up over the 300 metre mark to the first floor. On this floor you are able to walk out onto a piece of glass laid into the floor to see below. Mitch was unfazed whilst Siân baulked at the concept of viewing the height from such an angle (but she finally took the big step!). 

After this ordeal, we decided to go and look in the café, yet at the price of €5 for a cappuccino, we decided against it. Meanwhile Dan had had enough of the steps and wondered to scout out the lift price. After concluding that this too was too expensive, we continued up to the second floor, taking several rest stops along the way.

The second floor was crowded but Siân was triumphant as her previous attempt at scaling the Eiffel Tower two years prior to this trip had been cut short by a torrent of tears at merely the first floor. Edging through the knot of people, we looked out from each side. By now, the sun was beginning to set, and a burnt orange tinge was spreading across the horizon. After admiring the view, we joined the queue to buy lift tickets to the top floor. Knowing that the second floor was not even halfway to the top made Siân want to throw up all three kinds of bread she'd tried thus far, especially as she has a fear of lifts. We wedged ourselves into the tiny space and began to rise towards the top. In no time at all, we were at the highest point. From here, we could watch the sun disappear beyond the landscape, and Paris begin to light up.

Soon, the Eiffel Tower spotlights streamed across the sky, and we quickly headed back down in the lift (Siân: worst experience of my life - do lifts have speed limits?!). We seated ourselves on the grass in and ate some cheese and bread whilst peering up at the illuminated tower. We took photos in front, and then at 10pm, the huge metal structure began to twinkle like fireflies at a rave. We oohed and aahed as befitted the moment, until a man approached us with some glass bottles. This is a recurring experience in this area, but this man was slightly different.

"Champagne?"

"Non merci."

"Very good price. Cheap."

"Non merci." 

"Very good price. Freeeeee?"

It was either the dark grin he flashed us, or wild imaginings of poisoned wine, but we left in a hurry. If Dan Bussell turns down free alcohol, you know something is amiss. 

Now absolutely shattered, we returned to the hostel on the metro and went to bed.  

Catch Up - Monday 18th August

Sunday evening and, dreading the 2:30am get-up, we frightened the neighbours with our beautiful SingStar karaoke renditions of I Want You Back, Parklife and Aretha Franklin's Respect.

As 2:30am arrived, we begrudgingly dressed and grabbed our two-ton bags and squeezed into Siân's dad's car. Dan initiated (God help us) a game of I-Spy which felt like it lasted six hours but only really lasted about half an hour. Lucy championed with "steering wheel" and "hazard warning light", but nobody really cared and Mitch just slept. 

We arrived at London St. Pancras (Lucy: LONDON ST. PANCREAS *laughs at her own, by-now-over-used pun*) at about 5:30am for our 7:55 Eurostar so we had breakfast in Costa whilst Mitch bemoaned the lack of Starbucks and criticised the barista's latte-making technique. He and Siân went for a walk around the station whilst Dan and Lucy played cards. She taught him to play Speed which might as well be called Slow as far as he was concerned. However, he found his calling in Snap and, later, Puerto Rican Speed (Dan: I totes have Latin flair). On a reconnaissance mission around the shops, Mitch and Siân found some pretentious glass-bottled sparkling fruit drinks which the four drank like classy, cultured travellers whilst inwardly sighing at the rather disgusting taste. 

After purchasing some snacks from M&S, we went through customs without a hitch and soon found ourselves seated on the EuroStar. The journey was punctuated with more card games from Dan and Lucy, naps from Mitch and phrase book-readings from Siân. Every ten minutes Mitch asked "are we under the Channel yet?" and then missed the actual event by sleeping.

When we got to Paris Nord station, Lucy retrieved the directions to the hostel, which is about ten minutes up the Rue de Dunkerque from the station. We got there at about 11:30am but check-in not being until 4pm, we paid for the stay and dumped our bags. Siân clearly established herself as the clumsy, forgetful member of the group by forgetting her Travel Money Card PIN number. She managed to pay but spent the rest of the day periodically ringing customer services and texting home to find the number or access code. Having stored our bags in the hostel luggage room, we went to the Sacré-Cœur which is a ten minute walk away, perusing some touristy shops on the way, including a "chocolate museum" which had chocolate models in it. 

We took our photos in front of the Sacré-Cœur then climbed the first of many stairs (no, seriously, stairs seem to be a recurring theme on this trip, a feature which Dan is, I assure you, loathing) to get to the basilica itself. Inside, we walked the periphery of the room, alternately hustled and shushed by the stationed priests. We were impressed with the high, painted ceilings and ornately decorated pillars but we couldn't help but feel it was somewhat commercialised as there were donation boxes at short intervals and we were kept to a strict constant speed as they drew more and more tourists into what is, after all, a house of worship.

By now, it was definitely snack time and we sat on the the steps with our crisps and biscuits, listening to a flutist (a word which Dan and I have disputed the pronunciation of - is it "flautist" or "floutist"?) play three songs like a broken record. Because the hostel was providing us with "Italian pasta" for tea, we decided we could afford to go in the crypt and climb the tower to the dome. Siân asked the woman for the tickets ("and the same for my friends who don't speak French"), and we entered the gloomy crypt. It was dark and cool down there, and Siân (as resident tour guide) explained and translated the stations of the Cross. We read the tombs and memorials before emerging back into the light and beginning our ascent to the dome. There are 300 stairs and Lucy and Dan resented ever single one. Mitch and Siân hurried ahead like excitable children and eventually we were all at the top, surveying the view across Paris. This was our first aerial view of many, and we pointed out all the places we hoped to visit across our trip. 

The downwards journey was almost as scary, and then we went for a stroll around Mon Martre, scouting out potential eating places and looking at the works of the street artists. As we left the square, we found out the hard way the aggressiveness of "charity collectors" who hounded us for money, identifying us as tourists. Fortunately they only got four euros out of us, and we steeled ourselves against other similar ventures. This came into play as we came back round to the front of the Sacré-Cœur and were swooped upon, vulture-like, by men selling friendship bracelets. Despite their insistent, arm-grabbing hands, we escaped and sat on the grass in the sun. Guess what Mitch did? (Spoiler: he napped). Soon it was time to check in so we found our way to our hostel room and bagsied which bunk bed we wanted. We were shattered by this point so we lounged in the the hostel waiting for the pasta. We asked about transport to Versailles and realised that with the closure of a train line, it was nigh on impossible, we opted to visit everywhere in Central Paris on Tuesday and go to Versailles if feasible on the Wednesday.  

When sitting around for food, Lucy and Siân asked if they could have the pasta without meat, thoroughly amusing and confusing the carnivorous French who were cooking for us. After (im)patiently waiting for about two hours, Dan and Mitch got served (Dan on a large plate and Mitch on a tiny one), then Lucy and Siân waited some more for their totally plain pasta. Mmm. They kindly offered us some butter to add flavour, which Lucy opted for, also adding garlic mayonnaise as a wild attempt to create flavour. 

Once fed, we took a walk to the Moulin Rouge. Dan, Lucy and Siân admired the iconic building whilst Mitch took photos of the Starbucks opposite. Laughing at the adult shops all the way down the boulevard (nicknaming it Sex Street) , we found our way back to the hostel, got changed and went to bed, setting our alarm for 7:30am.