7 Countries 7 Days: Luxembourg, Belgium

 

Thursday 14th August 2015 – Luxembourg → Liège

Ahh, air-con. Sometimes it’s the little luxuries that make all the difference. Our room at the Ibis Budget in Parc Bouillon, Luxembourg, may have been stripped down to the bare bones, but at least it had that glorious hum of cold air pushing back against the heatwave outside. The only catch? The place isn’t exactly central — a fair trek to the heart of the city.

Still, we were up and out early, walking twenty minutes into Battembourg for what turned out to be a pretty unsavoury breakfast. But honestly, life’s too short to obsess over the finer details of nutrition. You can Google your way into neurosis, or you can just eat what’s in front of you and accept that one way or another, we’re all going the same way.

From there, the real gift of Luxembourg kicked in: free public transport. Free. Imagine that in the UK! I’d live on buses. (I did read that the Welsh government has introduced £1 travel for 16-21-year-olds — which is something — but still, Luxembourg is in another league.) We hopped on a bus into the city and spent a few hours mooching around in the rising heat.

One of the day’s highlights was stumbling across the Pétrusse Skatepark, sunk into a deep valley with a colossal flyover soaring above. It looked as if someone had air-lifted the Menai Bridge and dropped it into the middle of the city. A little further along, we found a boarded-up church carved into the rockface. Its iron doors were locked, but peering inside we could just make out a surreal video projection of flowers and bees looping on the wall, paired with a spacey soundtrack. Either that, or we had ingested hallucinogens and they were kicking in... (see here)

By midday the sun was merciless, so we retreated to the station in search of shelter on a train. The first departure was for Troisvierges, which sounded promising until we arrived and found… absolutely nothing. Not to be beaten, we boarded another train to Liège. Switzerland might let you ride free once in a while, but once in Belgium they have an exclusive gender: Ticket Inspector, so I coughed up the £30 fare without hesitation.

Just when we thought we were making good time, the day unravelled. Engineering works threw us onto a replacement bus service that crawled through the Belgian countryside. Pretty though the scenery was, the vehicle itself was an oven on wheels, hotter even than the buses I’d sweated through in New Delhi. By the time we finally reached Liège we were medium-to-well-done and into the evening, so any chance of exploring the city today was lost.

At least our apartment in the Walburge neighbourhood was welcoming. After a short taxi ride from the gleaming, space-age train station, we arrived at this homely little flat. Food and beer rounded off the evening. No sightseeing, no late-night wanderings, but after a day of unsavoury breakfasts, surreal churches, and oven-hot buses, home comforts were exactly what we needed.

7 Countries 7 Days: Switzerland, France, Luxembourg

 

Tuesday, 12th August 2015 – Zurich → Basel → Strasbourg

I woke up aching today, the arch of my right foot screaming at me with every step. Fine, I thought — I’ll just use the left one instead. We left our rickety old digs in Zurich early and headed for breakfast. By now, we’d settled into a routine: croissant, yoghurt, banana, and fruit juice from the Coop supermarket. We carried it down to the lakeside and spent an hour eating among ducks, gulls, and a couple of aggressive swans.

I’ve got history with angry Swiss swans — a few years back one nearly had me while I was swimming in Lake Geneva — so I kept a wary eye on these two as they hissed their way across the water. Charlie, unfazed, happily munched through his breakfast.

Afterwards, Charlie took over navigation duties, guiding us up the river (five bridges in total) to the station. By 9:30 am the heat was already oppressive. My lack of exercise over the past three weeks was catching up with me; I was flagging badly, muttering curses with each step.

At the station, we jumped on the first train we saw — bound for Basel. Tickets? None. And, remarkably, nobody checked. In a way it felt like poetic justice, a tiny victory against a country where £1.50 just to have a piss is considered normal. No wonder half the shop doorways smell like urinals. And while I’m on the subject of Swiss annoyances — their bloody different plug sockets! At least my super battery pack saved us more than once, otherwise we’d have been stranded with dead phones in a land of eye-watering prices.

From Basel, we quickly decided that Switzerland had drained enough of our wallets and aimed for Strasbourg, France. The French, however, have their own ways of punishing travellers — buying a train ticket onboard costs a premium. So I did the sensible thing and booked online while standing on the platform: £57 for two tickets. Win some, lose more.

By the time we reached Strasbourg, the sun was in full force — 33°C and climbing. Charlie, naturally, asked for another McDonald’s lunch. Nothing says cultural immersion like two Big Macs in two days, but I caved.

Determined to at least walk off some of the shame, I insisted we trek the two miles to our hotel, Hotel Esplanade, in the university quarter. Our route followed the River Ill (yes, that really is its name), crossing over the Rhine before we reached the hotel. By 2 pm we were checked in — I managed it entirely in French, which felt like a small triumph, or an arc de triomphe, if you like.

The room wasn’t much cooler than the outside, but at least it offered a break from the direct sun. We did the classic traveller’s trick of washing our clothes in the shower and hanging them on the windowsill to dry. After a short rest, we braved the heat again and set off into the city for the evening. Strasbourg didn’t disappoint — stunning architecture, buzzing streets, and a warm summer atmosphere that pulled us along.

By the time we stumbled back, our step counter read 17,000 steps for the second day in a row. My right foot wasn’t impressed. Neither was the left, by then.

Wednesday, 13th August 2015 – Strasbourg → Metz → Luxembourg

One thing’s for sure: with all this walking in relentless heat, getting to sleep is never a problem. France is in the grip of a mega heatwave right now, and by the time my head hits the pillow each night, I’m gone. But today I was awake at 6, roused by the buzz of the city outside our Strasbourg hotel. With a couple of quiet hours to kill, I sat plotting our route home for the weekend.

Hindsight is a cruel teacher. Really, I should have booked a return flight from wherever we ended up, then just worked our way there. Instead, this “make it up as we go along” approach has cost a fair few quid. The UK train alone was almost £100 return, and the flight home? A painful £200 from Brussels for the two of us. Handing that much money to Ryanair for a one-hour flight makes my teeth itch — but then again, it was only £15 each to fly out here to Memmingen. Swings and roundabouts, as they say. Or in this case: sixes and seven hundreds.

We checked out of our hotel with a cheerful “au revoir”, then strolled through the bright morning sun to Parc de l’Étoile, where we grabbed a café noir and croissant. The waitress was the spitting image of the French temptress from Fawlty Towers who fancied Basil. A surreal déjà vu moment over breakfast.

From there, we caught a Flixbus to Metz, rattling along in the midday heat. When we arrived, it was 34°C and sweating. Our onward bus was due at 3:30 pm — except, of course, it wasn’t. A delay pushed it to 5:10, giving us a couple of unexpected hours to wander Metz. Turned out to be a gift: the city is gorgeous, with its jaw-dropping cathedral towering over everything. I even risked stepping inside, and to my surprise I wasn’t struck down immediately.

Lunch was from Aldi (cheap, cheerful, effective), washed down with a couple of beers before heading back to the coach park. That’s when the real trouble started. Our bus never came. After an hour of waiting, some Russian kids broke the bad news: there’d been a glitch in the Flixbus app, and the bus had actually left at 4:43. Brilliant. The next one wasn’t until 8:10 pm — from a different stop 10 km north of the city.

Tickets for the bus: £5. The Uber to actually reach the new stop: £25. You can bet Flixbus will be hearing from me when I get home.

By the time we rolled into Luxembourg, night had fallen. I ended up booking another taxi — £32 this time — to get us to our hotel in Livange, a small town south of the city. We’d saved money by booking an Ibis Budget, but by the time I’d added up the taxi fares, I might as well have stayed in central Luxembourg.

Still, for all its stripped-down, bare-bones vibe, our room did at least come with air conditioning. In this heatwave, that felt like five-star luxury.