Ghent → Antwerp

Ghent

It was a long exhausting journey to Ghent via the LF-2, which, though it appeared to be the most straightforward route from Terneuzen, actually takes a substantial eastern loop before heading for that city. Fortunately the signage was good and I cycled along a succession of tree-lined paths through countryside, finally reaching Ghent at dusk. I spent a couple of rainy days in the lively university town, sightseeing, staying at the home of my friend Wim.

LF-2: 'Stedenroute,' Terneuzen to Ghent

(original date of this entry: Aug 19, 2017)
Wim joined me on the next leg of my journey: east along the Schelde river to Antwerp, following the LF-5. Coming into the village of Berlare, as we exited the dike down a ramp, my right handgrip came off, I lost control and went flying into some bushes. I damaged my nose and eyelid, scraped my arm in several places, but seemed to be ok. Also my glasses went flying off my head and the frame snapped. Fortunately I had brought a backup pair. We stopped at a café called Het Veerhuis where I washed the dirt off my face.

Schelde River, east of Ghent

Wim Snauwaert, weekend fietser

We proceeded along the Schelde around a bend to reach the town of Dendermonde. Here we stopped to take a look at the old Sint Alexius begijnhof, established centuries ago as a secluded residential community for unmarried women and still in use. By the time we left town it was raining. We continued up the puddly trail to Mariekerke, where we were lucky to catch the last ferry of the day to Sint-Amands–we were the only people on it. Then we rode north through fields to the nondescript town of Bornem. Here Wim caught a train back to Ghent, and I cycled back to the riverside town of Branst, location of my Vriend op de Fiets, Huguette Bruyns, who prepared me a nice meal.

Temse bridge

The next morning, Sunday, I rode from Branst to kp 8, then proceeded along the south bank of the Schelde toward Antwerp. The river is not so broad here and moves placidly between muddy banks. The trail runs along a dike fringed by purple flowers. The sun beams warmth through a series of gray cloud fragments. The racers are out in droves this morning.

kp 8 -> 6 -> 5 -> 3 -> 2
I'm at a wide stretch of the Schelde just past Temse. Copious floral arrangements on this bank, a sand extraction facility on the other. It's so grand I had to stop and have my remaining sandwich and a cup of Chilean merlot. I had told my hosts in Antwerp that I'd arrive at 1:30 pm. But then I realized this is a ride to be savored and I wanted to take my time.

Branst -> Antwerp 

So I headed across the river to Temse to find a cafe with wifi so I could inform my hosts of my later arrival. Foiled. The first cafe, by the waterfront, had no wifi but the burly bearded young barman mumbled somthing in incomprehensible Flemish about a signal up the road. I ventured into the center of town in search of a signal. I stopped at a corner cafe opposite the pink stone town hall. A working-class place with a few tables on the sidewalk, cars passing regularly. The swarthy barmaid assured me they had wifi so I had my second cup of coffee. But the signal didn't work. So I fine-tuned a translation I was working on and enjoyed the cheerful mumbling of the beer-guzzling geezer next to me. Finally, at The Pocket, a pool hall down toward the bridge, I flat out asked to use the phone. It was a faded dingy locale and the tired-looking white-haired vrouw behind the counter grudgingly let me use their phone to call Antwerp. The vibe here seems more akin to France than Holland –disheveled, drunken, slightly more welcoming, yet the servers treated me as an annoyance.

kp 1 -> 54 -> 31 -> 34

Huguette Bruyns, Branst

Another superb ride today, though I was feeling somewhat weak due to yesterday's accident. I felt as if my teeth might fall out and the pain in my right arm was worse. 

Huguette Bruyns, my vriend op de fiets in Branst, is a robust woman who likes to strike out on her own by bicycle, especially around Holland, which she acknowledges has a more advanced cycling network.

Now on the east side of the Rupel river, I'm starting to get Huguette's cryptic instructions:

1. knooppunt 8, richting Temse
2. onder brug naar Wintam (I never saw Wintam but I went across the bridge to Temse, then back and under it)
3. over sasdeuren naar Rupel (I guess she's referring to the sluice gate)
4. Rupel (veer) -> Schelle  (This refers to the free ferry I just took with many other people across the Rupel. According to one fellow in orange track pants and buzzcut I could either continue along this bank of the Schelde to Antwerp, or at Hemiksen take another ferry to the west bank, and proceed up that side, then cross back again via the Kennedy Tunnel. He said there are five ferries across the Schelde. He was on his way to Boom, on the Rupel. 
5. Schelle -> Hemiksen
6. Waterbus -> Antwerpen (Now on my way to Hemiksen but the buzzcut guy was not aware of a 'waterbus,' saying only that a ferry crosses the Schelde there) 

Ferry cross the Rupel

After crossing the Rupel on the crowded ferry (free), I surveyed a major terrace cafe crowded with families on this sunny Sunday. I pushed on to kp 70, further up the Schelde. I stopped at the Sint Bernard abbey, a huge edifice apparently started in the 12th century or so, with 16 hectares of parklands and a museum of tiles. A board said this zone had been a major producer of ceramics. At kp 70 I found the 'waterbus' that Huguette had referred to, and the hydrofoil vessel arrived soon after. But I vacillated, then chose not to take it into Antwerp but to cycle instead. It was such a pretty afternoon, and Antwerp wasn't far so I kept cycling, and I was glad I did.

Coming into Antwerp

Bike-share station

I slowly meandered into the city through suburban neighborhoods with big houses and the odd apartment building. It was generally quiet on a Sunday afternoon. Then I was riding through a long park that skirted the highway —the ring road— toward kp 4. It was a weird effect rolling through the greenery, a screen of poplars separating me from a river of automobiles that made a constant drone. Clearly my mode of transport was superior. 

Cogels-Osylei—mansion row—in Berchem district of Antwerp

I didn't have much trouble finding my hosts, Etienne & Madanielle. It was a big sturdy house on De Krijt near Cogels-Osylei, a boulevard lined with enormous mansions sporting elaborate facades. My room was formerly their daughter's, an excellent top-flight dormer lined with books, with a skylight panel. When I asked if I might stay another night, Madanielle said it would be fine, "or two more if you like, no one is booked." It is right by Berchem train station and through the night I could hear passing trains, a soothing effect. I'd have to be dumb not to stay here as long as possible. Continued...