Saddling Up…
Sunday 30 June
The gloomy orange street light filtered into what is otherwise a bright, sun filled living room, usually brimming with greenery, Mexican carpets and perfumes of Xavier’s loving cuisine. None of that was here anymore, casting the entire apartment in a blanket of emptiness. Abandonment. The atmosphere bred feelings of apprehension. What will we find when we reopen the door in 7 months? Will we all walk through the door together? Will we all make it back? What will we make it back to? Who will we have become? How will we have changed? Will we have changed? Are we going to be able to stick to the cycling schedule we put in place? The stress getting to this point culminated. Finding someone to sub-lease the apartment, packing it up, cleaning, darting left, right and centre. Are we setting ourselves up to fail? Are we completely insane?
After over a year of preparation for this very moment, we held hands and leaped off the edge of our world, finally closing the front door of our home at 4:45am on Sunday 30 June 2019. With no idea of what we were going to find ourselves up against. It was hard to have any expectations. But one thing that was for sure – we had never felt so vulnerable. Whatever shell was protecting us, was stripped away the moment we closed the door.
Oreste ate the intensity of the uneasiness for breakfast. Coupled with the early wake up call and the bus ride to the airport, it played out in his stomach as our distance from the comforts of our cosy, safe, colourful home became further and further away. It was only after the distraction of collecting the boxed bicycles we dropped of yesterday afternoon from the storage area at the airport, the check-in process and sun rise that the nerves settled. Once the bikes were headed for the cargo hold and we were through customs, the excitement started to build.
We were on the same flight as some friends but went our seperate ways in Hong Kong. They went into the tumultuous streets of Hong Kong overflowing with protests, while we headed straight for our connecting flight to Amsterdam.
In between naps on the floor and whatever available sofas we could find, we managed to have the most expensive family dinner ever. It wasn’t anything special, but rather our impatient, hungry bellies that gave into the well designed tourist economy.
L’ Aventure commence…
Monday 1 July
We landed in Amsterdam at 6:15am on Monday 1 July. After an easy customs and baggage collection process we went out the front of the smoke filled airport – we’d forgotten how many people still smoke in Europe – and started assembling our bikes and organising our bags like cupboards – the clothes cabinet, the food cabinet, the kitchen cabinet, the wet weather cabinet, the medicine cabinet, the documents cabinet, the ‘constant access needed’ cabinet. Our lives in bags for the next seven months.
One guy, not in uniform but clearly an airport worker, showed up in his little electric van and parked it right next to us so we could flatten the bike boxes and put them straight into the back of his truck – all with a relaxed, confident, satisfied “Welcome”.
The light was soft. It felt like 4pm and time to get dinner and head for bed. But others were just starting their day. More people started to emerge ready for work. They confused our senses and in our blur, we realised the need to reconcile our sense of time dictated by the light of a northern hemisphere summer.
After two hours of unpacking, mounting bikes and repacking we were ready. The boys were right into it – fitting, twisting, tightening, turning, pumping. We rode through what was obviously airport industrial area but what was remarkably different were the fields of greenery and of course the bike path. There is so much land given to trees, wild grasses and flowers. It fills every gap that is available and changes the look, feel, aroma and pace of the place which shifts your sense of appreciation.
The bike infrastructure is simple and inexpensive realised with coloured pavers, even to mark out the lines. The large advertising panels that litter Sydney were nowhere to be seen. It became abundantly clear that no advertising makes a beautiful place. Rather advertisements were small and charmingly hand written, giving anyone interested direct access to the person on the other side. The proximity of intimacy, sharing and exchange fed a sense of openness that was therapeutic, restoring a sense of humanity that Sydney is good at stripping away in favour of a caustic arrogance that corrodes empathy and honest sociability.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the earth warmed up and filled the air with an intoxicating sweet muskiness. We rode some 40kms to Noordwijk through beautiful, flowery, insect bearing, greenery. Arsène even crossed paths with Europe’s smallest rodent, the tiny harvest mouse. Every breath was a shot of absolute rapture. Every expiration was filled with life giving gratitude. By the time we arrived to Xavier’s sister’s place, we had reached another stratosphere, although the particular riding style on bike paths, which includes sharing with vespas, kept us firmly connected to the ground.
We spent a short moment with Remco, Matteo and Tanguy – Xavier’s brother in law and his two boys – before we went to get some groceries and eventually to the camping ground where we plan to be for the next three nights. The aim is to take some time to relax into the timezone and prepare our departure route.
Completely delirious and bamboozled by the light, we thought we had arrived at De Ruigenhoek Kamp relatively early, but in fact it was already 9pm. We rode by what were the local swimming areas but didn’t take up that invitation. Aside from being a bit nippy, all we wanted to do was eat and sleep.
We set up the tent in the Saponaria officinalis (Zeepkruid) patch, a plant we learnt is used to make soap, particularly for finer cloth, and ate a very simple dinner of bread, canned fish, dips and fruit as well as an apricot tart in celebration. After a warm shower, we were out. Luckily we had our winter sleeping bags.
Den Haag presented itself as a dainty, quaint town, that takes and protects peace seriously. There is room for people, canals, flowers, trees, bikes, culture, history and space to appreciate the architecture and monuments.
For lunch Xavier suggested local raw herring and onion. The boys weren’t convinced but decided they would at least try. Arsène was the only one who managed more than one bite. Oreste seemed to cope but still couldn’t down the entire piece like a seagull. Léon was revolted and Lisa was the only one who couldn’t bring herself to even trying. Xavier ended up eating the leftovers.
We went back to Veronique and Remco’s place in Noordwijk. The boys got straight into playing catch-up with their cousins. This included exploring Remco’s fishing boat parked out the back in the canal, while we collected the workbooks posted some weeks ago from Sydney to get started on our school routine.
Again, we were completely deceived by the light thinking it was 4pm but in fact it was 9pm. Xavier got the hang of riding on the opposite side of the road in a flash. Lisa on the other hand didn’t and managed to slam her shin into Xavier’s back wheel spike because she was looking in the wrong direction for oncoming cars. Inattention earned her a nice deep gash that will accompany us for the entire trip. After a 70 kilometre day, it was time for a soothing hot shower. Lisa and Xavier are starting to be broken in by the saddle. Sore legs, sore butts and minor sunburn. The boys aren’t feeling it yet. Chatting all day long, giggling, laughing, taunting, playing. Looking at them is like watching corn pop.
We returned to camp at what seemed an early hour and had a beautiful family picnic in the greenery of the campground, with its many flying insects and the soft light of a northern hemisphere summer as the backdrop. The table consisted of many dishes including the smoked eel that Veronique and Remco introduced us to many years ago, before children when we were last in The Hague. Smooth, creamy with a hint of lemon – eel that reduces to pure, oily, mind altering delight in the mouth.
The family dynamic has already changed. Time for each other, time for love, time for play, time for listening, time for sharing, raising many questions about what we hand over to others and at what price. Marching our children off to school every morning while we rush off in different directions to a job that may or may not feed our souls – aka David Graeber’s “Bullshit Jobs”.
The itinerary that we spent months on preparing isn’t anywhere to be found on the tablet so we emailed Chris in the hope that he kept the copy we sent him. We know tomorrow we start heading south towards Rotterdam. We tried to have an early night but it was difficult fallling asleep in daylight.
Tuesday 2 July
Wednesday 3 July
Today we started a little slower than usual and felt the lack of sleep. We may still be somewhat jet lagged.
We set off with a gentle 11kms to Sassenheim station. We caught the train into Amsterdam just to go and eat krokettes, organise a mobile telephone, and buy a few supplies in preparation for our first leg tomorrow. We couldn’t get enough of these Dutch Kroketten – crunchy yet creamy, burning balls. We knew it was now or never, so we didn’t hold back. The big question for the day however was: “Where do people piss in Amsterdam!!?” The bike infrastructure may be fabulous but there are no public toilets. Whoever it is, is making an enormous amount of money from charging people for the basic necessity to relieve themselves. Or maybe its because the obvious number of people in this city are not locals but tourists, rightly being charged for the pleasure of turning it into a Disneyland. The young guys moving in stoned packs munching their way through the streets of Amsterdam. The young Italian girls with flowing dark hair in the wind as high as kites, fleeting by like birds on bikes calling out in pure ecstasy “Questa é la Vita!”. A mother who takes her child out of the pram, puts him in position with her phone and give instructions behind an unnatural smile while she strikes a pose in the busy street.
Sur les grands chemins…
Thursday 4 July
Chris sent the itinerary. A relief to have this guide which if nothing else will remind us of the world heritage sites along the way and more or less the dates we’re supposed to be places if we’re going to achieve what we set out to do.
This morning we packed our belongings and set off from De Ruigenhoek Kamp for a 90 kilometre ride to Dordrecht via Delph, the ceramic centre. We had only been on our bikes for about 10 minutes when we were reminded of the dangers we face. Three police officers were standing on a corner with witches cones set out. We thought that they were waiting for something, or there was a burst pipe of some sort, but then one of them stepped out to guide us around the witches hats, behind which was a pool of coagulating blood in the gutter. Whoever shed that was certainly in a very serious condition or worse. An awfully resonant whisper to remind us that misadventures are not just for others.
Somewhat frazzled, we continued through the Dutch landscape – waterways, boats, ducks and ducklings, canals, weeping greenery swaying in the breeze, bicycles, vespas – and made our way through cute Leiden and Leidschendam with its many windmills. We stopped in Delft for lunch in front of the church where Vermeer was supposedly baptised. There we found a small but bustling market thanks to a considered local with a sympathetic touch on the arm. We ate delicious battered fish and chips, bread, local biscuits, and bought a roast chicken that we’ll have for dinner tonight. We stepped inside the church and came across a wall of fresh flowers measuring some 6 metres tall by 3 metres wide. As if climbing to the heavens, the perfume, the textures, the colours, the scale – made for an unforgettable sensory experience. An ephemeral masterpiece.
We got lost in a saucy suburb just outside Rotterdam. We were thrown off track at which point Léon proved himself to be a great guide. Our Virgil noted that in order to stay on track, we had to go through an underground passage which felt very oppressive, dark and sinister. We later found out that it was built using prison labour. It was the underbelly of Rotterdam under the main canal, Nieuwe Mass. There were two ways through. Oreste and Lisa took the seedy, panic inducing, slow lift, while Xavier, Léon and Arsène took the very steep escalators testing their upper body strength. On regrouping on the other side, both Xavier and Léon were shat on, which comforted us. We’re in good hands!
Much to Oreste’s delight, as we continued along our way, lots of bridges were constantly opening and closing. The mechanics gave way to gracefully synchronised dances between what would otherwise be considered functional pieces of metal.
On reaching Dordrecht we called to check availability for a campsite nearby. We were pleasantly surprised when we were told that we had to call on arrival because a boat had to come get us to take us to the other side of the river. A total treat. While Xavier and Lisa pitched the tent and fed the blood sucking mosquitos and flies, the boys went for a swim.
We’re depending on free WiFi which means we get access to the rest of the world before we head off in the morning and once we’re ready for bed. We realised this evening that we have a technical glitch where the tablet functions aren’t compatible with WordPress so we can’t update our blog daily to let our friends and family know how we are. Xavier has access during the day if needed but we really only use his connection to help us find our way.
Holland is a great place to start for its flatness but that doesn’t mean it’s challenge free. It’s really windy! The windmills make sense. The constant wind tests and coaxes you simultaneously. There are very few uphills but when they come our way, we’re reminded that we are only a few days in and have got a lot of strength to build to make it to Strasbourg – the first base.
Friday 5 July
Dordrecht to Antwerp. Well almost Antwerp. We really started to feel the longer distances today. The legs are burning, the butts are sore and the wind unrelenting. The boys on the other hand are happily chirpping away, riding as if they were sitting on a couch.
The whole time we’ve been riding, it’s been populated, which makes the kilometres go by faster with constant stimulation of all sorts. The herd of sheep that started running with Arsène alongside the gate as he rode by. From the architecture, the urban planning quirks, the graphics, the birds, the flowers, the public art, the canals, bridges, train crossings, crops of all sorts, the trees, the road signs, the people.We were stopped in our tracks by a beautiful flock of starlings. Like a brush from a watercolour they drew flight. Impossible to capture but enchanting to watch and hear from, volume disappearing, re-emerging, twisting, turning.
As we rode, we started to notice more and more red poppies and violet cornflowers lining the roadways, suggesting we’re getting closer to the battlefields.
We rode along the border of Holland and Belgium in the middle of a forest which felt like a bit of a no mans land. It was the first time we felt there was a small patch of wildness, but one thing is for sure, you are never too far from another person in this part of the world. Holland on one side, Belgium on the other, we ended up off the beaten track and did some dirt bike riding and eventually got through a paddock. We almost ended up staying at the nudist camp but we were put off by the enthusiasm of an older guy who was trying to sell it to us, rather to the boys – hard. We decided on doing a few kilometres more and ended up in a camping ground just over the Belgian border which was sketchy but bearable for the night. We earned our place here when our dish washing technique was demonstrated using dirt and ash that Lisa scrounged from an unused fire pit. When we go camping in Australia it works a dream – 1/3 ash, 1/3 dirt and 1/3 sand with some long grasses bundled together to make a scourer. Perfectly harmless, efficient and biodegradable.
The taste of the water is disgustingly raw. It’s strange how an imaginary line creates such a different taste in water.
The aim tonight is to sleep as long as possible. We really need it. Tomorrow we have another big day but less than today. We really have to start planning our rythme because at this rate it’s going to be impossible to find the time to do any school work. The touring school idea is far off for the moment.
Saturday 6 July
The 100th Tour de France started in Brussels yesterday but by the time we get there they will have cycled to the bottom of France! Their 200 kilometres in four hours doesn’t quite match our domesticated (currently flat) 60 kilometres per day… Antwerp to the groove of 60kms of hard unrelenting wind against us today. The boys are totally fine and coping without any issues whatsoever. They just keep going and then still have time to monkey around when we get to our camping spot.
Had lunch in Antwerp after a visit to one of the UNESCO world heritage sites we had on our list – The Plantin-Moretus House-Workshops-Museum, the only surviving print workshop and publishing house in the world dating back to the Renaissance and Baroque periods.
We ate in a Moroccan restaurant that had only been open 2 months. Our presence with our laden bikes seemed to draw a lot of attention to the restaurant, which we were happy for if it meant that the wonderful owner would benefit. While we were waiting for the food to arrive, Lisa went into the store opposite and the Taiwanese woman behind the counter already knew where we were from and what we were doing. Impressive!
As much as we would have loved to continue eating, we got back on our bikes and headed for the Scheldt river. On our way we were treated to the distant sounds of a jazz band en plein air as we waited 30 minutes for the boat. Once on the other side, we came across more and more aeolian. Should have been an indication of the wind we were up against! On the bike track, we merged behind an elderly couple on their electric bikes for a few kilometres. There really is something to be said for the leader of the pack breaking the resistance for the peloton behind. Not speaking a word of English or French, the elderly couple not only protected us from the wind but felt obliged to point out the potatoe chip factory and other points of interest in the area as we trailed behind. We were most impressed with the scale of these very tall, proud aeolians. We got up close. So close in fact that we could hear the swooping, swooshing sound their massive blades were making. Truly impressive, hopeful machinery that rightly reach for the stars.
We made it to a camping ground not far from Fort Ferdinandus in Holland. We charged our phones in the toilets and did our first load of washing and experienced our first rain which sounds like is much needed here according to the owner of the farm who has several paddocks of onions, potatoes, flowers and other crops as well as livestock.
An early night tonight as we prepare for more of the unrelenting wind as it comes off the Atlantic. Today’s road travelled is gone and never to be seen again, like the starlings passage.
Sunday 7 July
The trick to getting the boys to stop being monkeys in the tent is to threaten to walk out naked in front of the bustling camping ground we’ve found for the night just outside of Bruges – otherwise known as ‘The Venice of the North’.
Today we rode another 60kms from Fort Ferdinandus/Axel in Holland and have made our way into Belgium again. This time however, we won’t be crossing back over the border. We had the fear of god put into us this morning when we were told that all the shops close at 10am in Holland on Sundays so we peddled as fast as we could to the nearest supermarket to stock up for breakfast, lunch, dinner today and tomorrow. The idea of not having at the very least nibbles or one meal on hand is simply not an option with five hungry bellies and a budget to work to.
We were also missing sunscreen. Although its cold, 21 degrees here feels like 17, when the sun comes out which we’re riding under for such an extended time, you easily get burnt. It was a difficult day to plan clothes wise. The wind is so cold but of course after 20 minutes on the bike you’re getting pretty warm. You stop for 5 minutes and you’re cold again … We did our last shop in the Netherlands and then headed out against the wind again, although today it was just a little kinder. We rode through a cathedral like Poplar tree lined passage that went for at least 10kms along a canal. The trees were at least 45 metres tall and each had a tag which Léon noticed had a different number sequence at the beginning of each bridge. The trees imbued the entire passage with a sense of majesty, reverence and quiet contemplation. The cathedrals of Europe seem inspired by this natural architecture as were the stained glass windows mimicking the dappled sunlight coming through the tree tops. Unlike a cathedral however, the bird calls added a heavenly dimension that no choir could match. Then it was back on a combination of paved and cobblestone roads. Like tight rope walkers, we rode on the edge of the paved area on the soft grass so as not to rattle our brains.
As we rode and like the main character in Suskind’s Perfume, Lisa believed she cracked the code of the intoxicating essence of the perfume in the air. The fundamental base being a mix of horse and cow manure. She is convinced the muskiness of the manure gives body to the sweet perfume of the wildflowers.
The boys scared the hell out of Lisa and Xavier after reaching our camping ground. They started out by playing not too far in the bushes behind the camping ground. They were still in sight, then nothing. Total silence. Nowhere to be seen. Xavier got on his bike and rode around the entire park to find them. After 15 minutes of looking we were starting to spin in disbelief, ‘can this really be happening?’ type of disbelief, about to go the the reception and ask for help, but after a few final whistles and shout outs, they emerged from the bushes, unharmed and completely oblivious to our panic!
Xavier has had a pretty shit end of the day. Spilt milk in one bag, splattered hummus in another and then he realised that he lost his bath towel which really sucks because they are so compact, light and cost a bit of a bomb. This evening Lisa finally started on a homeschooling plan. After a week, we have found a certain rhythm and are ready to take that on as well. It won’t be perfect and we’ll refine it as we go but at least the plan has form.
Tomorrow, with breakfast, we will have a short history lesson about the city of Bruges, which the UNESCO World Heritage website will help with.
Monday 8 July
76kms today, even though it was a very short trip to Bruges where we spent time taking in the inviting human scale architectural pleasures and quirks of the old city, its main place, Markt, indeed marked by its belfry and the many ornate facades of the buildings facing it. We couldn’t go into all of the buildings we wanted to so we chose the exquisite Basilique du Saint-Sang de Bruges.
The attention to detail was breathtaking. The colours, the patterns, the textures, the scales, the variety of painterly styles, the respectful merging of all these elements. The time necessary to create such work not only demands a skill, a dedication and deep belief, but it requires a complete denial of time so as not to rush the representation of each message and its meaning. Time, or rather its denial, shone in all its brilliance. Irrespective of whether we understand the meanings in our fast, skim the surface type of world today, the timelessness has been sealed for all of us to delve into – given a moment or two. It became clear how texture gives meaning to the world around you.
The feeling a clothed wall offers, the warmth of a wooden ceiling, the reliability of heavy wooden beams. In these places of worship, creativity, love, time and passion are marked on every surface – the walls, the floors, the columns, the ceilings. The inquisitiveness merged the mastery of metal work together with the story of colour, volume and rounded voluptuous forms accentuated in the refinement of the lead light which the light completes. The textured sculptures are at the service of depicting a narrative that leaves an impression on the soul. We bathed in the magic, wrapped ourselves in its cloaked saintly blood and then went on to eat delicious puffy gaufres covered in dark chocolate and strawberries for the boys.
Sugared up, we rode on to Ghent. As we were leaving Bruges, Oreste commented on how this was ‘a place of ponies, ducklings and lots of birds’. The boys remarked how strong and healthy the cows and the bulls look. Ghent was one of the cities we really wanted to experience because we had read an article before leaving Sydney singing its praises for its supposed lack of cars in the city centre. Our experience was very disappointing. There were as many cars in Ghent as there were in the other cities we’ve visited so far. We couldn’t understand why Ghent had deserved such an article. We moved on.
We didn’t realise that all shops are closed on Mondays in Belgium. We couldn’t eat anywhere and had to ride an extra 5 kms to get to a supermarket that we found thanks to the recommendations of a handsome young guy and the directions of another guy at a bus stop in the otherwise lifeless streets.
The terrain started to change today and although it wasn’t too hilly, there has been a marked change in the number of short but sharp uphills and downhills. We can say goodbye to the flats of Holland.
Tuesday 9 July
Writing from the top of a sturdy green hedge. An alternative standup desk. A cold night. We got down to 9 degrees. The condensation meant that we packed a damp tent. Feeling pasty.
Ninth day in and we’re starting to feel tired. No break. Irrespective, we still have to get the basics of food and home. It’s challenging finding the time for homeschooling especially when you have the attitude to deal with.
We left our campsite in Haaltert this morning. Bid the other family of four that was riding in the opposite direction – from Brussels to Bruges with two young girls in tow – a safe continuation. We started our uphill exit and were stopped by a herd of cows being rounded up. The deep tones of the bovine chorus were fabulously of another realm, reverberating deep within us, topped by the high pitched punches of the bull.
After some 30kms we got to Brussels and were welcomed by a patisserie that sold flat, fluffy square shaped, pan fired breads. We went nuts. After the first round which we ate in a park opposite, we went back and stocked up on some other supplies including savoury sausage pastries and the boys got into chocolate croissants filled with crème pâtissière. We continued to ride into the centre of Brussels but weirdly enough, couldn’t find anywhere to eat ‘des moules frittes’. We gave up on the idea of eating this national dish when all of a sudden it appeared infront of us. The restaurant was a beautiful art-deco palace with hardly anyone inside. We sat out front to keep an eye on our bikes and soak up the sun. Lunch was huge and delicious. After exchanging stories with the owner, we went into the city do our history lesson with the boys. La Grand-place, Manneken Pis, Belfries of Brussels and then the museum of Victor Horta which had a fabulous impact on Léon and Arsène’s sense of architecture, detail and the internal/external play using greenery.
We continued our path and travelled to La Dime camping area, via Le Plan incliné de Ronquiéres which is an impressive 1960’s boat lift used to raise boats between different water levels. An imposing structure on the landscape which creates a geographical marker for miles around.
The terrain was seriously challenging. When we reached the peak, the landscape looked somewhat Tuscan. Oreste was trailing behind and then when we got to the hardest and most challenging climbs, he just came up behind all of us, playing a numbers game and in formidable spirits.
Xavier and Lisa collapsed on the grass in pure exhaustion on arrival to the camping ground. The boys got back on their bikes and went to play soccer, basketball and whatever else with the local kids. Interrupted from pitching home, Lisa and Xavier were invited to have a beer and taste a hard local liquor – Eau de Vie – similar to the Italian Grappa – with a jolly group of friends who met some years back when they squatted another local camping area not far from where we are today. They were fascinated by our trip but most importantly they had a very warm and jovial sense of humour. We really enjoyed spending time with them, despite forgetting to share our names.
We skipped dinner tonight. So full from today. The only one that was still hungry on arrival was Léon of course, but he filled the hole with bread, saucisson and dried fruit.
Wednesday 10 July
Up early and left La Dime to head to the World Heritage Neolithic Flint Mines at Spiennes in Mons, towards France. Most of the morning was spent riding along the many and various types of «écluse » – sluice in English – which are essentially hydraulic boat-lifts. We visited one of The Four World heritage listed Lifts on the Canal du Centre next to Strépy-Bracquegnies built in the late 1800’s. It was still abstract as to how these beasts worked but then we reached « L’écluse de Thieul » where we all watched the process of a boat going from one water level to another from start to finish. A fabulous piece of engineering. We wondered how many boundaries the engineers would have had to overcome to come up with such a fascinating mechanism. Solid doors firmly shut. The void starts filling in to the same level the boat is sitting at. Once at the same level, those doors open and the boat sails into the void. The other door at the lower level stays firmly shut holding onto all the water it just received. Slowly the water in the void starts to decrease, gently lowering the boat to the level of water down below. Once at that level is reached the huge metal door in front of the boat slowly starts to open and off it goes. A novelty to begin with but it would become so incredibly boring after the 5th one – and there are many.
After riding through some beautiful open expanses, including where the legendary « La bataille de Mons » took place in August 1914 witnessed by the castle still perched up on a distant hill, and after our usual lunch of sandwiches made from the bread, cheese and cured meats we find at markets or in roadside stores as we travel from village to village, we made it to the Silex Museum. On entering you don’t at all have the impression you are entering a museum. Rather it looks and feels like a work site with a very simple front desk and modest store. In fact it is a worksite. The lived experiential approach to museology here is so satisfying. Here they found 16 meter deep mine shafts dug out some 6000 years ago to extract flint to make tools. In fact as we were riding to the museum, the powdery white tracks were strewn with various types of white coated stones which we didn’t really pay too much attention to. After visiting the museum we understood that in these stones were the very material that the Neolithic mined.
Inspired by the mines, the ride out of Mons took much longer because the boys stopped every few minutes to collect fine specimens of silex. Lisa collected pure chalk rocks to soak up the sweaty hands. Based on the techniques and the skill applied by the Neolithic people when making tools, the boys started to make their own flints with the silex they mined themselves. Like an explosion of a distant star, thousands of years collided with the now when the boys split the found silex to make their own knives and cut their first lengths of wheat. The discovery, the practice, the thrill. An immediate connection to the ancestors, their ingenuity will forever be engraved.
We eventually made it to Dour where we were planning on spending the night but we didn’t realise that the town was hosting one of the biggest ‘Douf Douf’ music festivals in Europe so when we arrived at the first camping spot, the lady got annoyed with us for just showing up! At which point Xavier got just as annoyed back and after an entertaining banter “à la Française” between the two, we decided to keep riding and cross over into France where we had more chance of finding a camping spot, which we did, in Frasnoy. The water tastes better on this side.
We rode 80kms again today meaning that we only had enough time to get to the camping ground, get the tents up, have a bite to eat and go to bed. Unusually, the camping area had a swimming pool and after the long, hot day the boys enjoyed some R&R in the pool. We were even able to do a load of washing.
It’s now 9pm and everyone finally seems to be asleep. It’s been incredibly tiring and aggravating trying to get the boys to bed at a reasonable time so we can wake up at a reasonable hour and to get to where we need to be the next day with enough time to do some touring school work. Aside from the physical challenge of 80kms per day, riding from morning till night is wrecking havoc with the ideal plans of riding and visiting until about 4pm, stopping for some R&R, homework, journal writing, then dinner and eventually bed.
That would be perfect but Xavier and Lisa just don’t seem to agree on rhythm nor methodology. Lisa’s arguing that 80kms is too much per day and it doesn’t give us enough time to do any homework, nor time to correct the units of work they have already done, nor soak in the experiences. Xavier’s arguing that they are learning and experiencing so much that the only thing we should be asking the boys to do – at the very least – at the end of everyday is their journal.