Belgium (Page 2)

Up until today, I had largely been spared from getting wet. It would’ve been nice to finish the tour under a beautiful, sunny sky. But today, with the very first push of the pedals, it started to drizzle—and within fifteen minutes, the rain came down in earnest.
Even though it was only a short ride to Westvleteren Abbey, I arrived completely soaked. I got there just a few minutes before opening time. At the chime of the clock, I—along with quite a few others—hurried inside. Some were buying cases of the legendary beer; others, like me, were just after a glass. And yes, it was 10am—but when in Westvleteren…
I had hoped to take one bottle to go, a final souvenir, but they only sell by the case. I might’ve been tempted to lug one along—it was, after all, the final day of my trip—but with 50 km still to go, rain falling steadily, and my bag already full, it wasn’t feasible.
This beer is rare. One of the monks summed it up perfectly: “We make the beer to live, but we do not live for beer.” I definitely won’t find it back home. I ordered their famed dark beer, also known as Flemish Burgundy. In 2014, it was proclaimed the best beer in the world.
While paying, I turned on the charm and managed to persuade the waitress to sell me one unopened bottle. I’ll share it with Julie, along with a couple of others I picked up along the way. They’re now safely tucked into my Brompton bag.

Ten kilometers down the road was another abbey that brews Trappist beer. Well, technically it was their outpost—Bar Bernard—not the abbey itself, where they serve the abbey’s brews. It was the final stop on my beer pilgrimage. Despite the short distance, I arrived drenched once again.
For lunch, I ordered Flemish stew, which warmed me up—along with another beer, of course.

After spending a good hour enjoying both, I braced myself and headed back out into the cold and rain for the final stretch, forty-odd kilometers to Lille.
Mercifully, the rain let up not long after I left the brewery—thank God! Otherwise, it would’ve been a miserable couple of hours.
Shortly after that, I crossed into France. It felt as if the border also marked a shift in the landscape: hills began to appear where flats had dominated. The architecture shifted too; the houses no longer had that unmistakable Flemish charm. And last but not least, people were no longer speaking English.
Just outside Lille, right along my route, was the oldest brewery in the Hauts-de-France region. Unfortunately, it only opens to the public on Fridays—so no luck there. But a few hundred meters further, I stumbled upon an pop-up market, with local vendors. I stopped out of curiosity and got lucky—the brewery had a stand! I scored another trophy: a beer that had just won a gold medal at a competition in Paris. Not bad for a random roadside stop.
I made it to Lille with enough time to pack Greengo away without rushing. I took the TGV to Paris and then caught another train home.
And just like that, the trip was over.
Wet, slightly worn out, and carrying some excellent beer—I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Today in numbers:

71 km – distance cycled
12 — a.k.a. Flemish Burgundy, is the official name of the beer often regarded as one of the best in the world
7 000 — hectoliters of beer annually produced by The Saint Sixtus Abbey of Westvleteren