While putting these words in a sentence, I’m thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to find  some salvation, ‘cause speaking out the truth it was my own idea to make this trip. At first, just for starting a new adventure. Just a dream i wanted to accomplish once in my life. But it was my beloved wife who told me not to wait until my body would be perished, soaking the earth with liquids and flesh. And it’s at that point I knew she was speaking the truth… so I planned my first steps and am ready to leave the comfort of my hometown.

Starting on the 23th of May 2025, my journey begins… And as an Artist, father, friend or even a stranger… I invite you to take this trip with me. As written within the description of my final Artwork … going beyond life, looking forward to whom I will meet, what I will see. Finding peace within. Finding those drops of water  that will slow down the fire. Buen Camino to all who will be walking with me.

Act2 / aC. 23 May 2025

Facing the unexpected.

I would like to let you know as a reader that, at the moment I am writing this down, the first stage has already been completed. To keep the feeling as realistic as possible, I am recording the entire episode as if everything is yet to unfold. A journey to the past, fused with the present. Today is May 23, 2025. Whereas in the past days, unrest came to disturb my sleep, today I feel an exuberant tension. I am ready to face the unknown with my head held high. And although I literally feel the weight of everything I carry pressing down on my back, I am prepared for it.

While the destination lies several kilometers away from me, I am convinced I will reach my interim stops in time. With new seven-league boots, I will cover the distances I laid out in ‘no time,’ at least this is inspired by Mr. Optimismus and Mrs. Superbia who both, without realizing it themselves, will turn out to have me in their claws.

Since uncertainty and perfectionism have both been constant companions of mine since childhood, it seemed best to plan all my overnight stays in advance. While in Spain, faith and the journey to Compostela are seen as a ‘to do’ on the Spaniard’s list of achievements, love in Belgium is a bit less. Churches stand empty, parishes have been merged, and with the availability of BnBs, hotels, and inns, there are few places where a pilgrim can find refuge in Belgium. At least, there are few abbeys, monasteries, and parish houses.

Whispered by a friend, of flesh and blood, a beautiful initiative has emerged in Belgium for the slow traveler. It turns out to fit perfectly with the stories of love, compassion, and friendship that I have encountered in the historical writings of experienced travelers. Through ‘Welcome To My Garden,’ it was and still is possible to stay overnight in people’s gardens. Aside from a small fee to see and contact the overnight locations online, you pay nothing for the stay itself. A saving of several euros since you have to reckon with needing about six days to traverse this small country on your own.

Plans were forged and the route was meticulously worked out with an average walking distance of 27 kilometers per day (approximately 17.8 miles).

E 1 / D 1

As you can see in the proposed schedule, today a 27 km ride is on the agenda. Accompanied by my life partner, who is even more enthusiastic than I am at the starting line, we take the train to Sint-Jacobskerk in Antwerp. Arriving at Antwerp station, we squeeze through the mass of day tourists to our starting destination.

Today’s stage goes towards Temse. Through the pedestrian tunnel we quickly leave the hustle and bustle of the city behind us and with the sun in our faces we make our way along the Schelde. Lost in thought about the journey that awaits us, we enjoy the nature along the flood plain of Kruibeke, Bazel and Rupelmonde. The few rural villages that we cross reveal their dark secrets. Stories of ghosts and shadows, hidden between the stones of the centuries-old buildings such as the Graventoren in Rupelmonde. Which by the way turns out to be built on the ruins of an old moated castle from the 12th century.

After a day of enjoying nature, we reach our destination in Temse. While the sun is still on the horizon, it turns out to be later than expected. The town hall is closed, so I decide to postpone getting the much-needed stamp as proof of this stage until tomorrow. Musing about everything that has passed my attention, we decide to end the day. For the time being without too many serious complaints or injuries. The journey seems to have started well.

E 1 / D 2

After having a good sleep and a solid breakfast, I say goodbye to my partner who will be heading home. For the next few days, I will walk on without a companion. Time for myself and my thoughts. While others appreciate company, I wanted to take some time for myself on this journey. Something we often escape from in the hustle and bustle of modern life. Internally groaning softly, I lift the 20-kilogram backpack onto my shoulders. Casting a final glance at my destination, I first head towards the town hall and then towards Gijzegem, a small village located halfway
between the cities of Dendermonde and Aalst.

By the way, a brief explanation about the stamp booklet. The credential or stamp booklet is needed to prove that you are making a pilgrimage along one of the Routes. This way, you can get a discount when checking in at an inn or spend a night in a church or abbey. Upon arriving in Santiago, you will receive a compostela upon presenting your stamp booklet, a beautiful document with a Latin text confirming that you have arrived in Compostela to honor the apostle James.

For myself, it is of course nice to keep the booklet as a souvenir of the whole journey. To receive your Compostela, walkers only need to present two stamps per day for the last 100 km. So you are certainly not required to collect stamps for the entire journey.

My choice, however, goes to the full route, so I quickly dive into the town hall and with my best smile, I get my second stamp here. By the way, I got the first one at the St. Jacob’s Church in Antwerp, the starting point from where I began my journey.

Just outside Temse, I notice from the cloud cover above me that worse weather is on the way. If I am to believe the news reports, rain and wind are on the agenda. For now, I haven’t got the winning lottery ticket in hand and only the wind is involved. Amidst loud protests, I immediately cross the Scheldt and head towards the Sas van Bornem, the oldest hydraulic engineering structure in Flanders (1592).

Upon arrival, it turns out that the renovated Sashuis is closed, so I head straight for the quiet area in Weert, where I would have to take the ferry to the other side. In the meantime, we have arrived at the ferry service, but it turns out to be moored on the other side at the moment. This gives me a moment to quickly take some notes and put on my poncho because a low-pressure area has managed to reach me and the water is literally running into my shoes.

Regarding today’s journey, I can tell you that I left the Schelde behind in Dendermonde, and since then the Dender has been my new companion. Moreover, the journey was quite pleasant as it mainly went through the Beneden Dender nature reserve. By the way, it has stopped raining, so while I let everything dry here for a bit, I will go look for the local event hall in a few minutes and mingle with the locals. I wish you all a good night.

E 1 / D 3

Episode 1 / Day 3 has arrived. Since I went to bed early, I’m also up early. Luckily, the hostess is up early too, so I’m invited to join her for a quick bite to eat. After a pleasant final chat, I gather my things, and as the first raindrops greet me, my boots find the next directions, and I’m on my way again.

Today, we’re heading towards Roosdaal, about 27km further towards the French border. Before we pass there, however, we’ll normally pass through the city of Aalst. Known among Belgians for its multi-day Carnival, it’s also the birthplace of Daens, a priest who championed the cause of the lower class and fought against the prevailing social inequality of the time.

On the way to Aalst, it is indeed that I learned one of the things this route is all about. After all, it is nice to arrive at the destination, but what turns out to be much more important are the people and events you encounter along the way. It is near the warehouses of Aalst, where the people of Aalst spend a year working on their Carnival floats, that I have my first conversation on the road with an enthusiastic woman from Aalst. A lady, who was walking to pick up her bike, stopped and spoke to me about the fact that I was carrying an enormously heavy backpack. Of course, I couldn’t disagree with her. It became clear to me that this would not be the first time someone would address me.

Once in Aalst, my main task was to visit the administrative center, and after a small but naturally necessary remark about the rival “Dendermonde,” I managed to acquire a new stamp. For those who don’t know where the fiery debate between Aalst and Dendermonde originated: feel free to look up the folk tale of the Ros Beiaard (Ros Bayard), and everything will become clear. As an Antwerp native, I’m thankfully outside of this scene, but I can’t deny that a folk song was even written about this debate and taught to me by my own mother. Incidentally, I have no idea if this feud is still known among young people, and since it’s a historical fact from around the 11th century, perhaps it’s a good thing this story is dying out. There are enough new feuds in the world to keep humanity occupied. This way, the fires aren’t fanned again, and the inflamed emotions can calm down.

After a short break and with a full stomach, I continue my route and head towards Aalst’s green lung. Aalst’s city park connects directly to Osbroek, a 24-hectare nature reserve. As I wade through this nature reserve, I enjoy the diversity of flora and fauna where I’d mainly spent the past few days observing the riverbank.

Since we’re now heading much closer to the Flemish Ardennes, I can clearly tell by the weight I’m carrying when the going gets tough. The walking poles I brought are proving very useful, and thanks to their use, I immediately feel I can maintain a much faster pace than without them. From Osbroek, I immediately delve into another nature reserve, the Molenbeekmeersen, and it turns out that, with the exception of a few villages, nothing noteworthy will happen for the rest of the day. With the wind at my back, I arrive smoothly at my destination, Okegem.

Just like the past few days, I’m once again welcomed with complete freedom and joy. The children of the family I’m staying with are incredibly curious about who’s camping in their garden, and amid a barrage of questions, I pitch my tent under the shelter of the shed, which turns out to be at the back of the garden. Soon after, I’m sitting comfortably with them at the table, chatting about their daily activities and the children. After a tour and a look at the restrooms, I’m allowed to use the bathroom and enjoy a hot shower while the children are put to bed.

Intermezzo II: First Experience, First Lesson.

While the hike has gone well so far, and I’ve already gained some insights, I faced a minor setback last night (day three). During an unfortunate shift, I bumped my shin on an object in the shed. For now, I seem to be okay with the damage, but the coming days would reveal that not scheduling rest days and predetermining walking distances of around 27km would put a significant strain on my shin. Significant swelling and the risk of shin splints would keep me in check for the next few days. This is something I might have been able to avoid if I had taken sufficient breaks and occasionally limited the distances.
So, what I’ll be keeping in mind for the next stage is that I need to take plenty of breaks. Partly to compensate for potential overload and partly to better enjoy the things I encounter along the way—or at least the positive experiences. And perhaps more importantly, for everyone’s sake, I can wash and dry the clothes I have with me, unless I want to keep highwaymen and stray game well out of harm’s way.

E 1 / D 4

So, we’ve reached day 4. I slept a little less last night, especially because a nocturnal scurrying of unknown origin had caught my attention. Since I was lying under an open shed, which was visible from the public road, my imagination ran wild, and it took a while before I could finally fall asleep.

Fortunately, I did get some sleep, and while the whole family has already left for school and work, I have the opportunity to replenish my water supply and freshen up a bit.

Once again, I’m amazed at the trust people still have in each other. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it yet, but while in Antwerp we have to close all our windows and doors to prevent our house from being looted, here everything stays open, and the bikes are unleashed. It’s nice to see that things can be done differently. With these thoughts still fresh in my mind, I set off again towards… “Geraardsbergen.”

Since my accommodation was a bit off the route, I first headed towards the connection and then towards Ninove. After about an hour and a half, I reached this town and started looking for the Tourist Office for my next stamp. Upon arrival, the old hospital chapel, where the Tourist Office is located, was covered in scaffolding, but with the help of a kind resident, I learned I could find the Tourist Office in a side aisle of the adjacent church. Upon entering, I quickly spotted the “Giants” for which Ninove is famous, and after a brief exchange of travel plans at the reception desk, I was soon back outside with an extra stamp in my stamp book. After a quick check, I turned right towards the center, passing Ninove Abbey Church. A little later, I had the choice of taking a shorter route, via the Dender River, or a longer route, through the Dender Valley nature reserve.

After a brief reflection, I decide to follow the main route and head towards the Dender Valley. While I’d experienced little to no discomfort from hiking the past few days, to my surprise, things seem a bit worse today. Mild shooting pains shoot through my shin, so I quickly decide to sit down for a moment to check on my shin. As I roll up my trouser leg, a thick, red swelling quickly reveals that the stubbing of my leg the day before is the cause. With a grimace, I hoist my backpack back over my shoulder and continue my journey, limping along, using the poles I’m carrying as crutches for extra support.

After crossing the old footbridge at Zwarte Flesch, I reach the center of Pollare, where I decide to deviate from the original route and follow the main road to Keerbergen. For the first time, doubt strikes, and I imagine my journey coming to an untimely end. Where the route previously ran through nature reserves, it now seems painfully monotonous. As I cover the kilometers, lost in thought, the stone houses unconsciously pass my view, and I cross the villages of Zandbergen and Onkerzele, finally reaching Geraardsbergen towards evening. Just a few meters from my final destination for the day, a car suddenly honks, slowing down next to me as the passenger window opens. I look questioningly at the driver, assuming he wants to ask me something. From an unexpected angle, I receive a “Buen Camino” (Good Camino). It turns out the driver himself has also traveled part of the route. I wave him a hearty thank you and think back to the stories I’ve read. Once you’ve walked part of the route, you suddenly become part of a whole extended family, apparently. Grateful for this positive ending, I ring the doorbell of my next host.

It turns out the lady whose garden I’m using has a rather busy evening ahead of her, so gratefully I quietly pitch my tent next to the conservatory and decide to keep my distance for the evening. This, too, is part of the Camino. A person sometimes needs to be undisturbed. I decide to get to bed early today because before continuing on tomorrow morning, I’d like to take some time to visit Geraardsbergen and its famous “Muur” (Wall), a must-see for any cycling enthusiast.

The Muur van Geraardsbergen: this UNESCO World Heritage site marks the penultimate climb in the cycling race known as the “Tour of Flanders.” This steep climb is 1075m long, with a gradient of 20% in some sections. The difficulty, however, wasn’t the climb itself, but apparently the cobblestones used for this road were laid horizontally, forcing the cyclists to climb a flight of stairs.

E 1 / D 5

I have to be honest and say that I did call home briefly yesterday during the ride. The injury I sustained caused a mental dip, and I was inadvertently afraid I’d have to end the ride early. Fortunately, my support and confidante was ready to offer me the necessary encouragement, and after a few candles lit at home, the fear had subsided somewhat, and I’m now able to simply wait and see what happens next.

While I’m mentally reviewing all the information from today and the past few days, I carefully make my way down the cobblestone wall after a short visit to the chapel atop the Oudenberg. It rained last night, and the cobblestones are incredibly slippery. It turns out my shin hasn’t healed yet, and with every unexpected movement, I feel pain shooting through my lower leg. It promises to be a tough day.

Today we have a 22.2-kilometer route on the program to Ath. We’ll cross the language border between Flanders and Wallonia near Overboerlare airfield. So, it’s time to slowly rediscover our French lessons. Looking at the route, we only pass through a few smaller hamlets, the town of Lessines. This town is known to some for its porphyry quarries, but even more famous, and a native of Lessines, is René Magritte. A renowned surrealist painter born there on November 21, 1898.

Currently, a few local rain showers are preventing me from writing down the route “in a minute.” Therefore, I’m forced to finish the report here and, like a true Quasimodo, protect my guidebook while I try to dodge the raindrops.

Some time later… in Ath

It turns out the weather isn’t exactly kind to me today, so it’s now four o’clock in the afternoon and I’ve arrived in Ath. The injury I sustained, possibly partly due to the typical Belgian weather, has taken its toll, and I’ve experienced the day as a real rollercoaster. After a few minutes of searching, I find the correct house number, but it turns out the residents aren’t there yet. Luckily, I have the owner’s phone number handy, and after a quick phone call, I sneak through the side gate to the back. The garden turns out to be divided into a vegetable patch, a terrace, an open shed, and some fruit trees near a small stone barbecue. So I decide to pitch my tent under the shelter of the fruit trees and right next to the barbecue. Meanwhile, I’m hoping the weather will change so both my clothes and my overnight accommodation can dry.

Since the owners aren’t there yet, I take the opportunity to change my wet clothes into some dry ones. While I’m hanging everything out to dry in the small storage room right next to my tent, I hear a car pulling into the driveway. Shortly after, I’m greeted in Dutch and given a tour so I can find all the utilities. After a brief introduction, I head out into the area to find a local brasserie where, over a light bite, I’ll take the time to send my followers the photos I took today. Despite today being a tough one, I decide to end on a positive note and find some lighthearted and appropriate captions to accompany my photos. The road is still long, after all, and I have something planned for tomorrow that I’m really looking forward to. My friend K. had offered to walk part of the route with me, and tomorrow morning my wife will drop him off here in the center of Ath.

E 1 / D 6

Today is Wednesday, May 28th. We’ve already walked for five days, covering just over 127 km. So, about halfway through my first planned stage. Thankfully, the rain has stopped for a while, but unfortunately, my tent hasn’t dried out. A few small puddles, which normally don’t belong in my nighttime home, catch my eye, and I’m glad I didn’t float outside on my air mattress. So, I pack everything wet and quickly head to the town center, looking for a small coffee shop where I should be able to eat a sandwich and meet my visitors.

Arriving at the sandwich shop, I notice a crowd of middle-aged students, all sitting together cheerfully at the tables in the coffee shop in the morning. Unlike in Flanders, it’s apparently customary here for young people to gather just before school starts to chat while enjoying a sandwich before heading to school.

After ordering my sandwich, I calmly sat down at a table. While I was going over today’s plans, I heard the door open, and my good friend and fellow metal enthusiast, along with my wife, were standing in the doorway, smiling broadly, waving at me.

Although walking alone wasn’t particularly difficult, I was still glad my buddy would be providing some company for the next few days. The injury I’d sustained had taken a serious mental toll, and a little company would be a welcome respite from my gloomy thoughts. After a brief exchange of thoughts and a thorough inspection by my wife, I quickly changed from my soaking wet clothes into a dry change of clothes. I sat up, and after a few moments, we all stood outside, eager for the rest of our adventure.

Where we had just been walking mainly along the Dender River, the castle turns out to be situated on the edge of a huge forest, over 1,000 hectares in size. This forest is supposed to be home to La Fontaine Bouillante (the boiling fountain). Despite our prying eyes, the fountain proves to be too well hidden. Fortunately, we do manage to find the Mer de Sable on our path, because this is where we need to stop if we want to stay on the correct route, now temporarily indicated by the red and white markings of the GR route that crosses the region. While we had previously relied mainly on the directions in the pilgrim guide “Via Tenera” and the downloaded track on my phone, the GR route turns out to be well marked. As the evening sun sets, hidden among a green oasis of pine trees, we find our overnight accommodation, where we will pitch our tent for the last time for this stage. After meeting our very friendly hosts, and after a final throes of hard work, we’re invited to sample the local beer with them. With a pleasant chat, we close out the evening, hoping the neighbor’s watchdog doesn’t sneak past the tents at night.

E 1 / D 7

Since today’s ride is over 30km and I hadn’t yet seen a fluffy bed, I thought it would be interesting to sleep in a decent bed for once tonight. I also figured my companion and buddy would be grateful for that, after a 32.7km ride.

Today’s ride would run from Stambruges to the heart of Vallenciennes. The route itself would partly follow the Pommerceul – Condé-sur-l’Escaut canal, where we would cross the border with France at the lock bridge near Saint-Aybert.

With an epic milestone approaching, I’m incredibly excited to be standing on French soil. After a hearty breakfast and filling our water bladders, we bid farewell to Stambruges and trek along the water towards the French border. As my shoes slowly wear away, I notice the discomfort I’ve been experiencing over the past few days slowly starting to subside. While my own pace is slowly picking up, my companion’s is also starting to slow down. I suspect the backpack he’s carrying is just a tad heavier than mine. Or… it’s the truth that you have to grit your teeth through those first few days. By now, I’d passed day six, and he’s starting round two. Apparently, today was going to be a relay race where we’d take turns setting the pace. But just like in real life, without stopping for a moment.

Amidst loud cheers and a lot of groans, I gradually see the border looming in the distance. A massive work of art, reaching for the sky, towers high above the surrounding area. The work apparently depicts a friendly handshake between the two countries. But it’s also static proof that we’re approaching France.

Since we haven’t eaten yet, we decide to deviate from the route and increase our chances of a hot meal by heading towards the center of Crespin. Upon arrival, it becomes clear that most villages in the region are slowly dying, as one business after another is permanently closed or even destined for demolition. An important fact I’ll have to keep in mind for any future stages.

After more than an hour of weaving through the back streets, past the many faded glories, we thankfully find salvation in an international burger restaurant. Under the watchful eyes of the hungry diners present, we free ourselves of the deadly weight we’re carrying, and then, like starving lions, we throw ourselves at the ordering machine and the abundance of burgers we’ve ordered.

I glance at my watch, where the hands now read two o’clock in the afternoon. Not much time left to reach our destination, so after a quick update to my companion, we quickly hoist our training packs onto our shoulders and set off at a brisk pace towards Saint-Saulve. We’re currently halfway there, and we estimate we still have eighteen kilometers to cover, putting our estimated arrival time at 6:30 this evening.

Where we walked along the cool water this morning, the route now seems to be heading inland. Asphalt, gravel, sand, cobblestones, brick… All these materials are currently passing by, but for now, there’s no water in sight. We make our way between the rows of houses and meadows to our “Residence,” which we arrive at around 6:30, as expected.

Fortunately, fate and a temporary resident of the building are kind to us once again. After a quick glance at the shell dangling from my backpack, we learn that our fellow guest has himself hiked a “Via” from Slovenia to Trieste. A ten-day trek that had mainly left him with painful blisters.

Anyone expecting to be treated like royalty will be disappointed. A digital combination lock stands immovably between us and the entrance to our room and bathroom. With my companion’s advice, I try every possible combination that seems logical after analyzing the email instructions I received. To no avail…

After a brief exchange of words, he lets us through the entrance without a trace of suspicion. We thank him heartily, but I decide to call the receptionist anyway so we can gain access ourselves, should we need to venture out before dinner.

E 1 / D 8

Today is Saturday, the last day my friend and fellow villager will be walking with me. While his suffering is slowly reaching its final episode, the end point for me is only in sight for another two days. With a freshly washed face, I look in the mirror at the mass of wild hair that has sprung up luxuriantly from my lower jaw. I have no idea what fertilizers were used, but they’ve clearly done their job in eight days. This is to the great chagrin of my wife, who is not a fan of a lush, weed-covered facade.

After a final room check, we easily hoist our heavily laden backpacks onto our shoulders and continue our route, past the tourist office, towards Haspres. It quickly becomes clear that today we won’t be admiring much more than the cobblestones and fields that will stare back at us in silent satisfaction. Today, the temperatures are high enough for the dusty imprint we leave behind to quickly be carried away by the wind. No one will know we’ve walked here.

As we wander like shadows in a sandstorm, searching for clues to point us in the right direction, the small grains of dust gnashing between our teeth, it gradually becomes clear that the further I travel into France, the quieter it becomes. No more bustling cities, no more cars whizzing past, no pedestrians or cyclists. The only hint of human activity is the high-voltage power lines scattered across the landscape, crossing my hazy field of vision. The day passes in complete silence until we finally approach our destination in the evening. Our accommodation turns out to be a renovated farmhouse, completely secluded from the surrounding area. “Perhaps fortunately,” I think, because directly across from our house is a café where the entire village seems to be gathering today.

After a brief inspection of our accommodation, we quickly decide to brush off the dust between our teeth and quickly meet the café owner, a pleasant and eloquent young woman, and her slightly tipsy entourage, who are singing loudly and cheerfully, bringing half the place together. After a flurry of curious glances and a barrage of questions from all sides, it turns out the café is permanently closing for the evening. This couldn’t go unnoticed, of course, so the entire village was invited to celebrate together one last time.

Conversely, when the regulars soon hear the purpose of our unexpected visit, we quickly become the topic of conversation for the evening. And after a few complimentary drinks, to complete the surprise, I’m soon presented with a piece of paper. A piece of paper on which the entire female entourage wishes me, in French, a bon voyage. I can’t help but be touched by their gesture and, as I write this, thank them once again from the bottom of my heart. Already knowing that this will be a warm memory that will always stay with me.

E 1 / D 9

While the party likely continued into the early hours, we thankfully weren’t too bothered by anything else happening under the night sky. After breakfast, my companion decided to visit the local bakery while I slung my backpack on my shoulder, ready for the next leg. After a warm hug and three kisses, true to French fashion, we said our goodbyes, and I set off in search of the next clue. I quickly popped into the post office for my next stamp, and after a final glance at the now deserted street behind me, I looked ahead and picked up a brisk pace. Today was the end of the current route. In Hordain, the Via Tenera connects with the Via Scaldea, a pilgrimage route starting in Vlissingen and ending in Saint-Quentin. But that’s for later…

As already mentioned, tourist attractions seem to be gradually disappearing from the streets. I therefore suspect that future stages will be less extensive and will span multiple days. Unless, of course, I encounter something else worth mentioning.

Today, however, the sights are limited to a small cemetery called “York Cemetery.” It turns out to be a beautifully maintained plot, where 137 English and 10 German soldiers are buried. About a kilometer or two further, I come across another dilapidated windmill, but meter-high, almost impenetrable vegetation and a battered fence suggest it has been abandoned for ages. For safety reasons, I ignore the mill, and an hour later I reach Hordain, the end of the Via Tenera and, for me, the first significant milestone on the way to my destination.

Now it dawns on me that I’ve almost completed the first goal of my journey. I’m gradually feeling my emotions take over and I’m looking forward to crossing Vieil Escaut. Not much later, the moment arrives, and with tears in my eyes, I cross the small bridge over the Scheldt. Here in France, it’s only about ten meters wide, a whole lot narrower than when I left Antwerp. After an emotional pause, during which I update folks back home with a recorded message, I swap the guidebook for one still untouched by rain. From here, we follow the Via Scaldea, and it’s immediately clear that this route has either been more heavily used or has been renovated. Where the directions were barely legible before, the stickers here appear to be in good condition. This will make walking the upcoming route much easier.

With renewed energy and the prospect of reaching Cambrai today, I look for the first sign and set off again, trekking poles at the ready. It’s barely past noon, and I still have about half a day to go to my destination. Fortunately, the weather is on my side today, and as the sun slowly begins to redden my scalp, I enter the city of Cambrai a few hours later. Proportionally, it’s much larger than any other village I’ve passed, and I decide to add an extra day to explore. Although I’d initially planned to continue my journey, I decide to take my time exploring the city tomorrow.

After a phone call home, I find a small hotel room and lock up my backpack. First mission accomplished after nine days and 258 kilometers.

Intermezzo III: Not the end yet.