clairedavieswriter

Let the train take the strain, said I.
Hold my Stella, said the signalman in Liège.
It had all started so well… yesterday, the very helpful man in the ticket booth at Arlon station (still manned after 5pm, I observed) furnished me and Bernard with tickets (€27 and €4 respectively, for a four hour international journey), confirmed that we could travel at any time, even before 9am, and printed off an itinerary so I knew how long I had between trains at my two changes.
This morning, an equally helpful female guard told me where to stand on the platform to be in the right place for the carriage which was ‘specially adapted for bikes’.
Splendid, I thought, Belgium has really got this bike thing licked.
Everything went a bit downhill after that, and not in the way a cyclist generally enjoys.
First, there was the question of boarding the ‘special bike carriage’.

When he saw the steep steps, Bernard looked sceptical, but there was no other way. I took off his panniers and wrangled him aboard with the athleticism of Anne Widdecombe doing the tango on Strictly. All I can say is I’m glad he wasn’t a 30kg e-bike.
Once we were installed, things seemed to improve: we had the entire carriage to ourselves and Bernard even had curtains on his window

At Namur, I was fortunate that the only person boarding the train came to my door, so I pressed him into service to get Bernard down the steps – I’m not sure how I’d have managed on my own. But my trials weren’t over: the lift from the platform was out of order (at least they had one – in Arlon when I asked, the answer was an unapologetic Non). Let me tell you that taking a loaded bike up an escalator is not a manoeuvre I would recommend. Bernard took fright and it was all I could do to prevent him from galloping backwards.
After that, somewhat counterintuitively, I needed coffee to calm my nerves, and discovered that in Belgium a café au lait is called a Café Russe. Perhaps a rebrand might be in order – Café Ukrainien anyone?
When my next train arrived – oh joy: step-free access, and an entire carriage of flip-up seats to allow room for bikes. However, take careful note of the steps visible beyond the door..

At this point, a certain Liègeois played his joker. We had been sitting for a while in Huy (which, over the intercom in French, sounded exactly like ‘next stop, yes’) when the guard announced, in a neutral voice but with words oozing judgement, that the signalmen had gone on strike ‘suite d’une crise émotionnelle’.
I was just having an emotional crisis of my own at the thought of an unscheduled 40k ride to Maastricht when we got underway again, but Belgian trains were not done with me yet. When we arrived at Liège, the step-free door stayed inexplicably closed. Remember those internal steps? I had to rapidly divest Bernard of his panniers, race up the steps, down the ones to the platform, and repeat the process for Bernard, all the while hoping the train wouldn’t leave with him still on it.
Just as I’d completed this manoeuvre, with the help of a fellow passenger, a member of train staff appeared.
The door didn’t open! I said.
Oh no, that door doesn’t open without the guard, says he.
What I was thinking was “Why on earth not?” but instead I said:
But the guard knew I was there, why didn’t he come to open it?
He was busy at the front of the train madame. C’est pas grave.
Pas grave pour vous, says I.
Pas grave pour vous non plus madame, vous êtes sportive.
Flattery will get you nowhere, I chuntered to myself, retreating before I said something more ungracious.
At least Liège’s lifts were working. But of course the next train had steps. And was crammed with an excitable gang of teenagers bound for a camping adventure, their giant rucksacks festooned with karrimats, walking boots and frying pans. Bernard took the encroachment with good grace.

All in all, I was glad I’d started an hour earlier than originally planned – even with the delay I still reached Maastricht at lunchtime. But as for train travel? Based on today’s experience, I’ll stick to cycling thanks.