Or, rather, Belgium. A fairly random decision led my second in command and I to Folkestone a few days ago. A day trip to Bruges was involved. A strike in France, with those taking industrial action driving up and down the motorway, resulted in a huge delay in our arrival in Bruges. And a shortened stay.

Fortunately, we found a very nice bar.

Where we had some very nice, local, beer.

Of course, such nice beer comes at a price. After missing our transport home, we explored options. A map was procured, from my second in command’s employer.

They drew a route to the station for us. The station wasn’t the best idea though, since trains would only get us as far as Dunkirk. Fortunately, my eldest daughter found us a better solution, via Ostend, the following day.

Arrangements were made while we rested in another bar. We then found a random, but excellent, hotel.

There are better pictures on my camera, but I’ve yet to extract them. Toothbrush and toothpaste were purchased (at a ridiculous price) and food sought. We then had some nice beer.

Until my second in command needed to sleep. After which I found a nice local bar, where I had one or two nice beers.

I soon left after the above hit me like a hammer, as warned by the barman. However, the lack of chemicals left me without a hangover the following morning. Which meant I was able to comprehend train times.

Yes, that’s me taking a picture of a rail timetable. We arrived safely in Ostend and, after some wandering, found our rescue point. Fortunately, there are street maps in Ostend.

And art. I’m adding this only because I liked it.

Ostend also has nice bars.

After a lengthy period of disinterest in travel, I’m now looking forward to our next excursion.