High speed train to Gent, Belgium.

I'm seated quietly on my couch a certain Sunday afternoon, making twists on my at-the-moment very uncooperative 'fro kinky. Kari Jobe's song “Beautiful”, playing softly in the background, easily has me drift back in time to two years ago when I set out to travel to Gent, Belgium from Amsterdam in Netherlands. The journey that was supposed to take three hours took me four hours, and luckily for the universe, I was to blame for it. My trip schedule had to change at the Rotterdam station in Netherlands  because I had just missed my connection to Antwarpen, Belgium. I won’t be too harsh on myself though because the changeover was two flaming minutes and the trains were not only platforms apart, I had to go through three elevators which, up to date, I dread. Oops, there it is, I am terrified of elevators. Oh that's not the worst; I did not even know where to look, to find my new connecting train. In train stations here, everybody (including the random doves that scavenge the stations) but me, seem to know where the heck they're going, which left me feeling more embarrassed than lost. Thank goodness, I found a French couple who were so kind as to show me which train to catch, and where to wait for it. I have since learned how to read maps, and speak few French words.

Relieved, I find myself a seat in the cold winter. Chewing gum. For 45 minutes. Waiting for my train. And believe you me, I did not even as much as get on Facebook (I lie). As soon as the long awaited train arrives, it dawns on me I should not even have alighted the last one about an hour ago, because this new train was heading to the same destination (Rosendaal) as that one I alighted. No need to panic, I board the train humming "I wanna wish you a merry Christmas" in February, and gracefully take a seat while secretly wondering how on our concrete earth I would end up in Belgium now that we were headed to Rosendaal which was still in Netherlands. I make a mental note to always bring a map.

Long story cut short, I was later to find out that I boarded a hi-speed train whose ticket costed way higher than what I had paid and then sat in first class which again, was much higher than the amount printed on my ticket (L-o-o-o-o-r-d have mercy). How is anybody supposed to know that the "1" written on the train's door frames is to be interpreted as first class? Given my then lost situation, "1" on a train door frame could have meant a range of things that are best left unsaid. I doubt I even saw it. Okay keep calm Rosie; you need your cool to figure your way to Antwarp from Rosendaal. Good news is, once in Antwarp, I would have entered Belgium, and thanks to my roaming mobile line, it cued me that my fuzzy wozzy trip was about to be end. 

One pleasant surprise for me was the distinct difference Belgium is from The Netherlands. I did not expect to find much of a difference both being so close and mainly Dutch. But when you get to Belgium, everything screams “this is Belgium, not Holland”; the different architecture, the Jubiler branded pubs everywhere, a slightly warmer winter that reminds you you are going towards the south, the occasional hilly terrain, oh and I was told people here are more friendly. If you've been to France, you could easily see the French influence in the way people dress in Belgium. The ladies, as one of my new found friends described, are more feminine with a stronger sense of fashion.

After 4 long hours I arrive at St. Peters Gent station, and shortly after, my friend and host, Fragrance, comes to meet me, shows me around her (my new) neighborhood, introduces me to a few of her friends at a house party around the corner, stocks her fridge for me (bless her kind and gracious heart), and after a night or two I see her off to Brussels where she would catch her flight to Nairobi, Kenya.

The old historical architecture in this picturesque city of Gent got my heart; spelt “Ghent” in Dutch (and for you to sound remotely Dutch you have to pronounce it as though you have pop-corns stuck in your throat). This is the city that never goes to sleep, possibly because of the huge population of young people who come from all corners of the world to study here. I remember being told Ghent is a university city. Someone will explain this to me some day, but all these uni students, the locals and the masses of tourists and travelers here, we all have got to have something to stay awake for, don't we. My most memorable moments however were the people I met and the friendship I gained.

I have always thought of myself as a traveler (and all those trips I plan and never actually take, count here as well) but this journey felt like my maiden one. I was in foreign continent, on my own, barely having understood my way around getting tickets, let alone maneuvering my way around train stations. 

...getting visas is a whole new chapter also known as "daytime nightmare". The process is such a headache that whoever said people don't really want foreigners in their countries could possibly have been on to some truth.

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