GR5: Bergen op Zoom to Brecht

Tuesday 17 April

Checked into the Stay Okay Hostel in Bergen op Zoom. Had an apartment to myself for the price of a bunk. I checked out the start of the path ( getting lost in the process) for next day. Met two American women who asked where I was headed. "The Mediterranean." One said: "Where's that?" "Italy." "Oh."

Wednesday 18 April
Cold and overcast but pleasant walking through woodland. It took me 2 hours to get lost but I'm glad I did because I found myself in a beautiful private estate of immaculately maintained 17 or 18th century buildings. A man in a Landrover politely pointed out my mistake and directed me back to the path. My Dutch had led me astray. I had thought a notice said No entry to all except walkers but in fact it said No entry to anyone at all. A question of confusing toegang with foetganger. A cyclist by the way is a fietser.

Vast green fields and rectangles of recently ploughed land. Mainly dirt roads, immaculately maintained farmhouses and posh private estates. Big barking dogs. I promised I'd cut myself a stick for tomorrow. Just in case.

Crossed the (insignificant here) Bergen river, op which is presumably Bergen op Zoom.

Got lost, tried a short cut or two, and made it to Kalmthout about 4 in the afternoon.Walked about 30km which was too much for the first day but unavoidable because there was nowhere to stay in between. I'm starting to get a handle on this blogging game. It's like a conversation where no one can interrupt you and you can say what you like as they're probably not listening anyway. It's like being a female member of the family. Just kidding, girls. Did you want to say something? No? Well I'll go on. Kalmthout is an impossibly twee little town where I stayed in an impossible twee B & B and had a good meal of kabeljauw florentine, atlantic cod to you.

Thursday 19 April

Was tempted to take a day off and rent a bike to see the sights of Kalmthout since it is such a beautiful spot; immaculate fields; gardens, houses, cafe bar like something out of Cheers. I also felt I had been subjected to the bastinado, a torture supposedly invented by the Turks in which the victim is beaten on the soles of his feet with iron bars. However, I decided to press on to Brecht. At lunchtime I reached Wuustwezel where I joined a sociable old party for a bottle of Westmalle ( the dubbel, which is only 7% as opposed to the tripel which is 10%).Fortified by my lunch, I walked on. 10°C, constantly threatening rain but little falling. Reached the hotel outside Brecht mid afternoon. The owner had previously bred horses, indeed there was a tariff for stabling on my bedroom door; 8 euros a night; including hay. The town was next to a confluence of highways  and railway lines so not appealing; although the centre was pleasant enough. Found a nice little bistro, as they all seem to be in country Flanders. None of your low bars of Antwerp here. The only jarring note is sounded by the slogans framed on the walls: SMILE IT CONFUSES PEOPLE, LIFE IS WONDERFUL, MY NEXT HUSBAND WILL BE NORMAL.English is truly a second language to these people. I haven't heard a word of French.More Westmalle. It comes in dark and light versions and is brewed by Trappist monks. I was to pass through or near the brewery on Friday.It's amazing how it takes away all pain from the feet.