09/09/25 London to Brugge: I Promise To Stop Talking About Trains

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The announcement came over the PA system as our Elizabeth Line train glided to a halt. "We are sorry for the delay: a swan is causing trouble on the track ahead."  Forget industrial action, all it took was a swan having a hissy fit to grind London's above-ground to a halt.

Tuesday was predicted to be the day most affected by strikes and industrial action woes. Londoners very sensibly took the day off, with the result that we got to sit in seats on our painless bus/train ride in to St Pancras, and before you could say "lickety-split" we were technically in France and waiting for the Eurostar to let us board.


Our ride.

What can I say? The Eurostar was fast and spent a lot of time underground. The seats were mildly uncomfortable and it would not be productive to make comparisons with Japan's high speed rail system. From what I could see as the French countryside zipped past at 300km/hr, the harvest was coming to an end.


We had moments of maximum confusion in Brussels but landed, heads spinning, on the Intercity train bound for Bruges. 

Bruges was dressed in its best early autumn weather, every pole festooned with flowers and just a hint of colour in the leaves. I discovered that wheeled luggage was not compatible with cobblestones. 


We found our lodgings up two flights of narrow winding stairs and went for a quick wander to get our bearings and find something to eat.

Gate into the old town.

Brugge buildings.

The swans of Brugge were better mannered than their London cousins, paddling picturesquely on the canals with not a hissy fit in sight and no trains to hold up anyway. Here in the old town of Brugge the streets teemed with Belgians on bicycles, zooming hither and thither and woe betide any silly Australian tourists who looked the wrong way before crossing the street.

I took myself home, climbed the narrow winding steps, and put myself to bed before I could cause an accident.

Goodnight.

From the window, Le Nid Du Prince.






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