Welkom! Bienvenue! Willkommen!

 Neither Tom nor Jim had ever heard of Oostende, Belgium. When they booked the ferry crossing in Dover, they assumed they’d disembark in the more famous port of Calais, France. Tom, especially, had been looking forward to impressing a real, live French person with his command of high-school parlez-vous.

So when they learned they would disembark in Oostende, they were disappointed. But that disappointment quickly turned to excitement when they reached passport control and Tom saw all the signage in French—prominent among several other languages. Tom stepped forward eagerly, his moment finally at hand, and offered the passport officer an exuberant “Bonjour!” 

The officer looked up, unsmiling. In perfect English, he asked the routine questions: purpose of visit, length of STAY, and so forth. After a glance at Tom’s American jeans and the familiar wide-eyed expression of a first-time-to-Europe backpacker, he stamped the passport perfunctorily and handed it back to Tom.

“Bedankt,” he said, flatly. “Welkom in Belgie.”

(Later, a quick check of Fodor’s revealed that most people in this Flemish region of Belgium—Flanders—speak Dutch. The other two official languages are French and German.)

  With that less-than-welcoming welcome, the two made their way to Oostende Station to catch the 23:05 train to Copenhagen, a 17-hour trip. The plan was to visit the Scandinavian countries first, then head back down to “Do the Continent.”

Like many Americans, especially Midwesterners, the experience of train travel was limited. In Jim’s case, this meant occasional trips to downtown Cleveland via its electric-powered Rapid Transit System, designed to cram as many commuters as possible onto its rows of hard, bench-style seats. So he and Tom were pleasantly surprised by the comparative luxury of the European train.  Their compartment had two sets of seats facing each other, three on each side, upholstered and clean.

Heaving their backpacks up and onto the overhead storage rack—the heft reminding them that reducing the load even more would be a good idea—they collapsed onto opposite seats and smiled at each other. They could not believe their luck: an empty compartment. They could stretch out, sleep on comfortable seats, and wake up in Copenhagen. Couldn’t get any better than that.

Before they could even take off their walking boots, a conductor barged in and demanded to see tickets. Tom, eager to flash his Eurail pass, handed it over as if presenting his credentials to a foreign potentate. For him, the flight from JFK to England, the ferry crossing, the passport stamp, and now the Eurail pass marked—once again—the “official” start of their adventure.

As would later happen in southern Pakistan—where they found themselves alone atop a bus for a surreal, overnight desert journey—they were soon disabused of the notion of a peaceful night’s rest.

Two young men entered the compartment just as the train pulled away from the platform. They tossed their own, considerably less bulky backpacks onto the rack, took their seats, and stared.     

This was yet another “official” start to the journey: meeting fellow backpackers.

The two newcomers appeared tired and a bit standoffish, but they soon discovered that with Tom, no stranger remained a stranger for long. The questions began. Names? Mick, Carl. Speak English? Um, we understood your first question, so… yeah.  From? Britain, Jamaica. How long traveling? A while. You? Same.

Gradually, the questions sparked full sentences, then something resembling conversation, and soon stories of the road and jokes and a lot of laughter filled the compartment—and went on until 3 a.m.

This pattern—meeting people on trains, in hostels, in public squares—repeated itself throughout the journey. For both Tom and Jim, these spontaneous friendships remain among the highlights of the journey. Sometimes they would meet one or more backpackers and hang out with them in a new city. Sometimes they’d even travel with them to the next destination before parting ways.

Tom described it as a brotherhood, and thanks to his highly extroverted nature, he was almost always the catalyst for these meetings. Jim, more reserved, was content to let Tom do the heavy lifting of breaking the ice and then jump in when the other person(s) recovered from his pal’s friendly and enthusiastic barrage of questions.

When they finally arrived in Copenhagen, Tom and Jim and Mick and Carl exchanged home addresses and assurances to keep in touch which, predictably, they didn’t. But this wasn’t always the case. They stayed in touch with several fellow travelers and, decades later and thanks to the internet, they’ve reconnected with several more of those they met on the road all those years ago.

A brotherhood, indeed.

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And now for the NOW: Reflections on Welkom! Bienvenue! Willkommen!

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Question From the Overlanders

Have you ever had an Oostende-instead-of-Calais travel experience--an unexpected change in plans that started as a disappointment but ended up being especially memorable? 

Tell us about it! We'd love to hear from you. Put your answer--or any thoughts or question of your own for the Overlanders--in the comments section below.