It was the first foreign country of my expedition. The first border. The first time since setting off that I was truly leaving France to discover another country, another culture, other ways of life.
But my time in Belgium was also particularly challenging. The technical problems kept piling up: punctures, electrical issues, makeshift repairs… Constantly having to find solutions just to keep moving forward gradually took its toll. Physically, of course, but above all mentally.
Fortunately, amid all these difficulties, I discovered something that would completely transform my memories of Belgium: the Belgian people.
I was crossing a border, but certainly not the border of kindness.
From my very first day, I started meeting people. And of course, there was only one way to begin discovering the country: with one of its institutions, the famous Belgian fries.
Thick, crispy… exactly as I had imagined them.
Then I arrived in Mons.
I discovered a city where art has an incredible presence. Photographs, artworks everywhere, façades transformed by street art… Sometimes, all you have to do is look up to discover something new.
And then, of course, I met the famous monkey of Mons.
Legend has it that stroking its head with your left hand brings good luck. Small problem: when I did it, nobody had told me that which hand you used actually mattered.
Today, I have absolutely no idea which one I used.
But when I think back to all the mechanical problems that followed, I do have a few suspicions about my right hand…
Fortunately, even if the monkey may not have brought me all the luck I had hoped for with my bike, it certainly brought me plenty when it came to the people I met.
In Mons, several people took the time to show me their city and tell me its stories. I discovered, among other things, the rather unlikely story of its new railway station, which had been awaited for years and whose shape resembles a gigantic dragonfly.
I was even told a rather amusing story about its design: since the dragon is the symbol of Mons, a confusion involving the English word dragonfly is said to have played a part in this strange association.
Whether it is a true story or a charming urban legend, I have to admit it really amused me.
The road then took me towards Charleroi.
And there, another symbolic milestone in my journey was waiting for me: my first article in the Belgian press, in the Gazette de Charleroi.
Seeing my adventure featured in a newspaper in a country I had only just entered felt quite surreal. My story, too, was beginning to travel beyond borders.
But while the adventure moved forward, my bike had decided to remind me that a 10,000-kilometre journey was certainly not going to be smooth sailing.
The rain arrived. So did the technical problems. The punctures kept coming, and my electrical issues began taking up more and more of my time.
Curiously, many of my fondest memories of Belgium were born precisely from these difficulties.
Every time the bike put me in a difficult situation, someone seemed to appear along my path.
People stopped. Some helped me with repairs, others accompanied me, gave me advice, welcomed me or simply encouraged me.
Faces I had not known just a few minutes earlier suddenly became part of my journey.
Then I arrived in Namur.
After all the kilometres, the mechanical problems and the rain, I wanted to take the time to discover the city.
I visited the underground tunnels of the citadel, took the cable car up to the heights to admire the city. I even took the little tourist train.
And that little train brought back a memory I had absolutely not expected.
When I was a child, my grandmother used to take me on the little train in Nantes. So for a few moments, at the top of the Citadel of Namur, I was no longer simply looking at a tourist attraction. I was rediscovering a little piece of my childhood.
That is also what this journey is about: travelling very far away only to sometimes rediscover something very close to home.
Of course, I went to see the enormous turtle overlooking Namur and took the opportunity to get a rather unlikely photo with it.
Then it was time to set off again.
Towards Liège.
The electrical problems continued, as did the makeshift repairs, but the Cagouille kept moving forward.
And in Liège, a particularly important mission awaited me: finally tasting the specialities I had been hearing about since arriving in Belgium.
The famous boulets à la liégeoise, served with that sauce made with Liège syrup, often called sauce lapin. And of course, the Liège waffles I had been eagerly waiting to try.
Needless to say, Belgium was also a wonderful gastronomic stage of my journey.
To continue north, I then tried to follow canals and waterways as much as possible. With a bike as heavy as mine, hills are an opponent best avoided whenever possible.
Kilometre after kilometre, I was already getting closer to the next border.
And as I was about to leave Belgium, I realised just how deeply those few days had affected me.
Belgium had really put me to the test. The accumulation of breakdowns, electrical problems, punctures, rain and makeshift repairs had genuinely exhausted me. There were moments when this succession of difficulties became overwhelming, yet I still had to find the energy to get back on the road.
But when I think back on my time in Belgium today, it is not that exhaustion that dominates my memories.
It is the people.
All those faces. All those people I met, sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes for several hours or several days. Those who took an interest in my story, those who wanted to understand my project and those who reached out to help me without expecting anything in return.
They helped me. They accompanied me. They welcomed me. They encouraged me.
And they transformed days that could have become bad memories into moments I will probably never forget.
My first foreign country exhausted me and sometimes pushed me hard, but above all, it made me want to discover all the countries still to come.
When I crossed the border to leave Belgium, I was tired. Really tired.
But I was also leaving with dozens of memories, incredible encounters, so many beautiful images and confirmation of something this journey keeps teaching me:
You can set off alone on the road without ever truly travelling alone.
So to everyone I met in Belgium, to those who helped me, welcomed me, accompanied me, advised me or simply offered a few words of encouragement: thank you.
Belgium, one thing is certain: I will never forget you.