
Bruge Sunset
“Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to World Travel,” a book written by travel writer, Rolf Potts, is just what the title says it is. It is jammed-packed with advice, encouragement, quotes, and practical and theoretical guidance on surviving world travel, as well as getting the best out of the experience. Potts filled the book with “do’s” and “don’ts” that every traveler should know.
Among the most prominent messages in the book is an active effort of advising against trying to “do too much,” as Potts would say. This past weekend, I believe I violated this most basic of the traveler’s tenants.
The group I went with to Belgium was made up of nine or so people. Four Americans, two Australians, a Hungarian, one English guy, and a Scottish girl. We arrived in Bruges, Belgium and walked out of the train station to a fairly normal sight—a European train station surrounded by department buildings and corporate offices—nothing out of the blue. However, after the bus ride to our hostel (St. Christopher’s Bauhaus for anyone interested; it was a fairly nice one, and cheap as well—about €16/ night), we took to the streets to see what there was to see.

Bruges Skyline
The city is called “The Venice of the North”, and as we walked past canals separating 15th century buildings decked out in all kinds of amazing architecture referred to by Italian and Spanish terms I am not prepared to attempt to spell (I should of paid attention in Art Apprec.), we discovered why. The city was truly the most beautiful I have been to since arriving in Europe about a month and a half ago. Words truly cannot describe a place such as Bruges, Belgium.
(Side note: Go rent “In Bruges” for a good look at the city. Colin Farrell plays what can only be described as a badass. Seriously. Rent it. Or download it, whatever it is you kids do these days.)

Group photo
After a day of sight-seeing and sampling of fine Trappist and other Belgian beverages, we got a few hours of shut eye and hopped a train to Brussels, the capital city of Belgium, as well as the European Union. In Brussels we took the metro to our hostel (Van Gogh Hostel), which used to employ none other than Van Gogh himself, though I believe it was before his absinthe-fueled, ear cutting escapades of which he became famous for later.
After a short rest, it was off to explore the new city once again. Brussels’ Grote Markt, Parliament building, and the various street art and statues along the way were of particular interest to me. The only perhaps disappointing attraction we saw was the infamous Mannekan Pis, which was, literally, a foot high statue of a baby, yep, you guessed it, peeing. The fact that it was thoroughly not fame worthy notwithstanding, the Pis was, well, it brought a smile to my face in any case.
An afternoon of sightseeing, and an evening of escapades (including a trip to the infamous Delirium Café, and it’s over 2,000 kinds of beer, none more iconic than the 2 Liter “boot”), and I willfully turned in for the night and woke the next morning to one of the brightest and awful (meaning filled with awe, as opposed to something bad) mornings I have ever experienced. Once again, it is difficult to explain it in a few simple words, but it felt to me like I was breathing for the first time, if that makes any sense.

Eric Hemphill
As I walked along the streets attempting to find some coffee, I thought of all the people who had walked along the streets I then meandered through. I thought of a young Vincent Van Gogh, walking down the street by our hostel just after getting off work, towards some café or bar with a pocket full of tip money and thousands of brilliant ideas running through his head. I was captivated by thoughts like these throughout the morning, until the group was ready for our next destination—Antwerp, Belgium.
We took a train to Antwerp, a student and shopping city in the North of the country, and arrived at around noon. We spent the day walking along the cobblestone streets of the city, and enjoying Antwerp’s many cafés and restaurants. A friend of one of my travel companions acted as our “travel guide” for the day. He had lived in the city since a few months prior, and sort of knew his way around, though most of the information he told us sounded more or less like “Uh, this building is important… but I don’t remember why.”
Nevertheless, I enjoyed the city a lot, and had no qualms about knowing nothing about the city two and a half hours after arriving in it. After all, that is what Wikipedia is for. We left Antwerp and headed back to Brussels to spend the night talking, perusing through bars and clubs, and ultimately getting in touch with the city and each other in the process.
After sleeping for about four or five hours, I awoke and prepared for the train ride home, feeling tired and disillusioned, yet pretty satisfied about the way the trip went. But, after returning home, I thought about the things Potts had said about doing too much too fast. Suddenly, it seemed that the whole trip had dissolved into one long stretch of scattered memory, with no real physical location to attach them to. I found myself forgetting what church was in what town, and which restaurant we ate at was located in each town. It was a mildly depressing realization, and I resented my lack of attention to each place immediately.
It seems Mr. Potts has a great point, but surely he had to find out the hard way as well, so I think I will give it another try. I hope that next time, I don’t forget the things Rolf Potts, and other travelers like him, have said along the way. Let me paraphrase: Don’t try to do too much, because it will end up feeling like you didn’t do anything at all.




























