Do not stop in Brussels.
Not even in Bruges, the “Venice of the North”.
However, it would be easy and even logical, but the train still travels a quarter of an hour to the sea, to Ostend.
Less than three hours from Paris, and yet so far.
“Oostende bonsoir”, as Arno sings, but bonjour to understand a single word of Flemish.
This is part of the charm: the change of scenery is almost accelerated, here in "Ost-End", at the very end of the East.
That of the northern beaches.
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