Paws Across Europe: From Northampton to Bruges

Okay, this is it...

A packed Ford Fiesta, an excitable dog, and the start of a three-week road trip around Europe!

Has it been done before? Of course. By us? Absolutely not. The furthest I’ve ever driven is Blackpool for a hen do.

Thankfully, my selfless travel buddy, Lindsey, offered to take the wheel for the entire trip. Sure, the reason behind her sacrifice was due to her tendency to be violently sick if sat in any seat other than the driver's. Since we were planning to spend a lot of time on the road, a vomit-free environment seemed wise. That said, Max’s farts did little to keep things fresh. Max, by the way, is the dog. Lindsey’s dog. And obviously, he was coming along for the ride! He was the first to jump in, seat-belted up, and ready to go.

These days, road trips are all about the campervan life (#vanlife). We loved the idea, but as a freelance copywriter and a bar manager, our budget had other plans (#poorlife). We envisioned ourselves going viral, becoming travel influencers and being gifted a campervan for our next adventure – not sure when that part kicks in, but we remain hopeful!

A friend did offer us his work van, free advertising for him, cheap wheels for us. Pinterest promised that all we needed was a mattress and some fairy lights, and we’d be Euro-road-tripping in style. Turns out, not quite. Or at least not to our level of DIY. So, we settled on the Fiesta that has never let Lindsey down… yet. We considered a roof box (classic Dad advice), but two weeks out, we couldn’t figure out the fittings. So, we crammed everything into Lindsey’s trusty black five-door, four-wheeled car, and miraculously, it all fit.

Departure day: April 21st

It began with an early walk for Max, and as school kids trudged past, we smugly loaded our car. We’re grown-ups, I thought – we can go where we want, whenever we want. And today, we were bound for France! Lindsey and I kept it simple: a bag each (Max as well), Max’s bed, sleeping bags, and a tent. Oh, did I not mention we were camping?

Yep, another budget-conscious choice. Everyone assured us that European campsites were easy to navigate and well-equipped for campers of all levels. We even had a practice run setting up the tent with no problems. Weirdly, when we picked it up from a friend we were borrowing it from, I realised he lived in my childhood home. I took this as a positive omen, despite him not giving me the full house tour – I wonder if the Forever Friends border is still in my old room?

Anyway, the car was jam-packed and fully fuelled, as were our bellies after a good old English fry-up. We were ready! After an easy drive south, we arrived in Dover, checked Maximus in, and managed to book an earlier Eurostar train to France. I cannot get over how easy travelling via the Eurostar is. Before boarding, there was a great ‘doggy park’ for Max to run around, and we managed to pick up a coffee for the journey, with “Linzy” earning a new nickname.

We joined the queue for ‘France’, which seemed like the obvious choice, and apart from a few high-pitched barks from Max at passersby – seriously, why can’t people just sit still for 30 minutes? – everything was going smoothly. Lindsey was the designated driver, so I took on the role of navigator and campsite finder. Task one: don’t panic when your phone signal doesn’t kick in, and you’re suddenly spat out of the Eurostar terminal directly onto a French motorway. We clung to the slow lane until our hearts stopped racing and Google Maps rejoined the party. Max slept peacefully in the back, either confident in our ability or exhausted from barking at motorcycles, seagulls, and anyone wearing a hi-vis, to name a few.

Our first destination: Bruges

We had a rough itinerary for the next three weeks, pinned with places we wanted to see: The Black Forest, Lake Garda, and Italian vineyards. Since Max was a certified beach bum and water fanatic, we planned to hit as many coastal stops and lakes as possible. First up, Ostend.

A short two-hour drive from Calais brought us right up to Ostend’s beachfront, where we could stretch our legs and officially kick off the adventure. Due to the time of year, dogs had to remain on leads, much to Max’s displeasure.

In our minds, April would mean warm days and blue skies. Instead, we zipped up our matching green trench coats (unplanned, but clearly in sync) and braced ourselves against the wind and brooding clouds chasing us down the beach.

Ostend felt like a classic British seaside town, and the shopfronts gave us cover from the sudden hailstorm. Max’s look of disdain said it all, to be honest. Luckily, the storm passed, and a couple of hours later we arrived at our campsite: Memling Campsite in Bruges.

Setting up camp 

Now, apart from a couple of festivals on Lindsey’s part, neither of us was fluent in camping etiquette. My closest experience is a Haven Holiday Camp, where an overly-smiley holiday rep hands you a welcome pack and directs you to your caravan – simple.

Memling was something different entirely. As a self-check-in campsite, the ANRP system scans your registration plate as you enter, and you hunt for the parking bay number in your booking reference. It took a while for us to find Bay 54, not because it was a confusing site, but because we were distracted by the overwhelming number of campervans and the suspicious lack of tents. Were we even allowed here?

Bay 54 was conveniently placed between a campervan, which sheltered us from the wind, and the shower block, so we didn’t have to run far for a midnight pee. In truth, we made a bigger deal of finding our bay than it actually was! We pitched our tent with zero drama and set up our beds, ready for our return after a day of exploring. Day one: nailed it!

Venturing into the heart of Bruges

Bruges city centre was a 45-minute walk from the campsite. Apart from sidestepping rapid cyclists for dear life, we enjoyed the route, which took us past cobbled streets and a windmill that looked like something from a watercolour painting.

As we reached the meandering streets, the smell of chocolate hit us first, and we mentally bookmarked the best-looking waffle shops for later. But right now, our priority was food and wine. Mostly wine. Being gluten-free added a layer of difficulty to dining out.

Finding a place that could cater for both Max and me wasn’t easy. We must have underestimated how popular this city was to locals and travellers, as every restaurant that looked appealing was, of course, fully booked. We finally settled on a bustling restaurant on the historic market square.

Le Panier D’Or offered a great choice of food, though a little pricey: £9 for a small glass of wine may be acceptable by city standards, but not for our backpacker budgets. As a family of four arrived after us and were served before us, thanks to the healthy tip passed between hands, we realised that, as in most cities, money did the talking. Feeling a little overwhelmed and trying to find our feet, we remained polite and played it safe with our food choices: lasagne for Lindsey and an omelette for me, very exotic!

The colourful fairground rides blocked some of the market view, but the energy was great, and the clock tower from In Bruges watched over us. Horse-drawn carriages added a touch of romance – though Max had other plans and tried to bark hello to every horse in sight!

It’s also important to note that our furry companion has an irrational passion for footballs, and once a connection has been made, tearing him away from his beloved ball is a battle. As we were soaking up the post-dinner atmosphere, the peace was brutally disturbed first by two boys kicking a football against the wall, then by Max’s strained attempt to catch it. Lindsey quickly dragged him away as I paid the cheque and nonchalantly slipped away.

The hunt for the gluten-free Belgian waffle

Now, I trust Google for many things. But nothing is more heartbreaking than being told of a gluten-free bakery that serves classic Belgian waffles, only to learn it is a lie. Despite her opportunity to tuck into a fully glutenous waffle, Lindsey stood in solidarity, and despite our best efforts, we never did find our gluten-free Belgian waffle. First fail of the trip.

So, we headed to the safety of Lidl to satisfy our sweet cravings and drown our sorrows with more wine. Heartbreak struck again as we discovered Lidl and realised our last chance had disappeared. Lidl was shut. It was only 8:30 pm! What was this place?

Slightly defeated, we decided to get a good night's sleep and resume the hunt tomorrow. We fed Max and wriggled into our PJs and sleeping bags just before the rain clouds from Ostend found us once more. The wind howled, the tent swayed, the bed deflated, and yet, we couldn’t stop laughing. It was ridiculous! But it was an adventure, right? And as the birds chirped at dawn, we were ready for day two.

Stay tuned for the next instalment…