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It's a shame I can't go to the Highlands every weekend. But instead of moping about in my flat or plodding along the same old shopping streets yet again, I decided to go to the highest point in my country of residence. It's over half the height of a munro!
After 5 long hours trundling along on Belgian trams, trains and buses, I finally arrived. The bus stop is conveniently situated, er, on the summit, which meant for once I had accomplished my mission without even trying. However, I didn't fancy jumping straight back on to the public transport system, so after a non-conversation in German and a very poor one in French, I took the advice of the woman behind the info desk and set off for a walk through the national park. "Trois heures", she said. "C'est bon".
So off I went along a dead straight, flat track through a seemingly endless man-made plantation. God I love Scotland, I thought. After almost an hour I finally changed direction slightly and then went off along a path through the woods. Given the amount of signs and warnings detailing the rules of the park and what you cannot do there, leaving the main trail made me feel slightly criminal.
I soon returned to the marked path and continued along the assortment of tracks though plantations and boardwalks through bogs until I arrived back at the 'summit' (number 394 bus stop). I had brought my stuff for camping out, but when I realised this would mean spending 14 hours alone in the freezing darkness followed by a 6 hour wait until the first bus, I decided against it. I made a final push to the trig point - which stands at a whopping 700 meters above sea level - and just stood there taking in the view before I dragged myself away and went to the cafe to sink three nice Belgian beers whilst waiting for the bus.
- The final push
- Stunning.