A Marathon from Denmark to Brussels

Tuesday 6am, Brussels

The breakfast chef at the Saxildhus Hotel hasn’t shown up, so, there is still no hot breakfast an hour and a half after breakfast service should have started and many of the other items in the buffet are still being brought out of storage. On checkout, the receptionist can’t find any note that the tourist board is paying my bill and is rather intent on ensuring that I miss my train.

The first 3 and a quarter leg to Hamburg is on the nice DB German Railways, ICE, and then I transfer to a dreary old normal DB train for the 4-hour haul to Cologne. I am booked into a compartment which turns out to be crammed full, so I learn from my earlier experiences and set up camp in the open compartment immediately adjacent to the Bistro car.

I’m looking forward to the 2-hour journey from Cologne to Brussels, because it´s to be on Thalys, the Belgian equivalent of Eurostar. While the train is fast and the first class seating is comfortable, the carriage is dirty and, like Eurostar, is long overdue for refurbishment.

The advertised snack turns out to be a choice of hot or cold drinks, no spirits, and a packet of Tuc biscuits or a chocolate bar. Dinner is, I am told, served between Brussels and Paris. Which is after the vast majority of the passengers, including myself, have got off. The only bit of interest on the journey is a lively altercation between the guard and an American backpacking couple who’d got on at Liege and who ´didn’t know that they had to pay extra to travel on Thalys´ and who were resisting paying the supplement or the reservation fee. An awful lot of rustling of le Figaro during that little lot, I can tell you.

I’m expecting Brussels, the capital of Europe, to have a glitzy station to rival that of Berlin. I’m in for a disappointment, if not a shock. The three stations in Brussels are shockingly out of date and the Midi Suid Station where I alight is clearly not in a part of town I would wish to linger at night.

I’ve visited the Hotel Amigo seven years ago when it became part of the Rocco Forte Collection and I’ve been looking forward to returning. It´s so close to the Grand Place that it´s almost in it. The sort of place where, by the time you have paid the taxi driver, your bags have already disappeared off to your room.

I’m met by the hotel’s Assistant General Manager, Delphine de Kinder, who gives me a guided tour of my accommodation, together with a map and compass. Well not quite, but the place is certainly bigger than my little Spanish apartment. Rather better furnished too. It´s so high-tech that I have to summons the maintenance man to show me how to operate the TV remote control.

He gently points out that I’ve been trying to operate the television using the one for the DVD player. It´s the first time in over a fortnight that I have managed to catch a glimpse of the BBC´s Olympics coverage.

I’m delighted to discover that the bed is a true King-Sized, unlike many I have experienced on this trip, which are simply two singles pushed together with two single duvets. This has lovely crisp sheets, plumped up feather pillows and a full sized quilt.

I’m delighted that Thalys hasn’t fed me, because Delphine very kindly invites me to dinner in the hotel’s Ristorante Bicconi.

I’m so busy taking photographs of the crudités and pesto dip and the excellent Terre di Ginestra Sicilian wine that the starter course of succulent grilled scallops arrives, so I have to persuade the waiting staff to leave it for me to try. After a really tasty and well-presented steak main course, Delphine and I decide to order the Pistachio Soufflé, only available if two want it. Well, it´s a great choice and simply divine, darling.

The meal, wine, service and company is excellent and I have no trouble in collapsing into my luxurious bed for the sleep of the righteous.