The Hard Edge
1995 I was leaving Belgium for a new life in France. In fact I had already half-left a month earlier, sitting in the passenger seat while my friend Matt drove a rental van that contained all the furniture, clothes, and books I had accumulated in my downtown Brussels apartment in the previous five years. Having offloaded all my worldly possessions we made the trip in reverse. Back in Brussels I worked my notice period and was overstaying my welcome on a friend’s couch. My final day came. I was ready to take the train south, but the powerful unions in the SNCF had other plans. A week went past without any sign of the rail strike ending, so I decided to hitch-hike the twelve hundred kilometres from the French-Belgian border to my new home in Pau, at the foot of the Pyrenees. I bought an inch-thick indelible marker and a sheet of Day-Glo orange card, which I cut into large strips and packed them in my bag along with a large sandwich, the Bruce Chatwin book I was rereading, ...