You could be forgiven for not knowing much about the Belgian coast. At just 67km long, it isn’t exactly the country’s most prominent feature. While I was well aware that Belgium does have a coastline, that was about as far as my knowledge went. As a child, I would occasionally see a sign pointing towards the Hull-Zeebrugge ferry when visiting my dad at his workplace on Hull’s docks, but I have never caught that particular boat, nor was I even really sure where Zeebrugge was.
It may be the fact that The Belgian Riviera is not really mentioned by the travel cognoscenti. Instead, they give it only a passing glance as they disembark from their ferry at Zeebrugge, heading to the picturesque, chocolate box cities of Bruges or Ghent rather than lingering beside the Atlantic shore.
This trend for beer-soaked weekends or romantic jaunts to inland Flander’s rather than the seaside is a fairly recent phenomenon. Ostend has been attracting swathes of British visitors for centuries, particularly in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, being close enough in both geographical distance and culture with just enough continental flavour to seem exotic without offending British sensibilities. They even managed to leave their mark in the form of traditional tearooms that are still ubiquitous on the Flanders coast.
As soon as I arrived in Ostend, I could feel a pang of familiarity. Ice cream parlours and cafes spilling out onto the broad seafront promenade while beyond it, the north sea lapped lazily at the even wider expanse of golden sand. At one end stood the resplendent Royal Galleries, 1,250 ft of columns and archways book-ended with a pavilion. They were constructed between 1902 and 1906 on the orders of King Leopold II. He was particularly fond of the city, with some people even accusing him of neglecting Brussels in favour of Ostend. Whether this is true or not, he certainly left his mark. Just beyond the galleries, in the centre of Ostend’s 9km stretch of sand, stands Belgium’s biggest casino, attracting visitors with the usual seaside fare of circus shows, musicals and tribute acts.
I spent the morning wandering the prom in the unseasonably temperate weather. The unexpected sun appeared to have brought half of Belgium – as well as a good handful of Dutch and German sunseekers – here for the weekend. I strolled past the neat little rows of white beach huts as the diners knocking back their Duvels while tucking into steaming pots of mussels in the seafront bistros.
Belgium is famous for its seafood and Ostend is no different. On my first full day in the city, I devoured a slice of skate 2 inches thick at the ‘I-wish-I’d-dressed-up-to-eat here’ Bistro Mathilda, and later picked my way through garlic soaked mussels at Brasserie Henry. Then there are the ubiquitous shrimp croquettes, found on almost every menu in town. For those that on a less wince-inducing budget, a scattering of quaint harbourside shacks dish out everything from oysters, crab, and lobster, to huge pots of boiling fish stew. “Belgian cuisine is as good as French food, only with the added benefit of German size portions,” I had once been told by a local in Ghent. He wasn’t wrong.
That isn’t to say that Ostend is all seaside throwbacks and seafood. With a population of around 70,000, It is the only real city on the coast. It has a vibrant nightlife scene, great shopping options and the usual scattering of good brunch spots, coffee shops and bars that come with city life. In fact, I was actually visiting for the annual Crystal Ship festival, in which dozens of internationally renowned street artists descend on the city to cover its streets in murals and smaller pieces. It’s an initiative that has seen Ostend become one of Europe’s most exciting destinations for street art.
However, it’s not just Ostend that draws people here; from De Panne in the west to Knokke in the east, resorts are dotted all along the 68km of coastline, with beautiful nature reserves and expansive dunes separating them. Although it would have been possible to spend all of my time in Ostend proper, I was interested in getting beyond the city and seeing what else Belgium’s tiny coastline has to offer. Luckily for me, the Kusttram, or coastal tram, covers the whole length. At over 100 years old and 44 miles in length, it’s the longest tram line in the world. Being able to hop aboard in the morning and see the entire length of the country in just a day was an irresistible notion. On my second morning in the city, I braved the incoming fog and drizzle to ride it eastward.
I had expected an antiquated carriage, a deliberately shakey throwback specifically for tourists, the kind you see schlepping up the hills of Scarborough and Saltburn. To my surprise, a sleek, modern train pulled into the station and soon we were making our way west, crossing a bridge to the industrial side of Ostend’s harbour and then beyond the city limits. To my left, the sand dunes rose high, obscuring my view of the North Sea. To my right, fields extended as far as I could see. In only an hour, I had arrived in Knokke, the northern terminus of the tram and spitting distance of the Dutch border.
In a way, Knokke is to the Belgian Riviera what St-Tropez and Cannes are to its French counterpart. The long walk through the Dumortierlaan down to the end of the Kustlaan is lined with expensive-looking boutiques and bistros. Queues of smartly dressed patrons queued outside patisseries waiting for it to open while clutching their tiny, bouffant dogs. I strolled along the promenade, the fog obscuring my view of the sea and seemingly keeping away the early morning crowds, with the exception of a few dog walkers and joggers. It reminded me of Ostend, just with a few ‘upmarket’ touches. Rather than street art and abstract installations, the seafront was dotted with ornate sculptures. The same beach huts were present, only in Knokke, they were named for exotic-sounding resorts such as Mar del Plata or Bahia del Sol, fenced off in beach clubs so that you could pay to enjoy your own little patch of sand with a sense of exclusivity. I imagine that in the summer months, Knokke would be quite delightful, but as the mist turned to a steady sheet of drizzle, I decided that it was time for me to board the tram again.
We trundled westwards, back towards Ostend. I decided not to alight in Zeebrugge, put off by the industrial grit of its ferry terminal and barbed wire fences. I’m sure that it has its charms, but looking at google maps, I saw that its ‘seafront’ appeared to be smack bang in the middle of the harbour, and decided that, unless you’re an avid container ship enthusiast, there probably isn’t a great deal to attract you.
Instead, I hopped off the carriage a couple of miles west, at Blankenberg. I had passed through on my journey towards Knokke and wasn’t exactly bowled over by its aesthetics; The marina seemed pleasant enough, but it was surrounded by a wall of highrise, concrete blocks that looked like an architect’s afterthought, scribbled hurriedly on the back of a fag packet in the pub after a long day at a brutalist building conference. That is the beauty of the coastal tram though; even if a place doesn’t look too promising, you can step off to explore, knowing that another tram would pass through in 10 minutes time.
With Blankenberg, I was pleasantly surprised. The aforementioned apartment buildings hid a picturesque seafront with a sprawling stretch of golden sand, attractive bistros and a traditional pier. It is often referred to as a piece of the Spanish Costa in Belgium, with a nightlife scene to rival Ostend and a variety of seaside attractions that draw pleasure-seeking families all year round. It was the place that supplied the biggest nostalgia hit for me, reminiscent of summer days spent on the Yorkshire coast, only with beer and waffles replacing the typically English fish and chips.
With the drizzle intensifying, I consoled myself with a cone of fries steeped in mayonnaise and set off for the dunes. While most people come here for the resorts, it is the wild sandbanks that are the true star of the Atlantic coast. This vast nature reserve stretches all the way to the Dutch border, crisscrossed with walking paths and only interrupted by the occasional town. As the chilling wind buffeted me, I clutched my chips closely. Little by little the town dropped away, leaving a minimalist expanse of sand, sea and sky, the fog smudging them all into one monochrome mass. Only the smattering of seagulls and frolicking dogs added a sense of scale to the grey-blue expanse. It felt good to be out in nature, stretching my legs in what felt like a wilderness, despite only being 10 minutes from the go-karts and arcades of Blankenberg’s pier.
For many, De Haan is the real jewel in Belgium’s coastal crown. It was King Leopold II’s prize resort. He personally oversaw its construction, insisting that no two buildings were alike. As a result, this sleepy village is packed with mock-Tudor mansions, pretty fairytale cottages, thatched barns with timberwork turrets, and whole streets that look like they could have been the focus of an episode of Grand Designs. Due to strict building regulations – there are no apartment blocks that plague the rest of the coast – De Haan has the air of a Cotswold’s village by the sea, complete with tearooms and village greens. Even the tiny station – an ornate Hansel and Gretel style shelter – is beautifully designed. It would be easy to while away a holiday here amongst the network of winding lanes and tree-lined avenues.
The town’s claim to fame is that Albert Einstein lived here for a few months in 1933 before fleeing stateside. A statue of him sits on Pr. Astridlaan, beside the house where he resided. As I scientist, I felt obliged to pay him a brief visit before making my way back to Ostend.
Feeling invigorated by my amble in the dunes, I hopped off the tram at the east side of Ostends harbour, taking in the Fort Napoleon museum, built in 1811 by French forces and later used by German troops during both wars, before riding the free ferry across the water to the centre of town. As we docked, the sun finally emerged from behind the clouds and my fellow tourists had followed its lead, pouring out onto the strand and into its pubs. I decided to join them on the prom, a Duvel in one had and the other shovelling one last plateful of shrimp croquettes into my mouth. I sat there on the sun-drenched seafront, replete and relaxed, thinking that this tiny shoreline should be better known. After all, those that pass through its ports and journey inland without lingering are surely missing a gem.
My visit to Ostend was facilitated by Visit Flanders. However, all views expressed are my own.
One Response
I had never considered Belgium to have a riviera so I’m now enlightened. Great post