Cyling Belgium & Northern France (Day 3)
From Ypres to Halluin via Passchendaele
Passchendaele – The Hell of Mud
Our next stop was Passchendaele, home to the Memorial Museum Passchendaele 1917. It is
often said to be the most vivid and immersive museum of the First World War, and it lived up to its reputation. Inside, we explored trenches and tunnels, giving a glimpse, though never the full reality, of the conditions soldiers endured.
The Battle of Passchendaele, also known as the Third Battle of Ypres (July–November 1917), is infamous for its mud. Relentless shelling had destroyed the land’s drainage, and heavy rains turned the battlefield into a swamp. Soldiers struggled through knee deep muck; some even drowned in water filled craters. More than 500,000 men were killed, wounded, or went missing in just over three months of fighting.
One soldier famously said:
“I would sooner spend six months at Verdun than two weeks at the hell that is Passchendaele.”
It’s a quote that lingers, capturing the unimaginable misery of this battlefield.
The museum is both harrowing and beautifully presented. We stayed much longer than planned, absorbing the stories and exhibits. It meant we couldn’t make it to Tyne Cot Cemetery, the largest Commonwealth war cemetery in the world, but along the road we stopped at several smaller cemeteries instead. Each one was pristine, with neat rows of headstones surrounded by flowers and lawns. The Belgians tend these sites with the utmost respect, a daily reminder that the sacrifices of others are never forgotten.
Towards Halluin
Our day of reflection gave way to an easier stretch of riding as we headed south. Just before reaching Halluin, we stopped at Carrefour to stock up on supplies. This is where I made my rookie error. Among the groceries, I confidently picked up a carton of what I thought was milk. Back at the villa, Gareth poured it into his coffee only to discover I’d bought buttermilk. The look on his face said it all. To make amends, I hopped back on the bike and rode out to Aldi for the real thing, proof that even after a day of war memorials, some battles are fought over
breakfast supplies.
Rest in Halluin
Our villa in Halluin, a French town right on the Belgian border, was the perfect base. With two nights here, we could finally unpack the torpedo tubes properly instead of rummaging through them like treasure hunters. The plan for the next day was a lighter day: a trip out to Roubaix, made easier by leaving the luggage behind.
Day three had been both rewarding and draining, cycling through history, reflecting on the
horrors of Passchendaele, and ending with the comfort of a warm villa and a good laugh over a buttermilk blunder.
Day three was complete: from the Menin Gate’s solemn arch to the muddy ghosts of Passchendaele, with history, remembrance, and a splash of humour along the way.
Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six | Day Seven | Day Eight | Reflection
