Why I learned to Hate Belgium and Start Loving Luxembourg

Last weekend I cut through Belgium on the way to Germany. Passing signs for places like Spa, Malmedy, Stavelot; places that hold so many meanings for so many. Before I entered Belgium, I knew I needed gas to make it the rest of the way, but still had plenty in the tank. With 100km of range left I began looking for a place to stop. Curiously, motorway services suddenly ceased to exist, although there were two in the first two kms after entering the country. Seeing no towns and only 50km range remaining, I resorted to asking the nav to tell me where nearest station was. Fortunately, it was a few kms from the next exit. When I get there, it is closed, but it does have pay at the pump. By pay at the pump, we mean it accepts Belgian bank cards. Other bank cards are accepted, but you have to sign at the cashier. This does not help when the station, like the remainder of the not french fry stand parts of Belgium, is closed. I ask the nav for the next nearest station. It is 15km away on the other side of the highway. Snaking through the Ardennes behind slow moving caravans that do not believe in letting others pass, I realise that I am going to run out of gas. I can see it coming. I have never been this certain before. I realise that if this next station is closed, I will not make it back to the highway and probably won't make it to any other station. When I arrive, it is closed. Dejected customers are driving away without gas, thwarted by the pay at the pump. In desperation I give it a try. It is the same bank card saga. As a last resort, I try my credit card. For the first time in Europe, a pump accepts my card and lets me pump gas. I am saved. I turn around and see a sign that says Belgie. It is then I understand, I am in Luxembourg, home of cheap gas and working pay at the pumps. Long live Luxembourg.