Winter Vacation: Bruges, Party Central
I suppose there might come a time when I’m totally blasé about the fact that a person can basically drive underneath the English Channel, but that day hasn’t arrived yet. This is the second time that Richard and I have accompanied Cathy and Rob to The Continent, and it still blew us away that we could simply drive onto a train, park, sit back and relax, and then next thing you know, you’re emerging into daylight in France. There are drawbacks to living in a modern technological age, but there are definitely advantages and this is one of them.
The other two times that I had crossed the channel were not all that pleasant. In 1970, my family took the Dover ferry and the crossing was choppy and chilly. I spent most of the time feeling like I was going to throw up but couldn’t. A lot of people were throwing up, so the whole ferry stank. The second time, in 1985, I took a hovercraft, which sounded very cool; but it was extremely noisy, the interior smelled like diesel, it was bumpy and jarring, and the air jets stirred up so much water, you couldn’t see out the windows.
So this was outstanding!
The drive from the coast of France to Belgium was pretty unremarkable, although I’m always struck by the fact that, for some reason, the clouds in France look like they’re closer to the ground than any other place I’ve been. Are they really or do I just think that? But if it’s just me, why France? At any rate, it wasn’t long before we were coming into the outskirts of Bruges. 
The minute we entered the city center, we felt utterly charmed. Bruges was quite the bustling, prosperous trade center in The Middle Ages—at the diamond museum, we read a passage from a medieval traveler’s letter, in which he marveled over the variety of goods to be found here, from fresh oranges from Spain, to spices from The Levant, to furs from Russia, to diamonds from Africa—so the dwellings that were built during that period were attractive and gracious. Despite Bruges’s fall from economic grace in later centuries, the buildings have been looked after well enough, so the city center probably doesn’t look all that different from centuries ago.
And it is a beauty.
After we checked in to our respective hotels and rested up, we met for a quick bite at the café associated with Richard’s and my hotel in the city center, the Loreto. There we experienced perhaps the best omelettes we’ve ever eaten in our entire lives. In fact, I’d be willing to go back there just for one of those omelettes. But this was just one sliver of the deliciousness waiting for us here in Party Central.
I imagine that many of the buildings along the canals and in the market squares are lit year round (creating beautiful reflections in the canals, as you can see in the top photo, above), but for the holidays, Bruges had strung lights all over the city, to enchanting effect. One of the city squares had a big ice-skating rink set up, 
ringed by stalls where one could buy fast food and hot drinks, maybe a scarf or hat. Small marching bands would suddenly appear and start playing, walking through the city while passers-by did a playful little jig as they went by. We wandered around, completely dazzled by the sights, until dinner time, when we had another scrumptious meal at the restaurant across from Cathy and Rob’s hotel.
The next day we went to a museum near the Loreto that used to be a hospital, St. John’s Hospital complex, made up of an infirmary for the medically ill, a section for the mentally ill, and a section for lepers. An order of nuns tended to the patients, and the Flemish Primitive painter, Hans Memling, painted a number of gorgeous triptychs and reliquary boxes for the order, legend being that they nursed him to health when he was wounded as a foreign soldier fighting on Flemish soil. The pigments he used created such eye-poppingly vivid colors, these works are a marvel, seriously. And this comes from someone who’s not keen on a lot of religious art. There are also a couple of works by Hieronymus Bosch on display in this museum.
From there, we went to a tasty little café for lunch and all ordered a famous Belgian beer to go with our meal. The night before when we had stopped in for a beer at Cathy and Rob’s hotel, the manager who served us told us that the local beer brewed in the area, Brugse Zot, meant the Bruges fool. He 
said, “That is because people would come here and everyone was always happy and laughing, so they called us fools!” Well, it is certainly true the that Brugians, or whatever they call themselves, were playful, friendly, and relaxed, despite the fact that the place had clearly been packed with tourists for weeks now, partying their brains out. At the end of our meal, when Rob declared it “wonderful!” the picaresque waiter beamed and said, “Me? Why, thank you!”
We went to the diamond museum in the afternoon, which not only gave us a fascinating glimpse into the history of the diamond trade, it gave us some nice background on the history of Bruges as well. Then we made our way down a side road and through a very skinny alley to a place of beer pilgrimage. It was a pub that sold a very particular, potent brew and was packed to the gills with happy, boisterous patrons. It was ancient, with weathered brick walls and an upstairs that one reached through a tiny, winding staircase. At first we were afraid we weren’t going to be able to find a place to sit, but just as we were leaving, Richard spotted a party getting up from their table, so he sprinted after us and managed to catch us in time. When we left, some friendly patrons who had seen him desperately running after us congratulated him and toasted all of us.
Well, the next two days pretty much followed this schedule: fabulous meal after fabulous meal (one day when Cathy and Rob went to a nearby village to visit a former harp student of Cathy’s, Richard and I had a fantastic Greek meal; and our last night in Bruges, when things were starting to close down, we feasted at a creperie), draughts of the most delicious, creamy beer you can imagine, tastes of the finest chocolate in the world melting on our tongues, charming, light-hearted interactions with lovely people, and a feast for the eyes everywhere. 
The day we left was the day that all of Bruges more or less went into hibernation, so it felt fitting to be leaving along with so many other visitors. We stopped in Calais on our way home so that Cathy and Rob could stock up on goods from Europe, and then we headed back to England via the Chunnel.
I suppose that in the interests of cosmic balance, the fact that our trip home to the States ended up being one of those hellacious travel horror stories should not come as a surprise. But as we returned to Cathy and Rob’s cozy home in their charming village, anticipating one more day of enjoying their lovely hospitality, perhaps another film on Rob’s big screen HD TV, we remained blissfully unaware of what awaited us, and snuggled down for a good night’s sleep.
Above, from top down:
The city center of Bruges at night.
One of the market squares at dusk.
The skating rink in downtown Bruges.
One of the marching bands that roamed around the city center.
St. John’s Hospital, now the Hans Memling Museum.
Candy shops, especially chocolate shops were everywhere! We definitely got carried away.
A quiet back street along one of the canals.
Saturday, January 30, 2010