Brugge

May 10 - 11

Thanks to Victory Day and another random French holiday on the 12th, we had a nice long weekend the second week of May. Of course I can't have five free days off of work without going somewhere, so we decided to visit Brugge (a.k.a. "Bruges"), Belgium.

I'd heard from many people that Brugge is the best city in Belgium, and being only a three hour drive away we figured we could get it done in two days. So I booked a hotel online, and we rolled out of town early Saturday morning.

I slept through most of the drive, but I did wake up for the border crossing, two hours after we left Paris. As we approached, cars began slowing down and border control checkpoints loomed ahead of us. Dave started panicking because we hadn't brought our passports, and I racked my brain to remember the last time I crossed a border in post-EU Europe by car...what had happened then?

Nothing! I guess it would have cost too much to tear down the old checkpoints, so they left them standing with the gates open while cars from either side just slid through to the other side without so much as a pause. The booths were still there, their doors ajar, like the Belgian police were on a coffee break and we were sneaking in. It was a little bit eerie.

Once we arrived in Brugge, we parked outside the city and walked in. The weather was beautiful - hot and sunny - which meant of course that the place was packed with tourists.

Brugge is famous for its medieval buildings and canals, not to mention its fine chocolates. We walked along the canal, past picturesque buildings, and through an antique market. After a bit of wandering, we walked past a bike rental shop, with a tandem bicycle sitting tantalizingly on the sidewalk out front. David's always wanted us to try tandem bicycling, and what better way to get acquainted with the city?

So 10 minutes later, we were wobbling down the streets of Brugge, David struggling to steer in the front, me in stitches in the back.

David: Will you stop moving??
Me: I'm not moving!
David: Then why is this thing so impossible to steer?
Me: I'm not moving!

I had fond memories of the last time I rode a tandem bicycle; my dad was in the front, and I was in the back - holding my feet up off the pedals and enjoying the ride. This time I was significantly bigger, and had to literally pull my weight.

After some grunts and swearing and nearly spilling onto the street a few times, we finally had it under control. There were numerous other tandem bikes on the road, but we got a lot of funny looks. I took a hilarious video of the back of David's head while we cruised through the city, but I made a stupid mistake and accidentally deleted it. So here's a photo instead.
When we returned the bike an hour later (and not a minute too soon), the shop owner asked how our ride was. David said it was quite difficult in the beginning. The owner pointed to me and said "Oh, she was moving, right?"

Well, after that adventure we flopped down at the nearest cafe and had a few cold drinks. Then found our way to a small square for lunch at an Indian restaurant. As the waitress led us to a table, she said "You do know this is an Indian restaurant, right?" Maybe they're not used to tourists looking for Indian food in Belgium.

So Belgium has three official languages: Flemish, which is a dialect of Dutch, German, and French. While we were there we were amazed to find that everyone spoke everything, including English. During our Indian lunch the waitress literally went from table to table, speaking Flemish to one, English to us, and French to the next. David and I tried to stick to strictly French, but waiters usually caught on and changed to perfect English before we had much of a chance. Incredible!

That night we stayed in a small inn above a restaurant in a neighboring town. We had a charming room with a slanted ceiling and a roof window to open above the street. The next day we returned to Brugge, parked the car, and walked into the city again.

We decided to do two big things before we left town: one choice for each of us. The first thing we did was David's pick: a visit to a Dali museum, which we'd spotted the day before. There weren't any famous works, but it was definitely interesting.

Next we stood in an exhausting line with a bunch of other nattering tourists to take a canal boat ride. My choice, obviously. It was a beautiful ride, and a great day to be on a boat.

After this we still had some free time, so we walked over to the Basilica of the Holy Blood, a small medieval church that houses a vial of Christ's (supposed) blood. The vial was brought there during the 1st Crusade and every year the church marches it around town in a big medieval parade.

A sign posted outside the church told us that admission to the museum was 4 euros, so David opted to wait outside while I ran in to see this so-called vial.

In the end, viewing the blood and visiting the museum were two completely different things and I slid into the church admission-free. It was a small, dimly lit hall with walls covered in dark wallpaper and gold foil, nothing like a church I'd seen in France. After about 50 tourists had wandered in, a guide ushered us to a side chapel where we were instructed to sit.

A few minutes later, the guide asked us to stand, and a woman in a robe solemnly walked out of a side door with a chain around her neck and the vial attached to the end. As she walked to the front of the chapel, the guide muttered something in a bunch of languages, people started crossing themselves, and I wondered what I'd gotten myself into.

Finally he got to the English, told us briefly that we'd be allowed to see the vial, and touch it, and donations would be appreciated, thanks. Next thing you know, I was standing in a line at the front of the chapel, regretting my shorts and flip flops. When my turn came, I took the opportunity to take a good hard look at the vial. I expected a gold casing with questionable contents, but in fact it was a clear glass vial with no less than 200 ml of blood inside. It was no doubt old, as part of it had congealed and was browned. I was duly impressed.

I marched out of the church two minutes later to tell Dave he had missed one of the coolest sites in Brugge. He raised an eyebrow at me. Even if it isn't the blood of Christ, it's still 2000-something year old blood, and that's pretty neat.

So after this we walked to one of the many many chocolate shops to buy some boxes to take back. Fortunately, Adam had been to Brugge last year and had done the diligent research, so we knew where to find the best stuff.

The bummer was that it was quite hot on the way back, and the small sack I'd bought for Katie melted a bit. But the rest made it back ok, and our box was cleaned out by the end of the week, leaving Dave to bemoan not buying a bigger box.

Ah well, there's always next time! I'll never mind an excuse to go back to Belgium.