Le weekend, pt. 2-

Saturday morning we headed out for the train station. Since there were trains approximately every half hour to Bruges and we could buy tickets at the station, we didn't really have a set time for leaving. It was supposed to be the first really warm weekend since we've been here, with highs in the 80s. Due to the cold of a few weeks before, I was definitely on board with the heat, particularly since it lacked the oppressive humidity of the Washington area. The train arrived at about 11 and were fortunate enough to get seats. The ride took about an hour through the scenic countryside.

One of our worries was that Bruges was going to be totally overrun with tourists, and when we exited the station there were clots of people everywhere. Fortunately, once we crossed the canal that rings the city everyone spread out in every direction and it wasn't nearly as crowded as I had anticipated. The city was also somewhat larger than I had expected, which helped as well. Our first order of business was to get some lunch. We ate at a spot overlooking one of the canals. The food was just okay, but we got to try out some different beers. Jack had previously stated his preference for a "cauldron of hot cheese" for lunch in honor of the warm weather, and he ended up getting some lasagne that fit the bill pretty well. There were little fuzzy things flying through the air, which I later discovered were probably from one of the numerous cottonwood trees (or the European equivalent) around town, but I thought Jack had let the sun and heat go to his head when he said that there was a Santa Claus in his drink. However, this is apparently one of those "family words" that creep into one's vocabulary and unbeknownst to the speaker they are uncommon to the rest of us.

After that we headed over to the Burg, a plaza which contained the Basilica of the Holy Blood, which in turn contained some amount of Jesus' blood available for veneration. The church was interesting in that it was built during a decorative period where as many various patterns that could be thought of were painted on a wall. It was nice because it seemed that you'd be able to let your eyes drift during a service and keep noticing new things for quite some time. People were going up to Jesus's blood and touching and/or kissing the glass case, and there was a woman up there in priestly robes who had the job of smiling benevolently at everyone and wiping the glass after each person's visit. We chose not to participate in this ritual.

As the afternoon grew warmer, it became clear that one of the reasons that Bruges may be considered "Venice of the North" is that, like Venice, it seems to have some issues with odors in the heat. I'm not sure that the sulfurous smells came from the canals themselves rather than a poorly-tended sewer system, but there was definitely a great deal of stagnant water around. Everytime we saw someone on a canal tour sticking their hands in the water we shook our heads sadly.

We arrived at our B&B, the Lady Jane, a few minutes after our scheduled check-in time and, although the front door was open, there was no one around. The majority of the first floor of the building was taken up as storage for beer, with some bikes, a folded ping-pong table, and a punching bag thrown in for good measure. We wandered upstairs to the rooms but didn't find anyone. I vaguely remembered something about a store, so we decided to go to the shop across the street and ask if they knew anything. We entered into a scene of mini chaos: the 3 people who appeared to be staff kept walking quickly back and forth from the front of the store to the back, talking to each other in Dutch but not to us. We stood around, waiting till whatever crisis was going on ended, so we could ask someone to help us. When the lights came on we figured out what happened. Our host came out of a door and informed us that he had been trapped in an elevator for the duration of the outage, and he was hot and rather flustered.

He showed us to our room, which was on the top floor of a house built in 1673. Our room had a canopy bed, breakfast table and TV, along with two large windows overlooking the street. At three storeys, we could see over the tops of most of the other non-religious buildings in the neighborhood, with the spires of churches and governmental follies peeking out over the vast plain of terra cotta roof tiles. The door to the room, which had been painted in kind of a translucent whitewash, had wood grain added on later in pencil (as did all the doors, upon further inspection; I can't imagine what kind of person would have the patience to do that). Additionally, a childish hand had written "love room" on the door in clear nail polish. We rested up a bit before heading back out.

As our previous meandering route took us through the heart of the city on our path to the B&B on the NE end of town, we decided to wander back along the eastern path of the canal that surrounds the city like a moat. There were a few old-school windmills on a rise by the canal, sadly not in operation when we went by. There were also some fortified city gates that traffic entering Bruges had to pass through. It's amazing to think that such thick walls were penetrable, but I guess if one person can think of a way to build a strong wall, someone else can think of a way to get through it.

At the south end of town we spotted the Minnewater, also known inexplicably as the Lake of Love. Minnewater is just a stretch of canal with one of the few parks within the city walls, so it's more verdant than elsewhere. I didn't really get the appeal, since it was the same dirty water as elsewhere in the city, but it was a pleasant swath of green nonetheless. We stopped for a icy cocktails and peanuts nearby to refresh ourselves, then we worked our way back through town to the restaurant we had picked out. Sadly, it was closed for a few days. Not having the guidebook with us and not wanting to fall prey to eating overpriced, sub-par food (it was pretty much all overpriced), we decided on ice cream and waffles for dinner. We had been forewarned that the waffles in Bruges were different than those found in Brussels, in that they were less sweet. My hope was that they'd be more delectable to me, since I find the ones in Brussels to be overly sweet with a density approaching that of a red dwarf, so that I'll have a bite or two and not want the rest. I wanted waffles that tasted like...well, tasted like my own, I guess, waffles that it wouldn't be inappropriate to top with something sweet, such as syrup, chocolate, or ice cream. The Bruges waffle was prepared fresh and took ages to cook, and the young lady behind the counter chatted with us about the medieval-style jousing tournament going on in the Markt Square. Finally it was done and once it had cooled down enough to eat, we discovered that it was definitely less sweet. It still had a strangely dense texture, though, so I just ate my limoncello sorbet and let Jack have his waffle. We headed back to the room to wait for darkness. On the way we saw some birds that appeared to be doves but that let out a short, strangulated cry like they needed to clear their throats. We contemplated what this meant for Prince's song, and concluded that perhaps this was the type of dove he was referring to.

Nighttime is when Bruges is supposed to be at its best. As darkness fell (around 10:30 p.m.), a large moon rose over the rooftops. A windmill visible in the distance was lit from below, almost ghostly in its skeletal appearance. It is true that the town is a different place at night, primarily because it seemed like everyone over 30 had retired for the evening and everyone under 30 was packed into bars. So the streets were quiet until you turned a corner and encountered one of these hives of activity, and then it was like a third place, separate from both its daytime and nighttime selves. We wandered the churches and canals, snapping up photos of shadowy spaces. It wasn't very ominous, though: you could still tell you were in a tidy little town, where people took great pride in their doorbell pulls and flower boxes. The most alarming thing we encountered was a gravestone in a wall of a church. Although these are common around town, this one was bulging outwards as if its occupant was attempting to walk amongst us once again. Thoroughly foot-weary, we returned to the B&B to explore the joys of the shared bath, cable TV, and room lights powered by remote control.

More photos of our Belgian adventure can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/squink/.